#and he almost considers himself lucky for not having a close-knit family

[doubledyke]

thinkin about edd today

[visbiscuit]

Peruvian Lily (1) – 𝐺𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝐺𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑏𝑦𝑒

Let a Thousand Flowers Bloom → masterlist. (1) Peruvian Lily → masterlist spotify playlist

I am NOT responsible for your media consumption. This blog is intended for a mature audience as are the stories on it. So if you are not at least 18, I suggest you read something else. If you recognize any name or characters, that means that I have no copyright on them, but their action in this work of fiction are mine as is the plot. This is a no-profit written work and I don't condone republishing it or copying it. Please, if you want to support me, reblog/like or comment. Thank you :) a.n if you'd like to be tagged in this, let me know with a comment!

pairing: Viscount!Steve Rogers x Dowager!(Mom)FemReader ( no description of ethnicity or body type ) . . . word count: 4k+ . . . chapter warnings: angst, dead!pietro maximoff (wanda is younger than him), steve rogers is a lonely man, double pov

𝄞 Stay -- Daniel Jang ,, SPOTIFY - YOUTUBE

Gentle readers,

word has reached me that some of you are finding my work... how was it? Ah, yes. Disgraceful. I don't find that a pleasant thing to say about me, but don't worry Lady Quill, it will remain between us, not another soul will know of this unfortunate adjective. If you'll allow me to retort, I believe that those who are disgraceful are all of you, greedy readers, who eat up gossip written on paper as if it were laws to be obeyed. Many question my identity without realizing that you are Lady Whistledown. The words you read here are nothing more than words spilled from your champagne-soaked lips spoken between puffs and giggles. I am only a conduit, the one who transcribes on paper things that have already been said but have not reached the ears of all. So, turn your gaze to your dearest friend and ask yourself if the scandal you have been part of has been revealed thanks to her. You can't even imagine what I hear every day and some of you should thank me for my leniency. I may not be so good in the future and then I will be truly disgraceful. For now, I will still show mercy to those who tremble at the very idea of appearing in the column of the day. I have decided, however, to punish you for your insolence. The news I am about to give you, has no names, no place, no time. There is someone highly coveted by the terrifying mamas who has decided to take part in the games of love. No one has officially announced it yet and the season is just days away from starting. Could it be a viscount? Or a duke? Or maybe a low-ranking simpleton who is more popular than he should be? Maybe our beloved (perhaps not too much) prince? It's not for me to reveal. Since you like to investigate, here's today's mystery for you. Let's see how you do and, please, don't be disgraceful!

Yours truly, Lady Whistledown LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 23 MARCH 1815

It had all happened in an instant. The silence that decorated the walls of the Rogers home, or as it was affectionately called by the family's closest friends - more than a hundred! (it was certainly something of which Viscountess Rogers was more than proud) - The House out of Time, had been abruptly interrupted by a female scream of no small intensity. Silence had always been something Steve had cherished, he didn't know exactly why, but the pleasure of hearing himself think was far greater than that of listening to other people tell of their experiences. In life, in that sense, he had been lucky. One son, no siblings or bastards to account for on afternoons off from classes. A single heir to rely on. Steve Rogers was a man of a thousand responsibilities, but at the cost of collapsing under the weight of them, he would face them all without anyone's help. Of course, family was important, as his mother was fond of reminding him, but his parents were also only children of only children, so they certainly couldn't boast of having a large, close-knit family. He was fine with that, he had his friends, the closest ones were to be considered almost like brothers. Rented siblings who could be removed in times of need. Sometimes he felt guilty for thinking this way, but then he readily realized that, in reality, even without this idea of his, things would not have been so different. Everyone had a title to guard, a home to inhabit, and a family to account for. Thankfully.

He squinted his eyes as his mother's voice pierced his ears, certainly not used to such demonstrations from the calm and poised viscountess. As much as she loved him with all her heart, Lady Sarah Rogers was a woman of duty. She was aware that in the childhood of her only son her role would not be that of a mother hen, but that of an educator who would direct him on the path that had already been designed for him by his ancestors. His father, the renowned Viscount Joseph Rogers had always had a distinct sympathy for his son. There was nothing better than having a single heir, and man to boot!, to whom he could leave his entire inheritance without the fear that a female child might have disturbed the family name. What a contentment it had been when the woman he had grown to love in time had given him such joy. A perfect son. An almost perfect son.

In his childhood, few had believed Steve could make it past ten years of age. Too skinny, too sensitive, he got sick too often and the treatment time was always too long. In spite of this, the boy had always shown an uncommon intelligence that would make him one day - if he had managed to get there - a Viscount worthy of note. He enjoyed mathematics, literature and even in studying history he was a prodigy. Night-time in the Rogers household in those days was a time of mourning, Steve's parents had already indulged in the idea that Joseph's title would die out with him, no one to take care of it. Steve had often heard what he would one day describe as wails of pain driven from his mother's mouth and had never forgiven himself for causing so much suffering. What had he done wrong to be born that way? He cried too, silently, locked in a ball on his bed, shaken by tremors, certain that no one could hear him. But Steve wasn't a give-up kid, quite the contrary. Another trait he was born with, and one that had always helped him get by, was certainly his stubbornness. So, one day, with a clear idea in mind, he read, no, devoured, all the books in the family library until his eyes met the printed name of Dr. Abraham Erskine and his theory about how every system had potential and he was able to stimulate that potential and turn it into reality. So, with some money stolen from his father and a pretty good outfit, Steve had gone to him and asked, no begged, him to save him. Save him from himself.

And so, Dr. Erskine had helped him find himself, not before contacting his parents who, after many months of questions and insecurities, had given their son into the hands of one of the geniuses of their generation. In doing so, they had gotten the Steve they knew hid beneath that armour of fragility, and from there on he had trained himself to always become a better version of himself.

Since Steve had come of age, Lady Rogers had transformed herself into the mama who lived only in the best dreams, or worst nightmares, of every bachelor in the town of Brookle. It had been months, no, years, that every morning, at seven and sixteen o'clock, not a second later, the viscountess entered her son's room - at first, she had even found him in... compromising situations - and woke him up with the certainty that this would be the day he would meet his future wife. Even outside of the canonical season. She had become a threat capable of following him and leaving him no time to gather himself and make his own decisions. It was good to be an only child, but sometimes Steve wished he had a twin brother to share those pains with. At that point, his mother's energies would be focused on two beings and they would not drown him with all their might. Now, at the age of nine and twenty, his mother had spent at least a decade foisting every damsel in town on him as perfect future viscountesses. The truth was, she didn't believe in the lackluster minds that would someday have to take her place either, but someday, Steve would have to marry one and teach her her duties as best he could. At worst, the future viscountess would be just another way to sire an heir. A crude thought, but a necessary one.

The papers scattered on Steve's desk were starting to lose all logical sense as he was well focused on listening to his mother's footsteps, much louder than usual, as they came closer and closer to his study. The man pinched the bridge of his nose and removed the glasses gently placed on it. He took a deep breath: his mother was not yet in the room and he already felt profoundly shaken and exasperated. Just in the same second that the door opened with force and determination, Steve made sure to be found with a smile on his face. He prayed to his guardian angel that Lady Rogers would not notice the falseness of his expression.

«Mother! What can I help you with?»

«Read» the command that came out of the slender woman's mouth confused him for a few seconds, but what he saw resting on her desk made him roll his eyes. In front of him, the latest issue of "Lady Whistledown" bothered him. Something on it had caused his mother to scream in dismay and come over to disturb him. Normally, he didn't pay much attention to it, today the damn gossip column was his enemy.

He didn't pick it up, he had no intention of giving rise to this type of things. «You tell me, and above all explain to me why you still listen to such... nonsense.»

If Lady Rogers was offended by her son's words, she didn't let him see it. «It cannot be nonsense if it is truth,» she said, then took up the paper again and cleared her throat. «"There is someone highly coveted by the terrifying mamas who has decided to take part in the games of love."» she read, then looked up into his face. «Is that you? Please say yes, amuse me.»

 Steve's cerulean eyes met his mother's which with he shared the same shade, the only thing that bound them together since he was the carbon copy of his father. Lady Rogers had been a wonderful girl, with a cascade of long brown hair caressing her hips and two eyes like the purest and most crystalline water. Now, after years of duties, she had become a tired, but splendid woman. Her long hair had turned into small and fast waves that reached her shoulders and her eyes were framed by dark circles not too evident and wrinkles due to the thousand smiles she gave to the love of her life, her son. Joseph hadn't married her for love, but Steve had come to understand over time why he had chosen Sarah as his wife. He didn't like the fact that it had taken some time for their relationship to become full-fledged love, but his father felt the burden of siring an heir far more than he could have imagined. This was exactly why Steve had no intention of marrying a woman he didn't love or, at the very least, didn't like. After all, he was a healthy man and, in his own words, still young. He could, for now, think of something else. That didn't mean, however, that he wasn't always on the lookout for the real diamond among the fake ones.

«That's why I tell you not to read this nonsense. This will surely be a ploy to keep the season from failing. No one wants a repeat of last one, especially after the Stark scandal,» Steve scratched his beard. It wasn't usual in those days to have facial hair on his face, but he would shave once the high season started where everyone would see him. «That being said and I tell you this from the heart, it may be that this year I am more inclined to look for the future Lady Rogers»

The Viscountess' eyes sparkled as they never had before. The thought of sharing secrets and gossip with a woman who was not a servant excited her. And, oh, the idea that soon a new member of the family would be scampering around the walls of the house made her heart tremble.

Steve noticed too late the quick movement of his mother who had turned his desk entirely around and wrapped him in an embrace so tight it cracked his neck bone. He gasped for a few moments before standing up and wrapping his arms around her as well. He realized that his mom's body was shaking, was she really crying?

«Oh, Steve! You've made me the happiest mama in town! I don't know how to thank you my son» she wiggled out of the hug and cupped his cheeks with her hands. «This is going to be the perfect season, I can feel it» then, as if lightning had struck her in the head, she let go of a gasp and straightened her dress with her hands. «There's no time to waste, Steven! The damsels are many and they are all waiting for you. I can already picture you with... maybe Lady Rhodes, or Lady Strange, there's even Lady Barnes.»

«Ah, ah, Lady Barnes is not in contemplation.»

«And why would that be?»

«Do you want your only child to die at the hands of a duke? She's James's sister, it would be like writing me a death sentence.»

His mother nodded, defeated. As much as the duke was one of the closest friends her son had, the overprotectiveness towards his sister was greater than any feelings of friendship. «I suppose you may be right.»

«When am I not right?»

His mother gave him a small slap on the back of the head. «Don't be vain, women don't like self-absorbed, narcissistic men.»

«Right, just like I don't like self-absorbed, narcissistic women.»

«Well... that takes a few names off the list.»

«What list?» in Steve's eyes it was possible to read terror.

«Don't be silly! My list, the one I've been making for years.»

The season that was coming would not soon be forgotten.

Gentle Readers,

with some satisfaction and a hint of mischief, I take note that my riddles are not to your liking. Not that this has upset me, you have always been used to having everything you desire after all. It is not your fault; it is more of a slight bug that has been circling you all your life. The thing that distinguishes this fortunate condition of yours and the real bug is that you would squash the latter without a second thought. Would you squash your luck in the same way? I have my doubts. But no more conundrums, just reality. I will not reveal the identity of the eligible bachelor on the market, there is only one day left before the season starts and it would be cruel of me to send a host of crazed mamas out to his mansion. I will reveal something else, though, and you're going to love it. Someone very dear to us is back in town. The dowager Countess Maximoff has landed on our shores. Could it be after a year of mourning she and her beautiful child are looking for someone to protect them? If you ask me, I find this in poor taste. Poor Count. Peace to his soul and to our damsels in search of husbands.

Yours truly, Lady Whistledown LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 26 MARCH 1815

As the first signs of a lush spring colored the meadows on the outskirts of Brookle, a carriage with a precious and important air traveled the long path that had been trodden years before to connect town and country. The winter wind still persisted, but from the small window, a young woman watched with incredible curiosity and surprise as the last remaining ice on the only lake in the area blushed and melted under the sun's rays. The scenery she had become accustomed to in recent years was extremely different from the spectacle of colors she felt lucky to be a spectator at that moment.

The city of Sokovia had entered her heart, despite its apparent coldness and austerity. Over the years, Lady Y/N Maximoff, born Y/L/N, had noticed the gentleness in the hard physiognomic features of the women of that place, who had always been trained to be perfect and rigid matrons. She had discerned the malice behind the eyes of the most astute men who had helped her to consider that city as her own. The servants of the last, and deceased, Earl had not simply been the ones who had helped her be the best she could be in her new role, they had become her family. Not having anyone known by her side had been the thing Y/N had hated most in the world. Not recognizing someone's smile. So, she had tried very hard to create a family for herself, and she hadn't cared that the family consisted of members of a lower social class. After all, family wasn't something to choose, it had happened and Y/N had welcomed her with open arms.

There had been a time when she couldn't even consider her husband as family. The one who, instead, should have been by right. She hadn't blamed anyone, getting married through some old business of her father's meant just that: the tying of one's life to a stranger. She had been fortunate in her misfortune. Pietro Maximoff had not only been a gentleman every step of the way in their relationship, but he was of an age for which he could take care of his children. Y/N had trembled when she had found out that one of her closest friends, Lady Yelena, had been given in marriage to a man about one and eighty years old. Fortunately for her, he had fallen ill not long after and left her to live out her life with no heirs to care for. In retrospect, Y/N would have preferred something similar as well.

Pietro's smiles had not only made her feel safe, but it had been the reason the spark had gone off between them. The only reason the young woman had fallen deeply in love with the Count. Her heart, at the sight of him, seemed to have raced miles and miles and the butterflies in her stomach had not stopped even after he had passed away. She had loved him dearly, as a best friend, as a guardian, as a lover...as a father. Pietro had been a wonderful father to their little girl. Just for her sweet little girl Zofie, Y/N had not allowed herself to wear the clothes of grief.

It had already been complex to explain to her that they would never see Pietro waiting for them again after a long day of walking around town, or that they wouldn't have to spend hours and hours in front of the window to see him riding back with a giant smile on his face. He had confided in her that Pietro had left on his own steed to protect his women from above, so that he could always see them and be close to them. And Zofie had cried, had cried so much that she hadn't stopped for days and risked asthma attacks. And Y/N had cried her heart out. She had cried blood, but she had never allowed a tear to run down her face. Zofie had already lost a father at four years old; she didn't need a mother wracked with grief.

It had taken little for her to realize that her presence in Sokovia was no longer required. With no son to pass the title on to, the new Count of Sokovia had become a distant cousin of her husband, who had taken it upon himself to kick Y/N out of the quarters he had occupied up to that point. She hadn't suffered much from the new Count's behaviour, but she hadn't expected the time to move away from Sokovia to come so soon. Probably, given the love the citizens had for her, she could have stayed there as long as she wanted, but she needed a change of air. She needed to get away from all the memories she hadn't given herself permission to remember. Plus, besides missing her family in Brookle, she vowed to help Wanda Maximoff, her sister-in-law, find a husband. Another way to try not to block out her own life and continue to care for her daughter. Zofie had become the only reason not to break down for good and she would hold on to her as long as she could.

«Mommy,» a little voice as sweet as honey freshly plucked from the hive took her mind off the view and turned her around. Sitting in the seats of the most comfortable carriage she had been afforded, Zofie Maximoff at five years - and four months (and two days!) - was synonymous with beauty. A mane of very long hair framed her chubby face and in her greenish eyes you could see the hyperactivity that characterized her. Barely visible freckles adorned her small face and her lips were plump and identical to her father's. The truth was that no one could doubt that she was Pietro's daughter. Their resemblance was a painful gift that had been bestowed upon Y/N. «How wong until we get therrre?» even her accent was that of Sokovia. Everything reminded her of her late husband.

The young woman smiled at her daughter's small speech defect, she couldn't pronounce the letter "r" correctly and despite numerous lessons with an experienced tutor, they had quickly realized that this was not something due to age, but something that would always accompany her. So, they had concluded with this part of the lessons and proceeded to teach her everything she needed at that tender age as per the textbook. «I really don't know, butterfly. Wait, let me ask Vis»

«Yes, please because I'm so hungrrry.»

Y/N giggled at her daughter's impatience. «Alright.» Gathering up the ruffles of the dress she'd decided to wear for that trip, thankfully not too bulky, she leaned toward the small window that led to the driver's chair. She couldn't make out the face of her faithful coachman, but only saw his shoulders covered by the typical livery of the colors of the city of Sokovia, red, blue and a slight splash of white. «Vis, how much longer?»

The man muttered something, probably a command to the horses to entice them onward, and then turned his face to try to look at the woman. «I don't think it'll be long, we'll definitely get there before dark, Lady Maximoff,» he shot her a polite smile.

«No need for all this formality, Vis, but thank you very much» she returned to her daughter's side and adjusted the sleeves of her dress. «We'll be there in no time, if you want I have some toasted bread with raspberry jam.»

«Mhh...» the child tapped her chin with a little finger «No, no, I'w wait. I wanted something with chocolate» she moved her dangling little legs back and forth, smiling. She had recently dropped her first tooth and a little window could be seen every time she laughed. Y/N always thought of her little girl's smile and hoped it was always on her face.

The young woman returned the joy. «Chocolate, huh? Did you think you were going to fool me, butterfly?» she began to tickle her and her daughter's laughter was so infectious that she started laughing too. «Next time I'll make sure to pack some chocolate because it seems to be the only thing this little monster wants to eat» she teased her a little.

Zofie nodded vigorously, still with tears in her eyes from being tickled. «Chocolate is good forrr you!»

«Yes and bunnies fly.»

«They could!»

«They do?» Y/N adjusted her position to turn more with her body towards her daughter. The carriage was certainly one of the better ones, but she found them terribly uncomfortable. «And in what world?»

Zofie's expression turned fair. «In my worrrld!» then she took a big breath and Y/N realized that a soliloquy of at least three minutes was coming. Her daughter wouldn't even notice if she was listening. «In my worrrld bunnies can fly! And they rrreach high, high, high until they rrreach the clouds which to me arrre made of cotton and sugarrr. I once dreamed of jumping on them! They werrre all soft and I even hugged one! At one point I saw Daddy with his horrrse too! What was his name? » he looked at her with his big eyes.

Y/N's mind had stopped at the sweetness of her daughter's words and stiffened when she heard Pietro mentioned. She hadn't intended to erase every memory of her father from Zofie's head, but a selfish part was screaming at her to force her daughter to stop thinking about the past. She certainly wouldn't, but she felt as guilty as if it had happened. «His name was Quicksilver.»

Zofie clapped her hands together. «That's rrright, that's rrright! What a strrrange name for a horrrse though, do you know why Daddy picked it, Mommy?»

«Because his blond mane reminded him of sterling silver and no one had ever outrun him. When your father rode that horse, it was as if they became one. I never saw him so free and carefree except with Quicksilver and when he hugged you. That's why Quicksilver accompanied him to heaven, because they wanted to be together all the time."

«But I want to be with my daddy, too.»

«Someday you'll see him again and tell him about all your adventures. Maybe if you're old enough, Daddy will let you ride the horse.»

«Rrreally? You prrromise me that, Mommy?»

«Cross my heart, butterfly.»  

TAGLIST: @sanne-kijani @rootcrop @aloneatpeace 

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[agirlcandream84]

By the Numbers

My second (short) fic!  Who am I?? I suppose this is a “real life” fluff fic (look at me pretending to know what I’m talking about), starring another favorite: Chris Evans.  I was intending for this to be a one-shot but the structure lends itself to a lot of minis so I’m going with it.  

Chris Evans x Reader (Y/N)

Summary: Chris has just come back home to Concord between movie shoots to enjoy the east coast autumn season and have some time to himself, until he wanders into a local coffee shop.  

Meet-cute, Romantic love, autumn vibes, fluff fluff fluff, cozy

.....................

The First Time (Chris)

“Dodger! Stay close buddy!” Chris shouts to his loyal pup.  Dodger zooms around the grass but happily trots up to walk in stride with Chris.  Chris sucks in the cold air through his nostrils deeply, so deeply it would look cartoonish if anyone had seem him do it, and savors every scent of Concord in fall.  

“Look at that sunset buddy.  You don’t get that in LA,” he says to Dodger.  Dodger seems just as pleased with the autumn air, enthusiastically crunching leaves under paw.   Chris and Dodger walk companionably for several minutes until the sun sets in earnest and a real chill takes to the air.  Chris, in his favorite cream-colored cable knit sweater, regrets not bringing the jacket hanging on the hook by his door.  With at least a 20 minute walk home, he considers picking up his pace to a jog when he spots it.  

Beanies & Leaves 

A new coffee and tea shop on the corner of Main Street and Walden emitted a soft warm glow.  A cup of chamomile tea called his name and he broke into a light jog to cross the street.  

He stopped short of opening the door as he peered in the window.  The sign said open and the lights were on but there were no customers inside.  There was only a woman behind the counter who, by all accounts, was having the time of her life as she cleaned out the espresso machine for the night. He could hear the soft thump of bass from the music she was blaring inside and was that... yep, it was.  WAP by Cardi B.  And he was the lucky man treated to a whole dance performance, which was honestly pretty decent for someone who was mid-closing tasks at a coffee shop.  He watched her gather up a stray napkin and take a shot to the garbage can and miss.  She rolled her eyes at her own mistake and scooped it up to shoot.  And miss.  Again.  She tossed her head back and laughed at her own incoordination.  He took a moment to delight in watching someone thoroughly enjoy their own company before finally opening the door and to step inside. 

She had just stepped back into the kitchen as WAP ended and Defying Gravity from Wicked soon began.  An interesting choice of playlist if he’d ever heard one.  Almost as if on cue, he heard the singing.  It wasn’t.... good?  But it wasn’t bad.  But it was certainly passionate and earnest and it made him chuckle.  She stepped out from the kitchen, hands full and towering with what looked like 25 clean coffee mugs but eyes shut tight mid-high note.  

“Is never gonna briiinnnnngggg mmmeee doooooooowwwwwnnn!” 

Well now he was in a pickle. She clearly didn’t hear the gentle ring of the bell on the door and he stood the chance of scaring the daylights out of her if he shouted over the music.  Now, if he was honest with himself, there was a part of Chris that thoroughly enjoyed the thrill of scaring someone.  But he usually reserved that for family and friends, not strangers who seemed to be auditioning for Elphaba.  So instead, he waited for the song to wrap before speaking. 

“What do I owe you for the show?” he joked.  

And with that, a piercing scream emerged from her lips and approximately 25 coffee cups shattered on the ground.

Oh shit.

...The First Time (You) ...

Jesus fucking Christ!  Your heart is hammering in your chest and your coffee cups are in shatters at your feet.  Oh shit, my coffee cups!  

You had started closing tasks 15 minutes before closing, thinking you were certainly done for the night.  It had been quiet for hours and you were eager to get home and watch the next episode of Outlander.  Sure, the music was loud but was it really that loud? And, oh god, how much had this man seen?  Not the dancing, right?  Oh my god you had been singing too.  

“Oh my god I’m so sorry! Jesus, let me help you.” you hear him say.

You squeeze your eyes shut and clutch your hand to your chest for a moment to slow your racing heart.  Your hands are trembling from the rush of adrenaline (You obviously thought you were about to be murdered.  You always think you’re about to be murdered). You let out a slow deep breath.  

“No, I’m sorry.  I didn’t hear you come in.  Entirely my fault,” you stammer.

You look up to meet his eyes and HOLY SHIT IT’S CHRIS EVANS.  Like, THE Chris Evans.  Captain America.  Ransom Drysdale (your personal fave).  The guy from a million hot gifs. Standing in your coffee shop and scaring the shit out of you.  You knew he had a home in the area, everyone knew he had a home in the area, but why would this man step foot in your tiny shop?  Surely he had, like, assistants who brought him coffee?  Just be normal Y/N, you think.  He must hate people recognizing him.  Don’t make this weirder than it needs to be.  You had already danced and screamed for the man. 

He’s already headed over to your side of the counter to grab the broom and dust pan.  You squat to the ground to pick up the larger pieces, hands still shaking as the last of the adrenaline pumps through you.  You curse your dumb hands- stop shaking you dummies!- for betraying your desire to appear normal in front of CHRISTOPHER *BLANK (you’re gonna have to google his middle name)* EVANS, for god’s sake.  

“Shit, I feel terrible.  I’m so sorry.  Believe it or not, I was actually trying not to scare you.  Please let me get it,” he says as his eyes see your hands.  He gently scoops the pieces of ceramic from your hands and tosses them in the trash before sweeping up the rest of the mess into a big pile.  Like a completely normal person, you try to get a sniff of him because it feels important to know what Chris Evans smells like.  The answer is, currently, aftershave and crunchy leaves.  Over the course of two minutes you work together to sweep up the remaining shards of white ceramic and dump them into the waiting trash can.  

At that, you stand and sweep off the front of your apron and say “Welcome to Beanies and Leaves, what can I get for you?” in a mock customer service voice, as though this man had not scared the shit out of you and then helped you sweep up 25 broken coffee mugs. 

Chris tosses his head back and laughs, arms crossed over his chest.  A gesture that you might call classically Chris if you had known him in that kind of way.  

“Well actually, I’d love a chamomile tea, if you don’t want to kick me out.  In a paper to-go cup will do,” he says through a laugh. “And it goes without saying that I’m paying to replace those mugs.”

“No, please don’t bother.  They’re a dime a dozen at the restaurant depot. It’s really no bother,” you say as you finish prepping his chamomile tea and placing it on the counter.  A kiss will do instead, you think to yourself, like a total perv.

“Oh come on. Please, let me cover it for you,” he pleads.  

“No really, it’s more trouble than it’s worth.  I’ve got spares in the back anyway,” you say as you wave your hand as if waving off the idea.  You can see by his face that he doesn’t like it but he’s resigned to taking your word for it.  You tell him the total and process his card, handing him the receipt to sign (sweet, an autograph!).  After two more apologies and a packet of honey for his tea, he meets his dog (Dodger? Had you read that somewhere?) outside and he’s on his way.  

Well shit.  That was an interesting 10 minutes.  You can’t wait to get home and call Maggie, who will insist you are absolutely lying about the encounter and then ask for every detail 10 times over.  You smile to yourself as you do some final cleanup around the shop and gather his receipt to put in the register, taking a second glance at his signature.

Goddamnit. Scrawled on the receipt is a tip in the amount of $200 with a note saying, “Mugs for Elphaba.”  

-----------------------------------

( to be continued )

PART 2 POSTED HERE!

[needleandhammer]

From Simmer to Score

Pairing: Soft!Curtis Everett x Reader

Summary: Curtis is good with his hands. And other stuff.

Warnings: 18+ only, explicit, smut, oral sex, penetration, fingering, dub con breeding, unprotected sex, breeding kink sort of, size kink, petite!reader, Curtis' fingers

Word count: 4k

A/N: This doesn't really fit the prompt i chose from @stargazingfangirl18 's 5k Soft Dark Challenge: "You hire a local handyman to help you with a few home projects." But the prompt still inspired this. I wanted to take the prompt somewhere more explicitly dark but once again my contribution to this challenge turned marshmallow soft. This is an au, non-apocalypse au, normal life au, idk. Just self-indulgent. Also, it was a struggle finding a gif of clean Curtis. Because he's clean in this and not living on a train, i swear.

“Try again. Very good. Let’s have you run through the exercises and then we’ll take a look at the new homework."

At your smile, the little girl nods and quickly turns to concentrate on coordinating her footwork on the pedals of your old Altenberg while reading the notes in front of her.

You back away, heading to the kitchen for some iced tea. You nearly forget your other guest who sits at the table.

This is the third time he’s accompanied Wendy for her lessons. For a man of his size, Curtis makes no sound except the faint swish of pages turning in his book. Like before, he arrived with Wendy, nodded a greeting at you, waited for your invitation to the kitchen, and then spent the entire hour silently reading.

You pull the fridge door open and pour tea into three glasses. You quietly slide one towards him. Curtis’ eyes flicker up to you, brilliantly blue, and he gives you a low murmur.

“Thanks.”

You’re about to return to Wendy when you hear your name in Curtis’ smooth baritone.

He nods to the notepad left on the table. “I, uh, noticed your reminder to call for maintenance. Something wrong?”

“Oh.” You tidy up the table, sheepish at being caught procrastinating house chores. “Just needed a second look at the water heater. The repair company came by and we tested things out when they were done, but the next day I had no hot water.”

You grimace, thinking of taking another cold shower.

“If you’re okay with it, I can grab my tool bag from my car and take a look,” he says.

You’re not prepared for the offer. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

He shakes his head, no hesitance. “I don’t mind at all. As long as you don’t.”

“I mean. I-I would really appreciate the help.”

Your time with Wendy ends after you review practice goals with her until her next lesson.

Curtis joins you two. “Hot water is running again.”

Your jaw drops and you skip to the kitchen. Hot water pours out of your faucet. You return, unable to resist grinning widely at him.

“Thank you, Curtis. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Curtis taught my dad everything about fixing houses!” Wendy chirped. He offers her a crooked smile.

“Do you have everything?” you ask your young pupil.

While Wendy thanks you and you help her pack, Curtis watches on with a faint curve to his lips.

“Edgar’s changing over to late shifts for the next couple of months. I’ll probably be driving Wendy to lessons again.”

You nod. “Sounds good. See you both then.”

After they leave, you enjoy a glorious steamy shower and then you settle onto your couch with a plate of leftover grilled veggies and fish.

Reviewing your schedule, you consider taking on one or two more students. It was years ago that you gave private lessons to help pay for college. Nearly a decade of moving between a few jobs, you are now in a quiet suburb working with a team of digital designers. The job allows you to work from home half the week, a flexibility you take great appreciation in. The professional stability encouraged you to return to music and to helping others develop their musical interests.

Wendy is your only student at the moment as you want to ease into taking on this additional responsibility. You smile, recalling your initial meeting with Wendy and her father, Edgar. Her father’s bubbly energy is such a stark contrast to Curtis. Edgar opened up quickly, sharing that he and Wendy’s mother were no longer together, that he would support whatever Wendy wanted to do. There was a perpetually youthful vigor to the room when Edgar was present.

Wendy calls Curtis, Uncle, and his adoration for her is clear. He barely said two words when he was here the first time. It doesn’t bother you. You get the impression Curtis purposely tries to not draw attention to himself, and you can empathize with that preference for tranquility.

_ _ _ _

It’s a windy day, heavy with rain clouds, the next time Wendy and Curtis are over.

“I saw your screen door was down. Planning on replacing it?” Curtis asks when you wrap up with Wendy.

“Nah. I was just going to look up what I would need and try fixing it myself.”

“It’s kind of heavy.”

His tone doesn’t imply any skepticism aimed at you and you’re not offended. You’re used to people calling you ‘small,’ though you’re not small so much as you’re short. You like to think you take up ample space. You also admit strength is not something you have in abundance. Your whole life you relied on family and friends for a lot of literal heavy lifting. But Curtis already helped you out once.

“I could fix it up.”

“I won’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s no bother, really. I’m happy to help out.”

He promises to be quick about it. While he works, Wendy happily practices on your piano.

“I have Oreos,” you announce.

She pauses to grab a cookie. “Thank you so much for letting me practice longer.”

“Of course, dear.”

She chats a bit about her upcoming birthday plans, as children are wont to do.

Curtis pops his head in. “All set. Do you want to take a look?”

You follow him out back. Swinging the screen door on its hinges, you nodded appraisingly.

“I suppose it passes inspection.” You look up with a cheeky smile, pleased to see Curtis’ lips twitching. “Thank you. Really, Curtis. I do wish you’d let me pay you.”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Besides, you’re great with Wendy. I’m grateful for that.”

You can tell he loves Wendy just as much as if he was her father. “In that case, I shall give Wendy her next lesson for free.”

He blinks at you, trailing behind as you make your way inside and calling out to Wendy.

Curtis has resigned himself to a quiet, bare life. He doesn't think he wants anything much. He has Edgar’s loyalty, a result of the brotherhood he formed in his impoverished teen years. They survived together, looked out for each other. Once Wendy came along like a little star burning in a smoggy midnight, Curtis counted himself lucky to witness the little girl growing up. A chance to help nourish one seed.

The first time he arrived with Wendy at your home, Curtis couldn’t help listening in on the entire lesson, making no progress in his book. Your clear voice, your generous encouragement. You, light on your feet moving so swiftly. You, barely reaching his shoulders yet mighty in spirit, curvy and sensuous. Curtis had an urge to lift you in his palms to be stored safely in his pocket.

_ _ _ _

And so things follow. Wendy diligently learning and Curtis primarily accompanying her, taking his place at your kitchen table. You come to enjoy his steady, grounding presence just a couple steps away from you and Wendy.

Now and then, he’ll notice some upkeep you’re doing – a leaky faucet, a box of new light bulbs on your counter – and volunteer his assistance. You are reluctant to put him to work, sure that he spends enough of his days working and doing chores in his own home and besides these are tasks you can handle even if you find them tedious. Curtis is always gentle in his offers, always obtains your permission first. As time goes by and you grow less shy about accepting his help and he grows more comfortable in your space, you realize working with his hands is second nature to Curtis.

It doesn't take long for Curtis to admit to himself he wants to be near you.

Curtis doesn’t meddle. He doesn’t mingle. He doesn’t have any interest in widening his social circle. He is aware you thrived on your own for a long time, just like him; and like he has Edgar and Wendy, you have a small close-knit group of friends. Lending a hand to you doesn’t count because you are like him.

Maybe this is why he lets his guard down under your roof. There is something kindred in your calm nature that his soul responds to. Under your roof, no silences need to be filled; no pretenses forced upon him. Your invitation to rest is unspoken – he hears it and almost weeps. The more time he spends with you, like two wavelengths in tune, the stronger his urge to insert himself. To fix, or in some way leave his mark on your home. Curtis doesn’t have any interest in widening his social circle. Lending a hand to you didn't count. Until he cannot help it. He doesn’t reach out for you, doesn’t try to prove you’ll curve perfectly within his arms; but he’ll ensure your softness can curl up in a sturdy home and delight in simple pleasures.

One evening, when Edgar works later than usual, you ask if Wendy and Curtis would join you for dinner.

“Nothing fancy. I have some noodle soup and salad. Curtis, can you call Edgar to meet us here?”

Wendy sets the table. Curtis assists with the food.

He’s quick to cup your hand in his when it's nicked with a knife. You can’t help leaning into him as he runs your finger under water, wraps it in clean paper towel. He finishes with the salad, making you sit at the table.

Edgar joins you all, tired but quickly gaining energy with food and a few sips of wine. You are full and warmed by their company. While Edgar cheers on Wendy while she practices from her book, you feel Curtis’ fingers curl over your hand. His thumb brushes over your cut. You share a smile with him.

_ _ _ _

You settle into your little Toyota only to find it won’t start. It stumps you because you never had issues with this car before. You have no experience with car maintenance and don’t know the first thing to check for an engine that won’t wake.

Calling Curtis to see if you can reschedule, he insists that he can swing by to pick you up.

He had called you, his voice almost shy. He wanted to surprise Wendy for her birthday with a piano and asked for your help.

You direct Curtis to the string instruments shop in the city’s downtown area. The two of you are greeted by a sales staff upon entry. When asked, Curtis looks to you, wordless, so you do your best to describe to the salesperson what you're looking for.

There are several options of acoustic and digital instruments. You give little demonstrations on a few pianos that you consider reasonably priced.

“Curtis, check this one out.” Your hold on his sleeve is loose and propels him towards one of the upright Baldwin pianos.

“I think any of these would suit Wendy. The sounds are clear, and they don’t take up too much space. The salesperson said this one is second-hand and it’s in really good shape.” You press a few chords, then look up at Curtis with a smile.

He looks at you, gaze gentle. “I’m not worried about price. I’ll take whatever you recommend.”

That was his general response when you asked his opinion during your time in the shop: he was up for anything you recommended. Other than that, he trailed behind you so that the salesperson assumed you were the primary purchaser. Much like in your house, Curtis seemed to try hard to not draw attention. Oddly, you didn’t think anyone in the same room with him could help noticing him. Even with the dark apparel he favored, Curtis’ reserved nature can't hide all the intensity and strength just thrumming beneath the surface of his tall imposing build.

You convince him to sit beside you on the bench. He’s never played before, but humors you and tries random combinations of thirds with you. You watch his hands – clean, wide, with thick fingers – hover and slide along the keys.

He nudges you.

“Sorry. I was just impressed your sausage fingers are quite nimble.”

A half-hearted glare. “Thank you. For coming with me.”

“If I say you’re welcome, will you take a look at my car when we get back?”

He stays for dinner.

It starts raining and you have to rush out to gather hanging linens. He helps and you both run back inside. You're giddy at his eagerness to assist, resulting in damp clothing on you both.

“Oh, let’s dump it here. I’ll fold it tomorrow.” You are happy to leave the laundry in a pile on an armchair, in too good of a mood to care.

You catch him with his attention on you, a look so soft you have to look away, walk blindly a few steps. His touch is on your arm, turning you around just as you reach the piano.

He dips his head low to press chapped lips to yours, capturing your lips more, closing in to envelope you in his heat.

Curtis’ hands grip your hips with a quick jostle against the piano, prompting a slur of bright notes ringing from the keyboard that you are pressed against. And then he’s hitching you further up and firmly in his arms. His tongue licks against yours. You slant your open mouth, inviting him to taste, to devour you from the inside out. Your legs wrap around his waist like you belong there, tethered to this point in time. There’s no past or future, only Curtis, only feeling safe and real in his arms now now now.

You barely register Curtis moving, tipping you onto the couch cushions to hover over you so close. You can’t remember burning for someone like this. You can’t remember much of anything, focused on Curtis, solid and unyielding between your thighs, muscles buzzing with raw strength.

You want so badly to know more of him. Your hands wander shamelessly under his shirt, sliding up his wide back, grazing under to squeeze appreciatively at his pecs only to be called south by a narrowing of hair that leads you on until you bump his belt buckle.

You’re distracted by the tease of hot kisses he drops along your neck. There’s something sweet, vulnerable in how you allow him access to the delicate skin there. It makes Curtis bury his nose against the crook of your jaw, a long moment for him to whisper something like a prayer, before his tongue swirls and he nibbles your ear lobe. Your high pitched gasp hastens his desire. Your shirt is gone. Your bra untangled from your arms. Your breasts, oh, Curtis takes a mouthful of one fleshy breast, sucking greedily when you moan, breathless and aching now.

You claw at his shirt until it too disappears. You wriggle to help Curtis pull your pants and underwear off. Your legs want to yank him back to you, but he braces himself to allow just a bit more space between you both than before.

“Let me.” It’s almost a growl, and you want to say yes, but you want to kiss him more. You’re clinging by his neck, drinking from his soft lips, until you both part to draw breath.

His hand caresses your cheek, sliding over to slip two fingers into your slack mouth. Your tongue swipes at them, lips close to suck them in, eager to touch and taste any part of him. Jaw tight, Curtis pulls his fingers away and down. Down. His hand spans large over your curves and you hold your breath, grit your teeth. One finger saturated with saliva, sinks into your cunt. You swear you can feel more arousal dripping from you to soak his hand and he adds another finger, drawing short whimpers from you as his fingers withdraw and plunge in. God, you won’t ever tease him about his fingers again because they’re perfect. Agonizing in their quest to undo you.

His voice is husky groans, wanting so bad to feel your oh so tight cunt around his cock. Soon.

He tortures you, adds a third finger. You’re riding them, whimpering as he pumps them in you and parts the digits to stretch you. His weight slides away and you can only grasp at his hair, you’re barely glimpsing his head between your legs before you arch high when his thick wet tongue swirls and licks your folds, dialing up the white hot blooming inside you. His fingers curl just enough inside to press that patch against your pelvis that strings you tight as a bow. Pressing insistently, scratching with finger pads, until you burst and all you can do is chase more of that pulsing pleasure, humping against his face. Your hips quiver while Curtis laps at your slit.

His sucks grow gentle, thumb teasing your bud, helping you come down from the intense high.

You sigh his name.

“I’m here.”

“I want you.”

His arms wind around you, holding you tight while he kisses you. You can’t remember feeling anything better than being cradled like this as Curtis languidly kisses you.

He’s not rushed to move from you, so you cling to him and he loves you for it. Yes, he’s hard, but he wants to savor this. Already high on the sensation of your soft flesh underneath him, your thick thighs tight at his waist, your quiet hums of pleasure the evidence of his thorough work.

He ran from his past, from early years strife with despair, washing away those memories like dust and grime. He thought his life of isolation was one that moved him forward; but he has been stuck all this time.

Seeing you care for Wendy, Curtis realized he wanted that. He wanted what his friend had. He wanted you, and the precious something conceived between two souls that sing for one another. Soon. He’ll make your sweet little body his to protect, to warm through the nights.

_ _ _ _

“Thanks so much for having us for dinner,” Edgar says. He was been watching Wendy run around your humble backyard, chasing butterflies and searching for little frogs. He turns to you with a toothy grin. “And for your help with the gift. Wendy’s going to flip. I’m lucky to have you and Curtis both around.”

Your smile is just as affectionate. “Happy to have you here. Although,” your smile turns sly, “I’m a little disappointed that your special lady friend didn’t join us.”

“Curtis,” Edgar mutters under his breath. Curtis is washing dishes at the sink and pays no mind to any half-hearted curses directed at him.

Your brow arches, urging Edgar to talk as he can't help an embarassed grin.

“Well, she was traveling for work, unfortunately. But I know Wendy doesn’t mind her.”

The girl has whispered to you that Edgar’s girlfriend is beautiful and she wished she would become her new mom; this you keep to yourself, not wishing to embarrass or pressure your friend further.

“I’m happy to hear that.”

Edgar’s eyes slide sideways, quiet for a moment before he jumps out of his seat and heads to the door leading to the backyard. “I’ll just…uh…” He exits, trailing off without finishing his sentence.

You sigh and take another bite of your cake, indulging in the moist chocolate flavor. Glancing up, you find Curtis watching you. His attention is singular, a warm simmer in those bright blue eyes, causing you to freeze except for your tongue that finishes sweeping over your upper lip. His gaze narrows, grew weighty, tracking your tongue as it retreats into your mouth. He pushes away from the counter, steps close until he is able to drop to his knee beside your chair. One strong yank has your seat turning so you face him.

The door creaks open again.

“Well, the sun’s getting low so I think we’ll head home and wind down.” Edgar announces with his daughter close at his side. He has a boyish grin on his face, pulling Wendy towards the front of your house. "Wendy, say good bye.”

“Isn’t Curtis leaving too?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll leave when he’s ready.”

“Have a good night, you two,” you say, walking with them to the front. Though Edgar is still cheerfully thanking you for the meal and insisting you stay inside and not see them off.

“You go on and just have a good time, both of you.” He sends a wink your way. You shake your head at him. “Curtis! You be a gentleman now.”

Quick as he can, he has Wendy secured in the car and they are on their way.

“Huh.” You lock the front door before turning to find Curtis. You can tell he wants to roll his eyes at Edgar’s antics. Instead, he closes in on you.

“Are you worried about me not being a gentleman?” he murmurs. His fingers hook under yours loosely.

You smirk. “I’m worried about you being too much of a gentleman.”

That smolder returns to his gaze. For a second, your body shivers, overwhelmed and you side step him, if only for a moment’s relief from the heat of his eyes.

You reach out. He takes your hand.

Once you’re down a layer, he grows even hotter seeing the mesh and lace number you have on. A tantalizing tease with the hard peaks of your nipples veiled in barely-there maroon. Just daring him to unwrap you. So he does.

His mouth leaves a wet trail seeking sensitive spots on your neck, you breasts, your thighs. Even as he moves, he still covers nearly all of your body, his heat and weight drowning you in want.

Your shudder has him grazing his beard up the inside of your thigh so that you arch and plea for his touch. God, all your uninhibited responses spur the blazing hunger in him. Curtis peels the mesh underwear down, impatient for a taste of you. His mouth waters, catching wafts of arousal and then he’s sucking and lapping your wet pussy. His rumbling groan is like a physical nudge that bows your back, and you remain rigid in the air at the sensation of his thick tongue pushing into you. Wide shoulders part your legs, shifting until your thighs rest on vast muscles.

You rock against him, keen at the hard sucks. Two fingers dip into, fucking you and rubbing with a dizzying rhythm that brings you over the edge.

With little effort, he holds up your hips and you feel a pillow slide under you to angle you higher. Then his muscled arms hook under your knees and he finally lines up and rocks forward. The tip of his cock parts your folds. Your breath hitches. His cock slides in, forcing your walls to stretch, to mold tightly to his girth.

“Curtis” – your hand was going point to the little bedside table with condoms.

Instead, you’re gripping a blanket. Gasping as he withdraws and your pussy tries to hold him in.

You mumble against his lips, incoherent. “The…inside..”

And then he feeds you his length again. And again, that delicious, addicting friction.

"Yes, inside," he agrees softly. "Like this."

With every pump, the spark catches and blazes higher. Curtis rises onto his knees, thrusts harder, watching your eyes flutter open and shut. He’s panting with the pretty picture of a needy you. He grips your thighs. As if his life depends on how tight he clutches you. Concentrating hard, his eyes drop low. Fuck. He can see your pussy clench, your puffy outer lips suckling his cock. Curtis swears your little body is refusing to give him up, and you’re wet but your cunt squeezes him so tight he has to drive harder into you to avoid slipping out.

You’re not even aware of your breathy moans, so turned on by his groans, the rough thrusts he gives you. There’s no grinding. Curtis can tell he’s rubbed against your g-spot and he keeps his snapping hips angled just right, one callused thumb circling your clit too lightly. And then your breaths stutter, your legs seize, your back arches. Curtis grits his teeth, keeping the exact same pace, draws out the storm of your pleasure. It’s so consuming, you lose your voice.

Just as you are able to breathe again, able to sense the physical realm around you, Curtis speeds up, bucking hard with low grunts, powering into you.

A high gasp – you feel him flood you. He drops to press his chest to you, still pumping his release into your clenching walls; and it’s too much, his cock merciless within your sensitive channel. He can’t help it, even as your legs start writhing with his unrelenting stimulation, even as he hears your hitched whimpers.

He finally stills. His lips find yours, tongue stroking deep.

Long moments later, his name is gentle, falling from your lips. “We didn’t use protection.”

Curtis nuzzles you, rubs his nose along the planes of your cheeks. Returns to suck your bottom lip. “It’s okay,” he whispers.

There’s a soft frown upon your brow that he kisses, and then scatters more kisses on your face.

“But, what if?”

“I want you. I want everything with you.”

You’re barely able to react as he nips hard at your collarbone and then rolls his hips. He’s half-hard inside you. You’re quickly losing yourself in Curtis, overwhelmed by the combination of his hungry mouth on your skin, unyielding clasp on your thigh. His thrusts persist, pins you in place, lights you up and scorches you. You’re right where he wants you, whining for more more more.

Now with each beat of his heart, Curtis has his mind’s eye on the prize. He’ll have you over and over. And you’ll grow a piece of him inside you. You are the way forward. You are his.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Hurrah, this one felt like it took forever. I blame Curtis. He didn't give himself up to me easily. Let me love you, ya broody boi! Thank you for reading!

[embrassemoi]

𝐒𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬

Pairings: Sirius B, F!Reader, Remus L    Content: swearing, angst, no proofreading, filler? A/N: i hope your week has been great so far xx

【 Masterlist | Previous Chapter | ao3 】

Chapter 35 ✷ Picture’s Up

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

James couldn't recall a time where he felt so drained.

He didn’t even think there was a word to encapsulate just how drained he really felt. Every day, there was a wariness that sunk and immersed itself so deeply within his bones that made it feel like he could hardly breathe.

Day by day, it felt like a part of his sanity was cracking.

Enervated, drowsy, exhausted, knackered, dead on his own two feet… he could go on.

Prefect duties were as dreadful as Remus had said they were and James regretted every time he ever made fun of him for it. It was miserable and karma never hit him harder. Monitoring detentions and rounds were tedious, the tests he had to grade were mind-numbingly boring; all forcing him to lose the little sleep he had.

And then there were the loads of Quidditch practices that once were fun, a way for him to exert his remarkable supply of energy, only became a bit of a nuisance with the overwhelming activities he was forced to juggle.

Working around Moony’s moon cycle...

And then there was the fucking Black family.

The mere mention of their names sent James into a spiral. He’d rather submerge himself into the Black lake and let the giant squid ink all over him than deal with them. But there he was.

He debated for a while, whether or not to tell Black about Regulus but refrained. He was far too stubborn to listen and could make matters worse.

James sighed, leaning into the couch in the common room, running his fingers through his hair.

“Potter.” The ring of Lily’s voice sounded through his ears. James turned around to look at her, feeling his heart accelerate.

“Evans,” he greeted.

“We have rounds in a bit. Don’t be late.”

James simply nodded, not having enough energy to put on a front.

And of course Lily noticed. She noticed his frazzled appearance and lack of energy. There was hardly any banter between them and Lily would’ve thought it was a miracle that his annoying self had vanished, replaced with timorous energy. But if anything, it was disquieting.

She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing out, “Hey, you alright?”

He gave a little audible sound in response. “Yeah. I’ll be there. I just need to make a few arrangements quickly. Meet you by the... Prefects’ bathroom?”

Lily considered him.

“... See you.”

James made his way out of the common room, slipping out the Marauder’s Map. He’d been tracking Regulus’ movements for the past few days now and the only person he went to was Y/N for any substantial amount of time.

He truly had no one else and it ruled out any potential bullying.

Walburga and Orion… Their treatment towards him shocked James. Golden boy Regulus, who would’ve thought?

But even with the Marauder’s Map, it was impossible to keep track of him. He never stayed in one spot long enough to catch, aside from the dungeons and Slytherin common room.

Everything regarding Regulus’ situation forced James to think strenuously. If he were to accidentally say too much of what Whiskers had told him, not only would Regulus close himself off to him, but to her too, leaving them with no clue of his well-being.

And it forced him to worry about Whiskers. She didn’t know what she's getting herself into… What if Walburga and Orion caught word of their friendship?

James shuddered, pushing away the thought. He didn’t want to think about what would happen to either of them.

He continued to watch Regulus’ name travel across the map before ascertaining he was close. He tapped on the map, muttering out ‘Mischief managed’ whilst bolting down the hallways. Each twist and turn exhilarated a nervous adrenaline thumping through his veins as he rehearsed a little speech inside his head.

Before Regulus had time to process what was happening, James had already yanked him back, disappearing into one of the secret passageways.

“What the — Potter?!” He squawked. Pushing him away, James saw the pure panic washed over his features through the shadows.

“I know we don’t have much time,” James rushed, “But hear me out.”

He made no attempt to move but looked around for other students.

“You’ll always have a home with me,” James said easily as if it was the most obvious answer. “With Bla — Sirius — living with me, you’re more than welcome to as well. I understand your situation and —”

“No,” Regulus leered, “I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” James challenged before easing up. “My family and I are more than willing to protect you, like how we’ve been doing for Sirius.”

And then it stayed silent for a while and he finally let himself take in his appearance.

“Regulus, what happened to you?”

Regulus’ head hung. “All I wanted was to have long hair.”

And then it clicked for James, but he was running out of things to say that were convincing and felt a familiar panic return.

“You miss him, right?” He tried. “I know he misses you. If maybe —”

But when Regulus’ mood suddenly changed, James knew instantly that he had miscalculated.

“Miss me?” Regulus laughed bitterly. “He doesn’t miss me and he has never considered me his brother. You, Lupin, Pettigrew — you’re his brothers.”

He could see the misty tears welding up in Regulus’ eyes and didn’t make a move to stop him when he stormed out from the passageway.

Once Regulus was free from James, he sprinted, blinking multiple times to prevent tears from seeping out. An ache burned inside his chest as he found himself diving into his bed, pulling the curtains shut.

Those unforgettable questions that plagued his mind for a year now played heavily in his mind, like his own personal film.

What made someone good or bad? What did he believe in? Was he strong enough to break from his mould or did he want to? And most importantly, what was he willing to do?

Blood purity…

Regulus closed his eyes. He wished life was a dress rehearsal and there were times to make mistakes and have do-overs without permanent repercussions. To get time to practice and refine life until he explored every avenue. Unfortunately, life had no room for anything but the final performance. Every stumble, every mishap or memory slip was presented to a live audience day by day.

Reopening his eyes, he had his answer.

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A few weeks went by and September was coming to a close. October came with beautiful colours and a chilly breeze.

It felt like every day, Y/N added another reason to be disgruntled and hateful onto her list. It had been a month since she’d last seen her mother and she refrained from sending any letters; waiting patiently to see if she would make the first move.

Nothing.

It was safe to say that it put her into a bad mood that morning.

The walk to Defence Against the Dark Arts with Lily was a quiet one and slightly uncomfortable. However, the uncomfortable bit was more on Lily’s end rather than Y/N who was too wrapped in her anger-induced thoughts.

These days, their lessons were almost exclusively in the Duelling room, filled with practical lessons. Especially today, she was beyond thankful for; eager to have an outlet.

But Professor Elway was unusually keen on inviting her to the Duelling sessions. She was almost as difficult as dodging Slughorn’s Slugclub invites. Luckily, Y/N liked Elway and duelling was electrifying. Even potion making, no matter how much she enjoyed it, was lengthy and mundane.

Mentioning their professor, she wasn’t there that morning when they arrived outside the Duelling room. The students lounged outside the door, taking out their books and wand while they waited.

Remus found himself drifting to her as they quietly chatted away.

“Like your sweater,” she said. In the background, she could hear Marlene and James yelling, “It’s a jumper!”

Remus smiled. “This old thing?” Pointing to the sweater that she knitted. They both giggled a bit; Remus leaned slightly against her, eyes lingering a beat.

“Sorry, I’m late!” Elway called out to them in a dreamy voice. “Everyone, follow me!”

Puzzled, the class looked at each other as they followed their professor away from the dungeons. While they walked, rude and unbearable, Peeves the Poltergeist floated upside down. Once he spotted Remus, he immediately drifted up to him, opening his mouth, no doubt about to hurl all sorts of names or songs at him.

Remus hardly looked at him, already taking out his wand and said lazily, “Waddiwasi!” at Peeves.

A wad of gum shot out from nowhere and landed directly on Peeves before he whirled back from Remus, spewing curses at him.

“Nice one! Ought to teach me that later!” “Almost feel bad for the bloke!” Both James and Peter said at the same time.

Elway had led them outside to a desolate area, free from a canopy of branches and leaves.

“Now, my pupils!” She sang. “You might be wondering, ‘what are we doing out here?’ Lucky for you, we’re going to be practicing a few spells and learning how to fight using other means during duels.”

Like most of the class, Emmeline was ​skeptical as she raised her hand. “I thought we weren’t supposed to use physical means during duels?”

“Precisely,” said Elway, walking back and forth in front of the class. “Couldn't have said it better myself. But you know who won’t give a damn?”

There was a long pause for effect.

“Your enemies.” She clapped her hands together. “Now, can anyone give us some ideas? How about… Miss L/N?”

Blinking a few times, she hesitated, not expecting to be called on. “Er — you can… take them from the legs?”

“Wonderful idea! I’m thrilled you said that! Does anyone else want to add on?”

Remus raised his hand, answering politely. “Using your arms — stretching them.”

Professor Elway nodded away happily. “Wonderful answer! Take five points! Like Remus said, stretching your arms out or boarding your shoulders, spacing out your legs can widen your defence range! Why don’t we try?”

She called Remus up first and Y/N could tell he was slightly nervous. He doubled down, making himself seem smaller by hunching over and made sure not to accidentally hurt their professor.

A couple of Hufflepuffs, Slytherins and then James, Marlene and Lily all tried; mimicking Elway as she let them knock her over.

“Most importantly,” Elway said, dusting off her robes free from leaves and dirt. She panted a bit, tired from being knocked down multiple times. “Never let the enemy strike first. You all did fantastically!

“Obviously, in any professional setting, you’ll be disqualified if you ever tried to physically attack your opponent. But you can still play dirty in a duel!

“The charm Obscuro has been helpful on several occasions. It blindfolds your opponent. Please repeat after me: Ob-SKOO-roh!”

“Obscuro!”

“Excellent!” Elway gave a little applause, filled with glee. “Another spell that I love is the Confundus charm. Y/N! May you please explain to us the purpose of the Confundus charm?”

“She’s calling on you an awful lot,” Lily muttered.

She nodded a bit. “It confuses your oppent. The varying degree depends on how much magic is put into the initial casting.”

“Perfect! Five points to Gryffindor. If you will tell me about Incendio.”

As she spoke, there was almost a switch that went off in Elway that made her incessantly happy that almost unnerved her.

“Beautiful! Now if you may, help demonstrate the spell?”

“I don’t want to hurt —”

“Trust me, you won’t.”

Then, Y/N felt a deep lurch of fear as everyone retreated against the trees, giving her a clear view of Professor Elway opposed to her, waiting to block her spell.

She took a deep breath in, pushing up the sleeves of her robes, she held her wand.

Professor Elway had a protective spell around her. “One, two, three — now!”

“Incendio!” Only meek sparks shot out of her wand. A few students snickered while her friends were seen trying to drown them out by clapping.

“That was amazing!” Peter called out.

“I wouldn’t be able to do that on the first go!” Marlene shouted.

“That was good! Try again! One, two, three — go!”

“Incendio!” Nothing noteworthy happened. It was embarrassing.

“It’s alright, try again!” Elway said, not letting her go yet. “Think about something that’s motivating!”

Y/N closed her eyes, inhaling deeply and pondered. What was motivating to her? Surely, the want to continue with magic after school was motivating. Or perhaps proving someone wrong?

Proving someone wrong…

She had a lot to prove to her mother.

Instead of her being motivated, a flicker of annoyance and anger flooded her instead. Sensing the change, Elway beamed, her wand held high.

“One —”

Her mother always prioritized everyone and everything above her —

“Two —”

Was never there when it mattered —

“Three —”

There was never much affection. The constant want to please, the low self-esteem made her feel worthless, unloveable, always wanting to run when she got too close — she caused it —

“Now!”

“Incendio!” She bellowed.

A loud crack rippled through the air and caused her to stumble back. A large blast of orange and red flames shot out from her wand. Scorching heat flooded out, causing all the students to jump back as Elway shot waves of water, extinguishing the flames at once. As angry as she had been, glee and pure enjoyment replaced that quickly.

Once the bell rang, the students gathered up their belongings, leaving for their next class. But Elway took a moment, calling out her name, asking that she stay back for a few moments.

James and Lily staggered behind, offering to wait as they talked quietly under one of the willow trees.

They were so civil these days…

“I would’ve offered you a cup of tea,” Elway spoke as she approached her. Her foot tapped against the ground, her eyes far-away, thinking thoughtfully with a sly smirk. “Has anyone told you that you would make for an excellent, excellent duellist?”

Her eyebrows raised and shook her head.

That only prompted her teacher to smirk, in a satisfied sort of way. “You’re exceptionally strong for someone with no experience.”

There was a smug tone to Elway’s voice and she couldn’t quite place what she was getting at.

“Did you know that any professional duellist would kill for your wand? Or even the slight edge you have against them with your talent?”

“Erm… no?” Y/N said. She wondered if Elway needed glasses because surely, she wasn’t referring to herself. “Professor… are you sure you’re talking to the right student?”

She laughed so hard that she had to clutch her stomach tightly. She ignored her question. “My dear, do you have any ideas of what you want to be when you’re older?”

“Not really.”

“I have a proposition for you,” she beamed, flicking her long blonde, almost silver hair out of the way. “Let me take you under my wing, make you into a proper duellist.”

Y/N blinked. She didn’t know what to say and stood there with her mouth gaped.

“Yes, you heard that correctly.” Professor Elway teased. “I’d love to mentor you.”

She sputtered, positively confused and flustered. “I’m not at the top of the class, I struggle with Charms, I’ve never had a huge interest in it — I don’t know the first thing about duelling!”

“That’s what I’m here for, no? And your skill is exceptional and I know a duellist when I see one. You’ve shown the last few lessons that you’re capable of casting very strong spells.

“And do you know what separates a duellist from the masses? Energy, emotions and power. What changed when I told you to think about something motivating? A powerful Duellist may only be out of sheer power and brunt force, but a well-rounded Duellist listens to every part of their body. Their wand, their heart, the emotions that cause them to fight.”

“But —”

Elway flicked her wrist, mildly interested in her excuses. “Anyway, off to your next lesson. Take some time to think about it,” she smiled, clearly not going to take no for an answer. “I’ll be waiting for when you finally agree.”

Both Lily and James took her arms, hooking it with theirs and walked to Potions. They were staring at her, lost for words at Professor Elway’s proposition.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

“Yes, Pettigrew.” McGonagall scolded rather harshly. “The essay is due on Monday.”

Peter averted his gaze, grumbling out a thank you before exiting her office. “Dunno why she’s so strict with me.”

“She wants the best for you,” James tried to encourage as they all headed back to their common room.

Y/N couldn’t care less as she thought about later that night. No matter how hard she tried, Slughorn wouldn’t take no for an answer and she was almost forced to make an appearance at the Slugclub.

Lily was so excited, running through their dorm as she got ready.

Marlene sulked a bit, folding her arms across her chest. She was quiet enough for Lily not to hear, but Y/N heard her clear as day. “That’s not fair. I want to be invited. I want to feel special too.”

“You’re more than special,” Dorcas cut in, rubbing a hand up and down her shoulder. “You’re a star, baby.”

Y/N ignored them, fiddling with a small tube of eyeliner, watching Lily excitedly going through her closest.

Luckily, not only would Lily be there, but Remus, most likely Regulus — however, she doubted they would be able to interact — and funnily enough, James was invited too.

Inside the actual party was decent, a lot better than she expected. There were still the uptight students who thought they were above others, or the Purebloods that judged her when she walked into the room, but it was bearable.

Y/N chuckled as she watched Remus throwback drink after drink, sneakily stealing a few alcoholic beverages meant for the adults. His movements were so discreet that nobody ever suspected him.

She covered her smile behind her glass.

“Hi. It’s been awhile.”

Y/N turned around, and there, Aldrich McLaggen stood wearing a little smile. He trimmed his blond hair to sweep nicely and his cheekbones hallowed out.

“It has. And congratulations, I heard you’re on the Quidditch team.”

“Yes! Chaser - taking over Bell’s position.”

“So… How are you?”

If it was even possible, Aldrich’s smile grew wide. “I’ll be a lot better if I saw your smile tonight?”

She didn’t smile; unimpressed and decided to sip on her drink.

“Yeah,” Aldrich began again, “Didn’t think that would work.”

“A pretty big miss.” She grumbled.

“But I’m getting to know how to impress you in the future.”

Y/N turned to side-eye him. “Hmm? How?”

“How about -” And out of nowhere, he reached behind her ear and pulled out a red rose, handing it to her. Much like a Muggle magician.

She felt a coy smile tug at her lips and forced it down, but failed. “Nice one.”

“Everyone! Please come down and sit!” Slughorn announced, calling to all the students.

He beamed, flashing his teeth. “Don’t hide away again. I’d love to see you again.”

She tilted her head at him, tilting her glass before making her way to find her spot at the table.

The girl beside her had frizzy light brown hair and large glasses that looked like they were from an animated children’s television program. She was draped in a colourful shawl.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.”

But the other young witch smiled brightly, although never quite meeting her eyes as she outstretched her hand. “Sybill Trelawney.”

She shook Sybill’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

But then Y/N took a good look at her and realized, “We’re in the same charms class, right?”

Sybill nodded her head, fingers tapping rapidly on the table. “For two years now. I sit a row behind you. And by the way, you're very pretty.”

She was taken back, a genuine smile spreading over her lips. “Thank you, you look lovely too! I adore your glasses.”

A light blush spread across Sybill’s face, her hand brushing against her glasses. Her eyes peered up for a second before averting her gaze. Y/N couldn’t help but smile, already enjoying Sybill’s presence.

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

【 Next Chapter 】

© gotkindabored 2021. Do not repost or modify

[unholytrinitytrio]

RUINING YOUR CHILDHOOD STORIES: SLEEPING BEAUTY

Pairing: Prince Hawks x Princess Reader (Royalty AU)

Warnings: Non con, Somnophilia, Oral sex, 18+ MINORS DNI

Standing in front of the supposed room of the cursed princess. Keigo was starting to contemplate if this is worth all the trouble. Fighting a hoard of undead at the entrance of the tower. Barely escaping the hallways rigged with traps. And then having to unlock your room protected by several enchantments.

Scratching the back of his head in annoyance, Hawks entered your chamber taking note of the unusually dust free room, before spotting your bed. Your bed’s canopy hiding your sleeping form from his prying eyes.

Grumbling in irritation he made his way to your bed.

Keigo was a known loved prince from a neighboring nation. Known as a genius, accompanied by his good looks. It woud be given that different princess’ from neighboring nations took interest with him.

So quick to invite him to their kingdoms as soon as he struck the marriageable age. His casanova personality be damned.

However not wanting to be tied down by some stranger. He quickly tried to create a loop hole for himself. He claimed he would set out to a perilous journey to bring back a worthy partner

Of course he was just bullshitting his way. Wanting to get away from pressure of finding someone whom would bear his children. Simultaneously not wanting to take over the kingdom just yet.

Lady luck may had blessed him the day his parents were pushing yet again another invite from the neightboring kingdom.

A traveling merchant visited the royal family spinning a tales of a cursed kingdom deep into the forgotten wood. Where lies a cursed princess of unrivaled beauty and wisdom, laid in slumber awaiting the kiss of her true love.

Keigo chalked it up that said fable was just a story spun by bored housewives for their entertainment.

So here he was infront of your bed. His thoughts shrouded with doubt that by drawing back said curtains he’ll be met with a dead carcass or skeleton of the once beautiful princess.

Aggressively drawing back your bed’s canopy he was met by your still body, enchantment

He took a step back in a mix of shock and fascination. Mesmerized by your ethereal beauty, the way you were described in those tale pale to seeing you in person.

You look so peaceful dozing off, and unknowing of the dangers that lurks beyond your sleeping chambers.

‘And so damn vulnerable’

Keigo thought as he scanned your sleeping frame. From your billowy lips, to the swell of your breasts poorly hidden by your thin night attire. The curvature of your hips connecting to a pair of feminine legs from what he can make out with that draped attire of yours.

Finally, if the tales were true you were enchanted to be asleep as soon as you turned the tender age of 18. If by then you were already asleep he concluded that your innocence should then be intact.

He shivered at the thought knowing that you were there, practically presenting yourself to him in a silver platter.

He reached a hand out to caress your face, he thought that you should really consider yourself lucky. He was after all the first to find you.

Not the other neighboring princes’ he heard off. One was a sadistic little shit, a known pyromaniac in battle, while the other a shut in prince, known for wiping out a nation without breaking a sweat.

Biting his lips he couldn’t stop his wandering hands from exploring other areas of your body. He knows he should stop while he still can and to just get on with the whole un-cursing you thingy.

But he doesn't.

He claims it was because he spends those sleepless nights with no bed companion, his hands did nothing of comfort while he was still on a quest of finding you, his bride to be.

Easily unsealing your protection charms. He climbs on top of you. He finds comfort in the idea that it was because it's the easiest position to kiss you.

He knows he’s lying.

He shifted on top of you before advancing his lips to yours before he stopped dead in his tracks, contemplating his options. Biting his lips before he shifted his lips lower, grasping the cloth on your shoulder he pulled it down enough to expose your right shoulder before swooping it to lick it.

Groaning in satisfaction, he proceeded to mark up your shoulder, grounding his hips to yours he couldn’t stop rubbing himself off of you. Finding it sinful yet not wanting to stop, he figured you were his the moment he saw you, so might as well service him for all the trouble you put him into.

With one hands he grasps both of your wrist moving it so that it rests above your head before moving his other hand to grope at your breast. Rubbing it so that he can finally feel your erect nipples in the palm of your hands.

Panting he moved back a tiny bit before sliding his hands at your waist down at your thighs, pulling one of it to encircle his hips while he pulled one of your thigh's close to his mouth. Licking said flesh before biting unto it.

He held back his moan when he heard you whimper in pain, your leg poorly moving away from his hands. Finally, steeling himself for what he’s about to do he pulled down his trouser just enough so that his hardening member is free from its confinement before grasping at your hips to pull your body closer to his.

Rutting himself against you, he was pleasantly surprised when he felt a dampened part on that undergarment of yours.

“You want me that much too?” he chuckled to himself before staring at your face no longer at their resting state.

Eye brows knitted in what seems to be confusion, your lips letting out breathy moans.

He pulled down the top of your night gown freeing your breast before latching at one of your erected nipple.

Still suckling at your breast. his hands wandered off to the bottom of dress. Pawing at whatever flesh his greedy hands could touch, before wrinkling said clothes to pool just below your breast.

He reached down at your undergarments, carefully pulling the cloth at your entrance aside. Keigo let one finger of his gather your wetness until finally he slides his middle finger inside of you. Feeling the inside muscles of yours contract in an attempt to fend off his intruding finger, he released yet again a moan.

However, when he heard you let out a whimper of pain, he retracted his elongated finger just a tiny bit before feeling around to look for that one spot of yours. He quickly made work of his thumb on your clit in a piss poor attempt of distraction.

With his other unoccupied hand, he quickly palmed his hard on before releasing it from it's confinement.

He quickly made work of his belt, shimmying his pants and underwear to release his hardened cock, precum dripping at the head.

Imagining how would you feel against his member dragging along your walls. He imagines how your sex contracting in an attempt to accomodate his girthy penis. He licked his lips surpressing his carnal desire.

He slid himself further down latching on your clit, groaning, one hand scissoring your tight entrace, while his other hand grasping his hard on, shamelessly pumping.

You rewarded him with unrepressed moan, thighs unconsciously gripping his head in between.

Keigo's breathing quicken the louder you become, and with how your insides grip his fingers he figured you were close to cumming as he were.

Sloppily eating you out, you suddenly let out a high pitched moan with your back arching. Keigo had to retract both his hands in order to steady your twitching hips.

He let you ride out your orgasm in his mouth before letting go of you to furiously jerk off, ropes of his cum reaching your exposed stomach.

Catching his breath he removed himself off of you to retrieve some clothes to clean both of you. He arranged your clothes taking his damn sweet time.

He arranged himself brushing his hair back, standing by your bedside, where he should had been from the very start.

He slowly lowered his back kissing you sweetly as if their were no previous events that took place.

Your eyes fluttered, slowly he was met by your gaze. He almost couldn't hold back a grin with how flush you were noticing that you were indeed checking him out.

You were supposed to trust this man who enthusiastically presented himself as your saviour. However, something deep down inside you keep nagging that you couldn't. That something was sinister behind his charismatic smile.

You squirmed in your position in bed. Not liking the fact that you feel you underwear had dampened with the mere presence of said man.

You bashful smile was quickly wiped out after you suddenly realized that something was indeed wrong.

'Wait was it wet already before or-?' you quickly tried putting two and two together before you were quickly interrupted.

"Well good morning to you too my sleeping beauty" he greeted you yet again cold sweat breaking out.

He rather drop dead first before he let you use that pesky brains of yours.

GAME OVER.

BAD END.

START AGAIN?

GOOD END? (coming soon)

Alternate Route: PYROMANIAC PRINCE (coming soon)

Alternate Route: SHUT IN PRINCE (coming soon)

[elizabeethan]

Overboard: 1/1

Emma Swan spends years trying to find her parents, and when she finally does, she gets more than she bargains for

A Silver Hook AU for @the-darkdragonfly

hours of watching Wicked Tuna has ruined me and thus this AU was born. Sorry...

Thank you to @the-darkdragonfly, @donteattheappleshook, and @xhookswenchx for listening to my ramblings

Rated M

Read on Ao3

Read my other stuff

~~~~

The sun pours through his blinds, assaulting the lids of her eyes as she squeezes them shut. Delicate fingers dance across the expanse of her bare stomach, making her giggle before she even has the wherewithal to stop herself. As sleep leaves her assuredly, she should feel irritated, but she feels nothing but comfort in her bedmates arms. 

 “It’s rude to wake people up,” she chastises, and his answering hum is deep and rumbling against the skin below her ear. “Shouldn’t you have learned your manners by now?”

“Are you making fun of my age?”

 “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she whispers back, giggling as he pokes his tongue against her skin and then nips at it lightly. 

 “That’s good. Because one mustn’t disrespect one's elder.” 

 “And you are quite a bit older than me,” she points out in jest, rolling onto her right side to face him straight on, her smile beaming as the sun lights her golden hair. He distracts himself from their morning banter to run his fingers delicately over her temple, tracing over the shell of her ear as he tucks a wayward strand behind it. 

 “I seem to recall you being a bit more appreciative last night. What was it you said? Something about my extensive practice?”

 Emma hums softly, nuzzling her face into the skin of his palm as she recalls their rather satisfying evening. “It’s true,” she tells him. “With great age comes great experience.” 

 Killian laughs, refusing to let his thoughts of being too old for her taunt him. “I can assure you, I’m not nearly as experienced as you may believe.” 

With a small shrug, Emma wriggles under the thin sheet that covers them until she can sling her legs over his own. “You’ve got a good decade on me. And trust me, you know what you’re doing.” 

Killian falters, holding her cheek with his palm again as he pushes away more thoughts of self doubt. He stops himself from correcting her- fourteen years, love- and chooses instead to lift his head high enough to meet her lips with his. In the six months that he’s known her, he’s been endlessly fascinated by her free spiritedness. And in the four months since she joined him in his bed, hardly giving him much of a choice to deny her of what she so desperately wanted, he’s been unable to go much more than an hour without thoughts of her plaguing his mind. Thoughts of her body and her mind and her most alluring personality. 

 He’s falling for her, of this he is completely certain. 

 She grins against him in response to the groan that escapes his throat, her tongue lightly tracing the lines of his collarbone and making it that much harder for him to consider getting out of bed. “I’ll surely have a mutiny on my hands if you don’t stop now, love.” 

 Humming in question, Emma sits up and gives him a look of disgruntled confusion. “Your crew is going to be mad that you’re getting laid?” 

 With a smirk, one that he tries to fight, he shakes his head and says, “my crew is going to be mad if I miss another day on the water.” 

 Rolling her eyes, she responds, “I suppose I can’t keep you from your livelihood forever,” in concession. 

 He rolls them easily, Emma much lighter in weight than his usual catches as he flips her onto her back and latches his mouth to her neck. “That’s very considerate of you, siren,” he says against her warm flesh. 

 “I told you, I’m not a damn mermaid,” she says, likely rolling her eyes before she lets out a soft sigh. 

 “Aye, but I find myself struggling to believe you as you continue to seduce me with your wicked ways.” 

 Snorting softly, she meets his mouth with her own, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth gently and tracing her tongue along the tip of his own. She lets her hands wander, careful not to get too explorative with the knowledge that he should be getting up soon as she scrapes her fingers down the taute skin of his back. Despite her jokes, she really doesn’t want to keep him from his vessel. She knows his crew relies on their captain to bring them out each day, especially as the season comes to a close and the pressure to catch becomes more and more. But the way he kisses her gives her other ideas all together. 

 “I think one day I’d like to go out with you,” she hums thoughtfully against his mouth, and he stills anxiously. When they first met upon her first coming to town, Killian was almost embarrassed to tell her what he does for a living for fear of her judgment. Her genuine grin as he explained the way his family has been fishing for generations quelled his nerves, but still it felt like his profession wouldn’t be good enough for the likes of her. 

 “It can be quite dangerous,” he tells her instead, wanting not to dwell on the twinge of embarrassment that sits in the pit of his stomach at the thought of her watching on as he battles each and every paycheck he earns. 

 “I’m sure you’ll keep me safe,” she flirts, tenderly stroking her long fingers through the hair at the base of his scalp and smiling softly up at him. The sun catches her eyes again, the emerald reminding him of the warm ocean water stirred up after a rough storm. 

 His smile is sad and awkward as he turns his face from hers, glancing out the window at the horizon. “I’m sure there are better ways for you to pass your time visiting our sleepy little town.”  

 “Killian,” she says more firmly, moving her hands to cup his cheeks and encourage him to look back down at her. “You know I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.” 

 The look in his eyes when they finally meet hers cracks her hardened heart, his anticipation of rejection something she knows all too well. “No one would blame you for heading back to Boston, love.” 

 She shakes her head. “I came here to meet my parents. To get to know them. And while that’s still important to me… they're not the only reason I’m sticking around.” 

 He feels selfish, foolish, as he gazes into her deep, soulful eyes. Of course he knows that Emma has a reason to stay in town, but when she says that he’s a part of that, he becomes consumed with a sense of desperate want. A desire to become all of that for her. An insatiable craving to become everything to her. 

 Of course, he’s never had much of a way with words. Thoughts, that’s a different story. But getting those thoughts out of his mouth and into the air between them is almost impossible. So, rather than express himself to her in the way that any mature adult should be able to, he leans down and captures her lips with his in a kiss that he hopes tells her everything that she deserves to know. 

 “You're going to be late,” she murmurs against him. “And as much as it would be nice to meet your friends, I’d rather not do so while I’m naked in your bed. I have a feeling they’re going to come knocking down your door if you don’t get to the docks.” 

 “Aye,” he agrees. “Hopefully we get lucky today and I can come back in relatively early. Will sometimes loses the plot if we come in empty handed.” 

 She rolls her eyes, prepared to make fun of how painfully British he sounds as he crawls over her to the edge of the bed, giving her a rather distracting view of his ass. He may be quite a few years older than her, but the physical nature of his work, and his devotion to his crew leading to him doing as much work as they do, gives him a physique that she isn’t shy about ogling. 

 “Will you tell me when you get in?” she asks shyly, the two of them playing off of the others insecurities without meaning to. “I mean, you don’t have to. But I’d like to see you--” 

 He cuts her off with his mouth on hers, leaning over her so that the stubble on his chin scratches against hers. “Normally, if we catch something, we bring it to the harbormaster to have it dressed and weighed. Perhaps I can inform you when we’re there? And meet you afterwards?” 

 She smiles up at him, careful not to let his words stall her as she considers their content. Perhaps it should have been obvious by now, that a local fisherman should have to deal with the harbormaster on a fairly regular basis, but the topic has never come up and so it’s stayed far from the front of her mind. “Okay,” she finally chokes out nervously. She’s always been good at hiding the intricacies of how she’s feeling, but given the way his eyes narrow at her, she wonders if she’s losing her touch. “I look forward to it.” 

 “Very good. Perhaps you’d… that is… I wonder if you’d be amenable to--” 

 “Killian.” 

 He clears his throat, standing from the bed and stepping away from the mattress to grab one of his aged knit sweaters. He’s rather old school in his techniques, she’s found, and the old fisherman sweaters that he wears out on his small fishing vessel are no exception. 

 Watching as he wrestles a pair of jeans over his legs, she giggles and sits up, bringing his thin sheet with her to cover her breasts modestly. Finally, while he stands by the door and fascens his watch to his wrist, he asks, “I simply wondered if you’d perhaps be interested in joining me for… a meal.” 

 Emma sits stoically still under his sheets as he fiddles around the room anxiously, refusing to look her way out of embarrassment and fear of rejection. She knows the feeling well, so she sits and waits for his eyes to dart in her direction before she gives him a soft, encouraging smile. “Are you asking me out?” she finally asks, and she watches his throat bob up and down before he turns to face her. 

 Clearing his throat, he says, “ah, I suppose I am.” 

 Really, it’s about bloody time he asks. Each time they’ve been together-- each time they’ve been anywhere near each other-- it’s been with her making the first move. He should be grateful for her willingness to take the leap that they both want to take, but after four months, he figures he’d best put his fears aside and grow a pair already. 

 It’s not that he thinks she’ll say no, although rejection is painful enough. His worry is that she’ll say yes, and eventually realize how much better she could have it. He’s a forty-year-old fisherman, for goodness sake. At only just twenty-six, she could certainly land a man with a more respectable, more lucrative, less deadly job, and that fact isn’t lost on him. It hasn’t been since the moment he first saw her at The Rabbit Hole six months ago. 

 She hums happily, smiling up at him and nodding. “I guess this means you’ll have to come in tonight. Better catch a good one, Captain.” 

 ~~~~

 “Oi, he lives!” Will calls from the dock next to Killian’s small boat, grinning and shoveling a pile of ice into the compartment under the deck. “We were worried you’d forgotten about us.” 

 “No,” Killian replies simply, shaking his head and climbing aboard. He makes his way into the wheelhouse, dropping his bag and turning the engine over. “We’ll need to get fuel before we head out.” 

 “Something you forgot to do last night? Perhaps you were too busy?” Robin asks, winking at his captain. 

 He rolls his eyes rather than responding, turning the engine on and checking the gauges as he listens to his mates making assumptions about his whereabouts. 

 When they finally get out onto the water, they avoid the other boats in the fleet in favor of finding solitude. A lot of the other captains think that Killian has some secret knowledge about the best places to drop anchor, but really, he just listens to his gut and gets lucky most of the time. 

 “So,” Will starts once they’ve put their lines out and chummed the water. “The blonde?”

 Killian glares at his deckhand and friend, unwilling to give him much information about what he gets up to when they’re not at sea. He knows they did a piss poor job of keeping things quiet when they started up… whatever it is that they’ve started up, what with Emma practically jumping him after a few too many flirty comments were exchanged between the two of them. Everyone in the Rabbit Hole saw them that night, Emma’s fingers tightly gripping the lapels of his jacket and his sliding under her shirt and into her hair. Everyone saw them leaving together, too. His desire to hide her away and ensure that no one ever finds out about them is wholly unreachable at this point. He only wishes that he could quell his own fears about the judgment that the townsfolk must be passing on them. Emma is young, Killian is decidedly not. Emma can do better, Killian is batting far out of his league. Emma is an energetic young lady with her whole life and an endless amount of opportunities in front of her, Killian is a mildly successful fisherman. He can’t ever hope to be good enough for her, and the whole town knows it. 

 “Aye, the blonde,” he finally mumbles, wishing he could dive into the waves and never be heard from again. 

 “She’s quite something.” 

 “Aye.” 

 “A few years younger than you, if I had to guess.” 

 He glares to his left as Will continues to reel in some herring to use for bait, catching five at once without even blinking. Their age difference isn’t a secret, and it isn’t difficult to pick up on by simply observing the two of them for a few moments. The wrinkles around Killian’s eyes and the gray peppered throughout his hair and concentrated at his temples makes his age quite obvious. Meanwhile, Emma’s flawless physique and supple skin gives way to her youth, although her maturity is observable as well. One couldn’t possibly guess her to be a day over twenty-eight, and even then, she may seem too young for him. 

 Finally, he agrees, “aye.” 

 “Well, I think they make a lovely couple,” Robin supplies, poking his head out of the wheelhouse. “Sorry sod deserves a bit of happiness, finally.” 

 Rolling his eyes, Killian can’t help but agree with his friend’s sentiment. Despite the awkwardness and the assumptions of others, he can’t deny how happy he’s been since she rolled into town. And he definitely can’t deny how much happier he’s been in the last four months since she went home with him. 

 “I’m not sure she’ll be in town much longer,” Killian finally says after too much silence passes between the three of them, their lines quiet and the ocean seemingly empty below them. 

 “Didn’t she come searching for her parents?” 

 “Aye, she found them when she first arrived. But I can’t imagine her sticking around… I believe she simply wanted to get to know them a bit and then head back to Boston.”

 Will and Robin must read the shift in his mood easily, the obvious disdain for the idea of her leaving Storybrooke and going back to the busy city where she could so easily meet someone worthy of her time. Perhaps he should let her go himself, be the one to make the difficult decision for them so as to not drag things out too long, but he’s a glutton for punishment and can’t possibly consider the idea of being separated from Emma Swan for a second longer than he absolutely has to be. 

 Rather than continuing the topic and torture Killian with thoughts of Emma inevitably leaving him, they change the subject to something equally as painful when Will jokes, “I’m sure her parents love you, aye? That age difference must have gone over well with dear-old-dad.” 

 Killian cringes and shakes his head. “I doubt they even know about me. I certainly don’t know much about them, aside from what she’s told me.”

 “So she talks about that stuff with you?” 

 “Aye.” Will make a face, clearly surprised at his statement, and glances over at Robin suspiciously. “What?” 

 Robin shakes his head, casting another bait line, and says, “Nothing, we both just assumed it was just sex, that’s all.”

 “What do you mean?” he asks curiously. It’s not because this is just sex to him, but because he’s curious about what they seem to think makes it not just sex for Emma. 

 Will laughs lightly, cheering when he brings in another line full of herring. “Mate, if she’s talking about her family, it’s not just sex.” 

 He hums thoughtfully, supposing that must be true. Emma wouldn’t confide in him about her upbringing— and her trauma, and her fears of abandonment— unless she was comfortable with him, would she? She wouldn’t have tried to process her feelings surrounding her adoption if she didn’t trust him, would she? She wouldn’t have agreed to a date with him tonight if some part of her didn’t like him, right? 

 “I love the look on his face when realization strikes,” Will jokes, bumping Killian with his elbow. He looks like he’s about to say more, perhaps another jest, perhaps something that will give Killian more insight into his companionship, but the radar starts marking fish and they each stand still and silent in anticipation. 

 The line starts clicking with the indication that something may be going for the bait, and when the reel begins screaming as the fish in question tries to escape, they jump into action. There’s shouting and running and fierce reeling, and it’s almost enough to get Killian’s mind off of Emma bloody Swan. 

 ~~~~

 Emma tries not to drag her feet as she makes her way down the main dock, the chilled ocean air sending a shiver down her spine despite her borrowing Mary Margaret’s windbreaker. With the season coming to close in a few weeks, the late fall weather sends a damp chill through her bones that she isn’t used to despite growing up in Minnesota. 

 It’s not as if she isn’t excited to see David this evening. She’s been spending time with him and Mary Margaret, and their son Leo as well, fairly regularly since she’s come to town. But things have been awkward to say the least. 

 She didn’t know about her brother when she arrived in Storybrooke. Finding out about him, finding out that he’s just turned eighteen, making them almost eight years apart, hurt a bit. Of course she understands that people change a lot in eight years. But the fact is, her parents had her and gave her away. They had her brother and raised him. It stings. 

 It stings. But it isn’t something any of them can change now. So she puts it behind her, just like Ingrid taught her. 

 If she wasn’t raised by such a soft, caring woman for most of her life, Emma’s certain she would be a different person from who she’s become. She had every chance to build walls as high as the eye can see, but Ingrid broke them down little by little from the day she welcomed Emma into her house when she was eight years old. After being given back by two families in a row, she was seen as broken, as damaged goods, as a stray no one could truly want. But Ingrid saw through her trauma and her bad behavior and welcomed her with open arms. 

 When she became sick, Ingrid gave Emma all of the information she was able to dig up on her parents. It wasn’t much to go on, and Emma initially refused to use any of it for fear of hurting her mother’s feelings. She didn’t want to make Ingrid feel like she was trying to replace her by finding her birth parents. But as Ingrid lay on her deathbed, the ovarian cancer too much for her frail frame to fight any longer, she begged Emma to seek her parents out, telling her that she deserves answers. That no matter the choice they made all those years ago, they deserve to know the beautiful woman they brought into this world. 

 She couldn’t exactly turn her down. So, traumatized and heartbroken, she put all that she had into expanding upon her mother’s research until finally, almost two years later, she found them. 

 David and Mary Margaret Nolan. She found them in a small fishing town off the coast of Maine, well known on the East Coast for their lucrative bluefin tuna fishing season. 

 It wasn’t exactly what she expected. And when she knocked on their door and a gangly teenager answered, she’ll admit to feeling slighted. 

 Okay, perhaps irrationally angry is more accurate. And if her method of coping was to go to the first bar she could find and get completely obliterated, so be it. The handsome man in the soft, cream colored sweater helping her to her room at Granny’s was an added bonus. 

 “Hey, Ems,” David calls from his makeshift desk where he does all of his accounting and paperwork. She’s sat here a few times before, but found herself bored out of her mind in a matter of minutes as she watched him work over his ledgers. 

 “Hi,” she greets back. She’s found that she doesn’t really call them anything. It doesn't feel right to call them mom or dad, because she had a mom. And while David may be her biological father, he isn’t really her dad. So instead, she doesn’t address them as anything. 

 “I’ve got a couple of boats coming in,” he informs her. “Season’s almost over, so the fish are big this time of year. You may get to see some record-breakers.” 

 “Cool,” she smiles, taking a seat on the folding table he sits at all day, cringing as it creaks under her weight. 

 “I think your… I think Mary Margaret is gonna come out tonight too. We were thinking of grabbing dinner. You know, celebrate the weekend, and all that.” 

 With a small grin coloring her features, her heart skips a beat at the thought of the sailor hopefully making his way to shore as they speak. She doesn’t doubt that he’s on his way, but she isn’t sure how happy he’ll be if he comes in empty handed and with an angry crew. “I actually have plans,” she tells him with a blush. 

 “Dinner plans?” 

 “Yep,” she answers with a nod. “A date.” 

 “A date,” David says, his brows drawing close together as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Who are you--” 

 He’s interrupted by his wife, her excited voice carrying across the length of the docks as she hurries towards them. “Emma!” she shouts as she gets closer. “Hi, honey!” 

 She tenses slightly at the title, still feeling uncomfortable when she hears words of affection coming from the woman who gave birth to her. She smiles anyway, waving softly and hopping off of the table, letting the woman embrace her briefly before pulling away. “Hi.” 

 “Did your father ask you to dinner? We figured we’d celebrate the weekend starting. Plus, it seems like the fleet did really well this week, doesn't it, David? The buyers are always more generous at the end of the season--” 

 “Emma has plans,” David cuts her off. “A date.” 

 “A date?”

 “A date.” 

 “Do you guys mind?” she asks, only half joking. It’s been hard enough opening up to them and letting them into her heart and her personal life. She does try to not use humor as a way to keep them at a distance, really. 

 Mary Margaret clears her throat, smiling at Emma sweetly and only a bit awkwardly. “Who is your date with, sweetheart?” 

 “Well,” she starts turning to face David, “you might actually know him.” 

 “Oh, hold that thought for just a second, Ems. A boat’s coming in.” 

 She turns to face the water below them, noting the modestly sized vessel floating towards the loading dock. Two crewmen stand outside, grabbing for ropes as they pull themselves against the dock while the captain stands in the wheelhouse, diligently watching as he guides the boat. She smiles at the sight, taking in his ruffled appearance and the fact that he’s changed his sweater, wondering what happened out at sea to make the other one unwearable. 

 “Evening, Dave,” one of his mates calls, waving in their direction once the boat is secured to the dock. “We’ve got two big ones for ya.” 

 David praises him, watching as they open up a small hatch in the floor of the boat and reveal two massive fish. Emma’s never seen anything like it, the tunas taking up the entire space below the main deck. They must be almost twice as long as she is tall. “Think we’ve got a good thousand pounds here,” the other man calls as he wraps a rope around one of the tails. “Hope we can lift it.” 

 Killian trips and stumbles when he sees her, the blush on his cheeks spreading to his ears and down his neck and reminding her of how he looks when he’s about to finish inside her. The thought makes her blush as well as she grins down at him, giving him a small wave. He’s been quiet and shy for as long as she’s known him, but he’s also professional, and his silence and lack of greeting is almost concerning. 

 He climbs off the boat, hoisting himself easily onto the dock as the muscles under his sweater ripple with the effort. Clearing his throat, he finally makes eye contact with her, smiling awkwardly as his blush deepens. “Evening, Miss Swan,” he says sweetly, reminding her of when they met months ago. She’s not sure she likes it. 

 “Hi, Killian,” she responds with a smirk, making his blush deepen and heating him to an uncomfortable temperature in his dampened sweater. The first fish they caught was barely above the length requirement and relatively easy to hoist onto the deck, but the second has to be one of the largest they’ve ever gotten, and it put up one hell of a fight. 

 “You two know each other?” David asks, glancing between him and Emma, and it strikes Killian that she isn’t here waiting for him like he thought. She’s standing by the harbormaster, relatively close to his wife and child, and things start to fall into place in his mind. 

 They’ve talked about her parents briefly, about how they were young when they had her and made the decision to give her up at the persuasion of both of their parents. She told him about how they had a son a few years later and raised him. She just never told him that her father is the bloody harbormaster. 

 “Yeah,” she answers finally, giving David Nolan a smile that Killian recognizes. It’s the same one that David gives him when he catches a big fish; friendly and necessary but not entirely genuine. She doesn’t expand upon how they met, or how they know each other, or the nature of their relationship, and the harbormaster looks at Killian suspiciously as the machinery lifts his second fish onto the dock. 

 David evaluates each fish and offers him a hefty price for the both of them. The second one, the one that gave them such trouble, is over a thousand pounds, just like Will had guessed, so they make out very well after just one days work. Normally, their undeniable success would be enough to erase any negative thought floating around in Killian’s head, but all he can focus on is the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s standing beside the father of the woman he’s sleeping with.

 He tries to be an adult about it, ignoring the awkward air that has settled between them as David’s family watches on happily, but when Emma asks, “are you ready to go, Killian?” everyone’s eyes dart up immediately. 

 Thankfully, the check had already been cut and handed to Killian, because he’s almost certain that he wouldn’t have gotten his hands on it if Emma’s question had come any sooner. He watches as David’s eyes grow twice their normal size, his wife’s mouth falling agape as she turns to stare at Emma in complete shock. 

 “No,” David says immediately, shaking his head in denial and turning to face his daughter. “Absolutely not.” 

 “Excuse me?” Emma asks, raising both brows in challenge and taking a step away from her mother and towards Killian. She sees his eyes widening and darting between the three of them nervously as the exchange becomes more and more tense. 

 The man, only slightly older than Killian, clears his throat and looks at his daughter again before saying, “please tell me you're not dating him.” 

 “How dare you,” she accuses immediately, stepping back once more until she stands beside Killian, his warmth radiating off of him and comforting her just slightly in the wake of her anger. She doesn’t even know why he would say something like that, what would make him feel the need to say that, but she’s quick to become defensive. She knows Killian is a good person, and she feels immediately as if this man has no right to dictate who she dates. 

 “Honey,” Mary Margaret starts, stepping closer to her and placing her hand on her elbow just as Emma pulls away. She looks in Killian’s direction awkwardly and tensely before trying again. “It’s just… he’s a bit older...” 

 “I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” she says angrily, and notices David stiffening beside his wife. 

 “Emma, please. He just catches fish for half a year. You’re too young to be thinking about settling down with someone who doesn’t have a stable career. Not to mention, he’s almost the same age as me and your mother.” 

 She senses him becoming rigid beside her, his shoulders rising slightly and his jaw clenching in tense discomfort at the accusation. They’ve had this conversation briefly several times, sometimes jokingly and sometimes out of his own insecurities. He’s always seen himself as too old for her-- too old, too common, not good enough-- and the confirmation from her father surely hurts him. 

 Of course, they’ve never talked much about who her parents are. They’ve had their share of conversations about her past and why she’s here, so he knows plenty about the things that she’s been through, but she never felt the need to tell him who they are. She never even put two and two together that he may know her father until this morning. And now she’s hurt him by keeping this from him. 

 With shock and anger, she answers too loudly. “Well, it’s not my fault you guys had me at 17, it is? And are you really judging him for his job? He works hard every day!”

 “Emma,” Killian tries softly, placing his hand on her elbow, but she pulls away in the same way that she had with her mother. 

 “No! They have no right to judge you for what you do for a living. Or us for our age difference. This is completely ridiculous.”

 “It’s alright, love,” he says, resigning to the fact that he’s likely going to lose her. Her parents are right; his job is seasonal and not always as lucrative as he would like, and he’s closer in age to her parents than he is to her. It was bound to end eventually, he tells himself sadly, as she deserves so much more than he’s able to give her. “I’ll go.” 

 “You’re not going anywhere unless you're bringing me with you,” she gripes angrily, grabbing his hand in her own and yanking him away from where her parents are standing. He lets her pull him along, looking back nervously at the harbormaster and his wife as they gape at the two of them. 

 ~~~~

 “How dare they,” she grumbles, slamming his front door harder than he thinks she means to. “I mean, they barely know me, never mind you.” 

 “Emma,” he tries, but she refuses to let him get a word in edgewise as she continues her venting. 

 “It would be one thing if they had actually raised me. If they instilled in me these values that they seem to think puts them on a pedestal. But they gave me away.”

 He guides her gently through his small cottage, the weight of his hand on the small of her back serving as a reminder that he’s here for her. 

 “Emma,” he repeats once they’re sitting and she’s able to hear him. “You know I understand.”

 She does know this. He told her one night, while their legs were entwined and their arms were around one another, about the way his father abandoned him and his brother when he was just a boy. “I know,” she confirms softly. 

 “And you also know that I hate the idea of getting in between you and your family. They’re the reason you’re here in the first place, love.”

 She stares at him for a moment, taking in the meaning of his words and angering when she realizes that he thinks he’s the problem here. 

 “Stop,” she insists suddenly. “If you’re making me consider them my family, then I’m going to consider you my family, too.”

 “Love--”

 “I’ve known you the same amount of time as I have them. And you’ve never once judged me, or let me down, or made me feel… like I’m doing something wrong.”

 His face drops slightly in response to her words as he saddens. It kills him to know that she’s been made to feel this way. “I appreciate hearing that, love. But at the same time… they have a point. I’m closer in age to your parents than I am to you.”

 “Please,” she says, rolling her eyes and pushing his shoulders until he’s lying down and she’s lying across his chest. “You should hear about some of the other guys I’ve dated. You being old is nothing.”

 He pinches her hip in response to her jest and says, “I dare not hear about them, or else I may leave here and start a fight with each of them.”

 “You’re too old to fight.”

 “Aye, that’s right.”

 They lie in comfortable silence, Killian’s tired arms running up and down along her spine until her breathing evens out. It’s either an indication that she’s feeling less angry, or that she’s fallen asleep, but he knows it to be the former when she speaks up. 

 “Do you know that you smell really bad? Like… I mean really bad.”

 “Thank you, darling.”

 “You’re welcome,” she says, and he can hear the sly smile in her voice without needing to see her perfect face. “You know, I could probably help you with that.”

 “Is that so?” he asks in falsified surprise. 

 “Yes,” she nods. “A nice hot shower is just what the doctor ordered.”

 “Oh, are we playing doctor now, Swan?” 

 “Ugh, no, Jones. It isn’t 1950 anymore, old man. Kids don’t play doctor. Now come with me if you want me to soap you up.”

 She yanks him from the couch, guiding him through his small space until they reach the shower. It’s a tight fit, squeezing the both of them inside, but she somehow manages to get on her knees before him and quell his anxieties that he’s not good enough for her. Her mouth is useful when it’s using words to comfort him, and it’s just as useful when she’s using it to worship him until he can finish in the back of her throat. 

 As she stands slowly and salaciously, the warm water trickles down her face and into her hair, dampening the flawless length of her body as she reaches behind him for the body wash. “Does this mean you aren’t going to leave me?” she asks softly as she squeezes some soap into her palm. He can barely stand straight, leaning against the wall of the shower as she begins to lather the soap over the coarse hair on his chest. 

 His thoughts finally return to him and he says, “please tell me you didn’t just give me the best blowjob of my life as a means to convince me.” 

 She snorts, wrapping her arms around his waist and running her hands up and down his back. He knows she’s trying to follow through on her promise to soap him up, but she grabs onto his rear and he isn’t sure if she’s cleansing him correctly. “No,” she responds, pressing her lips to his neck and licking along his racing pulse. “But... did it help persuade you?” 

 He hums, not trusting his own voice and nodding. “It did,” he breathes, then he rights himself and remembers how imperative it is that he get his point across. “Emma, I don't want to leave you. I don’t think I’ll ever be happy if you aren’t by my side. I just… I only want to do what’s best for you.” 

 “You are what’s best for me,” she says, her voice barely audible over the sound of the running water. She finally looks up, releasing her lips and tongue from his skin and meeting his eyes with hers. “I never… I mean, I didn't grow up with a family. I know how to get by without my parents. But it’s-- It’s different with you. Ingrid always said that I need to fight for my happiness. I finally understand what she meant now that I’ve met you. I can’t lose you.”

 Her words are so soft, so small, that he could have missed them. If he wasn’t watching the way her lips moved when she spoke, he would have. The way that she’s able to perfectly express how she’s feeling, while also giving words to the way that he feels about her, makes his heart practically jump out of his chest. 

 “Love,” he breathes, his voice gruff and barely audible as he cups her cheek with his palm. “I can’t lose you either.” 

 “You just mean a lot to me,” she whispers. 

 “Aye. You mean more to me than I could put into words.” 

 “Then please don’t leave me,” she mouths. He knows she had the intention to say the words aloud, but it’s as if she isn’t able to. 

 He’s unable to form the words that he so desperately wants to, either, so he leans in close to her and captures her lips between his own, molding their mouths together as if they were made for each other. And she kisses him back in a way that conveys how she feels about him. 

 Her fingers slide through his chest hair, scratching along his skin as they glide up towards his neck. She grips the back of his hair with her fingers, grounding herself through the emotion of the entire evening. It was hard enough on her when she learned her parents disapproved of her lover. Harder still when she found out he was considering leaving her for what he assumed was her own good. Now, she can’t get enough of the soothing comfort that comes from being with him. 

 He reaches behind himself, easily shutting off the flow of the water so that the silence of the room consumes them. The only sounds between them are the weakened, aged fan and the sounds of their heavy breathing. 

 “I’m— I—.” She starts speaking, but cuts herself off in favor of kissing him again. 

 “Aye,” he agrees, and although he doesn’t know what she was going to say exactly, he has a hunch and hopes to any god who may be listening that he’s right.  

 “Take me to bed,” she asks against his mouth. “I need you.” 

 He doesn’t waste a moment; when Emma Swan tells him to take her to bed, he knows he’d better listen. Pushing the curtain aside, he holds it open for her and allows her to step out of the shower, holding onto her elbow in hopes that he’s offering her some semblance of support. It’s entirely unnecessary, though; Emma Swan is the strongest person he’s ever met. She gives him a soft smile in thanks, grabbing his towel off of the hook and using it to dry herself quickly before turning it towards him and tossing it into his hair. She scrubs the towel through the gray and black locks playfully, giggling when she lifts it over his eyes and smiling at him so brightly that he finds it impossible not to grin back. “Thank you,” he says softly, and she leans forward, holding the towel around his head and using it like a hood to pull him into a kiss. 

 What starts as chaste and gentle turns heated and passionate in second, her tongue sliding against his and her hands lighting a trail of fire as they scratch down his back. He picks her up easily, her slender frame much less heavy than the monsters he battled earlier, and carries her bridal style over the threshold of the bathroom and towards the bed they’ve been sharing. The bed in which he hopes to never sleep alone again. 

 He presses her down into the mattress, making her groan into his mouth and wrap her ankles around his hips. She’s desperate to pull him closer to her, to have him inside her until she’s seeing stars behind her eyelids. He never fails to bring her ecstasy, each time they’re together fighting for the title of ‘the best time’. When his fingers find her sensitive and soaked for him, he smirks against her lips and kisses her harder. When he slides into her, making her gasp with the welcome ache as he stretches her, they press their foreheads together and breathe each other in. He rocks into her slowly and gently, exactly as she needs him. He reads her effortlessly and flawlessly, stroking her above where their bodies join until she’s powerless to stop the desperate noises from filling the room. 

 She squeezes her entire body around him as they finish together, and she cries out his name in loving praise as he spills himself into her. He can’t get enough of her, the high of being with her is like a drug from which he will never be fully sated, and he will never stop trying to bring her pleasure and joy and contentment for as long as she allows him to stay by her side. 

 The hum that leaves her throat as they come down together relays exactly how he feels as well. They’re sated for now as they embrace each other, although he knows that his longing for her is only slightly extinguished, only to be fueled again with just the slightest encouragement from her. 

 “That was nice,” she breathes nonchalantly, making him smile softly through hooded eyes as he rolls onto his side to look at her longingly. 

 “That’s one word for it, I suppose,” he concedes, running his hand up and down along the length of her waist. Her eyes flutter shut at the tickling sensation and she leans close to him to press a soft kiss to his lips. 

 “Very excellent? As if I was being fucked by a savant? Is that better?” 

 “No,” he whispers, “I think you’re just making fun of my age again with that one.” 

 With a soft grin, she says, “you’re pretty slick for an old guy.” 

 “Hush.” 

 She snuggles into his chest, resting her head under his chin and kissing against his collarbone before uttering, “a quick nap, and then you’re taking me to dinner.” 

 “Your heart’s desire, Swan. I promise that’s all I want you to have.” 

 ~~~~

 There’s an old wives tale, apparently, that tuna are more active during a storm. At least, that’s what Killian told Emma when he left that morning with the sky bright red. She was expecting him to heed the weather advisory and the warnings given by the coast guard that it isn’t safe for small crafts to be out during the oncoming storm, but of course, he’s as stubborn as she is and dedicated to his career and to his crew. They all want to go out and catch fish, so that’s what they do. 

 It’s not like she doesn’t trust his abilities as the captain, because of course she does. And it’s not like she’s naive enough to think that he’s never been out in bad weather before. But they’d just had a heart to heart a few nights ago, and if she loses him to a storm, she’s certain that she’ll lose what’s left of her sanity as well. 

 The fact is, she loves him. She knows she does, and she knows that she has since the moment she met him. She doesn’t care that he’s older than her, or that he works seasonally, or that he considers himself to be not good enough for her. What matters is that he’s the kindest person she’s ever met. He’s the most generous man who’s ever been in her life. She’s never met someone so gentle and caring and utterly perfect, and she feels physically sick at the thought of losing what she has with him. 

 He makes her want to be a better person. He makes her strive for patience and understanding, rather than impulsivity. He makes her rethink her tendency to shut people out before they can hurt her. She’s better for having met him, and she fears what she could become if she loses him to a crashing wave or a sinking ship. 

 After he leaves, after she watches as he sets off into the open ocean, she heads to Granny’s, the wind already strong enough to push her in that direction. She has a room rented out, but she hasn’t been in it in days in favor of staying with Killian, locking themselves away from the world and letting themselves be consumed with one another. She dreads the idea of going to her empty room, the one that isn’t hers and Killian’s, but she’s in need of a good facemask after neglecting her routine for days on end, and she could use a change of clothes that don’t belong to him.

 After showering and, admittedly, taking an unexpected nap, she wakes ready for an order of grilled cheese and onion rings. The bell above the door chimes when she opens it, and Granny gives her a quick yet welcoming smile. “Afternoon,” she calls from behind the counter. “Want a seat with your folks?”

 Emma groans internally as she turns and sees her parents and brother sitting in a booth, each of them giving her a kind smile. She returns it, although hers is much tighter than theirs seem to be, and says, “sure,” in a less-than-convincing tone. 

 “Hi, honey,” Mary Margaret says when Emma approaches them reluctantly, and she tries (and probably fails) to hide her cringe. 

 “Hey.” 

 David slides over towards the wall, offering her the only available seat beside him. “Been a few days, huh? How’s it going?” 

 “Fine,” she shrugs. “I’ve been staying with Killian.” 

 She watches as her parents stiffen, her brother obviously indifferent to her dating life. “That’s… nice,” Mary Margaret forces out, her discomfort so plainly written across her face that Emma has to stop herself from rolling her eyes. She didn’t come here to start anything, and she didn’t sit with them because she wanted to argue, but it’s becoming more and more difficult. 

 “Yes, it is nice. Killian is nice. And polite, and compassionate, and perfect in every way. So yes, it’s been a very pleasant few days.” 

 “I’m glad you’ve… I'm glad that you’re happy,” Mary Margaret chokes out. 

 “I am.” 

 They’re silent. Emma’s lunch is delivered to the table and they eat quietly, the only sounds between the four of them the bustle of the diner and the appreciative hum that David gives with each bite of soup. The wind whips outside, rattling the windows violently and blowing over a table on Granny’s patio. Many of the patrons stand, David and Leo included, and hurry outside to right the fallen piece of furniture, and Emma begins to gnaw at the short nail on her left thumb. 

 “It’s bad out there,” she remarks obviously, her leg bouncing up and down in quick, anxious succession. “I hope--” 

 She notes the way Mary Margaret looks out the window with wide eyes, realization setting in as the source of her daughter’s fear becomes obvious. “Emma, is he out there? In this weather?” 

 Emma looks at her mother and, for the first time since they’ve met, finds comfort in her eyes rather than a reason for distrust. “Yes,” she chokes out in a whisper, sucking her lips between her teeth. “He said he’d be fine, but…” 

 Mary Margaret nods in understanding. “It’s kind of bad out there.” Emma nods, too. “I can see why you’re so worried.” 

 “His boat is pretty small,” she explains, her voice shaking. “But he said it’s the best time to catch the fish.” 

 “That’s what your father always says, too,” Mary Margaret responds, reaching across the table and giving Emma’s hand a squeeze. For the first time since she’s met her mother, she doesn't pull away. “I’m sure he’ll be alright. He’s a knowledgeable captain.” 

 “He has been doing this a while,” Emma reasons, mostly with herself. 

 Mary Margaret sighs, giving Emma’s hand one final squeeze before letting go and leaning forward towards her daughter. “Sweetheart,” she starts, pursing her lips together thoughtfully. “I-- I’d like to apologize for the way your father and I reacted the other night. It wasn’t fair of us to judge your… relationship.” 

 Emma looks up into the eyes of the woman who gave birth to her, the woman who gave her away, and sees truth behind them. “It wasn’t,” she agrees. 

 “I can tell now that you truly care for him.” 

 “I do,” she nods. “Very much.” 

 “It’s just that,” she starts slowly, noticing her husband and son reentering the diner. “Well, you’re our little girl. It was surprising to find out that you’ve been seeing someone, never mind someone so much older than you. We just want what’s best for you.” 

 David sits beside Emma again and Leo takes his seat next to his mother, both of them looking as though they realize that they’ve walked into a pretty serious conversation. Emma thinks about holding back with their arrival, especially considering the presence of her brother, but she simply can’t. 

 “No offense or anything, but… I'm not your little girl. I never was. I never got the chance to be. And Killian’s age means nothing to me because he’s the best person I’ve ever known. No one else I’ve dated has ever treated me nearly as well as he has; no one listens to me or cares for me or loves me the way he does. And as terrifying as it is, because my dating history has seriously sucked, I know he loves me without even hearing him say it. And I… I love him too. And I’m really going insane right now not knowing if he’s alright out there, and you judging me for being with him isn’t helping how crazy I feel.” 

 The table is silent for an uncomfortable amount of time, and Emma chooses to go back to eating her onion rings and nervously bouncing her feet against the floor. Mary Margaret gulps, David’s wide eyes look between Emma and his wife, and Leo awkwardly eats his fries in the same way that Emma does. It’s the most painful silence she thinks she’s ever sat through. 

 “I’m sorry,” David finally says softly, turning his entire body so that he can face Emma. “It startled and surprised us when we found out, but you’re right. It isn’t fair for us to judge you. We’re clinging to the hope that you’d be, well, our little girl. But it’s time we realize that isn’t realistic and celebrate the time that we do get to spend with you. No matter who you choose to spend your time with.” 

 “Thanks,” she mumbles. She appreciates the sentiment, truly, but she gets the feeling there’s a but coming. 

 “I just hope that he feels as strongly for you as you clearly do for him.” 

 She tries her hardest to ensure that the look she gives him from the corner of her eye is not a glare, and she nods. “He does.” 

 “Alright, then,” David says casually, folding up his napkin and placing it on his plate before grabbing for his wallet. “Let's head to the docks and check the radar, then, shall we?” 

 Her eyes widen with anticipation and relief as she asks, “can you do that?” 

 “I’m the harbormaster. I can do whatever I want,” he says with a smirk and a wink shot in her direction. She follows him out of the booth with more enthusiasm than she’s felt all day, practically skipping out of the diner behind her father. 

 ~~~~

 “I can hear all of the long-range radio communications on here,” he explains once they arrive at his makeshift office. He pulls out his chair for her and lets her sit while he adjusts the receiver. “You’ll just have to listen out for him. So far, no distress signals or anything, though.” 

 “Good,” she agrees. She jumps in excitement when she hears a message coming through, and even though it isn’t from Killian, she knows he’s out there with this other captain. 

 She listens in silence for a while, David leaning against the table beside her and Mary Margaret and Leo standing off to the side and talking quietly. She hears many messages come in, many captains talking back and forth about the storm and the choppy waters and the dangerous conditions. A few of them have caught some fish, so she supposes it was worth it to them, but she hasn’t heard anything from Killian. 

 Eventually, after what feels like far too much time has passed, she hears someone ask for him. Emma desperately wishes there was a transmitter that would allow her to speak to him, but all she can do now is sit by and listen. 

 “Jolly, you still on?” the man asks, and David translates to let Emma know that they're wondering if Killian is still reeling in a tuna. 

 There isn’t a response, though. David explains that each captain should let the others in the fleet know when they’ve caught something, and Killian’s lack of response probably means that he and his crew are still wrestling with the giant beast. At least, that’s what she tells herself. 

 “Jolly Roger, come in. You guys still on?” 

 “Guess that means yes,” another captain responds after a moment. “‘Less he went overboard.”

 Emma pales, putting her hand over her mouth and biting her lip until David places his hand on her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “He’s joking,” he tells her. “They’re all like that. A bunch of ball-busters.” 

 She nods and gulps, listening on as the fleet’s captains joke with each other as if there isn’t a nor'easter threatening to capsize each and every one of them. As if it isn’t possible that it’s already taken the man she loves away from her. She hears one of them saying that they’re on their way back to the docks, having caught a fish big enough to justify ending their trip, and she silently begs anyone who might be listening that Killian is finishing up catching something big and will do the same. 

 Eventually, after far too long, someone speaks up and says, “I’m going in, too. Anyone hear from Jones?” 

 “No,” another answers. “He was fighting something big; hopefully they catch it soon. Gettin’ bad out here.” 

 Emma knows she can’t wait at the docks for him forever. It’s unrealistic, and she’s going to freeze to death. It’s nearly winter, and the mixture of snow and rain and heavy wind that assaults her in the scarcely covered dock is starting to soak down to her bones. But she can’t leave. She still hasn’t heard Killian’s voice over the radio-- it’s been pretty silent for the last hour-- and she can’t get herself to leave before she knows that he’s alright. 

 Mary Margaret apologizes as she leaves, bringing Leo with her to get warm. She says she’ll have a mug of cocoa waiting for Emma at Granny’s, but she isn’t sure when she’ll make it over there. Despite how cold and wet she is, she can’t leave here until he gets back. She can’t even think of the alternative to him coming back. 

 David waits with her for another hour. They’re fairly quiet, hardly any words exchanged between the two of them, but after some time passes, he starts to open up to her in a way she never expected. He tells her how grateful he is that she found them. He tells her how impossible it was for him and Mary Margaret to give her up, and that both of their parents essentially forced their hands due to their young age. He tells her how painful it was, finding out about Mary Margaret’s unplanned pregnancy and being faced with the reality that they could keep this child and they couldn’t keep her. He tells her how badly he wanted to try to find her, considering breaking the terms of the closed adoption that fell through for years. He had no idea that the family who adopted her initially had sent her back because once they agreed to place her for adoption, they gave up their right to know anything about her. 

 Tears spring into his eyes when he talks of wanting to give her her best chance. When he admits to her that giving her away was a mistake-- “the biggest I’ve ever made.” 

 When she was young, this is what she’d hoped for. She dreamt of her tortured parents, broken because of their decision to give her away. She’d hoped that they realized their mistake and regretted it every day. But now, seeing the way that the decision they made 25 years ago hurts her father, she wishes she could take his pain away. They didn’t have much of a choice at 17, what with having no income and no support from their families. They thought they were doing what was best for her; they can’t help that it didn’t work out that way. 

 “It’s alright, dad,” she finally says after some silence passes between them. She notes the way he looks up at her hopefully, his eyes still glassed over, and she realizes why. She’s never called him that before, never thought she ever would. But in this moment, with the support and honesty and love he’s shown her, she can’t think of him as anyone other than her father. Her dad. 

 She sniffles as she steps towards him, her eyes beginning to match his own, and she embraces him. It feels exactly how she’d hoped hugging her father would feel. It feels true, and loving, and she’s at peace here with him. 

 “I love you,” he says into her hair, his hand cupping the back of his head. “I always have, since the moment I found out about you. I’m so sorry I couldn’t give you the life you deserved.” 

 She doesn’t even think before she says, “I love you, too.” 

 A boat comes in and David buys their fish. When asked about the Jolly Roger, the captain shrugs and says he hasn’t heard from Killian since he got a tuna on his line, but that was hours ago. “Sometimes it takes a whole day to get them on the deck,” David tells her after the captain leaves. “With the weather, I'm sure they’re being challenged out there. But we would’ve heard a distress call if anything was wrong.” 

 She tells herself that he’s right, and that he would know, and sits back down at the table. She can’t torture herself standing by the entrance of the warehouse, getting soaked and becoming even more frozen as she stares out at the horizon. She distracts herself with her phone, trying to keep busy as she waits, wishing he would call or text her to let her know that he’s alright. 

 It’s nearly dark when David calls her over, and when she looks up, she sees a small vessel backing up towards the dock, Will and Robin tossing some rope around the post to keep the boat from floating out to sea. She stands with such force and hope that she sends the chair crashing to the ground, but she hardly notices as she starts running towards the stairs. It’s still windy and cold, but the snow and rain has slowed, making it just a bit safer as she sprints down the wooden stairs and across the dock where he’s landed. 

 “Killian!” she calls as she gets closer, and she sees him poking his head out from the small cabin at the sound of her voice, shutting off the engine and hurrying towards the edge of the deck. She doesn’t let him disembark, choosing instead to jump onto the deck and nearly shoving Will to the ground as she fights her way towards him, crashing into his sturdy arms. 

 “Bloody hell,” he whispers into her hair as he holds her close, his arms wrapping tightly around her and warming her in a way that nothing else possibly could. His sweater is damp, and she’s soaked to the bone, but neither of them care. She can finally breathe again with her nose against his neck and her arms around his waist, squeezing him close to her. 

 “Are you okay?” she finally asks against his skin. She pulls away so that she can look at him, holding his head in her hands and bringing his lips to hers in a relieved kiss. “Fuck,” she breathes when she pulls away. “I thought… I was so worried about you.” 

 “I’m sorry--” he says against her mouth when she kisses him again. He chuckles softly and tries again, “I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to worry you.” His hand leaves her hip and brushes her wet hair out of her face, his fingers returning to trace gently over her cheek.

 “We listened to the radio, but we never heard from you. I thought something was wrong, or--” she cuts herself off, biting her bottom lip and staring into his eyes, as deep and blue as the ocean. 

 “The radio went out with some lightning. If I’d known you were listening… bloody hell. I’m so sorry, Emma.” 

 She tries to kiss him again, their lips touching for just a single, unsatisfying second before they're interrupted by Will. “Oi, you’re standing right over the fish, mate. You lot can canoodle after we get the check, aye?”

 They caught three giant fish, the maximum they’re allowed to have on their boat at one time. She supposes he was right about a storm being the best time to go fishing, but she doesn’t think she’d survive if he went out in this weather again. She wonders in the back of her mind if the hefty paycheck David gives them for their catch is influenced by her in any way, but she tries not to dwell on it. Afterall, it could be worse. At least her father somewhat approves of him now, or at the very least, tolerates the fact that they're together. 

 When they're done, he hands the keys to his mates and squeezes her hand. “I promise I’m not going out there in this weather again, love; not if it’s going to worry you. It isn’t worth putting you through that again.” 

 “Good man,” David says softly, nodding to himself as he packs up his supplies. “Ems, I’ll meet you at Granny’s? We should probably dry off.” 

 “Sure,” she responds with a nod and a smile. “Tell-- tell mom I’ll be there soon.” 

 David blushes and nods back at her, giving her a shy smile. “Will do, kiddo.” 

 They walk away hand in hand, both of them damp and freezing and in desperate need of the embrace of the other. 

 “‘Mom’?” he asks her when they're out of earshot, trekking towards the small cottage that’s been in his family for generations. She can hear the smile in his voice over the whipping winds, and can’t help but to smile as well. 

 “I had a very interesting day,” she explains casually, looking up at him and smiling before looking back down, careful as she navigates over the bumpy stone path that leads to his front door. It’s a very short walk; his house beside the lighthouse is prime real estate in the small fishing town. “Little heart to heart with my parents.” 

 “That’s wonderful, love,” he encourages, squeezing her hand as he fiddles with the lock with his other. When they finally get inside, out of the storm and into the warmth of his small living room, he says, “I’m happy for you.” 

 She hums and smiles softly, turning to him and wrapping her fingers around the neck of his rain and ocean soaked sweater. “You should start a fire,” she suggests in a whisper. “And get out of these clothes.” 

 “Aye, same could be said for you, angel. How long were you by the docks waiting?” he asks, running the tip of his finger along her temple and down her cheek. 

 “I don't know, it felt like hours.” 

 “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t realize you were waiting. I would've tried calling, but there was spotty reception.” 

 “It’s alright,” she whispers back, pushing her forehead against his and cupping the back of his head with her hands. “I’m just glad you're alright.” 

 “Aye.” 

 “And there's… there’s something I have to tell you.” 

 “What’s that?” 

 It doesn't matter that they're both nearly dripping on the floor of his entryway, or that her hair resembles a birds nest, or that he smells like fish. None of the imperfections matter because when they're together, they disappear. Everything that could make their moment together feel amiss fades into the background when she smiles and whispers, “I love you.” 

 His heart stops beating. He wonders if he’s old enough to have a heart attack. It doesn't matter, because Emma admitting her love for him will surely keep him alive if he is. He chokes slightly, swallowing and taking a deep breath and then laughing and shaking his head in disbelief. Emma Swan loves him. 

 She giggles, too, her nose brushing against his as she asks, “are you in there?” and taps her fingers on his temple. 

 “Aye, I’m just… bloody hell. I love you.” 

 “You do?” she asks happily, her smile nearly blinding. 

 “Yes,” he responds. “Unequivocally. More than I ever thought it was possible to love a person. My life was so mundane and futile until you came into it, but Emma, you’ve given me so much hope. You’ve made my life… worth it.” 

 She breathes out a laugh and sniffles, scratching her fingers along his scalp and shaking her head. “You old sap,” she chastises playfully, making him laugh too. “I couldn’t agree more.”

 Their kiss is perfect. They don’t need the heat of the fire to warm them up because the energy between them is enough. He doesn’t feel the need to strip off his clothes because of how soaked through they are; moreso because of how badly he needs to touch her. All he can think about is her body on his and the cursed amount of layers he’s adorning. He feels slightly less suffocated when she strips him of his thick sweater, but only slightly. 

 She moans as she pulls at his trousers, popping open the button and sliding the zip as far down as it’ll go. Reaching inside, she palms at the contours of his hardened length over his underwear. She giggles, the sound ringing through his ears joyously, when she tucks her fingers under his long underwear and is met with even more fabric. “You really layered up, huh, Captain?”

 He nearly chokes at her use of his title, never liking it falling from anyone else’s lips as much as he does hers, and nods. “A winter storm requires prep-- preparation,” he stutters. 

 His eyes grow about twice their size and his breathing completely stops as she sinks to her knees before him, making her smirk as she looks up at him through her lashes in a way that she knows drives him mad. She’s practically buzzing as she looks up at his bare chest, the veins in his arms popping out tantalizingly as she runs her nose along the soft fabric of his long underwear.  

 The sounds he makes are unintelligible, and she’s found that that is exactly what she seeks when she gets on her knees before him: to have him in such ecstasy that he can hardly make sense of his words. She bites at the fabric so that she can pull it down, his cock springing free so that she can lightly scratch her fingers through the hair at the base. She loves the way he’s peppered with white all over, and she knows he likes her appreciation for it. The fact is, she can’t get enough of his perfectly sculpted body, the spatterings of silver and black making her heart skip a beat each time she thinks about him. 

 She can tell when she’s about to take it too far based on the way he struggles to keep his hips still, so she slows her movements and releases him with a pop, licking her lips as she looks up at him seductively. 

 “Do you want me?” she asks in a low, growling whisper that’s only just audible over the sounds of the wind picking up just outside the door. 

 “If I ever don't immediately say yes to that question, please smother me with a pillow. It means my age has caught  up to me.” 

 “Impossible,” she chastises, standing slowly and removing her own sweater. “You may be old, but I know you’re young at heart.” 

 He shakes his head at her, moving quickly to scoop her into his arms until her ankles are locked around his waist. “What did we say about respecting your elders?” he growls into her ear, biting at the lobe as he walks them towards the bed. 

 With a hum, she asks, “are you going to punish me, Captain?” and he tosses her gracefully onto the mattress in response. 

 “Perhaps I'll simply make you beg.” 

 “Oh, I'm not above begging. I happen to know you’re quite the catch, so it'll be worth it.” 

 “Are you making fishing jokes while I’m trying to seduce you?” 

 The smirk she gives him is telling as he pulls her leggings over her hips and bites into her flesh, making her jump slightly. “Oh! I thought I was supposed to nibble on your rod?” 

 “Emma,” he laughs breathlessly. 

 She breathes out a laugh as well as he drags his tongue along her folds, not quite touching her where she needs him. “You really know how to lure me in, what can I say.” He bites the inside of her thigh silently, making her laugh aloud and then stutter as his tongue finds her clit. He keeps it there only momentarily, moving away in favor of peppering soft kisses around her thighs and over her hips. “Stop teasing,” she whines with her eyes squeezed shut, and he can see her smile growing before she says, “or should I say… baiting.”

 He growls playfully as he hurries up the length of her body, decidedly punishing her by refusing to put his mouth on her center, although he doesn't think she minds as his lips collide with hers and his fingers plunge into her entrance. “You’re quite funny,” he says against her mouth as he expertly curls his fingers up against the sensitive spot inside her.

 “Tha-- thank you,” she says, struggling to get the words out around her gasps and moans. “W-will you-- mmm, Killian.”

 “Yes, my love?” he whispers as he sucks a bruise into her neck. 

 “Fuck me.”

 He hums thoughtfully, slowing his fingers and pulling away from her so that he can purse his lips in pensivity. “No, I don’t think I will,” he tells her, his tone serious but the sparkle in his eyes anything but. 

 “Killian,” she whines, giving him a pout and gasping as he flicks his fingers over her clit. 

 She’s about to go mad, both with need and with absolute irritation at him, before he places his lips at the shell of her ear, lining his hardened cock up to her entrance, and whispers, “I’d much rather make love to you,” as he thrusts inside. 

 Emma doesn’t even have time, never mind the wherewithal, to berate him for his jest. She clings her fingertips into the backs of his strong shoulders, weathered by the sun and battered with the exhaustion of his livelihood. Their mouths fuse together tightly, neither of them willing to be any further from the other than they absolutely have to. 

 She whimpers against his lips as he strokes his fingers against her expertly, touching her exactly as she needs him to. He pulls slightly from her kiss, his mouth hovering over hers, and she knows he’s going to ask if she’s alright without him needing to. 

 Rather than wait for the question, she says, “I love you,” into the barely open space between them. 

 Killian doubles down on his efforts, driving into her with passion and love, the likes of which she’s never felt before. He breathes his love for her into every inch of her skin, his movements echoing his words until she gives him one last warning whimper and they fall apart in each other’s arms. 

 “I love you,” he whispers against her skin. “You mean everything to me.”

 She gives him a soft smile, running her fingers soothingly into his hair as he collapses against her chest, his own heaving with each breath. “I certainly got more than I bargained for when I came here.”

 “Aye.”

 “Before I came,” she whispers, pausing to collect her thoughts. “Before I met you, it was like I was sinking. Like I could barely stay above water and I was one big wave away from capsizing.”

 He smirks against her skin, chuffed at her nautical references despite his teasing earlier, and says, “I believe I know what you mean, angel.”

 “And then I met you, and it was like I jumped overboard.” Turning his head so that he can look up at her, he raises a brow. “I was clinging to this dinky little boat that was sinking, you know? I was clinging to this idea of how my life couldn’t have gone. But I met you and you showed me that it’s okay when things don’t go the way we hope they will. You helped me see that it’s okay to let go, because…” she shrugs, busying her fingers in his hair. “Well, I guess because there was a life raft waiting for me. You.”

 With a deep blush, he shakes his head in disbelief of the woman before him, pressing a kiss to her chest before pressing up onto his elbows and finding her lips with his. “I love you,” he whispers. “You’ve changed my life for the better, you know. I was quite the half-drunken recluse before you came to town.” 

 “I know,” she whispers with a satisfied smile. “We make quite the pair.” 

 “That we do.”

 They lie in comfortable silence for a few more moments, Killian’s arms wrapped around Emma and his head on her chest as her fingers continue their ministrations through his hair. Eventually and reluctantly, they remember that they’re meant to meet her parents at Granny’s for dinner, and peel themselves off of one another just long enough to make it to the shower. They clean each other, after dirtying themselves once more under the water, and resign themselves to the difficulty they have keeping their hands off of one another. 

 Once at dinner, they tame themselves as much as they can, but neither of them miss the narrow-eyed looks being shot their way by David and Mary Margaret. Killian can’t help himself, though. She makes him feel alive; like a teenager in love for the first time. At the end of the night, after his confession that he plans to never sail through a storm again if it will ease his love’s worries, David shakes his hand and claps his shoulder wordlessly. 

 Three months later, after they’ve moved the rest of Emma’s things into his small cottage, she walks into the kitchen and catches him laughing elatedly with her mother before being pulled in for a tight hug. She wants to ask what they’re so excited about, but stops herself to take in the sight of the two of them finally getting along. It means so much more than her mom liking her boyfriend. 

 Their life together is perfection-- everything they could have hoped for and more-- and he can’t wait to ask her to spend the rest of it by his side. 

~~~~

~~~~

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[tippedbykreider]

something just like this | c. parayko

Word count: 14.6k Warnings: Mention of infertility Author’s Note: Colt and Cass are back! There’s been about 1.3k of stuff added to this but everything has remained pretty much the same :) Song title is from ‘Something Just Like This’ by The Chainsmokers Summary: Colton Parayko is no stranger to living life on the road and being away from home, but when a new neighbour moves in to the property next door, Colton comes to learn that perhaps home isn’t a place after all.

Colton Parayko would consider himself to be a lucky man. He had a dream job, he was living in a city that felt like home despite being thousands of miles away from his actual home. He drove a nice car, had a nice house in a good area and his neighbours were some of the kindest people he’d ever had the pleasure of encountering. Sure, there were days where he could kill a man for a Tim Horton’s but had to settle for a Starbucks instead, and those days made a pang of homesickness rear its head in his chest, but they were few and far between and if his biggest gripe was a lack of Tim Horton’s coffee in St Louis, then Colton thought he was doing pretty damn well if he was to say so himself.

He’d been in the city for the better part of five years now and had really found a place where he felt like he could put down roots, or at least for as long as his career would allow. When he’d first moved to the city he’d found himself an apartment right in the heart of Downtown, and while it was exciting and there was never a dull moment, it never really felt like somewhere Colton could see himself long term. He liked to party just like anyone else, but he was happiest when relaxing in his own space with a puzzle or a good book. To some this might seem boring or like he was old before his time but with a life as full on as Colton’s could be, it was a nice change of pace to kick back, relax and unwind. That’s what led him to the house he’d called home for the last couple of years. It was modestly sized but bright and airy and a perfect base for him during the season. The neighbourhood was quiet and filled with a lot of young families and it had that real sense of community that reminded Colton of his hometown back in Canada. He didn’t have to think twice about leaving his number with Laura and Joe or Tom and Martina on either side of him in case of an emergency and he knew that his bins would be taken care of if garbage day fell during one of his stretches on the road.

Things had been the same since he’d moved in and in some ways it seemed like time had stood still in that little corner of St Louis but rather than feeling humdrum and dull, Colton felt like it gave him a safe harbour to come back to during the crazy storm of the hockey season. No matter whatever else was happening in his life, Colton could always rely on the community spirit of his neighbourhood to make him feel like he was at home. But sooner or later, the tides of change sweep in and life as we know it is rearranged, sometimes in small ways, other times beyond all recognition. It started on a Tuesday morning in late-February; it was a rare day off and Colton was locking the front door to his house before heading out on his morning run when he noticed the for-sale sign in the front yard of the house to the right of his. He had no reason for the odd feeling that had sprouted in his stomach and had begun to settle heavily there, but there it was all the same.

He set off down the street at a leisurely jog, casting his mind back to the last conversation he’d had with Tom or Martina to try and remember if they’d mentioned anything to him about them potentially moving elsewhere but he was certain that they hadn’t. He would have remembered something like that, he would. He wasn’t exactly sure why seeing the sign had jarred him so much in the first place because while he was friendly with Tom and Martina and while he had always made sure to buy their son a small gift every Christmas and birthday since moving there, it wasn’t like he would consider himself to be their best friend or anything like that. But even so, Colton always enjoyed hearing Sam play outside on warmer days and he knew that he would miss his raucous laughter, it had reminded him so often of his own niece’s back in St Albert. Perhaps that’s what all this was about, Colton thought, the nostalgia and the sense of normalcy and that feeling of home, but even he understood that all things succumb to the rolling tides of change and that people move on to pastures new. All he could hope was that the new owners were just as nice and friendly as the soon-to-be old ones were.

 It was early April when Colton spotted the removals van parked out on the street and within 48 hours he found himself waving off the Parkers along with the rest of the cul-de-sac. He wondered then who the new owners were, what they were like, whether they had children and hoped beyond hope that they would be willing to help keep an eye on his place while he was either away on the road or back in Alberta. He didn’t give it much more thought after that; the Blues were about to start their playoff campaign and Colton’s mind was firmly fixed on hockey. It was only when he returned home from a two day trip to Minnesota that he noticed a silver Mercedes coupe on the driveway next-door. The neighbourly instinct in him told him to go and introduce himself, but it was getting late and all Colton could think about was getting inside, taking a hot shower and dragging his tired body into bed.

An early practice meant that any semblance of a lie-in was out of the question. He’d decided to forgo breakfast at home in favour of an extra fifteen minutes wrapped up in the warmth of his duvet, figuring that he’d find some time to eat at the rink instead. By 8am he was slipping on his sneakers and heading out the door, a small duffel slung over one shoulder with a travel mug of coffee in his hand and his keys in the other. He was so focused on getting the front door closed and locked without having his bag slip from its precarious perch and spilling his coffee that he didn’t notice his new neighbour going through a similar routine of their own. She had a tan leather satchel balanced on her shoulder and her tote handbag was hooked over the same arm and dangling obnoxiously enough that it was severely impeding her ability to get the front door closed. Colton had just turned to get into his car when he saw her and his eyes immediately went to the comically large travel mug that was being held at an almost dangerous angle while she tried to move the bags out of the path between the door and the frame.

It was a no-brainer for Colton to set his own travel mug down on the roof of his car and cross the distance between the two houses, pocketing his car keys as he went. He couldn’t help the small smile that sparked across his face as her voice came into focus with every step he took.

“Με δουλεύεις? Δεν έχω χρόνο για αυτό! Σκατά στον τάφο σου…”

His brows knitted together in confusion despite the gentle smirk on his lips, stifling a laugh as he approached the porch steps while his new neighbour sighed in pure exasperation, completely unaware of his presence behind her.

“Σάλτα και γαμήσου.”

Colton leaned forward and took the mug, which was now tilted almost horizontally from her efforts, from her hand. She turned her head quickly, a look of surprise on her features that Colton returned with a friendly grin.

“You looked like you were having a bit of trouble there.”

She closed her eyes and offered a small laugh on the exhale of a single breath, the corners of her lips quirking ever so slightly into a hint of a smile.

“Sorry about that,” she said apologetically. “The plan wasn’t to cause a ruckus in the street this morning.”

Colton laughed and offered his hand to take the bags from her which she accepted gratefully, turning and shutting the front door before turning the key in the lock with a sense of finality.

“Sounded like you were really sticking it to that door.” He handed back her bags and waited until she’d pressed the button on her car keys to unlock it before giving her back the mug of coffee, taking in the navy blue pencil skirt suit and the powder blue silk blouse she wore. “You gonna be okay from here?”

“Yeah,” she nodded as she tossed her bags onto the passenger seat and surveyed him with a thankful expression. “Sorry for the theatrics, I just get a little flustered when I think I’m running late, especially on my first day at a new job.”

“Completely understandable,” Colton agreed while nodding sagely. “I’m Colton, by the way.”

“Cassandra,” she replied, offering her hand which he shook. “I’m guessing you live around here?”

“Yep,” Colton pointed to his house, not a stone’s throw away from hers. “Literally just there.”

Cassandra smiled at him, bright and dazzling and a million miles away from the frustrated little grimace she’d had on her face only a few minutes before, as if the incident with the door was already a distant memory.

“Well, it was lucky you came along when you did. Two bags, one of them heavy and a mug full of coffee? Could’ve been messy,” she smirked behind her travel mug as she took a sip, surveying him with chocolate eyes that were keen and warm all at once. “That’ll teach me, huh?”

“Glad to help. Although maybe leave the octopus impression to actual octopuses. Or is octopi? I never know which,” Colton mused, adjusting the strap of his duffel on his shoulder.

“I believe octopuses is the correct plural, grammatically speaking, although I’m not sure they mind either way,” Cassandra contemplated with a bemused smile on her lips before a brief silence fell between them as they surveyed each other with easiness and a gentle intrigue.

She was beautiful, Colton thought, and nothing like any woman he’d ever seen before with her olive skin and hair as dark as her eyes and there was a kind of fire in her belly, of that Colton was sure because in his twenty seven years of life he’d never seen anybody berate an inanimate object with the kind of gusto that she just had, even if he didn’t understand a word of it. He thought it was an odd contrast to the perfect, pristine suit that she was wearing and he found himself wondering just what it was that she did for a living. That thought quickly brought his mind back to the present, remembering that the real world was calling and that they both indeed had to get to their respective jobs, and he made a mental note to ask her about it when they both had a little more time on their hands.

“Well, I uh, I actually gotta shoot for work too but it was really nice meeting you,” Colton announced with what Cassandra interpreted as slight reluctance which she found both intriguing and endearing in equal measure. “And good luck for your first day at work, I hope it goes well for ya.”

“Yeah, you too and uh, thanks again.”

Colton flashed her a toothy grin, one that gave him a boyish kind of charm despite his imposing size, as he replied, warm and genuine, “Anytime.”

Cassandra watched with intrigue as Colton retreated back to his driveway and got into his SUV, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She wasn’t sure what exactly the rest of her day would have in store for her, but as she saw the little wave Colton gave her through the window as he pulled away, she could feel a lightness start to spread in her chest and knew without a shadow of a doubt that the small act of kindness from her new neighbour had salvaged her morning.

 It was four days later when Cassandra saw her neighbour again, an unusually warm Friday afternoon to be exact. It was his car in the driveway that she noticed first on account that it had been missing for the last two days and while she knew nothing of the man that had rescued her Monday other than the fact that his name was Colton, she couldn’t help the involuntary smile that had settled on her lips as she turned into the quiet cul-de-sac and saw the dark grey SUV she’d recognised from the other morning. She wondered just exactly when he’d come home, remembering her earlier observation that it was still missing as she reversed off her own driveway a shade past 8am that morning. It was 2:30pm now and all Cassandra could think about was getting out of her tailored dress and court shoes and into something much more comfortable.

She shut the engine off and climbed out of her car, grabbing her purse as she went; she’d come back for her satchel later. She immediately slipped off her shoes, not caring that she hadn’t even made the short distance up the driveway to the house, and tucked them carefully under her arm while she fished in her purse for her keys. She didn’t notice the tall blonde from next door emerge from his house, nor did she notice the bemused smile he wore while he watched her root around her too-large purse for her house keys and she definitely didn’t notice him set down the bucket of water and sponge he had in his hands before starting to cross the short distance between their houses.

“You need some help there?” he called out with a grin, causing her to jump and drop the shoes under her arm and the purse in her hand with a clatter.

“Ιησούς Χριστός!” She turned then, the slightly startled expression on her face melting into a warm smile and a soft laugh as she took in the large man in front of her, playfully prodding his solid chest as payback for the little fright he’d given her before moving to bend down and pick her belongings up off the floor. Colton was quicker though and before she had a chance to really register what was going on, Colton was handing her back the oversized purse, the black court shoes still in his other hand.

“Now, I’m gonna hazard a guess here and say that those aren’t your size,” she added with a devious little smirk, nodding towards his hand and laughing. Colton took a couple of beats to catch up to what she was saying as his eyes drifted from the easy grin she had on her face to the shoes before his face turned an interesting shade of pink and his free hand moved to rub the back of his neck.

“I just, um, I figured I’d keep a hold of them while you looked for your keys,” he offered.

“Very thoughtful of you. I swear I’m not usually this disorganised,” she said while she resumed her search inside of her purse. “It’s the Friday brain.”

“Rough week?”

“I’ve questioned my life choices exactly seven times this week and considered becoming a stripper but then I remembered that I couldn’t dance and my parents would be extremely disappoin- Aha!” She pulled the keys from out of her purse and put them into the lock. Colton was instantly hit with the sweet smell of summer flowers mixed with a scent that he couldn’t quite place the second her front door swung open but it somehow seemed to fit her, despite him still not really knowing her all that well. He wanted to though, because while she was intriguing and piqued Colton’s interest in all manner of ways, she was also incredibly warm, the kind of warmth that would draw even the most adventurous wayfarer to hearth and home. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was about her that gave her this gentle presence, maybe it was her eyes and how they seemed to hold a kind of sincerity that he couldn’t help but be enchanted by. Perhaps that was the reason why he was still standing holding her shoes in his hand even after she’d crossed the threshold into her home, despite him every intention of using the rare sliver of free time he had to do something productive like wash his car.

She’d finished hanging up her purse and was now back in front of him, surveying him with an easy smile while her hands reached out to gently take the shoes from his hand.

“Do you wanna come in for a drink or something? I bought a new espresso machine the other day and it’s the perfect weather to make iced coffee, although other beverages are also available if you’d prefer something else.”

“Oh I don’t wanna interrupt-“

“You’re not,” Cassandra assured. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to, believe me.”

There was a lightness in her tone that matched her smile and Colton found himself nodding in agreement, the bucket and sponge sat on his porch steps forgotten as he followed her inside and closed the door behind him. Her home had a warmness to it, much like the one Cassandra radiated herself, and Colton couldn’t help but be impressed at just how put together and lived in the space looked, despite it not even being two weeks since he was sure she’d moved in.

“Wow,” he said as he followed her deeper into the house. “You wouldn’t think you’d just moved in here, it took me weeks to unpack.”

Cassandra smiled as she grabbed two glasses from the cupboard while Colton settled himself against the kitchen island.

“I don’t have a lot of stuff really. This place is easily two or three times the size of my old apartment back in New York so once the furniture was in there wasn’t really an awful lot left to unpack. I did go to Pottery Barn on like, my second day here, which I’m not sure I’ll ever financially recover from but those chunky merino wool blankets are like crack to me.”

Colton laughed as he allowed his eyes to go to the blankets in question that were arranged over the back of a cosy looking cream fabric corner sofa. There were scatter cushions that somehow managed to look both homey and perfectly placed and while the whole room screamed French farmhouse vibes that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Pinterest, it never lost the inviting and hospitable charm that hit him as soon as he stepped foot inside. He took in the rest of the décor while Cassandra busied herself with their iced coffee, pushing away from the island to get a closer look at the many photographs arranged on the side tables and walls.

His attention was caught by a particularly large framed picture on the wall above a console table, eyes immediately drawn to the large group of smiling faces staring back at him. There must have been at least forty people in this photograph, he noted, all standing in front of a white villa with shutters that were the colour of the bright sky above them. He found Cassandra easily, her smile even more dazzling than the sun was that day. She was stood between a man and a woman whom Colton could only assume to be her parents. She had the same golden olive skin as her father, he thought, and her eyes bore a remarkable similarity to his in the way they crinkled slightly at the corners when she smiled but her smile itself and the rest of her features? They were all her mother’s and Colton caught himself smiling softly as he traced his gaze over each happy face in the photograph.

“Is this your family?”

Cassandra poked her head around the wall to see what Colton was referring to, laughing softly at the sight of him looking at the picture with a mild sense of wonder resting on his face before going back to finish making their drinks.

“Yeah,” she called from the kitchen.

“That’s a, that’s a real big family you got there.”

“Well,” she started, the amusement and teasing clear in her voice. “I am Greek and if you’ve ever seen that movie with John Corbett and Nia Vardalos you’ll understand exactly what it’s like.”

Colton fired a grin at her as he shook his head gently, “can’t say that I have.”

“I wish I could say that they exaggerated what it’s really like for the purposes of the movie but they really, really didn’t,” she laughed over the sound of the espresso machine. “Although I am glad that the swearing the other morning didn’t tip you off, I was trying to stay incognito so I didn’t have to spend my life listening to people talk to me about how good the gyros are here. The ones you guys sell here? Not traditional Greek gyros and frankly I’m insulted.”

She reappeared with two glasses in her hand, sidling up next to Colton with a brush of her shoulder against his bicep as she nudged into him with a playfulness that he couldn’t help but chuckle at, thanking her as he took one of the glasses from her hands.

“I mean, I thought you looked Mediterranean but I wasn’t a hundred percent sure on what language you were yelling at your door in.”

“Sometimes when I’m frustrated I open my mouth and my baba comes out,” Cassandra shrugged casually from behind her glass as she took a sip. “Those genes run pretty strong. They’re a passionate people, the Greeks.”

“So were you born in Greece and then moved here when you were young, or?” Colton asked, following Cassandra as she moved to the patio door and out onto the deck before settling down in the chair next to her.

“Oh no, I’m a born and raised New Yorker,” Cassandra clarified as she set her glass down on the side table between them.

“Really? I’ve been to New York a few times with work and you don’t have much of an accent, if you don’t mind me saying. I uh I don’t mean it rudely it’s just, there’s usually a distinctive accent there.”

“Ah, they beat accents out of you in Law school,” she grinned as she surveyed him. “It’s not professional sounding apparently. Although it’s probably for the best, if I sounded anything like my mother I’d never be taken seriously in my field.”

Colton nodded, becoming more intrigued by the woman sitting beside him by the second. “So your parents came here from Greece,” he hadn’t meant for it to sound so much like a question but he was eager to hear more.

“My dad did, my mom was actually born in New York but my grandparents emigrated here from Italy so you can just imagine my mom’s accent,” she punctuated her answer with a laugh before continuing. “My Nonna is from Naples and my Nonno was born in Bologna. They met and got married in Italy and then emigrated here when they were in their early twenties, it was all very romantic. Nonno passed away a couple of years ago and Nonna took it pretty hard but she has my mom and aunts and uncles around to take care of her.”

“So your mom’s family-“

“Also massive,” Cassandra laughed. “I say that I came to St Louis for work but really it was for the peace and quiet.”

Colton chuckled with her at that, unable to even imagine the size of her combined family. He wondered if they’d ever all been together in the same room during Cassandra’s lifetime and whether it was as chaotic as he thought it might have been based on Cassandra’s words.

“So family gatherings must be pretty wild, huh?”

“Thankfully most of my dad’s family are all in Greece. My paternal grandparents are really old now so they don’t venture very far, let alone this far but my dad’s siblings have been to visit a couple of times and it’s always, um, interesting when mom’s family visit my parents while dad’s relatives are staying there and when I say ‘interesting’ I mean ‘loud’,” she grinned. “Everyone forgets regular social conventions like waiting for the other person to finish speaking before starting to speak themselves and the concept of an indoor voice.”

Colton let out a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a cough as he stopped the mouthful of coffee he’d just taken from reappearing out of his nose, Cassandra laughing along with him before she offered him an apology and a smile.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to make you inhale your drink there.”

“No,no, it’s okay,” he assured. “It was a good mental image, almost curious to see what that’s like.”

“Well, if you ever feel like subjecting yourself to a headache and my family is in town I’ll let you know,” Cassandra winked as a gentle laugh floated past her lips.

“I appreciate it,” Colton grinned in reply, although he couldn’t help the heat rising in his cheeks at the thought, which was an unusual response in itself, he thought, given that the woman sitting beside him was still really an acquaintance. He paused briefly as the light moment they’d shared settled between them, filling the space with a quietness that was by no means uncomfortable despite it being light-years away from their laughter not moments prior. There was a distinct curiosity there, a desire to know her in the way that friends know each other and it was a curiosity that Colton couldn’t trace the source of. She was his neighbour, yes and neighbours often knew a surface level of information about each other and their lives in a kind of shallow and superficial kind of way, and she’d been kind enough to invite him in for coffee, which was probably about as neighbourly as you could get but there was something else about their interactions that felt like more than being just neighbourly. There was a lightness to them, a playfulness that he couldn’t recall experiencing with any of his other neighbours and that curiosity, that need to keep talking to her and listen to her life story, her likes, her dislikes and everything in between, but he also didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, and so he opted to ask her about something safe, something she’d already offered to him in passing.

“You said you went to Law school? I know you probably get this all the time but you must be pretty smart.”

“Yeah, uh, NYU. Graduated a few years back, took the bar examination and then got a job at a decent firm in Manhattan. It’s just so competitive there, y’know? It felt like I couldn’t ever really get ahead no matter how hard I busted my ass because of just how cutthroat that whole scene is and I was sick to death of feeling like I had to prove myself in an old boy’s club just because I was a female in my mid-twenties with a foreign sounding surname so I thought I’d broaden my horizons a little bit. I looked up some reputable firms across the country, sent a few speculative letters and here I am.”

“I can’t even imagine what that’s like, having to jump over hurdles like that just because you’re a woman with a mixed heritage, like I guess I’ve always been aware of how my privilege has meant I’ve never really had to deal with stuff like that but I just can’t even… You’re one tough cookie, you know that?” Colton turned in his seat so that he was facing her better, his glass cradled within his hands.

“I guess you kind of have to be when you work in law, especially as a woman. I spend most of my days around guys who look for opportunities to turn any situation into a dick measuring competition and who look at you like you’re some incompetent newbie who’s only in that position to fulfil some sort of equality and diversity quota bullshit,” Cassandra sighed heavily, meeting Colton’s eyes as she continued. “Real talk? It feels like I lead a double life every single day. I go to work and it feels like I have to put on a persona just to prove that I belong at the table and that shit is fucking exhausting. That person I am when I’m at work? That’s not the real me but people will see that person and make judgments about her, y’know? They’ll say that I’m ‘difficult’ or that I’m ‘cold’ or ‘standoffish’ when in reality they create an environment that is so toxic for women that they force them to be someone they’re not just to get by.”

Cassandra inhaled deeply, filling her lungs back up with air after her mini-tirade had come out on a whoosh of a breath. She was wearing an almost sheepish look as she surveyed Colton, an apologetic smile gracing her lips before she spoke again.

“Sorry for the rant that you literally didn’t ask for or need.”

“Hey,” Colton replied sincerely. “You don’t need to apologise. Honestly? I’m just in awe that you’ve not let the bullshit stop you, most people would have thrown in the towel and peaced out.”

“It’s definitely better now that I’m not working in New York, like, I know it’s still very early days but all my colleagues are really nice and the few attorneys from other firms I’ve dealt with have all been really respectful. I don’t know, it just feels different here. Don’t get me wrong, I love my city, I love New York but I don’t miss the toxicity of working in practice there.”

“Was it hard? Leaving your family and stuff? I mean, it sounds like you’re all pretty close,” Colton asked.

“So hard,” Cassandra nodded solemnly. “Mom and dad were devastated. Their only daughter moving nearly a thousand miles away? God, I remember their faces when I told them. Mom cried, fuck, I didn’t think she was ever gonna stop.” She paused briefly and Colton felt her sigh settle all through his body as her dark eyes found his. “I don’t know how much you know about Greek and Italian culture but family is everything.”

“I don’t but I kind of know what it’s like,” he spoke softly, hoping that she would pick up on the reassurance he was trying to offer her. “Picking up and starting all over again? Leaving your family behind? I know what that’s like and sometimes, when the summer rolls around and my work is done for the year, I almost don’t wanna go back home because it’s hard. It’s hard to see all the things you’ve missed and it’s hard to leave it all behind again but I wouldn’t ever change that feeling because it’s good to know that you have something you miss that much.”

Cassandra took a few moments to let Colton’s words settle in her chest before asking quietly, “where is home?”

“Canada.”

“Wow, so you’re even further away from home than I am. God, I’m sorry. I invite you in for coffee and pleasant conversation and I turn this into a ‘woe is me’ pity party for myself.”

Cassandra looked down into her glass and Colton felt an unfamiliar pull in his chest. It was as if a cloud had passed in front of the sun and the light had dimmed and everything suddenly felt that little bit colder. He wasn’t sure why he all at once felt compelled to open himself up to her, usually being one for his own company and never extending the hand of close friendship to any of his neighbours before, but there was something about Cassandra and the way that she already felt like a ray of sunshine in his life. If there was a way for him to chase the clouds away, even for just a little while, Colton was going to make sure of it.

“Hey, Cassie?” he started, quickly correcting himself. “Um, can I call you Cassie?”

Cassie looked up from her glass to find him looking at her with a newfound softness and she was struck by how much he reminded her of her ancestral home with the rich, warm sand of his hair and the ocean harboured within his eyes. She smiled then and much like a passing cloud, the sun seemed to come back out with that small quirk of her lips.

“You can.”

Colton set his glass down on the table then and folded his hands together, looking at her with a gentleness that was reflected in his voice as he spoke. “I know I’m not always around. My job it- it takes me away quite a bit but I want you to know that you don’t have to feel like you’re alone here. I know how rough it can be starting over in a new city and if I can help or if you ever wanna just talk or hang out, I’m here for you. You can even have my number, if you want, y’know in case you wanna talk or anything while I’m out of town and I just, I want you to remember that it’s okay to feel homesick sometimes.”

Cassie nodded at that because more than his words and the candour with which he spoke, it was the sincerity in his eyes as he looked at her that made her believe him wholeheartedly.

 Colton’s offer of friendship was one that Cassie had taken him up on and it was a state of being that came naturally to the pair. Cassie had learned about Colton’s job as the number one defenceman for the St Louis Blues during their conversation on her patio and while hockey wasn’t a sport that she professed to be well versed in, she still enjoyed hearing about his training, the games and everything that came with it, and she’d been around the Rangers fans in her family long enough to know that he was pretty big deal given that he was a Stanley Cup Champion. Colton, on the other hand, found himself completely in awe of Cassie’s role as a complex litigation lawyer for one of St Louis’ most prestigious firms, especially knowing a little bit more about her struggles to be seen and work her way up the ladder and while he couldn’t profess to be au fait with how it all worked and what was involved in her line of work and the litigation process, he loved to hear about the cases she was working on and how her work helped others. But above those things, their jobs were ones that kept them both busy and it was during the quieter times, the times that would have had them both seeking the solace of their own company once upon a time, that they would seek out each other.

It had started as cups of coffee and quick catch-ups in the brief respites of their hectic schedules, but had soon evolved into making time for lunches and even dinners shared over bottles of wine, continuing long after Colton’s season had ended before finally pausing around mid-July when he would be heading back North to spend the rest of the summer with his family. It had worked out fortuitously though as Cassie’s caseload had multiplied seemingly overnight and she would find herself working longer days and spending more time at the office than her own home. Colton was concerned of course, as any friend would be, and he would check in often when he knew she was working late. It’s not that Colton thought that she shouldn’t be working more hours, understanding enough about her job and role to know that the final push before a big court date often meant extended working hours to get everything ready, but he wanted to make sure that she was taking care of herself and wasn’t putting herself at risk of burnout.

It was a late-August evening when Colton called at around 7:30, just as he had been doing for the last couple of weeks, knowing that Cass would usually be home from the office by that point with her being an hour ahead in Missouri, even with her later working hours recently. The line rang for a few seconds, longer than it usually took for Cassie to answer him and Colt wondered if he’d maybe caught her taking a shower or making dinner. She answered eventually though, a little breathless sounding and an almost forced calmness in her voice.

“Cassandra Constantinou.”

“Cassie? Hey, it’s Colton. Is uh- is everything okay? Is this a bad time?”

“Colt,” she breathed, voice softening immediately. “Hey. God is that the time already?”

She ran a hand through her dark hair as a tired exhale passed her lips which had Colton furrowing his brow at the other end of the line and while Cass couldn’t see the slight worry that rested on his features, she could hear it in his voice as he spoke.

“Are you alright? You never answer your phone with your full name.”

“Sorry,” she murmured, slumping back into her desk chair. “Still in work mode.”

“Wait, are you still at the office?”

“Yeah,” she grimaced as she took a sip of her long-cold cup of coffee. “The court date for that big case I’ve been working on is in two days and I just need to make sure I’ve got all my ducks in a row. Time got away from me a little bit tonight and I was already behind from putting metaphorical fires out earlier in the day.”

Colton sat up from where he had been laid on his bed, unable to keep the concern out of his voice despite the fact that he didn’t want to come across like he was being overbearing.

“Have you eaten?”

“Lately?” Cassandra replied.

“Cassie-“

“I had lunch around 12:15.”

“Cass, that was 8 hours ago,” Colton chided gently. “You gotta eat, πουλάκι μου.”

Cassandra paused her action of moving papers aimlessly around her desk, a grin sparking at her lips for the first time that day and catching like kindling until it had spread the full width of her face and all the way up to her eyes.

“Did you just- have you been googling Greek pet names, Colton Parayko?”

Her tone was light and bright and Colton could feel her smile through the phone, feel the way it crawled through his skin and settled in his bones like a welcome ray of sunshine on a cold day.

“I-I,” Colton was flushing beet red and he was thankful that Cassie couldn’t see him in this moment because the redness in his face was quickly spreading to the tops of his ears. “I’ve been trying to learn Greek.”

“Oh yeah?” Cassie grinned with equal parts mischief and glee, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her desk. “Look, if you wanna learn how to swear at guys on the other team, you might not wanna call them ‘my little bird’, you totally could’ve just asked me if you were wanting to learn some Greek phrases. I can teach you all the good insults.”

“That’s not,” Colton sighed in mild exasperation, although inwardly pleased that this had provided Cassie with a much needed distraction from the stress of her work. “I just wanted to surprise you.”

Cassie’s grin softened immediately and she didn’t miss the way her heart constricted ever so slightly either. Her tone shifted to something much gentler and a world away from her playful teasing not a moment ago.

“Well, consider me surprised.”

“You don’t mind, do you?” Colton asked after a pregnant pause.

“Not at all. I think it’s actually really sweet and thoughtful.”

A silence descended between the pair but it wasn’t one that was uncomfortable, instead it allowed the seed that had been buried deep in Cassie’s chest since the day Colton had gone back to Canada to sprout and it was in that moment that she found herself really missing him. She missed him for a lot of reasons, some she could rattle off like how he looked out for her and made sure that she was taking care of herself, and others she wouldn’t understand fully until later. It was as if Colton could hear that quiet call of her heart in that moment where she found herself wishing that he was back in St Louis because he broke the silence with the words Cass had been longing to hear for weeks.

“So I’m coming back at the end of next week and I was hoping you would be free to hang out.”

“That would be amazing,” Cassie’s voice was rich through the phone with her smile and Colton couldn’t help the slight flutter in his chest when he thought about how pretty she looked when she smiled in the way he was imagining her to be.

“Yeah? I figured I’d come back a couple of weeks early before training camp because… well because I’ve really missed hanging out with you.”

“I’ve missed you too, Colt.”

Colton didn’t miss Cassie’s choice of words and had to fight to resist the urge to analyse them for anything other than what they were. She said it though, not just that she missed hanging out with him, but that she missed him and she had meant it too. She had missed him, more than she thought she ever would and maybe more than friends should miss friends, and despite it being the height of summer, Cass felt like she’d been living under a grey cloud since Colton had left for Canada. It should have rattled her with how easy it had been for Colton to become a part of her life, especially when she had been so used to her own company. It had been the same since she graduated law school – she would work, often long hours as was expected of new associates trying to find their footing in a firm, she would come home tired, she would eat, shower and sleep before getting up and doing it all over again. Any free time was spent either catching up on all the things she didn’t have time to do during her working week or with her family, knowing her parents and grandmother well enough to know that if she didn’t surface frequently there would be a freak-out of epic proportions. Since moving to St Louis though? Cass’s life had changed completely and in ways she never thought possible.

Work was still stressful, yes, but for the first time in a long time she felt valued and appreciated and she was on course for partnership if things kept going the way they were; but more than that, she felt a sense of fulfilment that extended beyond her career. Being friends with Colt was easy and it was as if the two of them had an unspoken mutual understanding of what they needed from each other and their friendship. Cassie understood the pressures of Colton’s job, just as he understood the stresses of hers and it was that awareness of each other and their lives that had allowed their friendship to blossom so easily. That time spent with each other, whether on Cassie’s back patio or curled up on Colton’s couch, was what they both needed to re-center and reset. Sure, they would talk about work but it was always kept brief because neither felt the need to discuss it in great detail, they both knew what it was like for them and they both knew that their time together was an escape from all of that. Some nights they’d sit in companionable silence with nothing more than soft music in the background, others they would talk and talk about everything and anything. But as the weeks had progressed, they found themselves saying goodnight to each other later and later and that hint of reluctance would creep in in the form of a too-long hug or a lingering look. It felt natural though, and good and right, and so it was incredibly easy to make firm plans for when Colton came back to the city.

The end of the work week brought about a successful conclusion to the case that had consumed so much of Cassie’s time and with the resolution that she’d worked so hard for came vast amounts of praise from her bosses and a lighter work load the following week. They’d even gone so far as giving Cassie the Friday off for her efforts but there were a couple of loose ends that needed tying up and so, despite their gentle protests and their best efforts to get her to stay home, Cassie found herself at her desk that Friday morning. As lunchtime approached and all loose ends were sufficiently tied, Cass turned her computer off for the final time that week and said her goodbyes as she headed out of the office. She’d use the afternoon to spruce her house ready for Colton coming over once he was back from the airport and she’d resolved to give her parents a quick Skype after receiving a string of text messages from her mother, with the last one being a threat to fly down to St Louis if she didn’t hear from her soon.

The baking late-August heat had Cass tearing off her pencil skirt and blouse no sooner had she stepped into her house. She cursed as she hopped down the hallway in her heeled pumps, the grey fabric of her skirt bunched around her knees while her clammy hands fumbled with the tiny buttons on the crepe silk blouse.

“Γαμώτο!” she exclaimed as she came dangerously close to slipping on the rug in her hallway and face-planting the floor. “ηλίθιο χαλί.”

She kicked off the shoes that had almost been successful in making her the proud owner of a broken neck and pulled her skirt down her calves, stepping out of it before pulling her half unbuttoned blouse over her head and tossing the discarded clothing into the hamper in the laundry room. She rooted through the shamefully full basket of clean clothing that sat upon the counter top until she found the loose cotton maxi-dress she was looking for.

After indulging in a cool glass of ice-tea, Cass set about tidying the house - not that there was much to do, but growing up in a family full of house-proud women meant that not a single cushion could be out of place if company was coming over, especially if that company was of the male variety (not that she’d ever share that bit of information with her mother). After all, as her Nonna Gioia would say: “a ogni uccello il suo nido è bello,” and even Cassie could appreciate that a beautiful nest was indeed a tidy nest.

It was close to 3pm by the time Cassie settled down on her couch with her laptop, the temperature inside the house much more comfortable with the whisper of a breeze coming through the wide-open patio door. She balanced her computer on the arm of the sofa as she started the Skype call to her parents, her mother’s voice the first thing she heard, even before the video had loaded and before Cass had the chance to say ‘hello’.

“Mamma mia, Cassandra! We thought you’d dropped off the face of the earth!”

“Hi, mom,” Cass smirked. “How’re you?”

“Not funny, il mio passerotta.”

Cassie watched as her mother inched closer to the screen with narrowed eyes, already expecting the next words that came out of her mouth.

“You’re looking thin in the face. Are you eating? Are you sick?”

“No, mama, I’m not sick and yes, I’m eating,” Cassandra replied with as much conviction as she could muster in order to appease her mother, her effort falling short with her mother’s next line of questioning.

“What are you eating?”

“Giovanna,“ Cassie’s father interrupted.

“Look at her, Hector! She’s all skin and bone! Don’t you want to know what she’s been eating? She could be living off celery for all we know! When was the last time you had a proper meal? You’re not doing one of those ridiculous diets are you? They’re no good for you, Cassandra, there’s nothing wrong with a woman having a bit of meat on her bones.”

“I’m fine, mama,” Cassie sighed, keen to steer the conversation away from herself. “How is everyone? Nonna okay?”

“Yes, yes, we’re all fine here. You should call your Nonna though, she misses that pretty face of yours.”

“I’ll call her tomorrow and arrange to Skype next weekend, give her chance to get someone to set things up for her.”

Conversation quickly turned to the family happenings back in New York, much to Cass’s relief. Her father had been incredibly busy with work, she’d learned and he’d finally got around to buying himself a new record player after Cass had spent the better part of four months trying to convince him that there was no salvaging the old one. After half an hour or so of catching up, Cass felt a mild sense of relief wash over her at the sudden realisation that she’d managed to get through any amount of time talking to her parents without the subject of her love-life being brought up.

“Oh, your cousin Antonio had a date with a very lovely girl last week. She’s a hairdresser, such a good girl.”

Ah, fuck.

“Really, mama?” Cass said indifferently, praying to whoever was listening that she wouldn’t follow that up with anything. “Good for him.”

“You know,” her father began, looking over his glasses at her. “If you didn’t work so much then maybe you’d have time to find yourself a man.”

“Baba,” Cass warned gently.

“Your father’s right, Cassandra,” Giovanna gently scolded. “You’re a beautiful girl, why haven’t you found a nice boy yet? You’re too young to be a spinster.”

“Exactly, mama,” Cassandra replied calmly. “I’m too young to be a spinster. I’m working hard to get where I want to be in my career. There’s plenty of time for all the other stuff. Didn’t you tell me to work hard at my job and do well for myself?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t want to be an old Nonna. I want to be able to run after my grandbabies and I’m not getting any younger.”

Cassandra opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by the sound of her front door opening and then closing with a soft click.

“Cass?”

Cassandra’s face flashed with a gentle confusion as she checked the watch on her wrist before contorting into mild horror at the sound of Colton calling her name again, louder this time – loud enough that it carried through the microphone and out through the speakers of her parents’ computer judging by the gleeful expression on their faces.

“Is that a man?” her mother said excitedly. “I heard a man’s voice. Who is he? Why is he letting himself into your house? Is he your boyfriend?! Why didn’t you tell us you had a boyfriend?!”

Colton appeared in the living room, a sheepish look on his face as he spoke.

“Sorry, is this a bad time? I caught an earlier flight and wanted to surprise you.”

“Cassandra Giulia Constantinou, you’d better answer me this second!”

Cass winced at her mother’s voice and threw Colton a glance that she hoped would tell him to run far, far away before her parents started making demands that would make Colton want the ground to swallow him up, demands that she was sure would make their friendship incredibly awkward.

“Bring him in,” her father asserted. “Let me get a good look at him, make sure he’s good enough for you.”

“Baba,” that warning tone was back in Cassandra’s tone and there was a look in her eyes that Colton found adorable but knew better than to make a comment describing it as such.

Whether or not his next move was against his better judgment would remain to be seen but Colton found himself coming deeper into the living room and sitting down on the couch next to Cass, Giovanna audibly gasping as he did so while Hector removed his glasses and surveyed the large man sitting next to his daughter.

“He’s very pale, does he not go outside? Is he sick?” Hector remarked. “It doesn’t snow in St Louis, does it? You’d lose him in a blizzard.”

“Ooooh, Cassandra. Isn’t he tall? And so broad!”

Cassie gave Colton, who had turned an interesting shade of crimson she’d never before seen, an apologetic smile before turning her attention back to her parents.

“Okay, could we try maybe not weirding my friend out? ‘kay, thanks and Jesus Christ, dad, you can’t just say stuff like that to people, I don’t even know where to start with how inappropriate that is.”

“I thought my tan was pretty good this year,” Colton muttered loudly enough that only Cassandra heard him and she had to fight with every bit of self-restraint she had to keep a straight face.

“So, young man,” Hector was speaking again; those eyes that were so remarkably like Cassandra’s were keen on Colton and Cass knew that she wasn’t going to like what was about to come out of her father’s mouth. “What is it that you do? Cassandra is a very bright girl and she shouldn’t be settling for just anybody. She deserves only the very best. Tell me why you think you’re good enough to date my daughter-“

“Okay, that’s it,” Cassandra interrupted, her tone sharper than Colton had ever heard it before. “αυτό είναι απαράδεκτο. δεν τον ανακρίνεις έτσι! είναι φίλος μου και είσαι πολύ αγενής!”

“Cassandra,” her father tried but he was immediately cut off by her once more.

“είμαστε φίλοι και τίποτα άλλο. σταμάτα να με πιέζεις να παντρευτώ” Cassandra paused for a second, as if to catch her breath from whatever tirade she’d given her parents that Colton could only begin to imagine before she spoke again, in English this time. “Now, if you don’t mind, Colton here has just got home from travelling and we have plans. I’ll call you again on Sunday.”

Whatever Cass had said to them must have worked, Colton thought, because their responses were much more subdued and they said their goodbyes rather quickly, Cassie closing her laptop with more force than was necessary and with a long exhale of breath that flared her nostrils.

“I am so sorry,” she started, her eyes apologetic as she surveyed him with a slight crease in her brow that made Colton’s heart tug in his chest.

“Hey, it’s okay. I shoulda-“ he rubbed his large hand over the back of his neck as he spoke softly. “I shoulda called ahead or something. Or knocked. Literally could’ve done a thousand things differently. Sorry for putting you in a spot there.”

“No, no, you’re fine. It’s just them. They mean well but fuck.”

Colton reached across and squeezed her hand gently, the touch managing to warm Cassie’s skin even on a day as hot as that one.

“Y’know,” he began, his tone light with a hint of teasing. “You’re terrifying when you’re pissed and start talking in Greek.”

He grinned as Cassie barked out a laugh, her head thrown back in that carefree way that made his stomach do backflips and her dark eyes sparkled behind her long lashes as she looked at him with a beaming smile, the annoyance that had rested on her features melting away into nothingness.

“Yeah? You’d do well to remember that, Parayko.”

“I wouldn’t dream of fighting you,” he quipped. “You’d kick my ass.”

There was a pregnant pause before Colton spoke again, unsure whether or not to say the words that sat heavily on the tip of his tongue. It was the gentle look in Cassie’s eyes, the smile that still graced her lips as she surveyed him easily and the way her thumb had taken to absentmindedly stroking the back of his hand that spurred him on, sure as he was that he could always be candid with her.

“What um, what did you say to them? I’ve never seen two grown adults look so timid after a telling off.”

Cassie chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, chewing over the words in her mind before she spoke them quietly, her eyes resting on Colton’s hand in hers.

“They just have this thing about me settling down and I get it, I’m their only child, I’m approaching thirty and they want grandkids. Remember how I said that family was really important to Greeks and Italians?”

Colton nodded, his eyes soft on her while he waited for her to continue.

“And every time we talk it’s ‘your cousin is seeing this girl’ or ‘the oldest Maloney girl is pregnant, isn’t that nice?’ and it is nice, it is, like, good for them, y’know? And I know my parents wanted a big family and I can’t even imagine how that must have felt, being told after the birth of your first child that she’d be your only child when they had all these plans to have lots of babies and have a big family. I want to make them happy and give them the grandkids they’d always dreamed they’d have, I do, but I’m not there yet, maybe sometime in the future but it has to be right. It has to be.”

She paused then, the rich earth of her eyes finding the summer skies of his and felt a flicker of a flame stir within her chest at how easy it was to just be like this with him, to be open and honest without fear of him somehow using that vulnerability against her. It was liberating and terrifying and everything Cassandra ever dreamed it would be when she eventually found someone she was comfortable sharing this part of her life with, that vulnerability and intimacy that was often so hard to show because of her line of work. But Colton was good and sweet with a pure heart and purer intentions and so she didn’t need to think twice about sharing this part of herself and what she’d said to her parents with him.

“I told them that they were out of line, that they can’t interrogate you like that and that their behaviour was incredibly rude. I told them that we were just friends and that they needed to stop pushing me to get married.”

Cassandra could’ve sworn that Colton’s expression had deflated slightly at the mention of their relationship status but before she’d even had the chance to process it, Colton had fixed his features back to the easy and gentle expression he usually wore around her.

“They just really care about you, y’know?” Colton said quietly after a brief moment of silence. “They want you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Cassandra assured and Colton couldn’t help but wonder if the conviction in her voice was for his or her own benefit. “I am. Moving here has been the best thing. Work is awesome, I have a house that I could only have ever dreamed of being able to afford in New York.” She paused again, making sure that she had Colton’s eyes on her before she dropped the volume of her voice to just above a whisper, “and I met you. How could I not be happy?”

Colton smiled, not big and bright, but soft and warm and filled with a tenderness that teetered on the edge of crossing the line of friendship. Here in front of him was someone he would have never imagined would become a good friend in the relatively short time they’d known each other, his best friend in fact and now that she was here, in his life and in his heart, he wondered how he’d ever lived a life without her because with Cassandra, nothing was ever forced and she gave him a strange feeling of freedom that he’d never had before. It was that kind of ease that makes the stresses of life fall away and whenever he was with her it felt like they could be the only two people on earth. She knew when he was struggling with the stresses of his job without him ever needing to say it out loud, just like he would know when she was under pressure with her own work but more than any words of encouragement they could give to each other to alleviate the stresses and burdens of life, it was that peaceful, secure feeling between them, that came so effortlessly, that pulled them towards each other like planets to a sun. It was then, in that moment, that Colton began to understand that maybe home wasn’t a place at all, it was a feeling. It was something that you miss when you’re without it and Colton could say with completely certainty that he’d missed Cassie.

Cassie and Colton would see each other almost every day over the course of weeks that followed. Even with the start of training camp, Colton found himself home every evening and Cassie’s work schedule had eased somewhat, meaning that she was often escaping the office at 5:30 on the dot. They would spend those precious few hours before sleep called them to their respective beds together, talking over dinner with a bottle of wine open between them before eventually retiring to the couch. Sometimes they’d find themselves talking all night, with the TV in the background forgotten about, others they’d watch something easy together (which led to Colton discovering that he really enjoyed Bake Off, much to Cassie’s delight) but their favourite nights together, or at least for Colton anyway, were the nights where they would share their favourite music with each other. Colton had admittedly not been much of a music enthusiast. Sure, he enjoyed listening to it just as much as the next person, but he would be the first person to confess that his listening never really extended beyond the radio. The same couldn’t be said for Cassie.

Much like her father, Cassie was the proud owner of an old record player that had been lovingly refurbished. If asked about it, she’d preface her love of the item by saying that it was probably the most extravagant purchase she’d ever made, but she would also make no hesitation in saying that there was just something about listening to Etta James or Billie Holliday on vinyl that digital versions just couldn’t hold a candle to. Colton loved that Cassie’s music preferences had been influenced by her family, he loved hearing about how her father had fallen in love with Stevie Wonder and Aretha Franklin when he first came to America at the tender age of 21, he loved hearing about how Cass’s father would purchase a new vinyl with every pay-check, something that had started when he first started earning money as a carpenter and handyman and still continued to this day. He loved how Cass could recall, with complete clarity, the way she would sit on the rug in front of the record player as a child while she watched her father unwrap the vinyl, filled with both excitement and anticipation at what wonderful music was held on the black disc in his hands. Colton learned that music had been such a prominent and important part of her childhood, whether it was listening to her father’s music collection with him and telling him about new artists to try or weekends spent at her Nonna and Nonno’s house filled with Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. All of those songs had touched her life in some way and with each story Colton couldn’t help but feel thankful and grateful to see inside the heart that brought him such peace and happiness without even realising.

All too soon though, the season had started once more and once again Colton found himself on the road. This time it felt different though. Instead of the usual indifference he would feel about being away from the comforts of home, he felt an ache that had started in his chest and settled all through his bones. It wasn’t homesickness, at least not in the traditional sense of the word, because it wasn’t his house that Colton missed, it was the person that made him feel like he was home. It was the person who had taken the time to make him a Spotify playlist to listen to while he was travelling, that playlist that he couldn’t help but have on repeat because during those moments that the music filled his ears and filled his soul like sand in an hourglass, he was back in St Louis on her patio with her, drinking wine and laughing together with that same music filtering through the sliding doors. It was easy, in those moments where he would be on the plane with his headphones and that playlist on, to close his eyes and imagine the way her rich laughter crawls all the way through his skin and warms his heart like a shot of whisky on a winter’s day.

Cassie hadn’t really noticed just how much a part of her life Colton was until his schedule was pulling him out of the city and she found herself alone again during the evenings. She also found herself, in those moments, picking up the television remote and tuning in to Blues games, even going so far as reaching out to her cousins back in New York to pick their brains about the finer details of hockey, citing her sudden interest in the sport as a new hobby on account of her not wanting to throw Colton into the lion’s den. She’d made sure to test her newfound knowledge on Colton during their phone calls while he was away (which impressed him to no end) and had made a promise to come and watch him play his next game at Enterprise Center. It was that promise that had Colton wrapping up a blue jersey, with his name and number on, in pretty floral paper, going so far as adding a length of ribbon tied in a little bow on top, even if it did look a little droopy by virtue of his large hands and less than nimble fingers.

Colton was tired. A tough stretch of road-games had his body aching in ways that would ordinarily have him crawling into bed and not resurfacing until practice obligations demanded it, but it’d been almost a week since he’d seen Cassie and the promise of her company, a home-cooked meal and all the wine he could manage was something he wouldn’t dream of resisting. He had taken a quick shower once getting home before changing into a pair of jeans and a soft-knit sweater, making sure to grab the wrapped jersey and the small bouquet of flowers he’d picked up on his way back from the airport. He was a little early but he’d learned from experience that Cassie wouldn’t mind. He would simply make sure that she had a full wine glass and offer to help in the kitchen.

He let himself in as normal, the beautiful smell of rich tomatoes and herbs hitting him immediately and sparking a wide smile on his face. He didn’t speak immediately, the volume of the music she had on loud enough for him to know she wouldn’t hear him, but instead slipped off his sneakers and moved further into the house.

“Hai usato capperi?”

The voice that came from the kitchen belonged to an older woman and Colton found himself wondering if he’d missed something during his earlier conversation with Cass. He was sure she hadn’t mentioned having extra company but he had been picking up flowers for her at the time and it was entirely possible that he could have missed that small detail in the process.

“Non è una vera puttanesca se non usi i capperi. Me lo hai insegnato tu.”

Colton paused in the archway, his eyes falling to Cassie in the kitchen while his heart swelled to ten times its normal size at the sight in front of him. There was no one else there with her, only her iPad on a stand resting on top of the counter. It took a moment for Colton to realise that the voice was in fact coming from the device when he heard the older woman begin to speak again.

“Dimmi di più su questo ragazzo che ti piace”

Cassie laughed at whatever the older woman had said before replying, “Ti ho già parlato di lui, nonna.”

‘Ah,’ Colton thought. ‘This is the word famous Nonna.”

“Bene, dimmelo di nuovo!’ her grandmother chuckled. ‘Sono una vecchia signora e la mia memoria è terribile”.

If you asked him about this particular night at a later date, Colton wasn’t entirely sure how long he had stood there listening to Cassandra talk with her grandmother while her hands worked the pasta dough she had been making, but he would tell you that it was long enough for him realise what had been in his heart for a while. Because somewhere in between Cassie talking and laughing with her grandmother and their spirited rendition of the number he recognised as being Dean Martin that was playing loud enough through Cassie’s record player for her Nonna to hear, Colton understood what that recent feeling of homesickness had been. It wasn’t homesickness at all, it was love.

He wasn’t sure why the sight of Cass kneading pasta dough while Facetiming her grandma had made the penny suddenly drop for him. Perhaps it was the fact he could feel every bit of the love that this girl had for her Nonna, much like the love she had for every member of her family. Perhaps it was the fact that she had taken time out of her day to spend time listening to old jazz records with her grandmother just like she had when she was a child. Perhaps it was the fact that the woman in front of him was beautiful and intelligent and so unbelievably kind. But the truth and reality of it was that it was all of those things and above everything else, it was the peace and sense of belonging he felt whenever he was with her. It was having someone to be proud of and be proud of him in return and it was having someone to miss, having someone in his life who makes saying goodbye so hard. Cassie was all of those things and deep down Colton knew that he was those things for her too.

His feet must have heard the call from his heart that his head had not because before he could catch himself he was right behind her with his hand on her lower back, gentle and soft. She jumped slightly at the contact, not expecting him to be in her house for another twenty minutes.

“Sorry,” he laughed quietly before pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “I figured I’d come over early and help but this all looks a little out of my ability range.”

“Guests don’t help the cook. Guests sit at the island, drink alcohol and mock those who are doing the cooking. Those are the rules” she grinned in reply.

“Mamma mia, Cassandra, cioè un bel giovanotto!”

Colton wasn’t entirely sure what Cassandra’s grandmother had said but whatever it was had Cassie groaning slightly and, unbeknownst to him, her face burning white hot.

“OK, ora riattacco il telefono,” Cassie groaned causing her Nonna to cackle wildly.

“Dagli un bacio per me!”

“Sei una cattiva signora,” Cassandra grinned before the pair said their goodbyes and she was closing the case on her iPad.

Cassie’s attention then turned to Colton who was leaning casually against the counter with an easy grin playing on his lips.

“So that was Nonna?” he asked.

“Yeah, that was Nonna,” Cassied laughed softly. “She was just checking in to make sure I wasn’t desecrating her spaghetti alla puttanesca recipe.”

“And were you?”

“Are you nuts? Do you know how angry Italians get when you don’t make their recipes properly? You might as well set fire to the flag.”

Colton barked a laugh at that, an impish little smirk on his face as he asked, “So cream in a carbonara would be a ‘no’?”

Cassie’s hands, which were rolling the dough ready for the pasta machine, stopped dead in their tracks, a look of abject horror on her face as she looked at Colton.

“Don’t even joke.”

“That’s one for the book then,” Colton grinned, referring to the little notebook sitting on his kitchen countertop that held all of his little tips and reminders he’d learned when it came to cooking, which Cassie found to be both hilarious and endearing in equal measure. “So your Nonna is okay?”

“Yeah,” Cass replied as she fed the pasta dough through the machine. “She said you were very handsome which is high praise indeed because unless it’s Dean Martin, Nonna doesn’t wanna know.”

Colton chuckled as he pushed away from the counter to fix them both a glass of wine.

“Your Nonna has good taste,” he smirked as he set Cassie’s full glass down beside her. “And what about you? Do you think I’m handsome?”

Cassie’s only reply was to suck air in through her teeth before giggling mischievously at the mock hurt on Colton’s face while his hand clutched at his chest.

“You’re wicked, you know that?”

“I get that from my Nonna too,” she laughed.

With Colton’s help, dinner was promptly served and Cassie asked Colton all about his recent trip while they ate. The first bottle of Barbera was soon empty and the pair were well on their way with the second one by the time their plates were clean of their food. Colton insisted on clearing the dishes away and loading them into the dishwasher, despite Cassie’s protests and soon enough they were both curled up on her couch with the glass pyrex dish Cass had used to make her tiramisu in and two spoons. The rest of the evening was spent in easy conversation, Cassie pressed into Colton’s side while his arm wrapped around her shoulders and held her against him. He couldn’t help the way his nose found the soft chocolate strands of her hair where her head rested heavily on his shoulder. They had been sitting in companionable silence for a while, with nothing but the smooth voice of Norah Jones filling the space between them but neither felt the need to speak, not because they didn’t have anything to say, but because there were no words that needed to be spoken, both content to just be there in that moment together.

That’s how it had been all along though, Cassandra thought as she listened to the steady beat of Colton’s heart beneath his strong chest. They had always been comfortable with just basking in the presence of each other, where nothing was forced or artificial. Every part of their relationship, from the moment Colton came to her rescue on the morning of her first day at work, to being in this moment with him now, felt natural and organic. It was easy to let him in and easier to open her heart and her life up to him and it was a trust that Colton gave back to her in spades. Cassie wasn’t sure if she really knew what love was, not having much of a positive experience of it herself and only having her parents’ and grandparents’ relationships to go off, but she believed that it had to be something just like this.

She wasn’t sure at what point she’d fallen asleep and she certainly wasn’t sure at what point she’d laid down with her head in his lap, but it was Colton’s gentle voice and the feeling of his fingers lightly carding through her hair that pulled her from the dream she was having, the memory of it slipping quickly away from her as she passed into the waking world.

“Cass? It’s almost midnight, πουλάκι μου… I gotta head home.”

He smiled softly as Cassie groaned while her eyes fluttered open slowly.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” she mumbled, the last little remnants of sleep still clinging to her voice.

“It’s okay, babe. I wish I didn’t have to go but I have some stuff that I need to do in the morning before practice.”

“Yeah,” Cass croaked as she sat up and moved so that Colton could stand. “Yeah, of course.”

She followed him out of the living area and down the hall to the front door, her eyes drifting immediately to the small bouquet of flowers and gift-wrapped package that sat on her console table.

“Colt?”

Colton followed her gaze to the gifts he’d brought with him.

“Ah shit, I completely forgot I’d even brought these. I heard voices when I let myself in and I guess I just got distracted.”

“You bought me flowers?” she asked as she picked the blooms up, smiling softly at the spray of freesias, peonies and baby’s breath before picking up the wrapped gift. “And what’s this?”

“Just a little something for when you come to the game,” Colton grinned as he slipped on his shoes before turning to face Cassie.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Colton said softly, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “But I wanted to.”

There was a brief pause before Colton leaned in and placed a chaste kiss to Cassie’s cheek, his smile warm and gentle as he pulled back and with a tone to match while he spoke.

“If you’re home tomorrow afternoon I’ll come over with coffee and pastries after practice.”

With Cassie’s agreement plans were made for the following day and Colton said his goodnight before heading back home, already missing her despite only being next door. As Colton got himself ready for bed he let himself think about Cass and the way he felt whenever he was with her. She gave him the safe space to just be and that was something Colton wasn’t sure he would ever have the words to thank her for. He’d dated enough since going professional to know that not all women were genuine and that in itself made it hard for him to find a meaningful connection, but things were different with Cassie. She had her own life, was successful in her own right and didn’t care about who he was or what he did for a living. Instead, she was supportive and listened to what he was telling her, really telling her, and she always seemed to know what to say and, most importantly, when to say it because for all Colton was always open to hear someone else’s perspective, there were times where he just needed to he heard.

Cassie not only gave him that but so many other things too. She was bright and witty, thoughtful and patient, kind and generous but above all of her wonderful qualities, she’d been an incredible friend to Colton. That friendship was one that he cherished and he knew it was something she cherished too, but rather than be rattled by the idea of that friendship potentially becoming something else, Colton embraced it because it was only what he knew to already be true between them. Their friendship had laid the foundations for them to build something truly wonderful and Colton knew that he was ready to take that leap, but more importantly, he knew that he’d be taking that leap with an amazing woman by his side, and so, as he climbed into bed and settled his head against the pillow, he resolved to tell her his truth when he saw her the following afternoon.

It was a little after 2pm when Cassie opened the door to Colton, the promised coffee and pastries clutched in his hands which she gratefully took from him as she invited him inside. She arranged the baked goods on a plate while Colton poured their coffees into mugs and shortly after they were settled on Cassie’s couch with her sat cross legged facing him and her back against the arm.

“How was practice this morning?” she asked after swallowing her first sip of coffee, a gentle look on her face as she surveyed Colton.

“Yeah, it was good. Coach worked us hard but it wasn’t too bad.”

“Good,” Cassie hummed from behind her mug, eyes narrowing slightly at the way Colton was cradling his mug with his brow slightly furrowed. “Is everything okay with you? You seem a little distracted.”

“I um, I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Colton replied as he set his mug down on the coffee table and turned his body to face her better. “About last night.”

Cassie set her own mug down, giving Colton her complete and undivided attention. She didn’t say anything else, instead giving him the time and space to get his thoughts in order and say what he needed to say.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever really told you just how thankful I am to have you in my life.”

“You might have mentioned it once or twice, yeah,” Cassie grinned, causing Colton to laugh softly and some of that tension he was carrying in his shoulders to melt away.

“Well I am,” he replied, tone filled with sincerity. “But I’ve been feeling like something has changed between us and I think it started not long after I’d gone home to Canada.”

Cassie exhaled and chewed on her lower lip slowly, not entirely sure where he was going with this but unable to stop the little pit of dread from opening up in her stomach. She didn’t speak though and so Colton continued.

“I missed you, more than words can say really and while I loved going home and seeing my family, there was a big part of me that couldn’t wait to get back to St Louis and for no other reason than because you were in St Louis and I realised then, that home is wherever it is that you are. Then last night, coming in here and seeing you talking and laughing with your Nonna, God, you’ve never been more perfect to me because all I could see was that love and passion that you have for your family and fuck, Cass, I wanna be a part of that. I want to be a part of your world. We’ve not been just friends for a while and I know that it’s because I’ve loved you for a while, last night just kind of confirmed to me what I already knew deep down.”

“Are you done?” Cassie asked with a straight face and Colton looked at her a little stunned before nodding apprehensively.

It took precisely 1.7 seconds for Cassie to close the distance between her and Colton and crash her lips against his, and another .5 of a second for Colton to catch up and move his hand to cup the back of her head while he kissed her back. They stayed that way for a few moments, their lips moving slowly together in perfect harmony as Cassie manoeuvred herself into Colton’s lap while her fingers busied themselves in his hair, long-overdue for a haircut but Cass found to be a look that suited him along with the short beard he’d grown.

She pulled away only once her lungs had begun their gentle protest for breath before pressing another, quicker kiss to his lips, Colton’s brow quirking as she devolved into giggles.

“What’s tickled you?”

“Nothing,” she grinned. “Just that second one was from Nonna. She told me to give you one from her.”

Colton couldn’t help but laugh at that and found himself wearing a grin to match Cassie’s, still smiling even as their lips met once more.

“God, I can’t wait to meet her, all of your family, actually.”

“You, Colton Parayko, are either incredibly brave or certifiably insane,” Cassie teased as she carded her fingers through his hair, the smile still bright on her face. “It’s a lot, you think you can handle it?”

“I know I can,” he replied, all cocky and confident with a sparkle in his eyes that reminded Cassie of the way the sun kisses the Mediterranean on a summer’s day.

“Good,” she grinned with that bright and beautiful smile that Colton loved so much. “Because one of the perks of loving me is that you inherit a weird, obnoxious family who will drive you completely crazy but who are the most generous and wonderful people you will ever meet.”

“I do love you,” Colton said, his tone soft and a million miles away from what it was not a moment ago. “And I want this, I want you and everything that comes with that because this? Us? It’s perfect and it’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Cassie kissed him, slow and sure and soft while her hands moved from their home in his hair to cup his face while her thumbs swept along the scruff at his jaw. It was a featherlight, her touch, but Colton felt it spread all through his skin until it had filled every single corner of his body and had him feeling both grounded and weightless all at once. He pulled back a shade to look into her eyes, those brown eyes of hers that held all the warmth of an everlasting hearth, as if they were the wood that could burn with golden flames and yet be forever perfectly entire. In those earthly hues was his soul, those eyes that were filled to the brim with the kind of beauty that expands a moment into a personal eternity, a heaven he wished to always be a part of. So lost in that astral plain as he was, he almost missed her words, but they were the kind of words that go beyond hearing. They were words that he felt, in the way that she looked at him, in the way that she touched him and in the way that she spoke his name and hearing them said out loud only confirmed what they both felt in their hearts and in their souls.

“I love you too, Colt.”

Colton couldn’t help the smile on his face as he connected his lips with hers once more, sighing into their kiss. That feeling was there again, that feeling that had been there all along, that peaceful, easy feeling of being at home and while neither of them knew for certain what the future would bring, they knew that they would be okay while they always had each other. Neither Cassie nor Colton had ever really experienced what it was like to be in complete and irrevocable love, but somewhere deep inside of them, despite not really knowing what it was that they should have been looking for, they knew that it was something just like this.

[carnegiemuseumnaturalhistory]

Survival of the Fishiest: Astonishing Adaptations of the Aquatic World

by Shelby Wyzykowski

For Charles Darwin, all sorts of species—from birds and large land animals to flowers and tiny invertebrates—captured his interest and encouraged him to explore the great diversity of life. After years of observation and research, he published his famous book On the Origin of Species in 1859. In it, he presented his revolutionary and controversial theory of natural selection, which is also commonly referred to as “survival of the fittest.” His theory suggested that individuals of a species are more likely to survive when they inherit traits from their parents that are best suited for their specific environment. Essentially, beneficial adaptations give an organism the greatest chance to live and carry on its genetic line. This well-known theory is in part rooted in Darwin’s early experiences with and on the ocean. In 1831, he embarked on a five-year journey on the HMS Beagle, serving as their on-board naturalist. As the crew surveyed and mapped the South American coastline, Darwin marveled at the wonder and beauty of the sea, observing and collecting surface plankton as well as theorizing how coral reefs form. Unfortunately, with no photography and limited technology, studying ocean life was difficult even in shallow water. So, in Darwin’s time, little if anything was known about life far beneath the waves. But if he were alive now, Darwin would no doubt delight in all of the incredible underwater discoveries that have been made by modern-day science. And he would more than likely be awestruck by the many amazing adaptations that sea animals employ to survive.

Aquatic Adaptations: Antarctica

Image by Andrea Spallanzani from Pixabay.

When one thinks of an environment in which adaptation is of the utmost necessity, Antarctica may be the first spot that comes to mind. The Southern Ocean, which encircles Antarctica, is an unforgiving and inhospitable place to live. Rotating currents almost completely isolate these waters from the rest of the Earth’s much warmer seas. This keeps temperatures low…it can drop to 28.6 degrees Fahrenheit in the winter! To combat the cold, Antarctic icefish produce and carry special antifreeze proteins in their blood and body fluids. These proteins bind to ice crystals, dividing their crystalline structures and therefore inhibiting crystal growth. Without this antifreeze, microscopic ice crystals would form in their bodies, severing nerves and damaging tissues to a deadly degree. It’s an incredible adaptation, but it did not happen quickly. About 25 million years ago, the Southern Ocean, flowing around the isolated Antarctic continent, began to cool. Aquatic life in this area had to evolve the special antifreeze proteins, find some other way to adapt to the cold, or go extinct. Today, thanks to their special cold-water adaptation, icefish make up more than 90 percent of all fish species in the Antarctic!

Aquatic Adaptations: Mariana Trench

But Antarctica is not the only harsh environment that demands extreme adaptations. You’d be hard-pressed to find living conditions that are more punishing and severe than in the Mariana Trench. Located in the western Pacific, it is considered to be the deepest part of the ocean anywhere on Earth. Near the trench’s bottom, the lunar-like landscape is pitch-black, and the pressure of the freezing cold waters would instantly kill any land animal. But, amazingly, sea animals have found remarkable ways to thrive.

In most places in the trench, the temperatures are between 34 and 39 degrees Fahrenheit. This extreme cold would not be good for most animals’ bodies because it would damage their cell membranes. These membranes are of a fatty consistency and must stay liquid to function properly. The Mariana Trench’s frigid temperatures would make the fat in a land creature’s cell membranes solid like butter. But deep-sea animals have evolved in a unique way that enables them to avoid such a chilly catastrophe. They have lots of unsaturated fats in their membranes, and these kinds of fats remain liquid at low temperatures and keep their membranes loose and intact.

Besides the bone-chilling temperatures, these aquatic creatures must contend with the pulverizing pressure. Extreme pressure can have a devastating effect on a body’s proteins (these are the molecules that do much of the work in a cell). To keep their proteins healthy and working well, sea life collect tiny organic molecules called piezolytes in their cells. These piezolytes prevent water from distorting and damaging the proteins. The deeper in the ocean an animal lives, the more piezolytes they need to have in their cells. One type of piezolyte, called TMAO (Trimethlyamine-oxide), gives fish their “fishy” taste and smell. Since TMAO increases with depth, being “fishier” is crucial for survival in the deep-ocean environment!

But food is also crucial for the survival of any organism; how is it possible to hunt in a world of darkness? Sea life have found many ways to deal with the lack of light. The stout blacksmelt, for example, has giant eyes that can capture the faintest glimmer of fleeting prey. The tripod fish has such unreliable vision that it mainly relies on sensors in its pectoral fins to detect the movement of a potential meal. And the anglerfish actually emits its own light by a process known as bioluminescence. The light from their built-in “headlight” will actually attract the prey to them!

Aquatic Adaptations Near the Ocean's Surface

Marine life that live a bit closer to the ocean’s surface have also developed ingenious ways to search for food. The Great White Shark could very well be thought of as the bloodhound of the sea. Its sense of smell is so good that it can detect one drop of blood in ten billion drops of water! But, if the prey is close enough, it need not spill one drop of blood for the Great White to detect its presence. This is because these sharks are experts in electroreception, which is the ability to detect weak electric fields in water. Unlike in air, the ability to conduct electricity in water is extremely easy. This scientific fact allows many underwater species, including Great Whites, to sense the weak electrical fields of biological sources (such as their prey). These sharks are known to react to charges of one millionth of a volt (for reference, a tiny AA battery has a mere 1.5 volts of stored energy). This acute sensitivity to electrical fields can be traced to electroreceptors in the shark’s skin. Pore openings peppered over its head receive minute electrical signals from the water and channel these signals into tubes of highly-conductive gel. Each tube ends in a bulb known as an ampulla of Lorenzini. Sensory nerves are activated in the ampulla and send the message to the shark’s brain. Their electrosensitivity is so precise that they can detect prey hiding in the sand bottom!

With such an extraordinary adaptation, Great Whites can be a formidable and terrifying predator. But sometimes even the hunter can become the hunted. If a Great White is foolish enough to go after a sick or young Bottlenose Dolphin, they might find themselves biting off more than they can chew. Living in groups called pods, dolphins have tightly-knit family groups with complex social structures. They actually have their own cultures and display positive cultural behaviors such as compassion and cooperation. So when one member of a pod is targeted as prey, the others will come to its defense and work in a coordinated effort to combat the Great White. They’ll surround the shark and attack it relentlessly. Some use their sturdy, bony snouts like battering rams and slam into the shark’s underbelly and gills, causing massive internal injuries. If the shark is lucky enough, it can make a quick escape, but pods have been known to actually kill sharks. These incidents involving selflessness and cooperation have also crossed the species barrier from time to time when pods of altruistic dolphins have come to the rescue of humans in distress. There have been many reported cases of dolphins encircling and protecting swimmers as they work to successfully fend off a shark’s persistent advances.

The altruistic and cooperative behaviors of dolphins are adaptations that exemplify the true meaning of Charles Darwin’s theory of natural selection. Believing that compassion was the key to evolutionary success, Darwin was in fact frustrated with the way many readers misinterpreted the phrase “survival of the fittest” (a term that he himself did not even coin…biologist Herbert Spencer did so in 1864). This phrase implies the use of selfishness, ruthlessness, and callousness to ensure survival. There’s certainly no denying that these actions have definitely played a part in evolution and in the realities of life. But Darwin chose to believe that sympathy, benevolence, and cooperation played even greater roles in the survival, flourishing, and evolution of a species. In the end, it’s the positive adaptive traits that determine as well as define the overall success of life on Earth.

Shelby Wyzykowski is a Gallery Experience Presenter in CMNH’s Life Long Learning Department. Museum staff, volunteers, and interns are encouraged to blog about their unique experiences and knowledge gained from working at the museum.

[olivyh]

TWST FAMILY HCS PT 3) Scarabia and Pomefiore

Scarabia:

Jamil:

-Mama Viper: She’s on the quieter side, similar to Jamil. She’s a very hardworking woman and incredibly loyal to whoever she gets close to, which extends to Kalim as well. Seeing the two boys grow up together, and considering how I think Kalim didn’t get the most attention growing up (with thirty siblings and counting, plus having his father working all the time) she felt sorry for him and took him in as her own as well. She sometimes feels Jamil’s pain at being stuck in the life of servitude, but is incredibly proud of him for sticking up for himself and doing what she never got to do, even if she scolded him after word got to the household. She can’t put much focus on either of her children, which deeply saddens her, but she looks forward to watching them grow up to be strong, intelligent, and independent. I think she’s a little shorter than Jamil, with the same long black hair that she braids down her back. She has dark brown eyes that almost look black.

-Papa Viper: He’s on the more reserved side as well, but not by choice. He’s very talkative when talking about his experiences, often going into rants where he has to remind himself to not overstep his boundaries. I think Papa Viper and Papa Al-Asim have a similar relationship to Kalim and Jamil pre-overblot, where it’s very one sided and there’s a lot of bitterness. Despite this, Papa Viper remains loyal to the Al-Asim family. Deep down he wishes he could spend more tike with his children and deeply regrets telling them to lessen themselves to make the Al-Asims higher than them yet again. And, like Mama Viper, he is incredibly proud of his son for being so intelligent and independent, sticking up for himself and trying to break the chains that kept their family held down foe generations. I think he stands at the same height as Jamil, with shorter cropped hair with grey streaks going across the sides.

-Little sister Viper: A spitfire who’s not afraid to speak her mind, often getting scolded by other servants and the rest of her family. Very close with Kalim’s younger sister who she has to watch over- they have movie nights and makeover nights as often as possible. She often scolds her older brother, telling him little things he needs to change (“haven’t you been wearing your hair like that since forever?”), which often gets them in little passive-aggressive arguments. She and Kalim’s younger sister aspire to be as magicam-popular as the Vil Schoenheit- they even have their friend from the land of Pyroxene to help them boost their account and make their pictures look better (Yes, they call and chat with Cater’s second oldest sister all the time)! I think she has long hair tied in a way similar to their mother’s, with Jamil’s dark grey eyes. I think she stands shorter than the rest of the family, at around 5’2.

Kalim:

-Papa Al-Asim: A cheery, joyful man much like his oldest son! He’s a little dense sometimes, but is actually a very smart man (it’s not easy to own a company after all!). He tries his best to bond with all of his children and wives, but often struggles to juggle everything at once (which leads to him being very teary eyed at every little interaction with any one of his children). Will also spoil his children and wives as often as he can! He likes to see all their different interests, and is overjoyed when he can watch some of them perform during dinners or hang up their paintings or drawings or, if he’s lucky and has the time, he can attend one of their sport games! I think he’d be a little taller than Kalim, with white hair similar to his, with dark brown eyes.

-Mama Al-Asim: A princess at heart. A very quiet and patient woman, who adores her children with every ounce of her being. I think Papa Al-Asim might have four-five wives? Bc these poor woman cannot be having six plus children in the span of seventeen years. I think she gets along well with the others, but would rather it be her and her children getting closer. I think she’s enamored with everything each one of them does, whether it be something as small as a craft they made or a little magic trick they learned, and will keep pictures of every little thing they do. She tries to include every one of them when she does something, whether it be reading aloud to them and the other children, or teaching them how to knit and sew, or helping them learn new dances and wearing new things. She teaches them to be kind to others, often retelling the story about the Thief and the Princess to point out how kind each of the protagonists were. She teaches them as much as possible, from how to help their Papa to how to fix your mistakes and catch them before they happen. She will listen to whatever problems they have, and will offer her shoulder to cry on for each and every one of them. She is also very affectionate to them, still offering cuddles and forehead kisses whenever they look upset (no matter how old they may get). I think she’d have very long brown hair that she tries to add as many intricate little designs to as possible, with Kalim’s bright red eyes. I think she’d be around 5’1-5’2?

-I AM NOT DOING ALL THIRTY YOUNGER SIBLINGS SO HERES A FEW HONORABLE MENTIONS: Twins who get into as much trouble as they possibly can, driving the servants insane. One of them often sneaks out of the palace and comes back after everyone spent hours searching for them with souvenirs. Nobody knows where they went or how they got there, and they won’t tell anyone. His little sisters often dressing up as princesses and performing whole musical numbers during dinner, with the dances down and everything. Hide and seek. With all thirty plus of his little siblings. It’s insanity for anyone wandering the palace. Their drawings are all over the palace. Animals. So. Many. Animals. They have anything from birds, to reptiles, to insects, heck, one of Kalim’s little sisters even has a domesticated tiger! All of them plan as many movie nights and pillow fort building days as often as they can- seeing each other not only as siblings but as close friends! Of course, when their oldest brother comes home from school, they all sit around his room as he tells them stories about things he’d seen and learned, as animated as possible. Of course, he tells them classic fairytales as well, acting them out and jumping around his room, trying to get as many reactions to them as possible. Of course, many of the quieter ones prefer to stick away from the action and near Jamil, who will quietly talk with them in the corner of the room.

Pomefiore:

Vil:

-Papa Schoapjfaojfpak: As already stated, a popular actor and stage director. With this comes the same publicity that Vil has to deal with, making him look nearly flawless and act as such when out in public. He keeps his son’s attitude when it comes to fans, keeping most interactions short and simple, putting on a show offstage nearly as much as he does onstage. Behind closed doors, however, he’s a very kind yet strict father, making sure that Vil takes proper care of himself and is happy at the same time. He struggled with the aspect of having to leave Vil alone for much of the time when he was a child since he had to work often. When these times were especially bad, he’d often bring Vil into the sets to help him get ready for filming or to watch his Papa from a little seat next to the directors. He would always chuckle and pat Vil’s hair whenever he told him something he could’ve done better after the filming process, glad that his son has an eye for these sorts of things. He’d even let him experiment with the expensive costumes and makeup, helping him fix his own small mistakes. He tries to make it to every show and movie that Vil does, often going undercover to ensure that fans don’t take his attention off his son. He has a box full of their own home movies that the two of them made, including action, comedy, even a few thrillers thrown in (of course, Vil was the strong hero who defeated the bad guy)(The bad guy being his poor father with fake blood smeared on his face). He watches them sometimes when he misses his son (and he cries about how far he’s come, not that he’d ever tell Vil). I think he’d be the same height as Vil, and a little muscular due to having to keep up appearances. He has Vil’s hair and eye color.

Rook:

-Mama Hunt: Okay back to my headcannon page about species, I saw something that said that Rook was half beastman. So, I like to think that Rook’s mother is the beastwoman in the relationship. She’s a strong, loving caracal beastwoman. She’s kind and often spoils her son as much as possible, coddling him whenever he’s around, no matter the age. He get’s his poetic nature from her, an artist, poet, author, whatever she could get her hands on! Despite this, she’s still a woman from the Savanah, so she gets very protective over her husband and son, and is a lot stronger than she looks! She would be the kind of woman who’d tell you the most vague, unsettling threats with a smile on her face, and she’s had some pretty close scrapes with people who thought that they could try to hurt her son because he was half human (and also, due to Rook’s nature, likely trespassing on their property). She tries to show her son the beauty in the world, complimenting him on every little thing he did and poetically pointing out everything beautiful around her during their walks (even if it wasn’t)(Mrs.Hunt please don’t show your son that roadkill)(please don’t compliment the roadkill)(let it rest in peace im begging you). She and her husband are incredibly proud of everything Rook does. I think she has short blonde hair that goes black at the ends, yellow eyes, and is only an inch shorter than Rook.

-Papa Hunt: Where do you think Rook got his hunting instinct from? Not from his beastwoman mother, surprisingly. The infamous Mr.Hunt was but a hunter who had wandered too far away from where his friends had decided to go camping in the Savana. He, like his son, was enamored with any non-human species, his curiosity leading him to a beastwoman quietly painting not too far from her home. With her enhanced hearing, she quickly whipped around and glared at him, shocking the man to the point of falling down. And from that point forward, he was in love. He’s incredibly supportive of his wife’s artistry, complimenting her at every moment about how perfect she did and how amazing she is as what she does. He’s a romantic, like his son, so you can expect many, many mushy moments between the two of them (que baby Rook making a face at the display). He wanted to teach his son as much as possible about the world, to make him as curious as possible. Of course, he wanted to bond with his son for as long as possible. How would they do that? Father-son camping trips, in which Papa Hunt would teach the boy how to shoot a bow (it took him a minute to realize that his son’s laser-point accuracy could be because his beastman instincts tell him how to get the kill as fast as possible, and he was the proudest Papa in the Savana when he went to tell his wife). He also often took him to larger towns, letting his boy get acquainted with his beastman culture so he didn’t feel too left out around others. He is the same height as Rook, but with shoulder-length black hair and bright green eyes.

Epel:

-Great-Meemaw Felmier: A very old and wise woman, shockingly stubborn and independent for her old age. She adores her great grandson and was the one who taught him how to carve apples in the first places. She’d tell him stories about when her father first bought the farm they lived on, and what things were like then, how they changed. Of course, she gets tired very quickly so these stories are often left with open endings, much to Epel’s dismay. She always knows what advice to give for any situation, and won’t be afraid to tell you the truth. She’s likely around her late nineties, and often carries around a walker that she smacks people’s ankles with. I think she’d have very, very long hair (“To preserve my youth”, she says) that she lets hang as much as possible.

-Meemaw & Peepaw Felmier: Two very sweet people. Both hailing from families of farmers who had lived in and around the village of harvest their whole lives, they grew up around each other and are practically inseparable. They care very much for their children and grandchildren, and often act as their grandchildren’s partners in crime whenever they get into trouble, patching them up when they get hurt and helping to clean the mess they might have made in the kitchen. would have shoulder-length light purple hair (almost white) that she ties back. They look like Mr. and Mrs. Claus that you see on those old Christmas animations that you can never remember the name of but see every year.

-Uncle & Aunt Felmier: A stern, but kind couple. Uncle Felmier is a gruff man, often being too blunt and too focused on work to take a break every now and again, and Aunt Felmier is strict with her child’s rules and schedule. Luckily, they have Epel’s parents to balance them out when they get too far. Uncle Felmier enjoys working out in the farm with his younger brother, and Aunt Felmier is Mrs.Felmier’s best friend, which made both the men very happy when Papa Felmier was getting ready to marry Mama Felmier. Whether it be cooking, baking, attending festivals in town, or even sitting near the fire and drinking tea/coffee, the four of them greatly enjoys each other’s company. Uncle Felmier is a taller man with light purple hair, with grey streaks going up the front, he’s more built due to working on the farm. Auntie Felmier is a stout woman, with light brown hair that’s often tied up in a low ponytail.

-Papa Felmier: A very kind and hardworking man, who lives for his family. He gets up at the earliest hours in the morning and goes to bed at the latest at night to keep the farm going and to help out their elderly neighbors. He’s a little strict with Epel, but that changed as Epel grew up and became less rowdy (not by a lot). He tries his best to understand his son and let him grow as his own person, hearing him out when he gets upset about others calling him feminine. He even tries to put a stop to his brother making comments about the boy, at least around him. He is a little scrawnier than his brother, but still fairly muscular due to constantly lifting things and operating machinery to keep things running. He has Epel’s purple hair and light green eyes.

-Mama Felmier: Another one where, if you hadn’t known she was a farmer, you’d think she was a lost princess. She’s a kind, generous, quiet woman who does her best to keep her chaotic household from falling apart. Similar to the Tweel’s father, she tries to protect Epel as much as possible, and him going so far away for school made her panic internally, as proud as she was of him. She does her best to calm her son down when he gets rowdy or frustrated at something, and often approaches him with hot cocoa or an apple tart to make him feel a little better. She solves everything with food, which mostly incorporates apples, and believes that by baking for him and by extension, his friends at school, she makes their days a little better, no matter how horrible they may be. She is welcoming to any of the boys from school who may have a hard time at home or who need a place to stay, and was happy to the point of tears when he told her that he made friends at school. Is another one who will proudly display pictures of their child, often having long conversations with their neighbors about how he is, what he’s doing in school, etc etc. She is incredibly beautiful (where else would he get that face?) and has long ginger hair with Epel’s blue eyes.

-Little cousin Felmier: Epel’s baby cousin is only around six or seven, and follows his older cousin as much as he can. He defends Epel as much as possible whenever people call him delicate and girly, and will go on long rants about all the cool things he’d seen him do over the years (“He jumped out o’ th’ tree! Without thinkin’!” “We were sleepin’ outside n’ he heard an animal outside o’ our tent n’ he scared it off!”). Is quick to help around the house, despite being stubborn and upset about not being strong enough to help his father and uncle work outside yet. He’s always quick to ask Epel about school, and has begged him on multiple occasions to let him go with him (“We already sleep in the same room! What’s the difference if it’s here or at your dorm?”). I think he’d have Epel’s hair color but with light green eyes.

Im just imagining Epel’s giant family living in the same farmhouse and it being this small, warm, friendly place out in the country with plaid red curtains and little apple accessories everywhere and quilts and a big fireplace they all talk by 🥺🥺

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

Elmer's Glue pt.1

Éomer/Reader

God you just can't get his name right, and it's a shame cause's he's cute af

Awkwardness Humor and Fluff

----

Someone like you shouldn't have survived nearly as long as you did.

You first came tumbling into Middle Earth a few days before departing for some big important quest to destroy a powerful ring, having landed yourself in a place called Rivendell that's full of elves and lovely scenery.

You were presented at some meeting and urged to join this 'Fellowship' and became a valuable member of the group even despite your lack of fighting knowledge, because you somehow had some sort of 6th sense regarding things that have yet to happen.

Just barely did you and your friends survive Helms Deep, The Hornburg, after all of those horrible events (losing Gandalf, Merry and Pippin being captured, and Frodo and Sam departing to continue on on their own), but once all is said and done, you're ecstatic to finally have a moment of rest and celebration.

A grand party is thrown in the royal halls of Rohan, but you're none to interested in the drinking or dancing.

Instead, you opt to watch everyone else enjoy themselves.

At some point after Legolas wipes the floor with Gimli in a drinking game, the prince, and brother of the sweet woman Eowyn, ends up meandering over to where you idly sit.

You remember riding with him to and from Isengard during your journey to reclaim your hobbit friends, though the two of you didn't speak much. It was kind of embarrassing for you to sit so close to him and attempt to share a conversation while looking straight ahead, so you didn't speak much at all, and he didn't engage himself often either.

It was surprising to you how comfortable the journey was, though, all things considered.

His horse was huge and he was just as large, but you never felt afraid or feared falling even once during the ride.

It's not a big deal, but it still stuck out to you since he's so clearly a very skilled rider.

Even after all that, however, you still totally blank out on his name when he suddenly approaches after helping Legolas bring Gimili to the resting area.

Your mind begins to race as you try to remember the name that belongs to him, and all too soon do you realize that you're both staring at each other and he's waiting for your to say something (probably after greeting you, which you did not catch).

"L-Lord... Elmer..." You say slowly after a moment, praying to god you got it right since you took inspiration from your favorite brand of kids glue.

He raises an eyebrow when you say his 'name', and a smile creeps on to his face. "Elmer?"

Ah, shit. You definitely didn't get it right.

"Elmo?" You mentally kick yourself for that one, he's definitely not a small red puppet monster, you would've noticed if he were.

He shakes his head this time, amusement painting his features as you struggle to come up with his actual name.

"Emir?"

Another head shake, and also a full on smile.

"It's not Edgar, is it?" It definitely doesn't sound right, but maybe you'll get lucky.

At this point, you know for a fact that your face is on fire, this is so embarrassing, but you simply can't remember.

"Would you like me to tell you?" He offers after you don't guess again for a time, leaning his arm on the table next to you, leaning closer to you.

Getting help at this point would be mortifying, so you deny his offer for the proper answer and take another crack and guessing. "No, no wait. I've got it! Your name is... Elinor..." You mentally smack yourself in the face for that one; he doesn't even look like an Elinor (mostly because he's not a woman).

"Not quite. Eomer is my name may I remind you."

So your first guess was the closest, but still so far away.

"W-Well, this is extremely embarrassing." You stutter out, adverting your gaze from his eyes which have suddenly become so close.

Eomer can't help but to laugh, and the smile that graces his lips is positively dashing.

You glance back up at him and notice right away, and once more your face begins to burn like a furnace.

"I-I didn't mean to forget, I swear! And I definitely wasn't trying to make fun of you either!"

His chuckles die down when your slightly panicked speech betrays your concern of being disrespectful, and he wastes no time in assuring you that it's perfectly fine. "If you are worried that you've upset me, then do not fret. I'm not offended, simply amused."

Well, that's a relief.

"Um... well, that's good- I guess," you tell him your name, then continue, "I feel so bad. You took me on your horse and everything and I didn't even remember your name! Gosh, I suck."

The tall blond-haired man looks at you oddly when you insult yourself so strangely, and you realize that you forgot to keep your other-word slang to a minimum since it can be hard to understand.

"Right, well, I came over to ask if you would like to join me on a walk outside. Are you interested?" He leans down a bit closer when he asks you this, acting as if he doesn't want anyone else to hear.

Typically you'd be more cautious than this, but you find yourself nodding along regardless.

---

Lord Eomer (you'll definitely remember his name this time, you swear it) took your hand in his and led you outside after you nodded your assent, and while you'd normally dislike being grabbed so casually, you allow it for some reason.

He releases you from his gentle hold once the both of you are beyond the party halls and outside in the cool night air at the bottom of the steps, and you finally find your voice to ask about his intent.

"So... did you want to talk to me about something or...?" You look up at him curiously with your hands clasped in front of you, twisting your heel in the dirt to ease the anxiousness.

"No, nothing in particular. I do have questions, but I simply wanted a moment alone with you," he pauses, then adds slyly, "Your friends have taken up al your time since we arrived, so I had hoped to steal you away for a time."

You aren't sure if you should be flattered, flustered, or both.

"I-I see... well, you've got me now." You mean it as a joke but it's hard to sound humorous when you're so flustered.

He only smiles and nods his head once, "I do."

Cue the awkward silence.

It appears that he's once again waiting for you to say something, so you decide to pull no punches and go straight for the heavy hitting topics.

"So, hows about that battle, huh? Crazy..."

His eyebrows knit together as he thinks over your strange speaking mannerisms, but he doesn't question it and only nods his head instead. "You could say that. The men fought bravely and we lost many, but our victory does not go unrewarded."

"Are you talking about the party?"

"Yes. That, and the knowledge that some of my men get to return home tonight and see their families."

His words bring a small, sad smile to your face, and you speak much more softly this time, "I'm afraid it isn't over, though. With everything going on, it's only a matter of time before we're all sent away again."

"We?"

Oh, right, he doesn't really know about your role in this merry group of misfits.

"Um, yes. I fight, er, kind of. I do my own thing really, but I can't afford to stay behind." It's hard to explain since you aren't sure what the extent of his knowledge is.

His uncle, Theoden, knows almost all about your deal, but does Eomer? He should since he's a key part of this whole Rohan operation, but it's not necessarily your place to tell him either.

"A shield-maiden?" He wonders aloud, taking a seat on the stone steps next to you two.

Even when he's sitting down he's taller than you, and it shoots an arrow of envy through you. The bigger you are, the more intimidated your enemies are, after-all.

"Not quite. I'm not the best at fighting really." It's kind of a lie, actually, because you've got some hidden skill that makes you pretty good at that kind of thing, but it has to do with your foresight to you choose not to explain much further.

Your answer seems to only confuse him more, however, for his eyebrows knit together and his smile tugs downwards into a frown. "You are not? But they bring you into battle regardless?"

Well, shit, now you're making them sound like negligent, reckless idiots.

"N-No- I mean, I'm okay but, uh, it's hard to explain." It's like you somehow just know how to affectively fight; it's like something inside of you just takes over and keeps you from dying, and it proved to be both extremely useful and also unexpected.

They found out about this 'hidden ability' (for lack of a better term) during the battle in which Boromir was slain and you first lost your hobbit friends. You were surrounded and everyone else was fighting for their lives, and in that moment of hopelessness, something inside of you snapped and the floodgates were opened.

Your skill lies in defense, not offense, but it was all you needed to make it through the fight alive and intact.

"I-I know it seems like they were being irresponsible, but there's more to the story- I swear!" You try to defend, taking a step closer to his seated form, "Really, they need me, so it'd be even more irresponsible if they didn't bring me along."

He doesn't seem to get it, for his doubtful expression remains and his frown deepens, but he tries not to judge too much either. "I... see."

A subject change seems like the best course of action, so you decide to ask him a question of your own. "W-Well... anyways. Why'd you want me to come out here with you?"

"I simply wished to learn more about the beautiful newcomer that graced our halls, and I find that I'm even more entranced than before."

Lord Eomer's words bring a flush to your face and leave you flustered, and it seems you can't get your brain to form a coherent thought either.

"Have my words troubled you?" He asks when you still don't manage to find your voice.

"N-No, it's not that..." You trail off and cover your mouth and nose coyly, looking off to the side when you find that you can't meet his gaze any longer. "I'm just not sure how to reply to that. I've been here so long I don't even remember how to flirt." Your words are, of course, an embarrassed joke, and it seems to land well for he chortles with amusement.

"If that is all it is, then it must be fine that I say you've caught my eye, and I'm afraid I cannot get it back until I know more."

"Know more about... m-me?" You repeat slowly, simply trying to wrap your head around it all, "Like... Like what?"  

Another dashing smile brightens his handsome features, and this time your heart flutters nervously when he does, "Anything."

You twiddle your thumbs in front of you and dip your head down, racking your brain for any information that would be interesting but not super telling in terms of your 'earth of origin.'

"Um... I can do this-" You raise one of your hands and bend your fingers all the way back until they're perpendicular with your palm, displaying your double jointed fingers effortlessly.

He stares at your hand trick for all of 5 seconds before he's standing up and worriedly asking, "Have you broken your hand?" He takes your hand in his own, delicately turning it around in search of bruises.

"N-No," you pause and look at his larger hands taking yours, then add shyly after, "It's just a trick. I'm double-jointed."

"Double-jointed?" He repeats slowly, not releasing your hand though he does cease his search for damage. "I... see."

He sure does say that a lot.

"I can also do this." You take back one of your hands and reach into your pocket and pull out a lighter that you've had with you all this time, then you ignite a flame and brandish it proudly.

The blond-haired man looks on with wide eyes, and he reaches out towards it, asking with amazement in his voice, "You created fire so effortlessly!'

"Yeah, this little device has, er, oil in it and it ignites it using a spark." It has been helpful many a-night when everyone else has been out and about doing stuff and you were left to tend to the fires. "Don't get too close though, it's hot."

He nods his head once and drops his hands to his dies, watching the small flame dance on the lighter before you blow it out and place it back in your pocket.

"Where did you find such a magnificent contraption?" He asks once it's out of sight, looking down at you with curiosity sparkling in his eyes.

"I, um... made it." You think it best to lie, though he doesn't appear to fall for it, and change the subject. "So, how about that weather we're having?"

Your sudden and shitty subject change makes him raise an inquisitive eyebrow, but after a moment he starts to laugh, "Yes, the night sky's are very clear tonight. As it should be the morrow after a raging battle."

It's strange and none too awkward since you're no good at this, but this normalcy actually almost makes you forget all the shit you've seen up until now.

"I would very much like to see you again." He says suddenly when the conversation dies down and you both just stand there in silence.

You look back up at him and offer a small smile, repeating softly, "Sure. I'd like that as well. But I'm still here, so we don't have to talk about later just yet, right?"

"I suppose not." He reaches down and grabs your right hand gently, raising it up while he also leans down, then he presses a feather soft kiss to the middle of the back of your hand.

Eomer looks up at you while he does so, and you find that your face has begun to heat up once more.

When he doesn't move to stand normally and continues to look up at you expectantly, you ask uncertainly, "Am I supposed to kiss your hand too, or...?"

It seems you're quite the comedian to this guy, for he stands up straight again and bursts into joyful laughter, reaching down to pat your shoulders, "No no, but if you wish to offer me one somewhere else then I would not deny it."

People in this place really waste no time beating around the bush, though you suppose they can't afford to waste much time when things like the Battle at Helms Deep happen every so often.

There are murderous orcs everywhere and danger at every turn for them nowadays, do you actually feel a sense of appreciation for his forwardness.

This time you find yourself laughing too, and you readily reply, "Maybe next time, Lord Eomer. We only just met, you know. I could be trying to steal a place in the royal line, for all you know."

His smile does not waver despite your warning against yourself, for he only shakes his head and squeezes your shoulders gently, "No, such motives always make themselves clear early on. Unfortunately for me, you're honest."

"Unfortunately?"

"Unfortunate for my heart, yes."

[star-wars-scribbles-ff]

Click for better quality 👀 (ref photo)

IN SERVICE OF THE REPUBLIC

Art depiction from Where I Belong of my OC CT-1917/Lucky

Sneak peak scene snippet from chapter 13 of Where I Belong below!!

The sound of the nearest set of blast doors opening does little to pull a reaction from Arwen as she feels a presence emerge from the interior of the base and out onto the walkway where she was. She didn’t need much time at all to guess who it was. After that speeder-wreck of a conversation, General Kenobi was the only one who’d likely try to speak with her.

Despite having had almost half an hour to think about the conversation she’d just had with the Jedi Council members, Arwen could feel the anger bubbling back up to the surface. She was angry with them, but even more so with herself for thinking such an arrangement could actually be authentic.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” General Kenobi announced himself, despite knowing she was aware of his presence already. 

Arwen let her eyes shoot to the left as the Jedi came to stand a few feet away from her before he turned to face the view of the Cruiser Staging Area. His aura was relaxed but his tone and posture gave away the most subtle hesitation he was bringing with him. He definitely wanted to say something; he wasn’t just coming for small talk. It’d be awkward if he did.

“I feel that our conversation took something of a wrong turn.”

“Wayii (good grief)- Just spit it out, General.” Corcer turned abruptly, pushing off of the railing her forearms had been rested upon to face the Jedi. His expression was calm, only a slight furrow of his brow indicated his reaction and potential concern or perhaps consideration to her anger bubbling over. “You used me to get what you needed for your investigation. That blasted contract was just a load of fodder-”

“The Council is still deliberating on your greater role, Corcer.” The General responded. “The contract is genuine, I assure you.” He sounded just as genuine however that did little to convince Arwen as she shook her head and looked out over the railing once more, hands grasping the railing tightly. 

“You must understand that the Council simply needs time to evaluate and consider the situation.” 

“All due respect, what else is there to consider?” She shot daggers over her shoulder before throwing the look ahead of her. “My service record? Jobs I’ve taken as a merc just to get by and survive in the mere months since my team was-” The abruptness of Arwen cutting off her own words had to have caught the Jedi’s attention as he physically shifted where he stood.

“Your team,” He stated the phrase with a casual quietness that made Corcer tense.

“Wer'cuy… Jetiise ke nu suvarir (forget it/it doesn’t matter… Jedi don’t understand).” She muttered under her breath with a shake of her head. 

“I beg your pardon?” The question seemed to be one of surprise more than anything.

“A Jedi wouldn’t understand!” Arwen finally barked, not bothering to look towards him. She only kept her gaze ahead, forearms coming to lean back on the railing as she looked down over ledge towards the lower deck where a small airfield was.

After everything; all that had happened. She didn’t know if she had the right to feel insulted or even upset about the position she was in. Granted she did everything in her power on that mission- gave everything she had and intended to give her life if not for the fact that she was somehow still here despite the odds. She gave everything. Herself. Her team- the only family she’d ever known - for the Republic… Was that not enough?

Arwen wished the sound of the ion engines of one of the Republic’s Venator-class cruisers powering up was loud enough to drown out any further conversation that could take place. She felt oddly trapped with this Jedi, despite having plenty of space to move away from him as he stood idly by a few feet away. He was being more civil than she’d like. Mentally trying to stomp out the crumbs of guilt sitting heavy in her stomach at her behavior around this General - a superior - didn’t seem to be working. 

He’s done nothing but be genuine so far. She had no reason to be angry with him specifically. But then again he was a Jedi. Jedi didn’t deal with emotions like other people did. They were cold, calculated individuals; weighing life rarely by worth but by majority… unless you were weighing the worth of a Jedi against Clones of course. Then the worth of one outweighed that of the majority. Jedi were just like everyone else… viewing this army like nothing but canon fodder; easily disposable and replaceable. Her team was nothing but numbers on a spreadsheet to them. She could count the number of Jedi she trusted on one hand. That number was even smaller when considering how many she trusted that weren’t already dead.

The Jedi General was quiet in his movements as he came to stand by her side, posture straight as he rested his hands upon the railing and eyed the view before them. Moving his gaze subtly he eyed the mercenary, noting her eyes had fallen and her expression, for a brief moment, appeared more exhausted and broken than any he’d seen in some time. 

“The Republic owes you and your team a great debt.” He’d considered the proclamation before coming to find Corcer. It was true after all. He’d read the details on the file; what she, as well as her team, had been a part of; how their actions may have very well saved the Republic just months prior due to the information they’d obtained and kept out of Separatist hands. However, that victory came at a cost.

Arwen shook her head at his words. Whether it was out of denial of his words or something else, Kenobi wasn’t completely sure. He was reluctant to dig deeper into her aura, but wanted to at least attempt, if not to get a better understanding of her. 

“Nice payback.” Arwen muttered before crossing her arms over the railing, risking the action of resting her chin down on her forearms. Her back was still tense, and she was ready to act at any time, however this Jedi posed no threat to her. Not at the moment at least.

General Kenobi considered her response before he nodded to himself.

“I understand you feel betrayed, and I apologize for what took place and- has… since taken place.”

Arwen could tell by the split second hesitation at the end of his sentence that he was treading carefully, however she didn’t plan on holding him to his words. She wanted to just knock his statement up to him sweet talking to get her cooperation however she could feel his sincerity. It was clear as day in the air and she couldn’t deny or ignore it.

“I’m sorry about General- Kazar and- Padawan Vorruk… sir,” Her voice lost its confidence rather quickly as soon as she uttered the names. She hadn’t said the names of the Jedi General and Padawan she’d worked with on that last mission since… the mission itself. “I-...” She couldn’t bring herself to continue as her throat tightened and suffocated the words before she could utter them.

I did what I could.

She hadn’t said it out loud, but she knew she didn’t have to.

“I know,” The response didn’t surprise her as much as his tone did. His voice held emotion, despite his professional output. He projected a sense of understanding and mentorship. There was also certainty to his tone.

He must’ve watched the holorecording. 

Arwen closed her eyes, brow knitting tightly as she tried to push the images from her mind. She could almost feel the weight of the Jedi padawan in her arms sometimes; when she’d held his half conscious body, clinging to life, while she tried to relay coordinates and need for extraction to the nearest Republic fleet and simultaneously fend off incoming hostiles. 

And now the Jedi had the footage of her message. 

It angered her that it was memorialized as a recording, but it enraged her that they’d seen it and still saw her as a threat. Like nothing that happened that day held any weight. 

A slight shift in the Jedi’s aura caused her to look subtly out of the corner of her eye and she evaluated his posture as it straightened and he cleared his throat quietly.

“I am currently negotiating with the Council to have you ship out with General Skywalker and I.” 

Arwen’s brow scrunched together at the Jedi’s words and she pushed off of the railing to stand straight and face the Jedi.

“Sir- the Council said-”

“I am proceeding to try and convince them otherwise.” Kenobi responded, hands coming behind his back as his gaze arched over the view in front of them once more before it returned to her. “I read your file and reviewed your training as well as completed missions. Your skillset will be of the most use in the field. Now, it will take some time before we can have you operating openly if this pans out. But for the time being, I am going to do my best to get the Council’s permission to have you work in the background of any ongoing operations within my battle group.”

Alright… This Jedi isn’t half bad.

Corcer eyed him for a moment, overall uncertainty written in her expression before she swallowed and let out a quiet breath through her nose.

“Thank you, sir.” 

I feel like a di'kut now.

The General eyed her quietly for a time before glancing away towards the blast doors down the walkway. 

“0700 tomorrow there will be a meeting on standard operating procedures in the east wing for new clones joining the ranks of the 212th. You’re welcome to attend.”

The offer surprised her, however that surprise was quickly overshadowed by solace. Corcer’s hands swung around behind her back subconsciously, posture straight and attentive as she gave the Jedi General a nod.

“I’ll be there, sir.” Arwen’s tone voiced assurance and even confidence.

Giving her a curt nod and a hint of a professional smile, General Kenobi excused himself and turned to head back inside. 

Corcer watched him leave and once the blast doors closed behind the Jedi, she found herself mulling over the breath sitting in her chest before she slowly let it out and returned to her spot leaning on the railing.

The sense of reassurance was starting to leave a subtle bitter taste in her mouth. On the surface she felt relief, knowing this Jedi appeared to be coming at her from the right direction; easing her into situations where she’d be surrounded by the troops. However the deeper she sifted through her mind… she was terrified. 

How the kark am I gonna fit in with these troopers? I don’t know the first thing about Infantry SOPs.

Then there was the matter of how she would be received. The last thing she wanted was to be on the bad side of these troopers. Then again her very presence was already proving a negative to the 501st troopers as they’ve had to cart her around twice today. If things kept going down the same road, she’d have a difficult time fitting in.

Until she knew exactly what her job would be, if the General could square something away for her, she couldn’t get too comfortable with anything on the base, and especially not with any of the men. That was the only thing she’d need to be sure to do. Don’t let yourself care; don’t get attached. If it’s one thing her past had taught her; it only ends in heartbreak and it leaves you more alone than ever.

Not one of my best arts, but I’ve had it sitting on the shelf for a long time so I figured it was better to share it sooner rather than later. Check the story out if you’re curious for more! Feedback is always appreciated 💕

[blackenedwhite97]

Pregnant Panic- Poly! Erasermic x Reader

Hello! this was a requested fic from quite some time ago. I'll be catching up at some point, i'm in my final year of university so update will be more spaced out for the next few months.

Content Warning: Discussions of paternity, some medically accurate potentially a little gross conversations and mentions and depictions of anxiety and panic.

This story includes and Polyamorous relationship

Polyamory: the practice of engaging in multiple sexual relationships with the consent of all the people involved.

It was killing them. You’d think with how tired and unwell Shouta looked and how uncomfortable Hizashi seemed that they were the pregnant ones. Shouta was the most stressed you’d ever seen him, not because he didn’t want a child but because he was scared he’d be a bad father. You’d stayed up many late nights with him, looking out at the dark city skyline through the living room window, him drumming up ways he’d fail as a father and you countering them with rationale and reassurance. He wanted to be there, he wanted to be present. You all knew he was around the least; he was a teacher during the day and a full-time hero at night. Hizashi was usually home at night, at least.

Hizashi wanted two things. The first, to be as good of a dad as he knew Shouta was going to be. The second, to know which one of them had knocked you up. Hizashi, unlike Shouta had full confidence in Shouta’s ability as a father. Hizashi also had confidence in his own ability to be a father. Yet, and you assumed it was natural, the two of them compared themselves to each other constantly. They both felt like they had to fill a role that was usually filled by only one parent, a father. In regard to his second wish: It was driving him insane. Hizashi didn’t want to know for the reason of ascertaining who the “real” dad was, it was more of a who’s quirk we might have to deal with.

While it’s not a given that a child’s quirk is going to be the same as your parents, it’s still a possibility. A possibility some families count on so greatly that they arrange marriages based on quirk compatibility to keep their bloodline strong and on the top tiers of society. Your little mismatched family never worried about that sort of thing, whether this child was a telekinetic like you, made your ears bleed when they threw a tantrum like Hizashi or could shut his dad up like Shouta, or even if they were quirkless you’d all love them with every fiber of your beings.

This was going to be one lucky kid.

Hizashi was squirming around in his chair, his legs going from being slung over the arm rest to being tucked underneath him. Shouta was as still as a statue save the tip of his boot where his toes were wiggling with nervous energy. Hizashi shifted his position for the umpteenth time, his legs swinging around towards Shouta, their knees bumping. Shouta shot out his hand and gripped Hizashi’s knee, holding him in place.

“Stop squirming.” He grumbled.

Hizashi stilled and slumped back, splaying his limbs out dramatically. “Babe, come here.”

Hizashi looked slide long at you through his lashes and a grinned, waving you over.

“Sure, yeah. Hold on, lemme just-” you placed a hand under your swollen stomach as if that would help carry any of the weight and hopped off the examination table. You landed in a wide stance, almost losing your balance from the nearly one-foot drop. It was pitiful, since you’d started to really show it was almost like all of your hero training went straight out the door. Mind you, your hips were wider than they’d ever been, and you were twenty-seven pounds heavier than you’d ever been. You also constantly had a little critter kicking you in your bladder, which was very new.

You waddled towards Hizashi, the smallest of grins pulling at Shouta’s mouth as he watched you. He found your knew range of mobility highly entertaining. You stopped just short of Hizashi’s wildly splayed out feet, nudging one with the toe of your shoe.

“Can you stand behind me for a sec?’ Hizashi sat up straight. “I wanna try something.”

“Okay?” you raised an eyebrow but waddled around him anyways.

As soon as you were behind him he leaned back in his chair and propped his head back on your belly. He closed his eyes and sighed in contentment. “Now, I’m comfy.”

You stared down at him as he fought a stupid grin, trying to keep his face serene. Goof. “I’m glad our kid is already good for something.” You sighed, stroking the top if Hizashi’s head and smoothing his hair back.

Shouta blinked, his brows knitting together. “You are such a dad already.”

“Been practicing!” Hizashi quipped, shooting up and snapping one of his fingers into a gun.

Shouta rolled his eyes but couldn’t help himself and chuckled.

The door to the examination room opened and in walked a kind looking older woman with deep smile lines and dark shining eyes. She looked like she worked with babies for a living, there was a pure unadulterated kindness about her. “Mrs. Y/L/N?”

“Hi, yeah that’s me.” You turned towards her and stretched out a hand.

She took it with a smile and eyed the two men in the chairs. “Which one of you is the father?”

The three of you had agreed when this all started happening for the sake of appointments that weren’t with doctors you’d be seeing regularly Shouta was going to be the father. It was hard enough explaining that the three of you were together romantically anyways, add a baby in and the fact that you don’t know which one of them was the biological father and you have a proper scandal. Out of the three of you Hizashi was the most recognizable and had the closest thing you could equivalate to a fan base so Shouta felt that in order to keep a sense of privacy around all of this he’d be the place holder father. You’re doctor and OB GYN both understood the whole situation, of course they needed to. Both had been in favor of a paternity during the pregnancy, which you had wanted to fore go until after the birth. At this point in the pregnancy it would have to be an invasive test and with this being your first child the three of you were so nervous you didn’t want to even consider taking that chance.

Shouta cleared his throat and stood up, reaching out for a hand shake as well. “That would be me.”

Hizashi shrunk down in his chair, he had agreed to this prearrangement, but it still stung a bit. You placed a brief set of comforting pats on his shoulder and he straightened up a bit.

“Right,” the kind eyed woman took his hand. “everything seems to be going well and on track. If you wanted to go over specific we could step into another room?”

She eyed Hizashi, and curious look about her. It was probably rare to see a friend sitting in on any sort of appointment. You shook your head and spoke up.

“Oh, he’s here to help us keep track of everything. I have total baby brain and Sho gets… overwhelmed.” You smiled at her reassuringly, trying to normalize the situation.

“O-okay.” She looked down at the clip board in her hand and skimmed the page. “The only thing I would say is out of the ordinary is that all signs are pointing to a later birth than expected. This is completely normal, of course. There are a few options if we feel as though the little one if take their sweet time a little too seriously such as inducing birth.”

You looked down at your swollen belly, your little one didn’t even stir. Why would they want to leave anyways, the little shit was swaddled in warmth and had a direct line to all the caving food you were constantly supplied with. Aside from the waddling, miniscule range of motion, tiny bladder and hip and back pain you didn’t mind being pregnant too much. The boys were totally whipped, which you tried not to take too much advantage of. But you were human and Hizashi was getting really good at baking.

“Inducing how?” Hizashi questioned from his seat.

“W-well,” she looked at you and Shouta for approval before speaking, Shouta nodded. “there are ways to induce labour through hormonal injection as well as more slightingly invasive physical ways, however it all depends on the circumstances. We prefer the less invasive ways for new parents generally speaking.”

Hizashi nodded and there was an awkward silence for a few seconds. The woman looked between the three of you then looked back down at the sheet and began tearing slips off along the perforated lines. “Here are your prescription cards, signed off by Dr. Onishi.”

“Thanks.” You took the slips from her outstretched hands and she slipped out of the room, you could have sworn her polite smile slipped from her face as she closed the door behind her. She sniffed you three out.

“Invasive?” Shouta mumbled. “How invasive?”

Hizashi shrugged as he stood up, grabbing your jacket off the end of the exam table to help you into it. You turned around and let him help you into it, even putting on a jacket was harder when you were this pregnant.

“They’ll stick a plastic hook up my vagina a pop the amniotic sack thing.” You explained, expecting full well the boy’s reactions.

Hizashi shivered violently and let go your jacket, shaking himself out like a dog trying to rid itself of water after a swim. Shouta’s nose flared and his eyes rolled to the side as he frowned.

“Is that painful?” Hizashi asked, his voice still shaky.

“No one on google really said anything about that but it’s safe to assume is they won’t talk about it, it’s not good.” You shrugged.

“Ew.” Hizashi stuck out his tongue like a kid tasting adult food for the first time.

“Yeah, can we uh, stop talking about this?” Shouta, if it had been possible, had paled out. Throughout the pregnancy Shouta had gone from the toughest out of the three of you to the one that was the most squeamish about everything. Sure, Hizashi was over dramatic and very vocal about his thoughts and feelings but he always had been. For Shouta, the idea of your body literally contorting to stabilize itself only for it all the end in hours of screaming, crying and otherworldly pain was too much. Normal injuries? Doable. Anyone could get hurt. Giving birth? That was something only you could do out of the three of you and he didn’t like that.

“Sure.” You smiled at him and he hooked his arm under yours as you all made your way out of the building to the busy street outside.

“What’s up for dinner?” Hizashi asked, pulling up his collar against the wind. The winter was blowing in and Japan was in the early stages of grey skies windows and cool winds, not yet covering in heavy snow and frozen streets.

“Um, I kinda forgot it was my night.” You muttered. If you hadn’t been the pregnant you’d have been subject to a somewhat sarcastic lecture at the hands of Hizashi, but you were practically untouchable now-a-days.

“Let’s just pick up something on the way home.” Shouta grumbled.

“I gotta fill my prescriptions, though. We can just go to the grocery store, there’s a pharmacy in the back.” You said.

“I don’t want to make you cook.” Shouta sniffed, the cold air making his nose run. “Plus, it’s cold as hell and the grocery store is refrigerated, I don’t want you getting sick.”

“Sho I can-” you started to protest.

“Dad has spoken.” Hizashi chimed in, wrapping and arm around your shoulder. “We can split, Y/n and I can head home a grab food on the way, and you can go fill her prescriptions?”

“Nice try, Mr. “I-wear- a jacket- all- the-time-for-fashion”. You go get the pills; we’ll get the food. I’m fucking freezing.” Shouta poked Hizashi in the forehead.

“I can’t help that I like the layered look, Sho.” Hizashi huffed. You turned to his and gave him a peck on the tip of his nose, a dopey grin spreading across his lips. God he was easy to butter up, he was such a glutton for physical affection.

You took off you scarf and wrapped it around his neck and handed him your prescription slips. “Your assignment Present Mic.”

“Aye-Aye, Ma’am.” He saluted dramatically.

“You own me a warm drink when I get home!” he added over his shoulder at Shouta who was already wrapping his arms around you as you waited for the walk signal.

Shouta was a furnace as the best of time and a miniature sum at the worst of times. You’d taken his temperature before, worried that he had fevers or worked himself sick in the early days of your relationship. He was always around the normal base line, he just radiated heat like crazy. You sank back into him and let his thick wavy hair curtain around your face. You looked up and make eye contact with his smoldering dark eyes, a soft smile on his lips.

“Hey.” You said.

“Hey.” He hummed into your hair.

“What do you want to eat?” you asked.

“Hmm,” she closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “something warm.”

The cars came to a halt and the walk chime sounded as the pedestrian light lit up. “Ramen it is.” you chirped and skipped awkwardly froward, your splayed hips not exactly made for such enthusiastic movement. He trailed behind you; your hand clasped in his.

The Ramen shop on the way was the kind of shop you couldn’t eat in; it was a thin rectangular shop with just enough room for a line and the counter. You had never minded before but lately the lack of seating options as you waited was less than ideal. You and Shouta had to make do with leaning into each other, him trying to support you but making a makeshift seat with his thighs while she leaned against the wall. The cashier rang a small bell and called your order number with a polite thank-you. You scuttled to the counter and retrieved the expertly packed bags of lidded ramen bowls.

When you made it back to Shouta he was staring down at his phone, his normal peaceful tiredness replaced by an annoyed alertness. He was frowning and pulling away from the wall.

“What’s wrong?” you asked just in time for him to look up at you.

“Uh, there’s an emergency call for heroes. Like, three blocks from here.” He looked as though if he hadn’t been waiting for you to return he’d have already dashed out of the door. It was in his blood, Shouta was a hero and until one the assholes had knocked you up so were you. The splayed hips somewhat dulled that itch to jump into action, but you could remember how it drove you crazy.

“Go.” You nodded. “I can get home.”

“Y-you’re- really?” he turned towards the door and you could see him winding up like a spring action toy.

“Yes, go!” you waved him off. Without another work he was off, the door swinging in the wake of his exit. Although you hated to admit it, this kid had changed more than just your body. You never worried like you did now. You were never so afraid od the average mission or call turning into something catastrophic, you were paranoid about patrols in good neighborhood and rescuing cats from trees. Shouta literally rescued a cat the other night and when he was telling you about it all you could see was him toppling out of the tree and getting hurt. Whenever one of them left for work they would be setting up times to check in, and Hizashi being the chronically late guy that he is had to suddenly start keeping track of time. You didn’t want to raise this kid without either of them and while you all knew full well that it was a possibility with the life you all lived, it still terrified you to no end.

You tried to calm yourself as you stepped out onto the street, people were still milling about, and there was no thirty-foot inferno to speak of so things couldn’t have been that bad. You waddled the rest of the way home, bags of soup sloshing around in your hands, trying to stay calm. You weren’t doing very well. Usually you had at least one of the boys with you or they were together but no doubt Hizashi also had gotten the message. You groaned to yourself, knowing full well he’d also responded.

Your hands were shaking, hoping it was just the cold you rooted around in your pockets for your keys. Getting them in the door was an experience, both frustrating and upsetting in the only the way a pregnant person can attest to. Were the tears running down your face because you couldn’t get the key in the door or because you were a walking rage pile or hormones and anxiety? You whipped angrily at your tears and shoved open the building door, warm air washing over you. At least it was warm.

The building got more and more blurry as you made your way to your apartment, tears fulling your eyes until the lights were just wavering streaks. You were huffing breaths into what felt like air starved lungs, sobs pounding against your cheat trying to break free. You choked them down and rushed through our door, leaving the ramen in the hallway as you slammed the door shut behind you.

You really didn’t feel like being very very pregnant and having a panic attack. You started to pace around, running your hand through the soft blanket across the back of the couch and pressing your palms to the cool counter top as you went back and forth between eh kitchen and living room. Some tears fell but your eyes dried and soon enough your lungs stopped convulsing for air. You were still shaking and a knot was still tight in your gut but you had for the time being subdued the panic. With this new clarity you went you your room and pulled out you professional phone, the battery low having not been used in weeks.

You had also received the distress signal:

10 Ave and 4 St. Grand villain activity: League of Villain members sited at scene of disturbance. Requesting all back up in immediate area. Priority: Containment.

League of Villains. You’re stomach dropped, almost painfully. You gripped onto the sheets of the bed as you slid to your knees, panic rising in your chest again. You knew they were among other heroes, that Hizashi wasn’t a frontline fighter and Shouta would have a horde of heroes trying the keep him in play. You knew this. You also knew them, and that they could be stupid. Shouta had climbed a Goddamned tree the other night FOR A CAT. He could have fallen and died for a CAT. You choked down another sob. Hizashi was always the centre of attention and he did it on purpose. What if he tried to distract the villains and got hurt doing it? He’d done that once before on a mission and came home with a nasty concussion.

What if it was worse this time? What if the League was more organized?

You choked on another sob.

Warm arms wrapped around you and you jumped, trying to pull away.

“Hey, whoa, babe it’s me.” Hizashi hummed calmly. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s Zashi.”

He brought a hand to your head and held you against his chest, scooting closer to you in his crouching position. He kissed the top of your head and rubbed circles into your hair with his thumb and held you like that until you were able to calm yourself. “What happened?”

“I got scared.” You sniffed. “And I’m pregnant.”

“Oh.” Hizashi chuckled, pulling back to look at you. His nose was still rosy from the cold and his hair was swept back in messy waves. “Sorry.”

“You should be.” You punched him the shoulder, once for every word.

“Ow!” he whined, holding his arms up in defense.

“You did this to me!” you wailed. Irrational, yes. Cathartic? Also, yes.

“I refuse to take ownership until we get that paternity test!” he laughed somersaulting away from you.

You were just about to give him a piece of your pregnant mind when you heard Sho enter the apartment and trip over a set of paper bags.

“Y/N?” he called. “Hun? Are you, okay?’

Hizashi jumped to his feet and darted out of the room, shouting wildly. “She’s angry!”

You tried to push yourself up to your feel but couldn’t, slumping back down onto the carpeted floor next to the bed. The threw your hands up in the air frustrated, all that panic from earlier having left your body. Being pregnant was a wild ride, whatever you felt was so strong and so consuming at the time, but it could fade just a quickly as it came.

“I’m stuck!” you pouted.

Shouta crept into the door frame, Hizashi hiding behind him. The two of them melting at the sight of you slumped, cross legged on the floor, belly swollen, unable to move. Shouta grinned, that same entertained grin from earlier. He made his way to you and grabbed your hands hauling you to your feet. You slumped into him, reaching out a hand to motion for Hizashi to join in. Not one to pass up a good group hug Hizashi happily wrapped his long gangling arms around you and Shout, ignoring your grunts and he squeezed.

“That didn’t take long.” You mumbled into Shouta’s chest.

“Illusion base quirk, I erased it and it turned out to be a bunch of low levels trying to make a scene to get away with some cash.” Shouta explained. “You okay?”

You nodded and hummed into his chest.

“You sure? There’s soup in the hallway.” His whiskers rubbed against your forehead.

“The baby got scared.” You muttered.

“Oh?” he hummed, as if in thought. He pulled away from you and knelt down, so he was level with you belly. “Listen up little one, there’s nothing in this world that your parents can’t handle so don’t so around worrying us like that okay?”

Hizashi stooped down and eyed your belly very seriously. “Especially, your mom. She’s already doing all the heavy lifting, dude!”

You dropped your face into your hands a laughed. Yeah, this was one lucky kid.

[bluerose5]

The Ghost of Paradise (Exile AU)

Chapter 2: By the Minute

Rating: M

Word Count: 3,796

Tags: Mass Effect: Andromeda, Scott Ryder, Reyes Vidal, Reyder, Pre-Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Exile, Flirting, Secrets, Complicated Relationships, Eventual Romance, Rivalry, Engineer/Mechanic Scott Ryder, Jealousy

[Read it here as well on ao3.]

“Our agents say that you were speaking with Reyes Vidal at Kralla’s,” Nola said. She didn’t even give Scott a chance to breathe. The second he was through their gates —which were still a work in progress— Scott was ambushed. “Do I even want to know what you have planned?”

Scott grinned at her.

“Why must I always have something planned?” Scott asked. “Reyes is a good friend. For all you know, we could have been catching up over drinks.”

“‘Could have’ doesn’t mean that you were.”

“Fair enough.”

As she fell into step at his side, Nola led him around while they spoke, appraising their growing community with pride.

“Scott, as governor of Paradise, should I not be made aware of any transactions that might affect us?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Tell me what I need to know then. Nothing more, nothing less.”

As if he could refuse her insistent prodding. Every time he left, he always forgot how relentless she could be upon his return, but only when it pertained to matters that could have both predictable and unforeseen effects in their future.

In a way, Scott was grateful to have someone with that type of dedication on their side. They’re going to need it.

“I swear, it wasn’t anything particularly groundbreaking,” Scott promised. “I gave him some seeds from our latest project in exchange for a long-ranged scanner modification. That’s it.”

“Hmm… A decent enough trade.”

“Glad to have your approval.”

Of course, it was too much to hope that she would leave it at that.

“What is it for?” Nola asked.

Scott knew from experience not to lie to her face.

He sighed. “I’m going to scout out some of the Remnant ruins nearby. See if I can get a read on their bots, or a turret if I’m lucky.”

She cocked her head to the side and considered that for a moment, lips pursed.

“Promise to be careful then. I know you would gladly give your life to protect any of these people, but we don’t need you to throw it away because of pure recklessness,” she reminded him. “If it comes down to an altercation, we would rather have you here than some lousy turret schematics. Besides—” She shrugged. “You would probably be the only one who could make sense of them anyways. You and that stupidly genius brain of yours.”

Scott scoffed, suddenly uncomfortable as he shifted in place.

“Got it from my parents, or so they say.”

Ellen and Alec Ryder. The woman who literally gave her life to perfect biotic implants and the man who created a whole new type of AI. Quite the legacy to live up to.

Good thing Scott wasn’t living his life based on their achievements. Andromeda was a whole different playing field compared to the Milky Way. The work he was doing with Paradise was incredible in its own right. At least, he liked to think so.

If he could change at least one person’s life for the better in Andromeda, then he considered that a success.

Based on the feedback he was receiving from the residents, he was doing a damn good job, and that was enough for him.

But Nola had a point.

People relied on Scott now. As much as he was willing to dive headfirst into danger, he needed to refrain from doing so.

“I’ll be careful,” he promised her. “If things start to go south, I’ll ping you and Nakamoto.”

“Thank you,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief.

Scott hated to worry her so, but there was that one other matter.

“If it’s any consolation to you,” Scott said, trying for a lighter tone yet failing, “Reyes offered to accompany me on the trip.”

Nola stopped short, and Scott skidded to a halt. She narrowed her eyes at him with a sneer curling at her lip.

“No, that is not of any consolation to me. Scott Ryder, you know how he is.”

“Charming and witty?” Scott tried for his best smile, but Nola wasn’t buying into that bullshit, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Flighty and untrustworthy, especially once his back is against the wall.” Then, she amended her statement, taking on a slightly accusatory tone. “That’s assuming you didn’t pay any of his ridiculous service fees.”

“Puh-lease.” Scott chuckled. “If anyone should be spending their credits, Reyes should be the one paying me for my company. I’m a treasure not many can afford.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Nola snorted, “but at least you know your worth.”

“They say that time is money, after all. I’ll make sure to charge him by the minute while we’re together.”

“Please do, and make sure to get a picture of his face once you show him that bill.”

Scott was only happy to see her smile again.

“Will do,” he said.

“While you’re at it, drop a few hints here and there that Paradise might be looking to contract out some exclusive deals with top-rate smugglers. Leave out the ‘top-rate’ part, of course. Can’t have that going to the poor man's head.”

“His ego is already insufferable enough without the compliments,” Scott agreed, “but isn’t the whole point of secrecy for you and I not to draw attention to our connections here?”

“A woman can dream though, can’t she?” Nola sighed.

“So much for Reyes being ‘untrustworthy.’”

Nola didn’t even hesitate, brushing off his attempt to use her words against her.

“Skill is skill, and we don’t exactly have the people or resources to be picky right now. Everything is a commodity on Kadara, even integrity. If he betrays us, we’ll deal with him, simple as that.”

Right.

Still, it was laughable to think that the Charlatan would take on a contract with some of his direct competitors.

Although, that sounds like exactly the type of stunt that Reyes would pull. More than likely, he’d have an ulterior motive for doing so, but Scott could see it happening.

Did he support the idea, though? Definitely not. 

“I don’t know,” Scott muttered. “I couldn’t see Reyes limiting his business to one group, especially if we’re only starting to get our feet wet.”

“You would know how he operates better than I, but I suppose that attitude is understandable. Disappointing, but understandable.” Nola grumbled. “Well, if nothing else, tell him the least he could do is give you a discount.”

“Trust me, I’ve been working that angle for a while. No such luck.”

“Greedy bastard.”

As they finished up their routine patrol, they soon switched direction, heading towards Nakamoto's clinic to conclude their meeting. There, Paradise’s leaders convened. They reviewed the requests that their colonists posted on the message boards around the settlement. Together, they decided on what matters they could approve for certain and which ones would be placed on the docket for a community vote. After that, they moved on to logistics, including topics such as requisitions and inventory.

To draw the meeting to a close, Nola relayed their latest numbers for colonial development. Water production was steady. However, food stores would be struggling soon to keep up with the recent influx of residents, so security personnel and all of those who knew their way around a gun were strongly encouraged to increase hunting and foraging activities while out on patrols or while performing their daily tasks. A roster will be posted on the local message boards to look for volunteers who would like to fill a full-time hunter-gatherer role.

Hopefully, what few angaran scientists they had amongst their people would be able to process their first batch of nutrient paste after their next harvest. It wasn’t exactly the tastiest solution available, but it was a necessary one if they were to survive.

In terms of population, there was a rapid spike in enrollment when word spread that Paradise actually got shit done and held true to their promises, but they expected the effect to eventually plateau once people settled in. Angara enrollment was up at the moment, especially after Scott appointed Nola as governor, and they have even seen a few Initiative members join up, having made the journey all the way from the Nexus to be reunited with friends, family, and loved ones.

Scott asked that they spread word for people to be warm and welcoming. The request probably wasn’t necessary, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Their community would make no friends by tearing people apart, and they prided themselves on being close and tight-knit.

It was important that they not only claimed to be but that they acted like it as well, backing up their words with actions.

Security assignments were then posted. Patrols would have to be upped to make up for an increase that they were seeing with gang-related attacks. Once automated security measures were in place, they would revisit the matter in order to assess which sectors needed heightened security. Emergency drills would be held at the end of the week.

With all of their needs addressed, Nola called the meeting to a close.

Once the meeting was adjourned, Scott approached Nola and their Head of Security, requesting a full census to be done within a day's time. Scott needed names, numbers, faces. Each citizen’s profile needed to be updated within their database.

If Scott was going to make an effective defense matrix for the colony, then he would prefer to program an IFF system that only a select few could remotely activate. For the system to work as intended, all of the colonists' photo IDs and biometric profiles would need to be kept current and constantly updated in real-time.

Nola promised to see to it that Scott got what he needed, shooing him off.

Apparently, he was hovering, but Scott could take a hint. He could tell when he was no longer needed, and he knew that Nola worked best when he wasn’t constantly worrying after her like a mother hen.

Departing from the settlement, Scott cloaked himself the second he went beyond the boundaries of their walls.

He was almost halfway back to Port when he received a message from Reyes. Figuring that he was in the clear, Scott made sure that the coast was clear before deactivating his cloak.

Pulling up his omni-tool’s interface, Scott opened the message. Along with it, there was a set of coordinates, sent from Reyes’s location.

R: Think I’m ready to cash in on those shuttle repairs. Wouldn’t mind the company right about now.

Scott’s fingers hovered above the holographic keys, contemplating his next move before deciding to hell with it.

S: Miss me that much?

R: Am I that obvious?

He didn’t even give Scott a chance to reply before he sent another message.

R: If it’s still in question though, let me put it bluntly.

R: I want to see you.

Scott pursed his lips, cursing his stupid heart for racing in response.

S: Give me a few. I’ll be there.

R: I’ll be looking forward to it.

Before he could embarrass himself, Scott closed out his messages. He quickly made his way to Port, grabbing his bag of tools and gear before venturing back out into the badlands.

From there, Scott followed the coordinates to a cliff, overlooking a nearby valley. The sun was slowly but surely sinking down over the horizon, lightning up the sky in array of pinks and oranges and reds.

Reyes was already waiting for him by the time he arrived, the shuttle powered down for the moment.

However, the second Scott noticed that Reyes was facing away from him, he instantly slowed his walk to a crawl. He bent his knees into a slight crouch and shifted his weight with each step, toe to heel as he snuck his way up behind him.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone.”

Scott delighted in watching him him jump in shock, only to have a blade at his throat in the blink of an eye.

As soon as Reyes realized who it was, all the blood drained from his face.

“S–Scott!”

Hands raised in surrender, Scott raised an eyebrow at him incredulously.

“You know, I was kind of expecting a warmer welcome,” he admitted, careful of the firaan's sharp edge. Keema must have given it to him. “Have to say, though, would it be weird if I was a little turned on right now?”

Reyes scoffed.

Trailing the blade along the outline of his throat, Scott swallowed thickly when he eventually felt its pointed tip press underneath his chin. Reyes tilted it up, and Scott followed, lest he risk being cut.

Their eyes met, and Reyes smirked.

Bastard was toying with him.

Retracting his knife, Reyes sheathed the firaan while Scott tried to catch his breath. The goosebumps left behind in the dagger's wake soon receded, yet a warm heat lingered.

“Tsk.” Reyes huffed at him. “Ryder—”

Uh-oh, back to last name basis. From experience, that meant trouble.

“You know better than to sneak up on me!” Reyes scolded.

“I do,” Scott said, not even afraid to acknowledge it, “but I love getting a rise out of you.”

“What if I would have hurt you?”

“But you didn’t.”

Scowling, Reyes placed his hands on his hips. Shaking his head, he pinched at the bridge of his nose.

“Scott, what the hell am I going to do with you?” he asked, releasing his nose, half-fond and half-frustrated.

“I’m sure we could think of something.”

Reyes hummed in agreement, watching Scott approach the shuttle with his bag tossed over his shoulder. He dropped it to the ground, then immediately got to work.

Watching him closely, Reyes leaned against the side of his shuttle with a thoughtful look.

“Maybe I could take you on a date?”

While Reyes tried to sound confident, his attempt ultimately failed. Instead of forming the words into a bold offer, they fell flat, sounding more like an uncertain question.

Scott stopped what he was doing. He spared Reyes a brief glance, only to return his attention to the task at hand, hiding his flushed face.

“Wouldn’t Zia disapprove?” Scott asked, being rougher than necessary as he practically took apart the control panel.

Envy curled inside him, spreading like an infection through his bloodstream. There was a sharp squeeze around his heart as it was encased in the feeling.

Reyes called him out on it, way too perceptive for his own good.

“Ryder, are you jealous?” Reyes chuckled.

Scott glared, causing him to throw his hands up in surrender.

“Just asking.”

“And if I am?” Scott retorted.

“Then I’d have to put your mind at ease.”

“It’s really none of my busin—”

Reyes closed the distance between them. Reaching out, he cupped Scott’s cheek, brushing his thumb along his bottom lip. Weak as he was, Scott leaned into his touch for a split second. His eyes threatened to flutter closed, but he had to remain firm about this one matter, if nothing else.

As he started to pull away, Reyes said, “There is nothing going on between Zia and I.” Scott froze into place. “We went out for drinks a few times, nothing more.”

“You swear?” Scott asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I swear.” His voice grew heated, impassioned. “I might be a bad man when it comes to many things, but I wouldn’t ever lie about that to you.”

Scott considered that before replying, “Well, like I said—” He cleared his throat, eyes averted. “ It’s not really any of my business, so I don’t know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”

He trailed off, uncertain why he was acting that way.

Reyes furrowed his brow.

“No need to be sorry. If you had crossed a line, then I would have said so.”

“Even then, you’re not mine. Your relationships are your own.”

“I could be.”

Scott regarded him skeptically.

“Could be what?”

“Yours,” Reyes answered instantly, staring intently at Scott. “Just say the word.”

If only they weren’t both keeping secrets from each other at the moment, then Scott might take him up on that.

Turns out, being with the Charlatan would be a huge conflict of interests. Who could’ve guessed?

Silence settled between them. It was as if the whole world was awaiting Scott’s answer with bated breath. Time itself seemed to stand still in anticipation.

“I—” He struggled to find the right words. “Give me time.”

That’s all he could ask.

Reyes’s hopeful expression fell, and that alone felt like a stab to the chest. Scott's breathing trembled a little, as if it was becoming difficult to continue drawing in one breath after another.

God, he didn’t want to hurt him, but neither of them could really afford to rush into things half-cocked.

Scott copied his earlier gesture, reaching out to cup Reyes’s cheek. The change was almost instantaneous, how the tension drained away, only for Reyes to melt into Scott’s touch. He leaned into his hand, starved for affection.

Scott swallowed thickly, unable to pull away, let alone take his eyes off of him for even a second.

“All I ask is that you give me time,” Scott repeated. “That’s not a ‘no.’ I just need to think a few things over, iron out a few details.”

Reyes listened, then agreed.

“Alright.” He pulled away with a small, private smile. “As if I could deny anyone such a reasonable request, especially you.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Returning his attention to the shuttle, Scott got back to work. After all, he didn’t want to neglect the poor bird, and it appeared that the shuttle was in desperate need of a little TLC.

His diagnostics only confirmed his suspicions.

When a couple of sparks resulted from his prodding, Scott chastised Reyes for mistreating their baby. Reyes grew defensive, both of them falling back to old habits as they bickered.

This was the type of work that Scott did on the Nexus after he got sidelined and shafted. Systems repairs, shuttle repairs, routine maintenance… That sorta thing.

It was how he met Reyes to begin with. Few pilots had the energy to hang around and talk shop with Scott while he worked, especially since a lot of them had only recently returned from failed colonization efforts. Understandably, most people didn’t want to entertain idle conversation after watching their friends die out in the field.

That was fine by Scott, but Reyes had always gone out of his way —even then— to make sure that Scott had anything and everything that he needed.

They might have taken his shuttle out on a few joyrides together, gotten in trouble for wasting fuel, but Scott wouldn’t trade that time they spent together for anything in the galaxy.

Even now, it felt natural to settle back into their old routine. While Scott worked, Reyes watched, and they talked about anything and everything.

Time passed, and Scott only got deeper into the repairs and modifications. Despite the setting sun, he still broke a sweat, a light sheen glistening upon his skin.

Eventually, he had to take off his shirt, leaving him in a plain tank top that quickly got dirty along with his hands.

Swiping at the perspiration beading at his hairline, Scott grunted as he came to a stopping point for now. He reached for his bag, but what he was seeking wasn’t there.

“Shit.”

Turning towards Reyes, Scott huffed at him.

The bastard wasn’t even trying to hide his staring. Face flushed, he was biting teasingly at his bottom lip, brown eyes dark as he watched Scott through a hooded gaze.

Getting to his feet, Scott crossed his arms over his chest.

“See something you like?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re shameless.” Scott shook his head in disbelief, tsking under his breath. “You’re just as bad as that one time when Gil Brodie asked for a ‘second opinion’ on some fix he made. Turns out, I ended up doing almost all of the work while he sat back and watched.”

“Smart man,” Reyes noted, giving Scott a thorough once-over. “This Gil must have great tastes.”

Scott snorted.

“Flattery will get you nowhere. If you really want to make me happy, then you would grab your water bottle for me.”

“Did you forget yours?” Reyes asked, slightly concerned. After all, being caught out in the badlands without water was just asking for dehydration or heat stroke.

Nevertheless, he got the bottle for him. Scott placed his hands over Reyes’s, shrugging with a flustered blush.

“Yeah,” Scott sighed. “I thought I had packed it! I don’t know where it could’ve wandered off to.”

“Perhaps you were in a bit of a rush to get here,” Reyes said, trailing off suggestively.

Scott figured that he would allow that.

“Perhaps,” he agreed, “but what else do I keep you around for, if not the water? You wouldn’t want the guy repairing your shuttle to get dehydrated, right?” Scott smirked. “I could get delirious, and it would be very unfortunate if I just so happened to forget to install an essential component.”

Reyes gasped dramatically, relinquishing the water to Scott, who was quick to take a swig.

“You always have to watch out for the pretty ones,” Reyes grumbled. “Always causing trouble, keeping secrets…”

There it was again. That sense of knowing , that sense that both of them were holding something back. It was left unsaid. Neither confronted the other about it, but they knew that the secrets were there.

Before the sudden lag in conversation could get too awkward, Scott took another swig of water and asked, “So, you think I’m pretty?”

Reyes chuckled, glad for the change of subject.

“Kian seems to think so,” he muttered. Leave it to him to avoid the question. “He keeps asking when you’re going to start working for him at Tartarus.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“As a dancer?” He had to make sure he was hearing right.

“Yep.”

“Could you imagine?” Scott scoffed. “Me, shaking my ass for money? A tempting offer. It would probably be more profitable than the odd jobs I take on here and there, but I think I’m fine where I’m at.”

“Damn,” Reyes sighed, “what a shame.”

Scott raised an eyebrow in his direction.

“You saying you would have come to watch me?”

“Not only that, but I would have paid to watch you,” Reyes said, “especially if I could have gotten a private show out of it.”

Scott tried to imagine it, grinning in spite of himself.

“What’s so funny?” Reyes wondered.

“Nothing, nothing,” Scott said, brushing off his concern. “That just made me remember a thought that I had earlier.”

“What about?”

“Oh, you know.” Scott gestured vaguely. “Just that I should start charging you a fee for when we spend time together.”

Reyes winked at him.

“It would be worth every credit.”

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO “One of Five.”

Really enjoying writing this arc, so I hope you all like it. 

“Agreed compensation awarded to the Steel eye survivors includes 10 billion dollars in funding for the Machinaw rehabilitation center and its residents for the use in maintenance, housing, cost of living, medical support: including psychological services as well as housing and assistance if those residents are ever to leave on their own. This will also include compensation to the families of those who died during testing or the war. Furthermore, the surviving members of steel eye outside of the Machinaw rehabilitation center will also be awarded an additional 5 million for pain and suffering which includes the cost of future medical bills and psychological services.”

Adam sat back in his seat and blinked a little surprised.

Lucky bastards.

Wait…

Admiral Kelly turned to look at him mouthing the words, “Nice.”

He blinked stupidly for a second before realising, “Do they mean me.” 

Admiral Kelly snorted quickly, “You are a surviving member of steel eye aren't you?”

“Oh yeah, forgot about that.”

She patted him on the back as the judges stood.

“The Geneva court awards these rulings and will be reinforcing ethical guidelines to biotechnology and bio splicing technology the ruling of which will be announced at a later date after a committee hearing has had time to meet on the subject. The sentencing for those tried in the court today begins effective immediately. The judges stood, and there was a loud clattering as the rest of the chamber stood with them, “This meeting is henceforth adjourned,and the ruling stands. Appeals may be made in a year after sentencing.” 

Adam took a very deep breath, feeling the air pass from his lungs out in a sharp burst.

Admiral Kelly patted him on the shoulder squeezing lightly as he took another deep breath, “Think you’re going to be alright?”

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

“I was worried about you a couple times there.”

He smiled ruefully, me too. At his feet, the dog whined and he absently patted her on the head.

Taking stock of himself, he decided that he was feeling pretty good all things considered. Waffles whined again and he patted her again absently, “You probably need to go outside, don’t you.”

She whimpered, and he took that as an agreement.

Admiral Kelly walked with him from the courtroom greeting people and making small talk as they went. It was forced normalcy after all the things they had been forced to witness in the past few days, but at least they were trying, and he was feeling pretty good, almost high. 

Luckily it seemed to be the kind of high that you didn’t come crashing down from. He had survived the entire court case without once breaking out into a PTSD attack. It had come close a few times, but he had done it, he had survived, and he had helped win the compensation for his fellow steel eyes soldiers. If he could do that, there was no telling what he was he could do.

It almost didn’t feel real.

“Are you feeling well enough to join a few of us for dinner tonight, Admiral.”

He glanced over at Admiral Kelly, and nodded, “I think that is something I can do, just let me go and drop Waffles off at the hotel and I will meet you.”

“You’re not bringing her…. She’s a service dog so they have to let her in.”

He waved a hand dismissively, “It's alright, it's been a long day for the both of us, and I am sure she would rather relax somewhere quiet than spend time in a noisy restaurant surrounded by the smell of food she can’ have.”

They stopped outside onto the lawn and he looked down at the dog expecting her to begin sniffing around for a nice patch of grass, but instead she sat at his feet and stared at him, her ears alert, her eyes fixed on him. When he made eye contact with her, she shifted forward whimpering softly to get his attention.

Admiral Kelly looked down in confusion right along with him, “Is she ok?”

He shook his head in confusion, “I have no idea…. She’s presenting like she does while I have an episode, but I feel fine…. Better than fine.”

Admiral Kelly looked at him in concern, “Do you want someone to escort you back to the hotel?”

“No i think I am alright to take myself. I need to relax anyway, and a rail ride would allow me to see the city before dinner.”

Just then Dr. Krill floated his way down the steps and stopped beside him, “That was…. Horrific.”

“Yeah, well now its over and its time to think about food.”

“How very human of you.” Krill sighed, floating with him towards the end of the walk

She lifted her chin and nodded allowing him to walk off with waffles. One of the drivers stopped to speak with him, but he declined a ride and instead headed over to the rail. Krill on the other hand did accept an invitation to the car, and Adam parted with a wave before waiting patiently as a sleek white rail rolled up beside him. Waffles whimpered again, and he looked down to find her pressed up against his leg with big wide eyes staring up at him, nearly runnin into the train door because she wasn’t paying attention to anything else.

He frowned and patted her head as they stepped on.

She squeezed herself between his knees and the sea in front of him as he sat winning softly, “What is your deal today, dog.” He wondered tapping on his wrist and linking it to his implant. The call rang for a second before the other end of the line picked up.

“Hey Doc, is everyone in.”

“Yeah, you’re on speaker.” In the background he could hear the shifting and the coughing of the other steel eye soldiers as they sat in baited breath in their seats.

“We won.”

Muffled hearing in the background.

“We won, and 10 billion is going to you in settlement for pretty much all life expenses for the rest of forever.”

More Cheering and shocked stammering from the doctor.”

“Also a nice little sum for myself…. Don’t know if I’ll keep it though. Anyway, just thought you all should know.”

Waffles whined again, and he patted her ears.

They spoke for a few more seconds when the doctor suddenly grew serious again, “And admiral… how are you feeling.”

Adam smiled, “t was rough, not going to lie, but I am feeling pretty good right now. Better than I expected to feel. Hold on doctor, I will have to hang up in a minute. My stop is coming up.”

The doctor paused, but let it pass, and he hung up as he was stepping off the rail into the heart of the city.

He felt as light as a feather as he walked down the street, his head spinning lightly from the exaltation of surviving the day. Waffles bumped into his side and stepped on his feet multiple times. He nudged her to the side with his leg, “Calm down would you.”

The hotel was approaching just along the street, and he was greeted by a friendly clerk who smiled and waved as he walked into the lobby and headed up to his room. He stepped inside and moved over to change sighing as he finally crawled out of his uncomfortable uniform and into his preferred outfit.

Jeans and T-shirt.

There was no need for his jacket, which he left hanging on the bedpost.

He sat down with Waffles for a few minutes, holding her head between his hands and stroking his hand over her large, pointed ears which hse lay flat against her skull, closing her eyes and beating her tail against the floor.

“You worry too much, you know that.”

Her fur was soft against his hands, “When Krill gets back from sightseeing, don’t eat him, alright.”

She liked his hand and he laughed, standing and walking towards the door.

As soon as he moved however, she leaped up to follow him, stepping on his foot again.

He frowned at her, “Waffles, no.”

He pointed towards the floor beside the couch, “Lay down.”

She didn’t budge.

He was surprised.

She never disobeyed a command, never.

Is brows knitted together and he pointed more hardly at the spot of rug, “Go lay down.” his voice was strong and unyielding. She backed away a few steps but didn’t do as ordered.

He was a bit annoyed now not understanding what her issue was, “I said Lay down”

She lay down, but it was in the spot she was currently sitting.

He shook his head, “I will deal with you when I get back because I have no idea what has gotten into you.”

He turned and walked towards the door ordering her to ‘stay’ as she left.

This time she did as told, though the whimpering and whining grew louder as he made his way towards the door.

“Sleep it off, girl.” he said as he closed the door and stepped out onto the hall. Her whimpering faded behind him in the distance.

He felt good ,

Granted, of course he loved his dog, but,sometimes, she was a reminder to him of his weaknesses. It was good t get out there by himself, and stepping onto the street he raised his head to suck in a lungful of air, completely alone. Being on the Omen, it was hard to get his time away. It always felt like someone was watching him, babysitting him. Sometimes it was hard to feel like an adult.

Despite being the commander for the largest space armada in human history… the only space armada in human history.

He still often felt like he was being supervised.

He continued his way down the sidewalk following directions on his implant to the assigned restaurant.

The sun was just beginning to sink below the horizon, and he was simply enjoying feeling the warm breeze on his skin.

He would be a  little bit early, but that was alright, he was sure he could find an outdoor table somewhere and just bask in the setting sun. Either that or he could find a bakery or something and find himself a pre-dinner snack.

Either one worked for him though the snack was starting to sound more appealing.

He took a step around the next corner just as the setting sun spilled downward into a grouping of clouds. The clouds luminesced and then burst into sparkling tones of red, which momentarily blinded him. He threw up a hand against the beam of light. Just to his left, a hover car was forced to let off its emergency air break, which came out as a sharp hiss of air from the front of the vehicle.

All sound was sucked from the world.

Replaced second later  by a high pitched keening.

Lights passed over him, shadows from people walking just to his right.

Red light spilled past tem and onto his face.

He took another step, and the ground and stone jolted up through his steel eye leg and into stump.

He heard the sharp hiss of the suit as it churned to life, hungry and rpeditory, ready for a fight.

The red light faded, obscured by a shadow.

He could feel the ash against his skin as he passed through, the particles plastering against his skin and stinging at his eyes.

He held up a hand, watching as the servos on his forearm moved with his hand.

A plate of metal covered the back of his hand, as well as the casings that held his fingertips and protected his knuckles.

Stone thudded under his feet.

He spun around in confusion, hands up and ready for a fight. Ash and red mist swirled around him. He spun again, his heart hammering, his head foggy. Ash whipped at his face, he held up a hand to cover his eyes.

Where was he!

How did he get here! Where as his platoon.

His brain was foggy and slow, all he saw was blac shadows in the mist around them. He tracked them with his eye zeroing in on them like  targeting system. He reached down for a gun that wasn’t there.

He was unarmed 

Unarmed aside from the suit.

And he had no idea where he was.

He spun around again, tracking one of the shadows as it moved forward at him through the mist.

A shape, a massive shape with too many arms raced towards him from the red.

He lept back swinging violently out with his hand to stop the blow coming down from above.

The blow never came, and fearing for what might come next he dodged to the side an racked into the ash keeping one hand up over his face. He heard the garbled words of Drev as they rose up around him.

He turned sprinting through a gully of rocks, trying as hard as he could to get away from the voices. The Steel eye suit whirred and hissed below him as h leaped over rocks and dove through shadows sprinting as fast as he could.

The whirring from the prosthetic leg was loud inside his head.

His other leg burned and throbbed in pain.

Oh nooooo, no, no not now, not this pain, not now.

He imagined he could feel the pain creeping up his spine.

It must be the bo, was he missing the box?

He looked down at his chest and stomach to where the black box should have been, but found nothing other than the steel vise of the steel eye suit. Oh no, the painkillers were fading off. His leg began to throb more and more as he ra.

He could imagine the pain racing up his legs ad into his body as the medicine wore off.

He spun in circles hands to his head trying to find an escape. Great pillars of rock rose up on either side of him. Red mist swirled around him.

Ash pelted athis ski.

In a panic, he raced off in another direction, stumbling and flailing as the pain roared up through his human leg.

They were chasing him, he could hear voices calling out behind him… the Drev coming for him.

He sped up and continued his race forward, breath coming in ragged gasps. He was going as fast as he could, as fast as the steel eye suit could, but somehow they were still gaining on him.

Before him, the mist parted, he could see the edge, a small cliff-face where the rock dropped down about thirty feet.

That is where he could lose them.

He broke into a dead sprint, the steel eye whirring along with his movements.

Drev battlecries behind him, and he jumped.

The ground rose up to meet him, and with a thunderous crash he staggered forward, the prosthetic taking most of the impact.

The throbbing in his left leg grew exponentially worse, he cried out in pain but continued running knowing that the steel eye suit would operate no matter how broken his body was. He just needed to fight back the pain for long enough…. Long enough for someone to find him. The voices were fading now, and the large pillars of rock had moved further into the distance.

He sprinted down the center, feeling his feet clatter  over moss and rock.

Pain shot up through his hip and into his pelvis.

He slowed to a halt dropping to his knee with the pain. He gritted his teeth and screamed in agony as the fire went rolling up his nerves and into his body. He had to keep going, he had to keep going. He staggered to his feet, the suit letting off a disjointed clattering. He could feel where it burrowed into his skin, latched onto him like some sort of sick parasite.

He wanted nothing more than to tear it off, but he knew he couldn’t.

He had to get to somewhere safe.

He cut left across open ground and towards the monoliths of rock. Maybe he could lose them in there. He darted inward his knee crying out in pain, the ball joint of his hip screaming. The pain leaked up into his abdomen, into his stomach and up into the lumbar region of his spine.

He thought he could hear more voices behind him, but stopped.

Dead end.

He was blocked, and it was too high to jump.

Just a narrow wall of rock between him and the other side. He could still hear the steel eye whirring, and whirring louder now that he was thinking about escape. He couldn’t go back the way he had come.

There was only one way to go.

Forward.

The steel eye was powerful…. Powerful enough to break stone.

He turned, backed up and then ran, pelting full tilt towards the small wall of stone the steel eye whirring around him, pain throbbing up through his limbs. He lowered his shoulder, tucked his head and….

Excruciating pain.

The whirring of the steel eye armor cut off as he was repelled backward, thrown to his back with a painful crunch. He lay on his back in a shattered heap, looking up at the sky, watching ash roll around him, a whirling mist of red. Small particles pelted against his face, but then…. Dripped down his cheek.

That…. Wasn’t right.

As he lay there the sky above darkened. The red haze that had covered everything faded away

Black clouds hung overhead.

Small drops of drizzle fell from the sky, and the buildings that made up the alleyway he was in rose around him.

He lay on the ground in the metal scraps and refuse.

The rain picked up landing on his cheeks and dripping down towards his ears.

When he moved, there was no whirring.

He wasn’t wearing the steel eye suit.

But he was in so much pain.

He could have gotten up….maybe

Crawled his way to help.

But he just… couldnt.

Not anymore.

He closed his eyes, and relinquished his hold on reality.

He didn’t want it anyway.

***

He spun the cigarette between his fingers ignoring the occasional dirty look he received from passers by. yeah , yeah, he was trying to quit. It was actually pretty inconvenient to be a smoker in the 41st century. Soon the no smoking ads were going to get personal as he became the last man on earth to imbibe cancer sticks.

They could keep their noses out of his business.

Everyone had a vice.

Besides, he didn’t smoke that much, thanks to his wife, but it was a habit he had picked up during the war to keep himself calm in tense situations, and it was a habit he found hard to break. Some people bit their nails, some people picked at their fingers, some people pulled their hair.

He smoked.

His left knee began to ache, and he turned his head towards the sky. Looked like rain.

Felt like rain.

Tasted like rain. 

He reached down to rub his aching knee. 

Stopping outside the door, he noticed the conspicuous no smoking sign, and tucked the cigarette into his shirt pocket, shouldering open the door, and into the dimly lit restaurant, crowded with people and filled with a cacophony of voices. 

A hostess noticed him and smiled, “How many?” she asked 

He shook his head, “here to meet some friends, big party of eight or so”

“Oh yes, they are just back here.” She said motioning him forward, he followed after her through the dim interior and back towards where a group of men and women in casual dress were sitting around a table eating and drinking. Though they were dressed casually, he could tell by their bearing, straight backs and quick eyes, that they were soldiers before anything else.

They noticed him coming pretty early on and smiled.

Admiral Kelly waved him over.

He came to stop by, “Admiral.” He said, nodding.”

“Lindsay.”

He turned to look at the rest of the table, who leaned forward slightly to get a better look at them.

“WHose your friend.” one of the others asked Kelly.

She motioned him to sit in one of the remaining chairs, and he did so, “Everyone this is Kier Lindsay, an old friend here for the trial.”

One of the other men leaned back, “The trial, you have family in the program or something?”

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, “Something like that.”

A waiter passed by pouring him a glass of water and he thanked them before they headed off. Reaching out to take the glass, he noticed the other men and women’s eyes as they fell on his hand, and the scars there.

“You?”

He nodded, “Yeah, me, still trying to figure out how to hide my newly awarded 5 million from extended family members.”

Kelly snorted, “he’s one of the five functional members of steel eye, and the old bastard seems to be doing pretty well all things considered.”

His mind turned back to the cigarette in his pocket.

“How was the trial for you? Seemed to be pretty hard on Vir.”

He shrugged, “Seen worse, experienced worse.” He leaned back in his seat, “Other than an overwhelming desire to chain smoke my way through earths last remaining cigarette supply, I did pretty well.” he glanced around the table, “Where is admiral vir anyway.”

Kelly shrugged, “he was dropping his dog off at the hotel before heading over.”

“Hmm…. wanted to talk to him. Boy seemed…..”

“Shaken up.”

“To put it mildly. I just wanted to introduce myself. He did a good job all things considered. Made me a bit smug when he told that lawyer to STFU.”

“He has his moments.”

Lindsay looked towards the door frowning slightly. It shouldn’t have taken the man that long to head back to the hotel. The city wasn’t that big, and its not like admiral Vir had a reputation for being late. Yeah Lindsay knew a little bit about him; he liked to keep an eye on the kid -- in a not so creepy way-- it was good to see other members of steel eye making it big.

But….

He took a few minutes and had a few drinks before setting his glass down and standing up.

“Where are you going?”

He smiled and patted his shirt pocket, “To shorten my lifespan a few years. Please excuse me.”

They waved him off, and he stepped outside.

It was beginning to rain.

And the sun was just about setting.

He stepped into the rain, not caring about the wet. It felt good. Anything that reminded him he was alive felt good.

His little girl had taught him that.

She loved the rain.

Now, which way was that hotel?

He followed his feet along the pavement. No harm done in looking. If the man was on his way, they would probably run into each other, but…. something … call it human intuition told him that it wasn’t that easy.

He was just making his way up the nearest street when he heard something… odd.

Barking.

And the patter of paws on the ground just ahead of him. He squinted into the darkness and then leaped aside eyes wide as the German Shepherd charged from the darkness, ears pressed back against it’s skull. For a second he thought it was coming after him, but then it blew past him.

In that split second, he turned his head, and made eye contact with the alien gripping the animal’s collar, being dragged along like some sort of twisted children’s balloon.

That was  Admiral Vir’s service dog.

A second later he had broken into an almost  dead sprint after the two of them.

He was going to fall behind.

But then the Iron eye prosthetics whirred to life.

His feet thundered over the ground as he flew through the streets behind the dog. She wasn’t going as fast as she possibly could, tracking at the same time she ran, so he ended up catching up to her.

Metal clattered against pavement.

He was going to need a new pair of shoes.

The alien stared at him.

“Where is Admiral Vir!” He shouted through gasping breaths.

“I don’t know!.” The alien squeaked a little bit as the dog leaped over a bench, cutting around a corner and skidding to a halt before an overpass drop.

He nearly flipped himself over the edge, just catching himself before taking a nosedive.

The dog whimpered and paced back and forth.

Lindsay peered over the edge of the overpass to the ground…. Where a line of webbed cracks was evident on the concrete.

“Holy shit…. He… jumped?”

The little alien followed his gaze giving a dark expression for an alien.

“But hes not there anymore.”

Lindsay kicked his legs up and over the railing, “The Steel eye leg probably saved his legs.”

He turned to look at the whimpering dog and held out his arms, “Come on girl, we can find him.”

She stared at him, but somehow, something got across and she lifted herself up on her back paws.

He grabbed the dog around her front and back, grunting slightly at her weight. She whimpered.

“What are you doing!” the alien hissed.

“Relax, its not like I can break my legs.”

He took a step forward and dropped like a stone.

He crashed into the concrete, sending up shards of the stuff outward from his impact.

The dog whimpered again, and he set her on the ground.

The alien floated down after, “You…. you are one of the steel eye soldiers.”

“Yep,”

“Both legs?”

“One above the knee and one below, just got to be careful to take the weight on the right leg or my real knee might blow out…  come on.”

The dog sniffed at the ground for a moment before pelting off in another direction.

He raced after, the alien grabbing onto his shirt at the last moment and holding on for deer life.

He cut through the rail yard and down towards a set of buildings on the side, old scrap heaps covering in tufts of grass dotting the intervening space.

She raced into the next alleyway barking.

He followed after, skidding to a halt.

“Shit.”

He trotted forward and dropped to his knees next to the body.

Adam Vir lay supine in a pool of greasy water face tilted back towards the sky. His clothing was torn. He was bleeding from his nose, and one ear. His entire right side was battered to shit and covered in abrasions. 

It was only due to the shallow movement of his chest that he knew the man was still breathing. 

[monabela]

hello! it seems to be @aphrarepairweek2021 and I'm not one to ignore that! here's some... domestic denfin stuff for day 1, language. I've gone for a pretty liberal approach to the prompts this year, but that's mostly so that all my fics will fit into the same universe :> (it is also the same universe as two of last year's rarepairweek fics! I'll make a tag for it) (that is also the reason I had to call sve berwald and not torbjörn like I usually do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) they will all be standalone little fics but take place in the same au, over the same sort of time period!

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in major scale

pairings/characters: Denmark (Søren)/Finland (Tuomi), Estonia (Eduard), Sweden (Berwald), Hungary (Erzsébet) + past SuFin mentioned word count: 2219 summary: Tuomi admires how much Søren cares about other people. It inspires him to do the same.

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A series of thumps and clomps heralds Søren’s arrival home. Tuomi looks up with amusement when the door of his little home studio in the back of their house bursts open.

“Tuomi!” Søren shouts. He brings with him the smell of recent rain and early spring blossoms.

Eduard, who is sitting behind Tuomi at his keyboard and wearing headphones, very nearly tumbles off his stool in shock.

“Søren!” Tuomi just returns, while his brother rights himself and glares. “You seem unusually excited.”

Eduard snorts, which makes Søren grin. ‘Unusually excited’ means something different when applied to him than most other people.

“Guess what!” he says, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. His socked feet are both tapping on the ground, with no rhythm to it. Tuomi is sure he couldn’t say what’s got into him; as far as he knows, Søren was just looking after his young nephews for the afternoon.

“Your brother didn’t hide the sugar well enough,” he guesses.

“No, that’s—well, he didn’t, but that’s not my point. Berwald’s gettin’ married!” Now, he waves his arms around wildly. “My brother’s gettin’ married, Tuomi! I’m so proud of him.”

Turning slightly, Tuomi exchanges an amused look with his own brother, who has taken his headphones off and is leaning forward over his keyboard, elbows planted over the keys.

“Now, Søren,” Eduard starts, using his haughtiest voice, which is very haughty. It’s an odd talent.

“Don’t you dare,” he interrupts, though he’s still grinning, “bring up the time he and Tuomi were plannin’ on gettin’ hitched, ‘cause that was ages ago and ain’t relevant anymore.”

“Alright, alright.” Eduard holds up his hands placatingly, and Tuomi just snickers. Søren’s right, he thinks; it’s been over fifteen years since then, and although the whole thing where he took up with the brother of the man who was nearly his husband was awkward at first, for all that it happened several years later, he’s since become good friends with Berwald again. It’s probably better this way.

“That’s great, Søren!” he just says. “And you’re gonna be the best man, I assume?”

“Of course!” His dark blue eyes crinkle at the corners, scrunching up his many freckles in laugh lines and dimples. Tuomi really admires how much Søren cares about other people, even if sometimes it comes at the expense of himself. Tuomi can always remedy that, after all.

“That means you’re gonna have to help with a bunch of organizing, isn’t it?”

“Don’t sound do skeptical of me, Eduard!” Pushing away from the door, Søren lightly strums the strings of an uncovered acoustic guitar sitting in its stand before taking a large step towards Tuomi and bending down to kiss him over the microphone between them, Tuomi angling his own electric guitar out of the way. He smells like sea wind and hair gel, and does taste distinctly sugary behind the smile his lips are still curved into.

Tuomi mutters, “I think you’ll do great. Berwald’s lucky to have you.”

“I hope so. Y’know, the boys are excited as anythin’.” Now, he practically melts, draping his long limbs over Tuomi and his guitar. He always does this when he as much as thinks about his nephews, Berwald’s young sons. Tuomi and Søren are very much the fun uncles. It is a title they both wear with pride.

Patting his jeans-clad ass affectionately, Tuomi pushes his nose into Søren’s wild coppery hair.

“Yeah? They’ve given their blessing, then?”

“Already fightin’ over who gets to be ringbearer.”

“Cute.”

The door of the studio opens.

“Whoa! Am I interrupting?” shouts Tuomi’s half-sister, bursting in.

Eduard, now leaning his head in his hands, says, “Please save me.”

“Berwald’s gettin’ married!” Søren shouts, into Tuomi’s ear. He gets along with Erzsébet far too well.

“Tuomi’s ex?” she yells back, and Eduard promptly loses it. He doubles over his keyboard in hiccupping laughter, shaking and pressing almost all the keys in a horrifyingly discordant tone. Søren looks betrayed in a very comical way. He crosses his arms as he turns to Erzsébet, folding his hands into the sleeves of his red knit sweater. Berwald made that one.

“She not wrong,” Tuomi tells him, holding back laughter of his own. Now even more comically betrayed, Søren turns back to him, with his dark eyebrows raised high and ready to deliver a quasi-outraged speech, but Erzsébet forestalls him.

“You need to make a song for the wedding!”

“Yes!” Tuomi perks up, almost poking Søren in the hip with the neck of his guitar.

“A song?” the man echoes, looking between all three of them. Eduard is now only playing a couple of notes at the same time, thankfully, and he straightens up fully to explain their family tradition.

“We always do it for weddings. It has to be something they’d like, and something the couple can dance to.”

“And then we give it funny lyrics,” Tuomi finishes, “about the person getting married. But we always make sure it’s good.”

“Well, I ain’t surprised about that part, ya snobs.” Søren shakes his head affectionately. He has absolutely no feel for music, but that just means that he appreciates things that most other people wouldn’t give their time of day.

It also means that he somehow considers Tuomi’s very musically inclined family to be elitist about music, which Tuomi thinks is dumb, but he’s not one to argue. He’ll leave that to his brother; it’s very amusing. As a matter of fact, Eduard is already narrowing his eyes at Søren, but doesn’t say anything before he continues.

“I don’t know if Berwald would like that, honestly. It’s not really something we do.”

“Come on, everyone likes music!” Erzsébet enthuses, walking further inside and skirting around Søren and Tuomi in the small space to lean an elbow on Eduard’s shoulder.

“Sure, he likes it, but, I mean—we ain’t like you guys, is all.”

No one is quite like his family, Tuomi thinks, but he appreciates that all the more these days. Søren is the most generous, openminded person he knows, and has broadened his worldview amazingly in the time they’ve been together. Not that his family isn’t openminded; they’re just less inclined to explore than Søren is.

Still, “Music is a universal language, isn’t it?” Tuomi asks him, bumping his shoulder into Søren’s upper arm. He inclines his head in agreement. “It doesn’t even have to have lyrics if you think Berwald wouldn’t like it. Or his fiancé, of course,” he adds, because he doesn’t know the man that well but knows he, like Berwald, doesn’t really appreciate being made fun of, even in good humor.

This is, again, unlike Søren, which is probably why it didn’t work out with his brother and does work with him.

Well, it’s part of it.

Erzsébet, the lyricist of the family, gasps dramatically at the mention of not having lyrics to go with the song, and coughs. She should really quit smoking. Eduard pats her back awkwardly, getting a face full of long brown hair for his efforts.

“And then?” Søren’s asking, but his head is still tilted thoughtfully, as if he’s considering it.

“Well, then it can be for a dance! Consider it a wedding gift from me.”

“His ex,” Erzsébet murmurs, recovered, and Eduard starts giggling again.

“His brother-in-law.” Tuomi blindly throws a guitar pick at her over his shoulder, which, going by the plink and following yelp, hits Eduard’s glasses instead.

Huh. That’s pretty impressive.

“Well, someone will have to teach him how to dance first—”

They all look away.

“—but that sounds awesome, actually! Would you guys be willing to play it?” In his excitement, Søren has leaned very close to Tuomi again, vision filling with his grin and his many, many freckles, and Tuomi can’t help but kiss the corner of his mouth.

“I’d love to.”

His siblings make agreeing noises.

“Right! Well, should I—what’re you guys workin’ on, actually?” Søren gazes around the small space as if hoping to glean clues. Which clues, Tuomi is not sure. He can’t really read music, after all.

“Just tinkering a bit,” Tuomi says. Eduard plays the first few chords of the most recent wedding song they’d written, several years ago already. Erzsébet slaps the cymbal of her drum set in apparent agreement, reaching behind her.

“Hey, I wrote some lyrics, actually,” she says. “I think they’re pretty good.”

It’s been years since they actually made original music that they deemed good enough to send out into the world, but their songs are still getting decent amounts of listeners on Spotify, which is nice; it’s mostly a hobby for all three of them, after all. Lately, though, Eduard and Tuomi have started seriously considering making some new material, and Erzsébet seems to be on board. She promises to send the lyrics to both of them. Although she, like both of her half-brothers and much to Søren’s amazement, plays several instruments, she doesn’t have much talent for composing.

Tuomi tried to teach Søren guitar once. It was fun, but very unsuccessful. He does like the drums.

That’s probably why he gets along with Erzsébet so well.

Deciding that today is probably not going to be very productive, all four of them go into the house instead, and Tuomi makes coffee while Søren hands out some cupcakes that he made yesterday, because Søren very much believes that food is a universal language. He isn’t wrong, if you ask Tuomi, but that’s mostly because Søren is very good at making food, unlike Tuomi.

They’ve all got their talents, he supposes, and it’s how they use them in combination that matters. Even if he’s been banned from using the oven for anything more than frozen pizza.

Eduard, of course, asks for the recipe, because Eduard didn’t get that memo about talents and has too many of them.

Tuomi’s siblings don’t actually stay around for very long after that, both promising to think about the wedding song for Berwald. It is mostly an empty promise on Erzsébet’s part, but that’s okay. Eduard walks away while muttering about waltzes, which Tuomi appreciates, because Berwald seems like a man—is a man, he knows this—who appreciates a bit of tradition, and he’s never tried to compose an instrumental, mostly classical song before.

“You’re adorable, you know,” he tells Søren, who’s standing behind him in the hallway of their house after having seen his siblings off. Søren just grins, rocking back on his heels, hands clasped behind his back and looking much younger than he is.

“I’m just happy for my brother.”

“I know.” Tuomi reaches up to flick some errant hair out of the way. “It’s really cute.”

He gets excited about the smallest things, Søren. Random dogs on the street and odd world records and warm coats and almost everything that’s even a little bit nice. It’d get annoying, Tuomi’s sure, if he weren’t so sincere about it all the time. He got very excited about their civil union as well, which was honestly mostly practical. Tuomi had almost wanted to get married, just to see his reaction to it, but he’d decided years before that marriage wasn’t for him, and remains glad that he stuck by that belief, in the end.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Søren suddenly asks, blue eyes searching Tuomi’s face.

“What? Oh, no, of course not. Berwald’s a good man, and he deserves to be happy.” He shrugs. “I know he’s always wanted the whole… Domestic thing.”

“Guy’s had a plan for a wedding since he was twelve or something,” Søren confirms, grinning. “Only took him thirty years and a couple kids.”

Tuomi knows; he was shown the plan, sixteen years ago, but he decides not to mention that. It’d been quite intimidating at the time; he’d only been 22 and much more interested in… Well, practically anything besides marriage.

Søren slings an arm across his shoulders, squeezing him tightly to his lanky form, and starts walking them both back to the kitchen.

“You’d know, I guess,” he muses, then pulls a face. Tuomi laughs.

“That one was your fault!”

“I know, I know. Don’t remind me.”

Tuomi stops walking, tilting his head up at Søren.

“You don’t mind, do you?” he asks. Turning back, Søren blinks at him.

“Obviously not,” he says, but he bites the inside of his cheek and furrows his dark brows, so there’s evidently something more there.

There’s another thing Tuomi had to be taught by Søren; reading body language. It’s not his fault his family is so unexpressive!

“But?” he prompts.

“I just hope I can do well for him.” Søren shrugs. “He’s my big brother, y’know, and I do kinda feel like I ruined his first chance of marriage sometimes. I know that’s dumb,” he adds hastily.

Tuomi mumbles, “Yeah, that was definitely me.” And then, “Like you say, he’s your big brother. He loves you. Speaking as someone with two older siblings, they might razz you a bit—”

“That’s just your siblings, Tuomi,” Søren interrupts, but the grin is back on his face and just as bright as before. “But I get what you’re saying. Thanks.”

Tuomi boots him with his shoulder, and he laughs, clomping ahead. Tuomi follows, quickly.

Before he eats all the other cupcakes.