#tumblr is like my lazy soft comfortable place but if it then goes to ao3 as well i fix it up :cowboy:

[jasonsbruce]

Jason had started to notice that Bruce's gaze lingered sometimes—just a second too long. At first, he brushed it off as coincidence, that it held no deeper meaning. It wasn’t abnormal to sometimes stare while your mind was drifting off. But the glances kept happening. It had been quite late at night in the Batcave, and they were the last ones there, running through some data side by side, keeping it surprisingly civil. As they talked, Jason noticed Bruce’s eyes drift—not to the screen, but to him. Bruce’s gaze slid from Jason’s eyes, over the line of his jaw, to the curve of his lips, then back to the monitor. And once Jason noticed, it was impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just the glances; whenever Jason stood a little too close, Bruce would tense. It was barely noticeable, but easy to catch with a perceptive eye. Intrigued, Jason began testing the boundaries, seeing how far he could push before Bruce would finally tell him to stop. It started innocently enough. Just a casual touch here and there, or leaning in a bit closer than necessary. Each time, Bruce would tense, his eyes lingering before something like frustration would cross his normally stoic face. But Bruce would never acknowledge it—he never said a word. Jason was finding it harder to resist pushing even further, wondering just how much Bruce would allow.

・・・・・

Bruce sat by the edge of the couch, arm leaning against the armrest, newspaper in hand. The lamps were off and the only source of light came from the warmth of the fireplace. Its flames casted shadows across the room, occasionally making a comforting cracking sound.

Jason stood at the doorway, watching the way Bruce's eyes would scan over the articles, pretending to read, like he wasn’t drowning in his own thoughts as usual.

Without announcing himself, Jason sauntered into the room, making his way toward the couch. He could feel the warmth from the fireplace brush against his skin as he passed it, his long shadow making Bruce glance up from the paper.

He didn’t say a word as he flopped down onto the sofa, sprawling out lazily. He stretched his legs out, brushing against Bruce’s thigh as he shifted to get comfortable. Jason felt Bruce stiffen, informing him that he had the older man’s attention. He carelessly reached for a book on the coffee table, his arm extending as his shirt pulled up with the motion, exposing a sliver of his midriff.

Jason retracted back into the couch, book in hand, leaning comfortably against the cushions. His shirt was still ridden up, and when his eyes flicked sideways, he noticed how Bruce’s gaze was locked on his exposed skin. Jason didn’t move to adjust it, he simply flipped open the book as if he hadn’t noticed and it was all an accident.

Bruce shifted, just slightly, the paper crinkling in his hands. Jason sprawled out further, one arm resting sluggishly against the back of the couch, his legs extending along the length of the couch. His calf brushed against Bruce’s knee this time. Bruce lifted the newspaper, blocking Jason from view, but it didn’t stop Jason from feeling the way his body stiffened again.

He wasn’t interested in the book at all, his eyes just glossing over the words. With a casual sigh, he let his head roll back against the armrest, his shirt riding up even higher. The fabric of his t-shirt barely covered his stomach now, exposing the sharp lines of his lower abdomen to the warm light of the fire.

The sound of Jason’s exaggerated sigh seemed to catch Bruce’s attention, the newspaper lowering just a fraction. Jason angled his head slightly, peering under the book in his hand, and his eyes locked with Bruce’s. Neither of them said a word. Jason watched as the shadows danced across Bruce’s face and his furrowed brow.

He saw Bruce’s eyes briefly flick down toward his exposed skin again, the muscles in his jaw slightly tightening, barely visible. Jason let his attention drift back to the book, but the sentences were nothing but an uninteresting blur in the background.

He glanced over to Bruce again, catching him staring.

Bruce snapped the newspaper shut with a sharp crackle, then stood abruptly. His movements seemed stiff, off. “I… need to check something in the cave,” he muttered, his excuse half-hearted and weak, like even he wasn’t convinced by it.

He didn’t look at Jason as he turned on his heel, leaving the room with quick steps. Jason let out an amused breath, his lips curving into a full smirk as he watched Bruce leave. He could still feel the tension lingering in the room.

・・・・・

Jason stood in the training room, muscles tense and ready, waiting for Bruce.

Bruce entered, focused as ever. He offered no small talk, not even a greeting. He went straight to business.

“Ready?” he asked.

Jason smirked, giving him a lazy nod. “Always.”

They soon fell into the familiar rhythm of their sparring. They had done this countless times before. But after a while, Jason’s tactic shifted. He began moving closer than he needed, dragging his body just a bit too intimately against Bruce’s with every dodge and strike.

Each time their bodies connected, Jason made sure Bruce felt every inch of skin, every press of muscle. It was subtle at first, like there was a reasonable explanation behind it.

Jason threw a punch, aiming for Bruce’s side. But he quickly caught his arm with fingers tightening around Jason’s wrist. The impact made them step closer, their chests nearly touching. Jason glanced upward, looking at Bruce through his dark lashes, his breath brushing against Bruce’s jaw.

Bruce froze. His gaze dropped, landing on Jason’s lips for just the briefest of moments, and the air between them felt electric. But then suddenly, Bruce let go, stepping back. The movements were a little too sharp, like he was trying to create distance both physically and from his own thoughts. But the tension still lingered, thick like smoke.

Jason wasn’t going to give him that space, though.

Bruce looked almost rattled, clearly still unfocused. So, without warning, Jason surged forward. Bruce blocked his attack, but Jason didn’t stop. He pressed harder, his strikes swift, strong, determined. He ducked under Bruce’s counterattack, slipping past him, and then sweeping his legs out from under him.

Bruce’s back hit the mat with a solid thud, but Jason wasn’t going to give him a chance to recover. In an instant, he straddled Bruce, knees planted firmly on either side of his hips, pinning him down to the ground.

Jason leaned in, his face inches from Bruce’s, their heavy breaths mingling. “Seems like I got you this time,” he murmured with a teasing smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

Bruce said nothing, just stared up at him, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Jason shifted slightly in his lap, and he could feel Bruce stiffen underneath his weight. There was something darker flickering across his eyes, something Jason wanted to investigate further. He shifted again, pressing down more firmly, his body aligning perfectly against Bruce’s.

He could see Bruce grinding his teeth together. And then his hands moved, gripping Jason’s thighs, fingers digging into him. In one swift motion, he shoved Jason off, rolling them over until he was standing.

“Stop playing around,” he muttered, sounding rougher than usual.

Jason chuckled at that as he sprawled out on the mat, unbothered. “Is that what we’re doing?”

Bruce didn’t reply, but Jason got up to his feet again and they began sparring. Punches were thrown and blocked in quick succession, but Jason wasn’t playing fair. He continued to push closer whenever he had a chance and each time, without fail, Bruce would be thrown off by it. It was almost unnoticeable, but Jason knew him well enough.

As they moved, the fight grew more intense and suddenly Jason found himself being spun around, slammed chest-first into the wall. Bruce’s body pressed against him from behind, one hand firmly between his shoulder blades, and the other wrapped around Jason’s wrist, holding it above his head.

Bruce had him pinned and Jason didn’t resist. He glanced over his shoulder, the smirk back on his lips. Bruce’s grip was firm, his body flush against Jason’s, trapping him completely.

Jason leaned back into the warm, steady body behind him. “Getting a little rough, aren’t we?” he teased.

For a brief second, Bruce’s grip on Jason’s wrist tightened as he seemed to tense. His breath hitched, almost imperceptibly, but Jason had noticed it, felt it. But just as fast, Bruce’s hands released him.

He stepped back, his face was unreadable and his movements seemed a bit stiff.

“We’re done,” he muttered, turning his back and walking toward the exit.

Jason’s smirk lingered as he watched Bruce leave and pretend like everything was still normal.

・・・・・

Jason pulled off his gloves and threw them onto the bench with a heavy sigh. It had been a long night, one that had left everyone involved worn out. His body was still buzzing with the aftermath of the adrenaline. Bruce was a few feet away, unbuckling his utility belt in silence, face as expressionless as ever.

Jason peeled off the top of his suit, letting the armored material fall to the floor. He removed the shirt afterwards, tossing it next to the gloves. His muscles were slightly aching after tiresome fighting, the sweat on his upper body glistening slightly in the harsh light of the cave.

Jason bent down to remove his boots. The subtle scent of sweat and leather filled the air, mixing with the slight metallic tang of blood from earlier wounds, and Bruce’s expensive cologne.

Jason glanced over, catching Bruce’s gaze lingering on him for just a moment too long before he quickly averted his eyes, focusing on removing the rest of his gear. There was a tension in Bruce’s shoulders, and he was doing that thing again where he pretended everything was normal, and Jason’s behavior was nothing out of the ordinary.

“You still owe for that back there, you know,” he said playfully, mostly to fill the silence.

Bruce grunted in response, a noncommittal sound that did nothing to contribute to the conversation. He seemed focused on his own suit, but his movements had slowed down.

Jason saw his opening. He moved closer, his fingers reaching for the clasps of Bruce’s suit before he began working them free.

Bruce froze, his head snapping up to look at Jason, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing?”

Jason didn’t flinch, didn’t stop. His lips twitched into a smirk as he worked the last clasp free. “What does it look like? I’m helping you out.”

He gripped Bruce’s gauntlets and tugged them off, letting them fall to the floor with a low thud. Jason reached for Bruce’s cape next. His arms slid around Bruce’s neck, fingers easily working the fastener that held it in place. Jason leaned in close, his bare chest brushing against Bruce’s hand and lower arm.

The shift in his posture was obvious; his body was taut and he turned his head away from Jason. But he was still rooted to the ground, eyes fixed on the wall as if he was determined not to acknowledge how close Jason was, how their skin was touching.

The cape came off, pooling below Bruce’s feet.

“I’ve got it from here,” he muttered and turned abruptly to leave, like he always did.

Jason had grown quite fond of the game they were playing.

・・・・・

The Batfamily had gathered around the long table in the cave, discussing the night’s mission in detail. Jason had agreed to assist them, now sitting at the far end by the table. Tim and Dick were currently talking over each other, and Jason wasn’t really listening to them.

Bruce was standing next to him, at the head of the table, telling them to quiet down and barking orders as usual.

Jason leaned further back into the chair as his legs stretched out under the table. His elbow rested on the table, with his thumb supporting his chin and the middle and index fingers pressed gently against his lips and nose, seemingly uninterested in the meeting.

His attention lay elsewhere.

Slowly, carefully, he let his leg brush against Bruce. The touch left no room to question whether or not it had been an accident. He let it linger. And Bruce stilled for the slightest second, a flicker of awareness passing over his handsome features before he quickly regained his composure.

But Jason wasn’t done.

Bruce was in the middle of giving instructions to Tim when Jason shifted again, this time allowing his knee to press against Bruce’s leg.

Bruce’s voice faltered for just a moment, the flow of his words slightly halting. But he refused to acknowledge it, kept his eyes ahead. He quickly cleared his throat, trying to continue. “Tim, I need you to—”

Jason shifted his knee again, rubbing it deliberately against Bruce’s upper leg. He felt him tense immediately, stumbling on the words. “To—uh… to monitor the surveillance—footage…”

Jason smirked, partially hidden behind his hand. “You okay there, Bruce?”

He received no answer to that, instead, Bruce pressed on with whatever he was talking about. “…and cross-check it with the logs Oracle has provided.”

The others nodded along, caught up in the debriefing. Bruce sat down on the chair behind him, probably thinking it would help him regain control of the situation. That was a big mistake. Because his reaction only fuelled Jason’s confidence, only spurred him on to push further, and explore where the boundaries lay. To see when Bruce would finally acknowledge him, to stop pretending nothing was going on.

Jason shifted a little, letting his fingers lightly brush against Bruce’s thigh. He felt Bruce tense immediately at the touch and heard the slight hitch in his breath. But still, he did nothing, didn’t even look at Jason. He kept his concentration on the others, jaw tight, eyes narrowing just a fraction.

His fingers continued to trace a subtle, slow line along Bruce’s thigh. Barbara was talking in the background, agreeing with whatever Dick had been saying, and Bruce nodded along, clearly trying his best to stay focused.

He let his hand slowly slide higher, and that’s when he felt it—the unmistakable hardness under the fabric of Bruce’s pants. Jason sucked in a breath by the surprise. He couldn’t deny the thrill, the way his heart picked up its pace. And Bruce could pretend all he wanted, but the proof was right there. He found this just as thrilling as Jason did.

Jason’s hand inched just a bit closer, fingers brushing over the bulge. Bruce’s entire body stiffened, the tension in his shoulders so taut it could snap at any given moment.

And then suddenly, Bruce’s hand shot under the table, grabbing Jason’s wrist, gripping it tight enough to hurt. Jason glanced up at him, watching the way Bruce tried so hard to keep his composure and focus on Tim’s yapping in the background. Bruce didn’t meet his eyes, his jaw clenched as his fingers tightened around Jason’s wrist, preventing him from moving any further.

Bruce didn’t say anything, instead, he just squeezed his wrist harder as a silent warning. Jason’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he leaned back slightly, letting his hand fall away. Bruce still refused to look at him.

The rest of the group continued to plan the mission, but Jason’s thoughts were far away, wondering how long Bruce could go on without acknowledging whatever this thing was between them. 

・・・・・

The mission hadn’t gone according to plan at all, in fact, it had gone sideways fairly quickly. It left the Batfamily stranded in one of their backup safehouses. The place was cramped with barely functional amenities. They had crashed in whatever space they could find.

Jason had ended up sharing a small bed with Dick, but every time he started to drift off, Dick would roll over, nudging Jason further and further toward the edge of the bed. He was tired and sore, and after a while, his patience wore thin.

With a frustrated sigh, he got up and left the room to find somewhere else to sleep. But every corner he checked was already taken, filled with the sound of quiet breathing or snoring. The wood boards under his feet creaked wearily as he made his way down the dark hallway. He stopped outside of Bruce’s door. Of course he had his own room.

“Screw it,” he muttered under his breath, pushing the door open.

Moonlight slanted through the moth-eaten blinds, casting a faint glow across the room. Bruce was lying on his back with his eyes closed, breathing evenly. Jason padded over to the bed and without overthinking it, he carefully lay down on the other side. The bed shifted slightly under his weight, and Bruce’s breathing changed just enough to show he was awake too.

They lay in silence, staring up at the dark ceiling. Even after a long mission, Bruce still managed to smell good.

Jason was too exhausted to pick up his usual teasing, even if now would have been the perfect moment. And somehow, the air felt different. Maybe it was the rawness of his body after the mission, or the quiet of this isolated safehouse—it felt like they were somewhere completely else, almost like in a dream.

After a long stretch of silence, Jason turned his head, just slightly, to check if Bruce had fallen asleep. But Bruce was already looking at him, the faint glimmer of moonlight catching in his blue eyes. His expression was unreadable, and the atmosphere between them felt thick in a way it never had before.

For the first time since this whole thing began, Jason didn’t dare to push it any further. Bruce didn’t look away, he held Jason’s gaze. The way Bruce looked at him made his heartbeat quicken and suddenly, he didn’t feel as bold anymore. His confidence wavered under Bruce’s steady, dark eyes. There was something so calm about it, yet intense enough to make him feel bare, exposed.

For a few long, quiet moments, neither of them moved, their breaths almost in sync at this point.

But then suddenly, in one slow, careful movement, Bruce leaned in. His body shifted slightly closer, closing the small gap between them. Jason’s breath caught, his pulse drumming in his ears, and he found himself frozen in place. He’d been teasing, pushing—even fantasizing about this—but he’d never truly expected Bruce to actually do something about it. Now, with him leaning closer, his presence invading Jason’s senses—it felt surreal.

The faint warmth of Bruce’s exhale ghosted over his skin, making his skin tingle, his pulse racing. Then Bruce’s lips brushed against his, softly at first—almost like testing the waters. Yet it was enough to send a sudden jolt of electricity through Jason’s nerves. It was only when Bruce leaned in a fraction closer, lips pressing more firmly against his, that Jason felt his mind start to unravel, his nerves catching fire.

But soon Bruce deepened the kiss with a quiet confidence, like this was nothing but another skill he’d mastered. It was like Bruce knew exactly how to kiss him, drawing sensations out of Jason he hadn’t even known he could feel, making his mind go entirely blank. He’d kissed before, sure, but nothing had ever left him this breathless, this affected.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, kissing lazily as if nothing else existed outside of this room, but eventually, they drew apart. Neither of them said a word. Bruce lay back down, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Jason mirrored the movement, feeling slightly dazed and more relaxed than before, finally able to drift into sleep.

When he woke, though, Bruce was already gone. Jason wasn’t surprised. He got up and stepped into the hallway, hearing soft voices drifting from the kitchen. As he made his way toward them, he saw some of the members awake, talking over coffee. Bruce was standing by the window, already dressed, hands in his pockets, his expression as unreadable as ever.

Bruce looked up when Jason entered, their eyes meeting for a split second. There was no hint of acknowledgement from last night in his gaze. He simply greeted him with nothing more than a curt nod.

Jason felt a flicker of something unwanted—disappointment, frustration—but he buried it deep, slipping into a mask of indifference. He joined the others, leaning against the counter, forcing himself not to glance in Bruce’s direction.

Jason found himself wondering how, in a game he’d thought he controlled, Bruce had so quietly taken over, leaving him feeling unsure and strangely exposed.

・・・・・

i've been occasionally writing this when i wanted to write more FUN and not so serious scenes! fyi i'll probably take a break from writing since dragon age veilguard is released tomorrow! but let me know if you'd like me to continue this, and i might need to pause dragon age lmao. (literally all it takes is for one person to say pls do this 🥺 and i'll drop everything for you cause i love validation and people telling me what to do (jk) (or am i?))

[rainforestakiie]

Yo! Follower/Stalker on Be Lonely with Me from AO3 and I have been infected by Tumblr outside of YouTube.

Was wondering if you'd ever update Vacation Away? Always wondered what happened to it.

hello! aw, i'm so happy you like my writing! it means so much to me! thank you for all the support!

yes, of course i will write another part for you! i hope you like it!

Vacation Away (Adam/Lucifer goes on vacation on Earth) = Part 01. Part 02. Part 03.

Half the week had drifted by like a lazy cloud since Adam had left Heaven, the bustling city that felt more like a gilded cage than a home. The town he now found himself in was quaint, nestled between rolling hills and kissed by the soft blush of early spring. Yet, his mind wasn’t on the picturesque charm or even the reason for his journey—the required vaccination that had dragged him here. No, his thoughts were consumed by Samuel.

The odd little man staying at the same inn had a way of commandeering Adam’s mind, unbidden and relentless. Samuel was peculiar in the most endearing way—a wiry frame that seemed too small to house the vibrant energy he carried, a goofy grin that crept up unprovoked, and eyes that gleamed with a mischievous sparkle, the colour of the clearest morning sky after a storm. Adam couldn’t help but smile faintly, a soft, wistful thing, as he thought of the way Samuel laughed—full-bodied and infectious, like music that lingered long after the song had ended.

It was strange, this pull he felt. Sweet. Unfamiliar. Adam didn’t think he’d ever looked at someone this way before, let alone a man. Not since… Eden.

His chest tightened, and his gaze drifted out the window. The world beyond blurred as his thoughts turned inward, his reflection ghosting on the glass. His eyes grew distant, soft, and shadowed with memories he couldn’t outrun.

Eden. The word alone was heavy, like honey laced with poison. Eden was where his heart had first learned to soar and where it had been shattered beyond recognition. He leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window, his breath fogging the pane. How he longed for Eden—its golden skies, the gentle hum of its rivers, the animals that knew him and trusted him. He would give anything, everything, to go back.

But alone.

Always alone.

Eden, his paradise, was haunted. Each perfect bloom, each serene vista, reminded him of what he had lost, what he had endured. The ache of betrayal, the weight of his choices—it was all tied to that sacred, cursed place. Returning would be a solace, yes, but one he could only bear in solitude.

And yet, as the thought of Samuel flitted through his mind again, it jarred something loose in him. Adam frowned slightly, his fingers tracing idle patterns against the window. Samuel’s presence, his laughter, his small kindnesses—they were all unbidden, disruptive, but… comforting in a way that Adam couldn’t explain.

What was it about that strange man with the sparky blue eyes that made the heaviness in his chest feel a little lighter? Could it be that Samuel was more than a passing curiosity? Adam wasn’t sure. All he knew was that the inn felt warmer when Samuel was near, and the nights didn’t seem as lonely.

Shaking his head, Adam turned his attention back to the view outside. The twilight was setting in, painting the town in hues of lavender and rose. A soft knock at the door startled him from his reverie.

“Adam?”

The voice was unmistakable, a bit hesitant but still carrying that distinct warmth that Samuel never seemed to lack. Adam’s heart stuttered, unprepared for the surge of emotions the sound evoked. He hesitated for a moment, his hand hovering over the doorknob before he opened it.

Samuel stood there, grinning sheepishly, his hair mussed as if he’d just rolled out of bed, though it was barely evening. He held out a steaming cup.

“Hot chocolate,” he said, a little too quickly. “I noticed you seemed… quiet at breakfast. Thought maybe you could use some.”

Adam blinked, caught off guard. “I—thank you.”

His voice softer than he intended. He took the cup, their fingers brushing briefly. The touch was fleeting, but it left his skin tingling.

Samuel lingered, rocking on his heels.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked, his grin faltering slightly, as though unsure of his welcome.

Adam hesitated, his instincts urging him to retreat, to guard himself. But then he looked at Samuel—truly looked—and something inside him softened. The man’s vulnerability was palpable, and Adam found himself nodding before he could think better of it.

“Sure,” he said, stepping aside to let Samuel in.

The fire crackled gently in the hearth, casting flickering amber light across the room. Adam leaned back against the windowsill, the warmth of his cup seeping into his palms, grounding him. Samuel was sprawled on the worn-out rug near the fire, his head propped up on one hand, his other tracing absentminded patterns in the air as he spoke. He was telling a story about a mischievous duck he’d encountered during his travels, his voice animated, his blue eyes sparkling with delight.

Adam found himself watching more than listening, caught up in the way Samuel’s face lit up, the way his smile came so easily. It was magnetic, this energy Samuel carried, and Adam couldn’t help but be drawn to it, even as he tried to keep his feelings in check.

“And then, just as I thought I’d lost it for good,” Samuel said, gesturing dramatically, “The duck pops up behind me with the scarf in its mouth, looking all smug. I swear, it was laughing at me. You should’ve seen its face, Graham.”

Adam’s breath hitched. Graham. The name hung in the air like a bell, jolting him from his thoughts. He froze, the cup halfway to his lips, his heart skipping a beat as he processed the name. It wasn’t his, not really, but he’d used it so casually in this little town that hearing it felt… wrong. And yet, the way Samuel said it—with that warm, teasing lilt—made it sound right.

Realizing he hadn’t responded, Adam forced himself to move, lowering the cup slowly and plastering on a small smile.

“Oh? Did you ever get the scarf back?” he asked, his voice a touch higher than usual. He winced internally at how obvious he sounded.

Samuel chuckled, oblivious to Adam’s sudden tension. “Of course I did. I had to bribe it with half my lunch, though. Ducks are crafty little devils.”  

His gaze flicked to Adam, sharp and bright as always, and he grinned. “Why? You don’t strike me as a scarf person, Graham.”

There it was again. Graham. Adam’s stomach did a flip, and his blush deepened, creeping up his neck and to his cheeks. He cleared his throat, gripping the cup tighter to steady himself.

“I’m not, really,” he said, managing to keep his voice even. “But I think it’s nice that you made a friend, even if it was a duck.”

Samuel laughed, the sound rich and genuine, and it sent a shiver down Adam’s spine.

“You’re funny, you know that?” Samuel said, shifting to sit up straighter, his eyes locking onto Adam’s. “I mean, you’re quiet most of the time, but when you talk, it’s always something that sticks with me.”

Adam’s grip on the cup tightened. He could feel the intensity of Samuel’s gaze, those piercing blue eyes seeming to strip away every wall he’d built around himself. He fought the urge to look away, to hide, but instead, he met Samuel’s eyes, his blush betraying the calm facade he was trying so hard to maintain.

“Thanks,” Adam murmured, his voice softer than he intended. “I guess I don’t realize I do that.”

Samuel smiled, and it was different this time—gentler, more intimate.

“You do,” he said simply. “And it’s one of the reasons I like being around you.”

Adam’s heart stuttered, and he felt the blush spread further. He opened his mouth to respond but found he had no words. The room seemed to shrink, the firelight casting a cozy glow that wrapped around the two of them, isolating them from the rest of the world.

“Graham,” Samuel said again, the name rolling off his tongue like a soft caress. It wasn’t just a name—it was the way he said it, like it meant something, like he meant something. Adam forgot, for a fleeting moment, that it wasn’t really his name.

He smiled despite himself, the corners of his mouth twitching upward in a shy but genuine way.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever said my name that much in one night,” he teased lightly, trying to deflect, to push away the weight of what he was feeling.

Samuel grinned, leaning forward just a bit, closing the distance between them.

“Maybe that’s because nobody else noticed how good it sounds,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, playful murmur. His eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was something sincere in the way he looked at Adam, something that made Adam’s breath hitch.

Laughing nervously, Adam shook his head as he tried to will the heat in his face to fade.

“You’re impossible,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Impossible and charming,” Samuel replied, echoing his earlier words. His hand moved, brushing lightly against Adam’s knee, a touch so casual yet so deliberate that it made Adam’s pulse quicken.

For a moment, they just sat there, the space between them charged but comfortable. Adam’s heart pounded in his chest, but he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. There was something about Samuel’s presence that made him feel safe, like maybe it was okay to let his guard down, even if just for a little while.

“Graham,” Samuel said one last time, his voice softer now, almost reverent.

Breath caught, but this time, Adam didn’t freeze. He smiled, a real smile, and for once, he let himself be in the moment, even if he wasn’t sure what it all meant.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice steady, his shyness finally melting into the warmth between them.

Grin widening, and Lucifer’s blue eyes sparkled brighter than the firelight.

“Nothing,” he said, leaning back with a playful shrug. “Just wanted to say it again.”

And Adam, despite himself, laughed. It wasn’t a name he’d chosen for permanence, but in Samuel’s voice, it felt like something he could live with—something he could cherish.

The morning air in Keukenhof was crisp and carried the faintest hint of dew, mingling with the sweet perfume of tulips in full bloom. Adam and Samuel strolled through the gardens, the vibrant sea of colours stretching endlessly before them. Tulips of every hue—vivid reds, soft pastels, sunny yellows—danced in the gentle breeze, creating a tapestry of life and beauty. Samuel walked slightly ahead, turning every so often to point out a flower that caught his eye, his enthusiasm as boundless as the fields themselves.

“Look at that one, Graham!” Samuel exclaimed, crouching down by a patch of tulips with frilled edges that looked like flames frozen mid-dance. “I didn’t even know flowers could look like this!”

Chuckling softly, Adam’s hands tucked into his pockets as he followed.

“You’re acting like you’ve never seen a flower before,” he teased, his voice warm with affection.

Samuel glanced over his shoulder, grinning. “Not like this. It’s magical, don’t you think?”

Nodding, Adam’s gaze sweeping over the vibrant blooms.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice quieter. “It is.”

They wandered deeper into the gardens, stopping occasionally to admire the more intricate displays. At a small stand tucked among the trees, Samuel spotted trays of truffles arranged in neat rows, each piece adorned with delicate patterns. His eyes lit up.

“We have to get some,” he said, grabbing Adam’s hand and pulling him toward the stand. Adam let himself be dragged, laughing softly at Samuel’s childlike excitement.

The vendor offered them an assortment, and Samuel picked out a small box of truffles with vibrant designs—ones shaped like tulips, tiny hearts, and even one that resembled a bumblebee. They found a bench near a quiet patch of flowers to sit and share them, Samuel popping one into his mouth and humming dramatically.

“Delicious,” he declared, holding another up to Adam. “Try this one. It’s hazelnut.”

Adam hesitated but leaned forward, taking the offered truffle. Their fingers brushed briefly, and Adam’s heart skipped a beat. The truffle melted on his tongue, sweet and rich, but the real warmth came from the way Samuel watched him, a satisfied smile on his lips.

“Good, right?” Samuel asked.

Adam nodded, swallowing. “Yeah. Really good.”

As they continued walking, a burst of giggles and the twang of a guitar drew their attention to a small group of children gathered under a tree. One child held a guitar, plucking at the strings with little success, while the others clapped and cheered him on. The scene was charming, and both Adam and Samuel stopped to watch.

The child strummed the guitar again, the sound clunky and awkward.

“I can’t do it!” he huffed, pouting as his friend’s offered encouragement.

Without thinking, Adam murmured, “You need to relax your grip. Otherwise, the strings won’t sound right.”

Turning to Adam, Samuel’s eyes wide with curiosity. “Wait—you play the guitar?”

Blinking, realizing what he’d just admitted. Adam let out a sheepish sound.

“I used to,” he said carefully. “A long time ago.”

Samuel’s face lit up like the sun breaking through clouds. “That’s amazing! You should show them.”

Adam held up his hands, shaking his head. “No, no. I haven’t played in years. I’m probably terrible now.”

“Oh, come on,” Samuel said, nudging him playfully. “It’ll be fun. Look at them—they’d love it.”

Before Adam could protest further, Samuel was already talking to the children, convincing them to let Adam try. They handed over the guitar eagerly, their little faces lighting up with excitement.

The weight of Samuel’s hopeful gaze leaving him little choice. He sat down on the grass, adjusting the guitar in his lap. His fingers trembled slightly as they found the strings, memories of songs he hadn’t thought about in years flooding back. With a deep breath, he began to play.

The first few notes were hesitant, but soon the melody flowed smoothly. It was a gentle, lilting tune that carried through the garden like a soft breeze. The children clapped along, their giggles and cheers filling the air. Even the flowers seemed to sway to the rhythm.

When Adam glanced up, he saw Samuel standing a few steps away, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. His blue eyes were fixed on Adam, warm and unwavering, his expression a mix of awe and something deeper—something that made Adam’s heart ache in the best possible way.

Adam’s fingers faltered slightly, and he quickly looked away, his cheeks burning. His heart thudded in his chest, loud enough that he was sure Samuel could hear it. He finished the song and handed the guitar back to the children, who thanked him enthusiastically before running off to try again.

Samuel crouched down beside him, his grin softer now.

“You’re incredible,” he said, his voice low but full of emotion.

Adam shook his head, his gaze fixed on the grass. “I’m not. I just… remembered a few things.”

Reaching out, Samuel brushed a stray curl from Adam’s forehead. The gesture was so casual yet so intimate that Adam’s blush deepened.

“You’re too modest, Graham,” Samuel said, his voice teasing but his eyes serious. “That was beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

Breath hitching, and for a moment, Adam didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t felt like this in so long—this vulnerable, this seen. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

“Thanks,” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced at Samuel, then quickly looked away, the intensity of his gaze too much to bear. But even as he averted his eyes, a small, shy smile crept onto his lips.

And Samuel, ever patient, stayed by his side, the warmth between them growing like the tulips blooming all around.

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the floral shop's large windows, casting golden beams over the rows of tulips, roses, and lilies waiting to be arranged into beautiful bouquets. The air smelled sweet, thick with the scent of blossoms and freshly trimmed stems. Adam and Samuel worked side by side at the counter, their hands busy with ribbons, vases, and the delicate petals they handled with care.

“Well, Graham,” Samuel said, his voice lilting with mischief, “You’ve got quite the knack for this. You sure you’re not secretly a florist?”

Adam glanced at him, trying to suppress a smile. “Hardly. I’m just following your lead.”

Samuel smirked, nudging Adam’s elbow with his own. “Good answer. But I think you’re just being modest again.”

Adam rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped him. “You really love giving me a hard time, don’t you?”

“It’s my favourite pastime,” Samuel said, leaning closer as he reached for a spool of ribbon.

His shoulder brushed against Adam’s, lingering just a second too long. The touch sent a jolt through Adam, and he found himself hyper-aware of how close Samuel was—how he could feel the heat of his body even in the cool air of the shop.

They fell into an easy rhythm, assembling bouquets and chatting, their laughter filling the space. Samuel was relentless in his teasing, but it was gentle, laced with affection that Adam couldn’t help but respond to. At one point, Adam reached for a sprig of baby’s breath at the same time as Samuel, their fingers colliding.

“Careful,” Samuel murmured, his voice dropping a notch. His eyes met Adam’s, bright and teasing. “Don’t want to steal my thunder.”

“Maybe you’re the one stealing mine,” Adam countered, his voice steadier than he felt.

Samuel’s grin widened. “Touché.”

The playful banter continued, their touches growing more frequent—an accidental brush of fingers here, a nudge of hips there. Adam tried to focus on the flowers, the ribbons, anything but the growing tension between them. But Samuel made it impossible, his every movement deliberate, his every word dripping with charm.

“Graham,” Samuel said, his voice soft now, almost a purr.

Adam looked up from the bouquet he was working on, startled by the sudden shift in tone. Samuel was closer than before, his blue eyes fixed on Adam’s, a hint of something deeper swirling in their depths.

“Yes?” Adam asked, his voice catching slightly.

“You’ve got a little…” Samuel reached out, brushing a petal off Adam’s shoulder. His fingers lingered, grazing the fabric of Adam’s shirt. “There. All better.”

Adam swallowed hard, his heart thudding in his chest. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat as Samuel leaned in, his face inches away now. Adam’s breath hitched, his body frozen in place.

“Relax,” Samuel murmured, his voice low and teasing, but there was a tenderness in his gaze that made Adam’s heart ache.

And then Samuel kissed him.

It was soft, tentative—a gentle press of lips that sent a shockwave through Adam. His eyes widened, his body stiff as he processed what was happening. It was his first real kiss in over ten thousand centuries, and it felt as foreign as it did wonderful. He didn’t know what to do, how to react, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

Samuel pulled back, a teasing smile on his lips, his blue eyes bright and searching. “Not bad for someone who’s rusty, huh?” he said, his tone light but his gaze warm. He reached up, his fingers brushing Adam’s cheek, his touch gentle and lingering.

Adam’s face burned, his heart pounding so hard he was sure Samuel could hear it.

“I—um—I…” He stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, before finally managing, “Excuse me, I-I need to retire for the night.”

Without waiting for a response, Adam turned and hurried toward the door, his steps quick and uneven. He felt Samuel’s gaze on him, but he didn’t dare look back. The moment he was outside, he all but ran, the cool evening air doing little to cool the fire burning in his cheeks.

He reached his room and shut the door behind him, leaning against it as he tried to catch his breath. His face was hot, his heart still racing. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his pulse. He had never felt this way before—so alive, so shaken, so… seen.

Sliding down to sit on the floor, Adam covered his face with his hands, a shy, disbelieving smile creeping onto his lips despite his embarrassment. Samuel had kissed him. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Adam let himself wonder—just for a moment—what it would feel like to kiss him back.

Adam sat alone in his room, the walls pressing in like a suffocating reminder of his isolation. His shoulders slumped as he leaned against the windowsill, the evening sky outside painted in soft hues of gold and lavender. But he couldn’t appreciate the beauty. Not tonight. Not when his heart was a chaotic storm of memories and feelings he thought he had buried deep, never to be unearthed.

Samuel’s kiss had stirred something in him—something Adam hadn’t felt in centuries. But it wasn’t just the flutter of warmth in his chest or the way his skin tingled where Samuel had touched him. No, it was the torrent of pain that came rushing back, a tidal wave dragging him under.

Eden.

Lucifer.

The names themselves felt like wounds that had never healed.

Adam closed his eyes, and his mind betrayed him, pulling him back to a time when the world was new, and he was blissfully ignorant of how cruel love could be. Lucifer had been his everything—his guide, his angel, his first friend. And later, Adam realized, his first love. Back then, he hadn’t had the words to describe what he felt when Lucifer smiled at him, his blue eyes alight with mischief and a depth of kindness that seemed boundless. He didn’t understand why his heart quickened whenever Lucifer was near, or why he felt so crushed when their time together ended, even for a moment.

But he knew now.

Adam had been hopelessly, irrevocably in love with the archangel.

It had all seemed so perfect in the beginning. Lucifer had been there for him, teaching him, guiding him through the garden, showing him the wonders of creation. Adam remembered their laughter, the shared glances, the way Lucifer had teased him, calling him "innocent" with a grin that made Adam’s knees weak. It was a love he hadn’t dared to voice, not even to himself, until Lilith was created.

Lilith. His "other half," the angels had said. His destined partner. Adam remembered the confusion, the ache of betrayal when they told him he was to love her. He cared for her, yes, but his heart wasn’t hers to take—it was Lucifer’s. Always Lucifer’s. But even Lucifer had pushed him toward her, encouraging him to embrace his “destiny.”

Adam had tried. He had tried so hard to do what was expected of him, to silence the feelings clawing at his heart. But how could he, when every glance, every thought, every beat of his heart whispered Lucifer’s name?

And then… the betrayal.

He could still see them in his mind’s eye—Lucifer and Lilith together. The memory tore through him like it had happened yesterday. He had stumbled upon them, their laughter mingling in the air like a cruel mockery of everything he had dreamed. Adam’s heart had shattered into pieces so small, he wondered if it would ever be whole again.

"Why can’t I marry you?" Adam had asked Lucifer once, desperation trembling in his voice. He’d been so young, so naive, still clinging to the hope that what he felt might somehow be returned.

Lucifer had laughed, a soft, almost apologetic sound.

"You can’t," he’d said simply. "Because I’m an angel, and you’re human. It would never work."

But it had worked with Lilith. And later, Eve.

Adam shook his head, the tears stinging his eyes blurring the pastel streaks of the sunset. Lilith had been his first taste of heartbreak, but she hadn’t been the last. Eve came next, and Adam had tried to love her too, tried to be the man the angels said he was meant to be. But Lucifer had ruined that, too.

Lucifer always came back. Always took what wasn’t his to take.

Adam had run from them both, from Eden itself. But unlike before, no one had followed. No one had tried to bring him back. Not Lucifer. Not Lilith. Not Eve. It was in that deafening silence that Adam learned his place in the grand design: nowhere. He was an afterthought, a vessel for a plan he had no part in shaping.

And so he had vowed never to love again. He had built walls so high and so strong that even he believed no one could ever break them down. But then came Samuel.

Samuel, with his goofy grin and sparkling blue eyes—so different from Lucifer’s yet so similar in the way they made Adam’s heart flutter. Samuel, who teased him, who touched him, who kissed him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He looked at Adam as if he wasn’t the first man, wasn’t the first human, wasn’t a pet or an insect. Samuel gazed at Adam…just Adam…

Adam’s chest tightened as he thought of Samuel. The way his lips had felt, soft and warm, lingering just long enough to make Adam’s breath catch. It had been the first time in eons that Adam had felt truly wanted.

But what was the point? Adam was dead—an angel of the Lord, his heart hollowed out and remade for duty, not love. Samuel was alive, vibrant, full of hope and dreams that belonged to the mortal realm. They were from different worlds, and their paths were never meant to cross. This couldn’t be anything more than a fleeting moment, a cruel reminder of everything Adam had lost and could never have again.

The thought broke him.

Pressing a hand to his chest, willing the ache to subside, but it only deepened. Adam had been so certain he could go through eternity without needing anyone, without wanting anyone. But now… now he wasn’t so sure. Samuel had slipped past his defences with ease, and Adam didn’t know how to stop him.

“I can’t do this,” Adam whispered to the empty room, his voice trembling.

But even as he said it, a small, traitorous part of him wondered—what if he could? What if, just this once, he let himself fall?

He was scared. So scared to fall again. After Lucifer…Adam never wanted to feel that way again.

Adam sat on the edge of his bed, the room dimly lit by the flickering glow of a single candle on the windowsill. The tulip fields that had earlier brought him so much joy now felt like a distant memory. His thoughts swirled, a storm of past regrets and present confusion. He traced his fingers along the edge of the blanket, trying to focus on the soft texture instead of the ache in his chest.

The kiss. Samuel’s kiss. It had unearthed feelings Adam hadn’t allowed himself to feel for eons, and now they were unravelling him. He had locked himself away to escape them, but they lingered, like shadows clinging to the corners of the room. He tried to bury his emotions under the weight of old wounds, but Samuel’s face, his bright eyes and gentle touch, kept flashing in his mind.

Then, a knock at the door startled him. Adam froze, his heart leaping to his throat. He considered ignoring it, but after a second knock, softer this time, curiosity and a flicker of hope got the better of him. Rising from the bed, he approached the door hesitantly, his fingers hovering over the handle before he finally opened it.

There stood Samuel, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He was holding a small bouquet of tulips in his hands, their colours a soft blend of pink and white, like a whisper of spring.

“Hi,” Samuel said quietly, offering the flowers with a sheepish smile. “I, uh… I’m sorry if I came on too strong earlier. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Face flushing as Adam accepted the bouquet, his fingers brushing Samuel’s briefly. The warmth of the touch sent a shiver down his spine. “You didn’t… scare me,” Adam said softly, looking down at the tulips. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“I just wanted to check on you,” Samuel added, scratching the back of his neck. “And maybe… talk? If you’re up for it?”

Adam hesitated, glancing at the tulips again before stepping aside. “Come in.”

Samuel entered cautiously; his usual confidence subdued. Adam placed the flowers gently on the small table by the window, arranging them absentmindedly before sitting back down on the bed. Samuel settled in the chair opposite him, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“I’m sorry,” Samuel began again, his voice soft. “I didn’t realize you were carrying so much… stuff.”

Adam chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. “It’s not your fault. I’ve just… had a harsh past with love and emotions. Relationships haven’t exactly been kind to me.”

Gaze softening, Samuel’s head tilting slightly. “A bad breakup?”

Laughing, though the sound was hollow. Adam grimaced painfully. “Not even a breakup. More like… a first love that turned sour.”

Leaning back, a flicker of curiosity crossing Samuel’s face. “A first love?”

Gaze fixed on the tulips; Adam smiled softly. When he spoke, his voice was distant, filled with a quiet pain. “There was someone in my life once. We were best friends—always together, attached at the hip. I… I loved him. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

Samuel stayed silent, his blue eyes locked on Adam, his expression unreadable.

“I didn’t know it at the time,” Adam continued, his voice trembling slightly, “but I was in love with him. He was everything to me. I thought he held the sun and moon in his hands just for me. But…” Adam’s breath hitched, and he looked down at his lap. “I wasn’t enough for him.”

Jaw tightening, Samuel’s lips pressing into a thin line as Adam spoke.

“I was told I had to marry someone else,” Adam said, his voice growing quieter. “But how could I? My heart wasn’t mine to give—it was his. Still, I tried. I tried to be what everyone wanted me to be. And then… he chose her. He picked her over me. My friend—my best friend—said I wasn’t worth the trouble. But she was.”

Adam exhaled shakily, his fingers gripping the edge of the bed. “And it didn’t stop there. I was told to marry another woman, and he… he went after her too. It was like I was just some obstacle in his way. Someone to be discarded when I was no longer convenient.”

Swallowing hard, Samuel’s blue eyes glistening. “Your friend… doesn’t sound like much of a friend…”

Adam gave a pitiful smile. “In the end, I don’t think he ever really was. I think… I think I was just something to keep him entertained. Like a pet.”

Samuel opened his mouth to speak, but then stopped, biting his lip. He looked at Adam with a mixture of sorrow and anger, his hands clenching into fists before relaxing.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Laughing softly, Adam shook his head. “Why are you apologizing? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Samuel sniffed, shifting in his seat as he wiped at his eyes. “It’s just… it’s not fair. You deserve everything, Adam.”

Heart skipping a beat as Samuel reached out, his fingers brushing against Adam’s cheek. The touch was light, reverent, as if Samuel were afraid Adam might break under his hand.

“I’m sorry you went through that,” Samuel said, his voice trembling. “Your friend… he ruined everything for you, didn’t he? He turned love and relationships into something… painful.”

Adam looked down, shrugging shyly. “It was so long ago. I try not to see him if I can help it.”

Leaning closer, Samuel’s gaze unwavering. “You deserve so much more. You deserve someone who’ll fight for you. Someone who sees you for the incredible person you are.”

Breath hitching, Adam’s cheeks burning as he looked away. But Samuel’s hand remained on his cheek, grounding him, offering a comfort he hadn’t felt in centuries. And for the first time in eons, Adam wondered if it was possible to open his heart again.

“Please Graham…” Samuel whispered tenderly. He inched even closer to him, pressing his body against Adam’s. “Please Graham, let me show you how good it can me…”

Gulping, Adam’s body prickled with tingles all over his skin. Adam’s breath hitched as Samuel inched closer to him, he could feel Samuel’s body warmth spreading all over. Their hips pressed together, the intense look in Samuel’s blue eyes deepen as he rolled his hips, making Adam gasp.

“Please…” he whispered, pressing his lips to Adam’s. “Please…Adam…”

Inching forward, Adam meet’s Samuel halfway. Their lips touched, pushing together in a deep kiss. Adam sighed deeply, his heart fluttering even more as Samuel immediately began to rock his hips against Adam. He hooked a hand under Adam’s thigh, pulling it over his hip.

Hands pulled at clothes, the heat increasing within the room. They moved from the windowsill to the bed. They fell onto the blankets and quilts, beginning to touch one another in a way that Adam had never experienced before.

“S-Samuel.” Adam gasped.

The other froze for a second. Tensing up for just a few seconds before he relaxed again, running his hot mouth further down Adam’s chest. His lips touching Adam’s nipples, he licks and sucks on the soft flesh. The intensity of his blue eyes made Adam feel shy. He wanted to hide himself; to roll over but Samuel wouldn’t let him.

Adam let out another crying moan as Samuel travelled further down.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll never think of another man again,” Samuel growled possessively. He bites down on Adam’s thigh, marking him as his. “You’re mine, aren’t you Adam? You belong to me, don’t you?”

Rolling his head back, Adam whimpered and whined, “Yes. God yes, Samuel.”

“Good boy.”

The night had been an intoxicating blend of passion and vulnerability, leaving Adam reeling in sensations he hadn’t felt in millennia. As morning’s golden light spilled into the room, it illuminated the tulips resting on the bedside table, their vibrant hues glowing like tiny flames. Adam stirred first, his body both achingly sore and delightfully alive, a testament to the connection he had shared with Samuel.

A soft, contented groan escaped his lips as he blinked against the sunlight, his mind sluggishly catching up to his surroundings. Turning his head, he found Samuel beside him, deeply asleep, his features softened in repose. The quilt barely covered their entwined forms, and the room bore the chaotic evidence of their passion—clothes scattered like fallen leaves, shoes toppled, a chair askew.

Adam's breath hitched. He hadn't done this—felt this—in over ten thousand years. He let out a quiet laugh, equal parts disbelieving and giddy. This was so unlike him, so reckless, yet... so right. Eve had never made his heart race like this, never set his body alight with warmth and longing. But Samuel? Samuel made him feel like he was touching the divine again, even if only for a fleeting moment.

Shifting onto his side, Adam traced Samuel’s face with his eyes, his chest swelling with something he didn’t dare name. His fingers found their way to Samuel’s hair, threading through the soft strands. He twirled a lock between his fingers, noticing its shimmer in the sunlight. A curious frown tugged at his lips. Samuel’s hair had seemed more strawberry blonde before… hadn’t it? He shrugged the thought away, lowering his head onto the pillow as he inched closer, eager to snuggle against the man who had reignited his dormant heart.

But then he froze.

His mind reeled as fragments of the previous night flooded back. Samuel had called him Adam. Not Graham, the alias he’d carefully maintained since coming to Earth. No, Adam. Panic flared in his chest. How could Samuel have known? He couldn’t have.

Tentatively, Adam brushed Samuel’s hair back, his fingers trembling as they revealed a red mark on Samuel’s cheek—bright and unnatural, glowing faintly like a cherry ember. His heart began to pound violently. He stared at the mark, his breath coming in shallow gasps. No. No. No. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be.

Stirring, a soft hum breaking the silence as Lucifer stretched lazily, his muscles rippling beneath the quilt. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and Adam’s heart leapt into his throat. Samuel tilted his head, offering a warm, sleepy smile.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice deep and honeyed.

Adam couldn’t respond. His throat tightened as he stared into eyes that weren’t blue anymore but a swirling, unnerving mix of red and gold. His body went cold as he realized the nose that had once given Samuel’s face its charming profile was now… gone. Just smooth skin where it had once been.

Samuel’s—no, Lucifer’s—smile widened as he cocked his head. “Adam? Are you alright?”

Adam’s body locked up. His mind screamed in denial, but he couldn’t form words. Lucifer reached for him, his touch feather light as he cupped Adam’s cheek.

“Was I too rough last night?” Lucifer teased, leaning in for a kiss. “You seem shaken—”

The realization slammed into Adam like a tidal wave, nearly drowning him. Samuel wasn’t Samuel. Samuel was Lucifer.

He’d spent the night tangled in bed with the one being who had caused him the most pain, the most heartbreak, in his existence. This wasn’t a rekindled connection; this was another manipulation, another cruel game in Lucifer’s endless repertoire.

“No!” Adam choked, shoving Lucifer away. Scrambling backward, he tumbled off the bed, hitting the floor with a sharp thud. His vision swam, and his chest heaved with panicked breaths.

Gasping, Lucifer sat up abruptly. “Adam—”

“I mean, Graham—are you okay?” His brows knitted together as he knelt at Adam’s side, his concern almost convincing. “You hit your head,” he murmured, reaching for Adam’s face. “Let me—”

“Don’t touch me!” Adam slapped his hand away, his voice trembling with fury and fear. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing his discarded clothing in frantic handfuls. His mind raced, a cacophony of disbelief and betrayal threatening to overwhelm him.

Lucifer frowned, his golden eyes widening in what looked like genuine confusion. “Graham, what’s wrong? Did I—did I do something? Last night, I thought—”

“Last night was a lie!” Adam hissed, yanking on his clothes. He could barely breathe, his hands shaking violently as he buttoned his shirt. “You—you deceived me. Again! Samuel, or should I say Lucifer!”

Standing slowly, Lucifer’s bare form almost radiant in the sunlight, but Adam refused to look at him.

“I didn’t—Adam, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Lucifer said softly. “Please, let me—”

“Don’t call me that!” Adam shouted, his voice breaking as tears spilled from his eyes. “You don’t get to say my name. You don’t get to… to be here.”

Lucifer’s face fell, the mask of cocky confidence he so often wore slipping away. For a moment, he looked small. Vulnerable.

“Adam,” he whispered, his voice trembling, “I’m not your enemy—”

But Adam was already gone, bolting from the room as his sobs tore through the quiet morning air. He didn’t stop, didn’t look back, even as Lucifer’s voice echoed after him.

“Adam, wait!”

[positivityfortoday]

☀ PositivityForToday’s 10K Celebration ☀

There are SO many things worth living for and reasons to smile and be happy! With the help of my lovely followers/friends, I have compiled a list of 1,000 things that make people happy, for my 10,000 amazing followers! Hopefully, this list is able to help you, make you feel better, or give you a reason to smile today! 

☀ 1,000 Happy Things ☀

Seeing cows while driving

Moss on really old fallen trees 

Seeing a lil baby you don't know in public, and they smile at you!!!

Parents doing their kids hair or just people doing someone they care about’s hair

Really ragged old and well-loved stuffed animals 

When the dandelions start blooming

Spring blossom

Daffodils

Bluebells

Sharks

When you're sitting outside your house or something and people passing by wave and say hi

That feeling in the summer when you have your window open and you're listening to your favorite music

When someone does a hobby just because they enjoy it even if they aren't the best at it

Comfort shows and books

People speaking their native languages

When my brother gets something to eat and always gets me something he knows I like

When I finish a crossword 

When I see something that reminds me of someone I care about

Paintings

My best friend (I love her so much shhhh don't tell her)

My dog! I love him 

My little sisters! Adorable, creative, and very witty. I love them

Music! I get the happy shaky feelings and just,,, y e a h/listening to songs

Singing! Especially for band practice!

Sunlight beams in the morning

The moon

Eagles

That feeling when you’re with friends and you’re all laughing so loudly, and you just feel complete

Talking to my favorite people/talking to my best friend

Sunrises and sunsets

Seeing the stars

Cats

Butterflies/Moths

Snails

Warm sunshine

Purple gel pens

Hugs

My children

Sunny days

Beautiful views

Spending time with my family and friends

Playing badminton

Cycling

Playing with little kids

Playing with dogs

Whales

Animals doing daft things 

Talks and walks with my son 

Morning breakfast and coffee 

A good spicy lunch

Laying in my bed at night and just checking on current affairs and news

My boyfriend

My friends 

Art

Owls

Minecraft

Voice acting

Petting my dog

Smelling Flowers 

Feeling a cold thing when I’m warm or a warm thing when I’m cold 

Giving and getting kisses

Random texts from friends

Coffee flavored chocolate 

Singing

Moths with big white wings

Underdone scrambled eggs

A rainy night

Bubbles

That first warm day of spring

Going on hikes

Being outdoors

Candy

Chocolate 

The smell of playdoh 

Taking photos

Getting new clothing 

Candles

Birdwatching

Going on picnics

Writing poetry

Reading books

The holidays

Making people smile/laugh

Coffee

A nice warm blanket

Eating ice cream

Snow globes

Lightning bugs

Flowers after the snow melts

The smell of rain

Sitting on the steps early in the morning

Being the first to wake up

The feeling I get after running

The comfort of a favorite shirt

My girlfriend 

Family

Random acts of kindness

Babies

When I play with my dog by pretending to run at her and she goes crazy with excitement 

My cat 

Rain

Baking

Piano (playing or listening)

Small flowers

Flowy skirts/dresses

Wholesome romances

Hearing a song for the first time and loving it immediately 

Playing my flute

Horses

Listening to vinyls on a record player

When someone remembers a little detail about you

Painting my nails

Doing yoga

Doing exercise

Beating a personal record

Rainbows

Making crafts

Taking a shower after a long day

Going to the zoo

Going on vacation

Being at the beach or near water

Watching Netflix

Going to the movie theatre

Watching a live play at a theatre

Learning something new

Teaching someone how to do something 

Toasting marshmallows and eating S’mores 

Cupcakes

Seeing a shooting star

Taking a nap

When someone compliments me

Decorating my room

Picnics

My favorite band

My favorite celebrities

My favorite actors

Setting a new goal

Collecting rocks

Putting on fresh clean sheets

Seeing Christmas lights

Listening to birds chirping

Giraffes

Camping

Sitting by a bonfire

Eating mashed potatoes

Bullet journaling

Driving in the car with the windows down

Dancing

Looking at pretty pictures

Concerts

Funny jokes/puns/memes

Fireworks

Sparklers

Pretty clouds

My favorite shoes

Getting new art supplies

Making photo edits

Making gifts for my friends and family

Getting gifts from people 

Balloons

Succulents 

Playing an instrument

Drinking a nice cup of tea

Iced tea on a summer day

Eating fresh fruit

Getting my hair braided 

Eating at a restaurant 

Being on a boat

Swimming

Making new friends

Finding an animal in nature 

Pumpkins and pumpkin patches

Carving pumpkins 

Autumn and all the beautiful colors

Acting for theatre

Making video edits

Wearing a costume for Halloween

Dressing fancy

Finding four leaf clovers

Pressing flowers

Scrap booking

Handwritten letters

Stickers

Hummingbirds

Elephants

Eating breakfast 

Gardens

Inspirational quotes

Wearing my favorite necklace 

Baby animals 

Little streams and ponds

Foxes

Sun shining through trees

When it’s foggy out and you can see dew drops on plants and spider webs

Being on a swing

Finally accomplishing a goal you’ve been working on 

When a new season of your favorite show comes out

Doing my makeup

Cleaning and organizing 

Daydreaming 

Taking a bath

Christmas 

Watching funny videos

Wearing sweaters and hoodies

Fuzzy socks

Helping people 

Little figurines and objects

Popcorn 

Brownies

Looking out the window 

Wolves

Opening a window for fresh air

The smell of coffee 

Watching YouTube videos 

Getting a haircut 

Seeing a deer in the woods 

Watching birds fly

Finding shapes and objects in the clouds 

The smell of fresh laundry

When someone tells me something reminded them of me

Stepping on crunchy leaves

Animal crossing

My switch

Softball/baseball

Basketball

Soccer

Seeing cool cars/old cars

Rollerblading

Drawing with chalk on a sidewalk

Going to bed early

Stargazing

Making progress

Checking things off my to-do list

Taking Polaroid pictures

Going for walks

Jogging

Going to the library

Starting a new book

Finishing a good book

Playing board games

Koalas

Slippers

Big trees

Sunlight coming through the windows

Waking up on Christmas morning

Getting book, song, movie, etc. recommendations from my friends

Making music playlists

Finally receiving packages I ordered in the mail 

Baking desserts

When my favorite song comes on

When people make playlists for each other

Finding new characters to ship

Having free time

Sticky notes

Sunbathing

Traveling

Peace and quietness

Alone time

Meeting my step/exercise goal for the day

The people who love me

Soup

Coloring books

Getting into bed after a long day

Pillows

Fandoms

How unique and different everyone is

Getting a lot of work done

Looking forward to my future dream job

Playing video games

Being on Tumblr

Taking time for myself

Practicing self-care

Face masks

Finding money you forgot about

Holding hands

The smell of apple pie

Starting a new tv show

Getting letters in the mail

When the seasons change

Summer

Mugs and teacups

Smoothies

Breakfast food

Disney

Going into the woods/forest

Trying new creative outlets

The smell of sunscreen

Eating the food you’ve been craving

Knowing and feeling that people care

Telling a good story

Laughing so hard can’t stop and your stomach hurts

Late summer nights

Late night drives

Sparkles

Glitter

Listening to people I love talk about their favorite things and what they’re passionate about

Listening to podcasts

Turning up the volume of my music

Putting my headphones in

Blasting my favorite songs through my speaker

People accepting and supporting others for who they truly are

Wearing something cozy

Soft light

Love

Warm weather

A well-rested night

Waking up in the morning and feeling refreshed

Knowing that every day is a fresh start

Well written characters

A book I can get lost in

Sloths

My parents

My siblings

My grandparents

The feeling of sand beneath your feet

Heated blankets

Bagels

Toast

Getting something for free

Samples

Constellations 

Mason jars

Practicing a new skill

Finding a new hobby

Lazy weekends

Mac n cheese

French fries

Having deep conversations with my best friend

New jeans

Going to IKEA

Skirts 

Dresses

Doodling

When other people are happy (especially people I know and love)

Marching band

Sleeping in

Having the day off

Getting new books

Playing guitar

Playing ukulele 

Random compliments

A change of scenery

Cuddling

Waking before the sun is up

Reading old letters

Zebras

Exploring

Building Lego sets

Using photoshop to make edits

Journaling

Walking along the seafront and breathing in time with the waves

A good rom-com or nostalgic show

Writing lists

Pinterest boards

Looking back at my accomplishments

Talking on the phone with a friend or family member

Wrapping presents

A blue sky

Loving someone 

Waterfalls

Washi tape

Penguins

Donuts

The color yellow

Sleepovers

Cooking dinner

Kind gestures

Trust

Inside jokes

Songs that make you feel nostalgic

Seeing other people’s art

Comfy clothes

Wearing pajamas

Calligraphy

When someone calls you by your nickname

Going to Target

The first sunburn of the summer

Ramen noodles

Chinese food

Thrift shopping

Flower fields

Flowers growing in random places, like through a crack in the sidewalk

Writing

Sparkly snowflakes

When it snows on Christmas

Mixing paint colors together

Perfectly shaven legs

Puddles

The color red

Thunderstorms 

The smell of flowers

The ocean 

Adult sized onesies

Driving a golf cart

Fairytales

Cartoons

The color blue

Pasta

AO3

Crickets chirping

Seeing everyone’s houses decorated for the holidays, especially Christmas

Other people sharing what makes them happy

Monkeys

Being understood

When someone texts to make sure I got home safely

Iced coffee

Becoming better at communicating with others

Seeing a friend for the first time in a while

Good morning and good night texts

Drinking a cold glass of water

Deep conversations in the middle of the night

Collecting sea shells

Building blanket forts

Tan lines

Being under lots of blankets

Making better health and money choices

Getting chills from a song even after hearing it countless times 

Liking how I look

Hot chocolate

Finding new music

Buying cute things

Wearing an outfit I really like

When someone tells you how glad they are to be your friend

Gardening

Watching raindrops race down a window 

Trying new food

Finding exactly what I was looking for 

Planning my future

Finding a song that perfectly fits my mood or describes how I’m feeling

Writing little notes to people

When someone tells me I did something good

Eating ice cream on a hot day

Making friends with animals

Going to football games

Seeing people genuinely interested in something

Snow days

The last day of school

Winter break

Spring break

Thanksgiving

New Year’s Eve

Turtles

Sitting outside on a cool summer day

Watching rain

Watching the ocean waves come in

Netflix binges

A new movie release I really want to watch

Driving with a window down for the first time in the spring 

Taking a cruise

Giving helpful advice

Getting helpful advice

Doing a favor for someone who needs it

Someone referencing one of my fandoms or something I love out of no where

Learning and knowing stuff

Doing something physically challenging or scary

Listening to my bedroom fan while I fall asleep

Coming up with a new creative idea 

Finding something I wanted at the store on sale for a good deal

Finishing all my assignments on time or even early

Hugging my dog

Taking my dog for a walk

Teaching my dog a new trick

When strangers stop to say hi to my dog

Listening to audiobooks

The weekend

Finding a new flavor of chapstick

Drinking Kool-Aid, it makes me feel so nostalgic

Watching nature shows on a weekend morning

Watching cartoon shows on a Sunday morning

A good TV show, most likely something I've watched before because that way I know it ends well

A good, delicious comfort meal on a Friday night by myself 

A café in the city centre at noon when it's not filled with the morning rush or afternoon coffee breakers

The stars from my childhood bedroom because they're the brightest here

Listening to my favorite playlist really loud on a long road trip and singing to myself loudly in my car

Having an entire day to myself without interruptions from anyone

Opening the curtains first thing in the morning 

A new jacket

Going to the cinema on a first release day because it's always super exciting and full of people anxious to see a movie they've been waiting for forever

Listening to live music

Riding roller coasters

Going to amusement parks

Lizards

Seahorses

Starfish

Eating fair food

Feeling an instrument vibrate when you’re playing it

Hearing my dog snore

When my dog dreams in his sleep 

Wearing a new piece of clothing for the first time

Feeling the sun on you

Eyes in the sunlight

Seeing city lights

Singing in the shower at the top of my lungs

Looking at someone and them knowing exactly what they’re going to say

Laughing till you cry

Being under a blanket

Going to craft stores

Watching boats

The idea of traveling the world

When my dogs let me lay my head on them

Listening to an old song and having it bring back memories

Candy corn

Crazy socks

Quotes

Fall and the leaves changing color and the crisp feeling in the air

Making snowmen

Making gingerbread houses for Christmas

Making videos with family

Burning a candle

Booping a dog’s nose

Getting letters/notes from people; writing them

Snow globes

Dr. Pepper

Doc martens

Fortune cookies

Potatoes

Easter

Finishing something

Skipping rocks

Warm rain

When someone opens up to you

Finding the right words to say exactly what you wanted

Animal footprints

Eating outside

Fairy lights

The smell of a hotel

Windows

Meeting a new dog

Dolphins

Getting magazines in the mail

Being in the woods as the sun starts to rise and the animals wake up

Warm days

Adirondack chairs

A warm breeze

Clothes and blankets hanging outside to dry

Feeding birds

Aquariums

The color green

Tie dying things

Going to art museums

Going to science museums

New albums from my favorite artists 

Seeing moss in nature

Finding cute little mushrooms 

When a dog wags its tail a bunch and is excited to see me

Playing fetch with my dog

Obsessing over something and having someone to talk about it with

Going on a walk with my best friend and talking about life

Looking at old pictures and reminiscing on good memories

Reading a book that's so good your brain wants to read faster than it can

Laughing with friends about the weirdest things

Being appreciated for doing small things you wouldn't even have thought about yourself because it's something you *just do*

Being creative

Watching animals

A story I can't put down

Stretching

The moment when you listen to a new song/album by your favourite artist

When you're at a concert and anticipating the moment before the band comes out

When at a concert and they play your favourite song live

The moment when someone compliments your outfit 

When you see someone wearing merch of something you like 

Seeing the sunrise/sunset 

Watching the sun rise out of the water or sink down into it as it’s setting

This ecstatic feeling in general when you're just living in the moment with people who love something as much as you do

Hugging my cat and smelling his fur

Listening to my music by myself and singing to it 

Making edits I’m really proud of 

Losing hours in a good book or fanfiction

Writing sentences that I actually like 

My siblings and my parents when they're being chill and funny

Watching my favorite tv shows and movies and yelling about them into the void 

Finding a new good song 

Fresh out of the shower + fresh clean sheets feeling when you go to bed

When I come downstairs in the morning and my dog greets me right at the bottom step with her lil’ tail wagging

Knowing that if I ever needed someone to chat with, someone would be there to lend an ear

Tigers

Lions

When you shuffle your music and the exact song you want to hear plays

When all my family is around the outdoor fire on a summer’s evening

When my nieces and nephews give me squishy kid hugs

Being home alone and being able to cook or bake in the kitchen without disruption

Driving around with a friend in the evenings and just belting our favorite songs

Seaside walks

Disney World

Seeing live theatre

The sun shining on leaves and stone buildings

Dancing when I'm alone

Color-coordinating my outfit

Floating on my back in the sea

The smell of summer nights

The smell of winter mornings

Colorful things/environments

Bunnies

Walking along lakes/rivers/the sea

Spending time in nature

Taking care of my plants

Giving affection to my loved ones

Listening to other people's stories

Reading about people I've never met before or places I've never visited before (especially if they are now just a part of history)

Embroidering

Pandas

Swimming in a river or the sea

Stargazing (my favorite moments usually happen an hour before sunrise)

White-caged-bird

Feeling the breeze when I spin and my heartbeat when I dance for an hour at a time

All the wonderful smells of flowers and colours that nature has to offer

Sharing good laughter with someone

Feeling like I belong

Travelling and discovering new customs of different cultures

Hiking or foraging

That feeling when I'm approaching the end of a really good book and I let myself be engulfed by the fact that it's a unique experience, that I'll never experience as the first time again

Observing my local fauna

Petting and taking care of an animal (double the joy if it is friendly with strangers)

Drinking a good cup of honey tea

Finding a perfume that suits me

Eating something sweet

Enjoying a meal with others

Cat paws tapping on the floor

Dipping a biscuit into tea

Trying to catch leaves falling from the tree

Having sunlight hit your face when you’re napping

Objects that cast a rainbow when the sun shines through them

Seeing patterned shadows

Ambient mood lighting

Sleeping

Wearing jewelry 

Cheese

Playing chess

Fresh air

Going somewhere new

My Mom’s cooking

Being inspired

When someone holding your hand rubs their thumb lovingly in circles

Picking strawberries

Otters

Painting the walls of my room

Wind chimes

Seeing that your favorite people are active online

Finally understanding something you were struggling with

The excitement you get when someone reblogs your writing or art

Getting a new notebook or journal

Appreciation

Validation

When someone tells you they love you and mean it

The smell of freshly baked bread

When my dog falls asleep on me

Making new online friends

Found family

Finishing cleaning my room

When someone lays their head on your shoulder

Doing something right on the first try

Finally sitting down after standing for a long time

Getting goosebumps from hearing or seeing something you love

Seeing a gorgeous view

Loving someone and them loving you back

Freshly baked gooey cookies

When a song comes on and everyone starts singing

When I’m out for a run and it’s hot and it starts raining. Nothing makes me feel more like a human than getting caught in the rain on a run

Swimming in the ocean

When people are talking about something they really love and get carried away trying to explain it all to you

Puppies

Being in the middle of nowhere and actually getting to see the whole sky of stars that you never get to see in a city

Finding people that love the same things you do

 When something silly reminds you of someone you love; like every time I see an orange and green gummy worm I think of my sister

When you’re hugging someone and they squeeze you a little bit before they let go

Weather where you can leave all the windows open in your house

Trampolines

Driving with no destination in mind

Falling asleep to the sound of rain

Hearing other people laugh

Laughing only because you hear someone else laugh and it's just so contagious

The first snowfall of the year

Disney movies

Listening to someone tell stories and they have like 15 side stories in between the main one

Romantic movies

Bubble baths

Smiling between kisses

Wearing sweatpants

A clean house

Pizza

My computer

Cheesy pickup lines

When people tell me they miss me

Cool spring mornings after a storm

My job

Butterflies

New shoes

Oversized shoes

Caramel apples

Volunteering

Meditating

Running my blog

Finding sea glass at the beach

Getting my nails done 

Planning vacation

Hot cider

Telling people I love them

Writing in my gratitude journal

Eating homegrown vegetables, fruit, and herbs

Remembering a good dream I had

Happy endings

Colored pens

Decorating for the holidays

Finishing a really good tv show

Leopards

Summer rain

Thunderstorms where I can just open my window to the full extent and just watch and listen

Calls with my best friend

Seeing a meme and sending it to my friends

Getting an email from AO3

That moment when you get an idea for creating something

Walking barefoot on the grass

Sending thank you notes

Writing events I’m looking forward to on my calendar

Dippin' Dots

Spicy food

Seeing a full moon

Eating cookie dough

Eating seasonal food

Bubble wrap

Going to the car wash and getting rainbow soap

Dark chocolate

Soft blankets

Weighted blankets

Soft drinks with crushed ice

When I get an unexpected phone call from someone I love

Wearing flip flops

Longer daylight hours

Having a BBQ

Frosting cookies

Making cupcakes in the microwave

Watching the Hallmark channel during the holidays

Taking selfies or photos with people I love

Putting on lotion

The smell of a baby’s head

The Office

Online shopping

The smell of freshly cut grass

Surprising my family or friends

Looking at the clock when it’s 11:11

Being productive

Quilts

Doing good on an exam

Someone doing a favor for me (especially when I didn’t ask)

Eating pancakes with syrup

Origami

Sprinkles

Confetti

Waving at people

Giving high fives

Complicated Handshakes between you and your best friend

Naps/feeling well-rested

Eating one of my favorite foods

Hearing good news from/about a friend or family member

Looking at nature (these days it's seeing squirrels in my neighbour's garden and looking at my plants and trees)

When make someone happy or feel like I made a difference (including a satisfied client)

Success (good grades, a gifset that does well)

Hugs from my mom

Learning new things

Chatting with my friends because they’re all amazing people

Group watches of my favorite tv show or movie

That feeling when the house has just been cleaned/when I’m freshly showered

Making jokes/laughing with people

Reading fluffy fanfics

Driving on the road to a destination far away, I love the trip as much as (if not more than) arriving at the actual place

Reading affirmations

Green tea

Getting breakfast or lunch from a nice restaurant 

Learning about topics that won’t benefit me; like Chinese history, geography, ancient flora and fauna, etc. just things that I find cool 

The jokes my girlfriend makes, especially when they’re the same ones she always makes

Stories from the past! Stories from history from people who actually lived through it

Stories in general, just hearing the life experiences of people in completely different positions from me. I love hearing people’s stories

Drawing intricate things, like old buildings, landscapes, and plants

Cooking a nice meal

Grocery shopping and farmers markets especially 

My cat! All of her weird little habits too, like how she stands in front of my feet so I’ll push her where she wants to go 

Botanical gardens

State parks

Museums

Art galleries

Listening to stories my grandparents tell

When people tell me about their life goals and dreams

Being surrounded by the people I love 

Living the best life I can

Partying hard the night away

Daydreaming

Sunflowers always make me smile

Warm tea

Big fluffy clouds in a blue sky

Friendly babies

Hearing a past favorite song

Singing karaoke 

Biking riding

Helping others

Chocolate milk

Sweets and fruits

Having fun doing things I love

Dragons

Video games

My favorite things

Writing

Affection

Exercising

Being on Tumblr

Pinterest

Looking at flowers and plants

Playing with my cats

Chatting with my friends (at the moment it’s through zoom, of course)

Finding new ways to decorate my room

Window shopping

Spending time with my boyfriend

Wearing my favorite outfit/accessory

Eating something delicious

The cool side of my pillow 

Tears of joy

Woodpeckers

Reading poems

Hugging trees

Tree houses

Airstreams/campers

Playing frisbee

Making sculptures

Puppy ears

The first day of spring

The first day of summer

Sending silly photos to my friends

Building sand castles

Winning prizes at the fair or arcade

Marbles

Cacti

Scrolling through my phone

Writing fanfiction

Seeing someone you haven't seen for a really long time

Putting together collages

Printing out photos I love

DIY projects

Sewing 

Crocheting 

Listening to steel drums

Haunted houses

Going through a corn maze

Picking fresh fruit or vegetables

Bubble tea

Starbucks

Dunkin donuts

Disneyland

Disney Princesses

Climbing trees

Finishing errands

Rewatching my favorite episodes

Scrunchies

Milkshakes

Ice cream blizzards

Listening to acoustic versions of songs

Hot tubs

Rubber ducks

Coconut flavored food

Dipping fries in ice cream

Discovering a new type of animal

Seeing hot air balloons

Frogs/toads

Splashing in puddles 

Having plants inside my house

Teddy bears

Iridescent/holographic things

Bird houses

Breakfast in bed

Crystals/gemstones

Ziplining 

Dew drops

Glow sticks

Flower crowns (especially handmade ones)

Spring rain 

Watching other people make art

Lighthouses

Finding heart shaped things in nature

Thinking of getting my own apartment

Coming up with a new recipe for food

Cookbook recipes passed down through families

Bookshelves

Making pretty yogurt bowls

Seaside houses

Flying on planes and being in/above the clouds

Flower bouquets

Looking at and learning about the planets

Fruit snacks

Palm trees

Weeping willow trees

Cherry blossoms

Eating cake

Decorating cakes with eccentric icing designs and colors

Whipped cream

Having snowball fights

Hearing Christmas music

Tattoos

Wearing rings

Green grass

A tidy organized desk with cute desk supplies

My craft room

Hammocks

Little cottages

Cotton candy (and cotton candy flavored things)

Looking at all the paint pallet colors in paint stores

Stamps

Taking silly photos in photobooths

Going to the mall

Making jam, especially strawberry jam

Reading outside

Finding a bird nest and watching eggs hatch

Looking at photos of my family and friends 

Finding old flora and art books

Eating fresh corn on the cob with butter on a summer day

Lily Pads

Icicles

Inner peace

Sitting under a tree

Not having to turn on the light in your room when the sun is shining through

When restaurants have patios you can dine at

Fishing on a pier

Seeing old couples in public

Making gifs

Trees swaying in the wind

Anime

Dying Easter eggs

Laying in the trunk of a car and watching the clouds or stars

Night lights

Flower shops 

Outer space

Kitchens

PB&J sandwiches

Toasted Cheese

LoFi music

Listening to/watching ambience videos

Turtle necks

Peaches

Looking at old maps

Figurines of the earth/globe

Honey and bees

Cheesecake

Seeing footprints in sand and watching them be washed away by waves

Anything related to the moon, stars, and sun

Reading my horoscope (even if I know it’s not real)

Archways decorated with hanging flowers

Yogurt

Pudding

Knowing that I’m not alone

Ancient roman sculptures

Macarons

When someone tells me they care about me

Weddings

Watercolour

Birthday parties 

My brother

My sister

When my dog leaves his bed to lay in the sunlight

Doing mini photoshoots with my friends

Hand making bracelets/necklaces (friendship bracelets)

When someone calls me darling or honey

Love letters

Game night

Skateboarding

Stress balls and squishy toys

Starting something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time

Playing cards

Doing puzzles

Word searches

Kittens

Ordering takeout

Stepping out into the fresh air

Creating vision boards

Getting a massage

Writing positive affirmations

Lunch dates

Standup comedy

Listening to classical music

Nature/animal documentaries

Having someone there to listen to me

Listening to someone when they need it

Accepting myself for who I am

Looking back and seeing how far I’ve come and all the progress I've made

Doing something my future self will be thankful for

Speaking up for myself

Being near loved ones

Finding time for my hobbies

Giving myself time to rest

Saturday mornings

Marrying the one I love

Discovering new things

Going to new cities

My idols

Pastries

Feeling the wind on my face on a car ride

The sensation of music in my ears and like nothing else matters

People who have my best interest in mind

Simplicity

Fulfilling my dreams

Discovering a new ice cream flavor

Knitting

Making myself a priority

Knowing that I am important, and I matter

Thank you all so much for following me and supporting my blog! It means a TON! I never expected for this blog to become popular, especially because I originally started it to help myself get through some mental health issues. I am so happy to be able to share my journey of healing with you all! It means the world to me to help or make a positive impact on even just one person’s life! Each and every single one of you is amazing!! You matter and you are SO important! Thanks again for your everything! Have a great day!!! Sending sunshine your way!! 

[siriuslywolfish-pg9]

I shared my Dessert! (And my heart)

- by Perrygrace9 (ao3) A Drarry one shot.

Based on a Prompt I received on tumblr: “Ok hear me out. This is based on how I got with my bf. Draco has had a crush on Harry forever(and they're sorta friends but not really) One day Harry walks in on Draco crying in a stairwell of a hotel, harry goes to comfort him and Draco fesses up to how he feels. Ok this is just what happened to me with new names but still it would be dope to see it written out.

________________________________________

Draco buried his face in his knees, his fingers fisting his hair as he bit his lip in a vain attempt to stifle the sobs that wracked through his chest. 

The image of Harry kissing Oliver Wood was still flashing through his mind, burning and stinging his heart, scorching him to the very core. 

He hated it! Hated the way Harry was leaning against the counter in that easy confident way of his, with his strong arms wrapped around Wood's waist as the Quidditch star nipped and licked at Harry's neck while Harry chuckled before leaning down and catching his lips in a heated kiss.  

He hated how easily Oliver Wood had taken the glass of scotch from Harry's grasp—like he owned the man—and had nestled into Harry’s arms before proceeding to make out with him, as if Wood belonged there, as if he was laying claim on Harry by kissing him in front of everyone, right at the bar counter in the middle of a party for all the world to see that he owned the saviour who was coveted by the entire wizarding world. 

It made Draco sick. And so he had chucked down the last of his drink and stormed out of the hall, leaving Pansy surprised and calling after him. But he hadn't turned back, too desperate to hide his tears and leave the hall before they fell and spilled from his eyes, making him the object of ridicule. 

He shouldn't have come to this stupid ministry gala. But he did anyway. Just to look at Harry. To see him dressed up in all his glory and see the shine in his eyes. Harry looked beautiful in his full Auror uniform, his medals and tags adorning his chest and shoulders. His eyes sharp and his smile genuine and kind as ever. It was a rare sight and Draco didn't want to miss it for the world.

Last month Draco had received the invitation for the gala—which he knew was partly Harry's doing since the ministry would never voluntarily invite an Ex Death Eater to a function, even though Draco had been acquitted and had been serving as a healer for the past few years, doing his utter most to make up for the damage he had caused. 

He had been hesitant to go to the gala at first, not ready to face so many scornful eyes and glares. But the other reason why he didn't want to go was because he would have to see Harry taking someone else as his date. Draco had tried, or fantasised really, to ask Harry to be his date, but he knew it wasn't possible. Even if Harry agreed simply out of politeness and the goodness of his heart, because the idiot was too soft hearted to reject someone, Draco still did not have it in him to create problems for Harry by being with him so publically. He knew how draining Harry found the hungry media. And Draco would be  nothing but a stain on his shining golden image.

In the last few months they have become tentative friends and Draco respected and cared too much for Harry to hurt him in anyway, especially not after how kind Harry had been to Draco when the world had shunned him.  

But even worse was watching so many people asking Harry to be his date. Every time Draco had been at the ministry to drop Auror medical reports or samples or anything, he had seen someone asking Harry or hinting to it or making a pass at him. And each time Draco's insides had clenched in a tight knot, afraid that Harry would agree. But for some reason Harry had turned down everyone, saying he had someone special he wanted to take. 

And that had been worse to hear. This whole time at least Draco had told himself that Harry was single. That even if it was impossible, Draco still had a chance. He could almost delude himself into thinking that he had time to get close to Harry, to know him and love him. But now, knowing that Harry probably already had someone special, had nailed down the reality for Draco and his hopes and dreams had come crashing down. 

At last, he had asked Pansy to be his date. Even though he knew he would regret it later, it was impossible for him to miss the chance of seeing just who Harry's someone special was. His desperation and curiosity had gotten the better of him. And now he regretted it tremendously. 

He cursed himself, a choked sob racking through his lungs. He was so stupid. What had he expected to gain by coming here? That somehow a miracle would happen and Harry would confess his love for Draco? He had known Harry would be bringing his "someone special" . Harry himself  had told Draco when he had asked Draco if he was planning to go to the gala. 

Maybe some stupid part in Draco, a naive and hopeful and idiot and stupidly in love part of Draco had hoped it to be untrue. Had hoped that Harry's partner would be someone who didn't deserve him (not that Draco ever considered himself worthy of deserving Harry, but still!). That way at least Draco would have someone to hate, to scorn and detest and direct all his resentment and frustration for not being able to express his feelings for Harry, and eventually get over Harry. Even though Draco knew that would never happen, he could never get over Harry. 

But it had turned out to be Oliver Wood. The famous, charming, successful and dashing Oliver wood. Draco never stood a chance against Oliver. It was pathetic to even dream about it. 

But what could he do? Draco was known for making the worst decisions, for screwing up the simplest of things. And now he had fallen in love with Harry. Stupidly and madly in love with Harry. He had tried so hard not to let himself be carried away by those piercing eyes every time they had looked at Draco with warmth and sympathy and understanding. He had tried so hard not to trip over and fall for that lazy smile, charming and goofy and yet so open and honest. 

After Harry had ensured the safety of his family and kept him and his mother out of Azkaban, Draco had done his best to make the most of this generous second chance, but to also avoid Harry at all cost. But Draco being a healer and Harry being an Auror prone to injury had made their meeting inevitable. And before Draco knew it, Harry was inviting him for dinners and pub nights and friendly outings with friends.

Draco had tried to refuse, partly out of wounded pride at being perceived as a pathetic loner (although now he knew that Harry didn't see him that way) and partly because he knew he wouldn't be welcomed. But Harry's sincere attempts to mend things between them and his earnest eyes had been difficult to rebuff. 

At first it had been awkward, and more than once he had caught Harry glaring at someone or pointedly shutting them up if they tried to say anything mean or degrading to Draco and his friends. Yes, Harry had been kind enough to extend his generosity and his forgiveness to Draco's friends too, so that Draco didn't have to come to these gatherings alone. The noble, pure, giant hearted idiot that Harry was, how could anyone not fall for him?

And look where it had all ended up. With Draco crying on the eve of Christmas in the dark corner at the bottom of the steps of the empty stairwell of a grand hotel, while the rest of the wizarding world celebrated in the grand ballroom. The ceremonies had ended long ago, giving way to the more raunchy after-party with booze and band and blasting music. It was then when Draco had seen the sight which had broken his heart into pieces. 

He had known this was coming, he had always known that this would end in heartbreak when he had first realised his feelings for Harry. But he had no idea that it would hurt this bad. To see someone else in Harry's arms was gut wrenching.  It was like Draco's heart was imploding into itself. But it was happening slowly and torturously, as if every chunk was falling piece by piece, every vein and tending snapping like a thread one after the other, and pain chipping away at his insides until Draco couldn't take it anymore. 

The place where his heart should be felt hollow and painful, and heavy, and it ached! It ached so bad. Worse than the cruciatus, because at least the pain of the curse always ended. But this? This heart break? This loss? No. Draco already knew that this was a wound that would never heal. 

"Draco?" 

His head snapped as he looked up, his eyes wide. Harry was standing there, leaning against the column, one hand in his pocket. His medals glinted in the moonlight. His hair was tousled and the top buttons of his collar were open. He looked breath-taking. 

 

"Harry?" Draco choked out and looked away, sniffling and hastily wiping his tears. "Wha--what are you doing here? I thought you would be at the party." 

"I was looking for you. You suddenly disappeared." 

"Oh." Draco looked at his lap, he hadn't expected that answer. Something warm spread through his chest, like a gentle balm soothing his flaming nerves. Harry had come looking for him. "You—" his voice caught, scratchy from crying. He cleared his throat, "You should be inside." 

“So should you." 

Draco remained quite, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. He was well aware that Harry could see his tear tracks and his rumpled, dishevelled appearance, and was desperate to avoided this conversation before Harry had a chance to make any enquires about his well being. 

“Are you alright?" Harry's voice was soft and so full of concern that Draco wanted to just pull him close and spill his heart out to him and never let him go. 

Instead Draco just glared at the floor, stubbornly pulling at the cuffs of his sleeves. 

Harry sighed and sat on the steps, facing Draco. Leaning his back against the railing, he scrutinised Draco with a grave expression on his face, his arms crossed over his chest. "Draco, look at me." Draco didn't. "Did someone say anything? Was it the media? You can tell me, you know, I will see to it that they--" 

Draco shook his head and the tears that had been clinging to his eyelashes rolled down his cheeks.

"No, no one said anything,” he mumbled in a small voice. Harry's protectiveness and indignation on his behalf was bitter sweet. It made Draco crave him even more, but at the same time the realisation that, no matter how close Draco got to Harry, Harry would always be just out of his reach, tarnished and chilled the warmth that he had felt moments ago. 

More tears fell down his cheeks. "Fuck!" He cursed under his breath, angrily wiping them away.  But they kept falling. "Shit! Don't--" 

"Hey." Harry's voice was soft and oh so tender. Warm hands cupped Draco's cheeks as Harry turned his face to make him meet his eyes. "Draco, look at me, please." 

Draco slowly peered up at Harry from under his eyelashes, his vision a little blurry from tears. Harry's expression was concerned, and there was such tenderness in his eyes that Draco felt his heart breaking, he could almost hear the crack, like the shattering of frozen ice over a lake. He choked on a sob. 

Harry’s expression went from concerned to panicked, and he pulled Draco close, wrapping him in his arms. And Draco knew he had lost it. It was a hopeless battle to begin with. Loud, broken sobs wracked through his body as tears flowed down his cheeks in abandon, soaking Harry's expensive robes. 

But Harry didn't seen to mind. He just held Draco close, drawing soothing circles on his back, shushing and mumbling sweet nothings into his ears. 

If anything, it made everything ten times worse. How could Draco ever be expected to forget this beautiful, caring, selfless man? Especially when he was hugging Draco like this, like he was the most precious thing in the world. In that moment, Draco wanted to stay in Harry's arms forever. He would happily embrace death in that moment if it meant that he would die in Harry's arms and Harry calm, loving voice would be the last memory resonating through the beats of his fading heart as he took his final breath. 

But at the same time having Harry so close and yet so far was torture, and Draco wanted to pull away from him as if burned, unable to endure the agony of his yearning heart anymore. 

"I am sorry, Harry," Draco mumbled between his sobs, his voice muffled and  strained with guilt and shame. "I am so sorry. I tried--I tried to stop it, I really did—but I can't anymore, I am so sorry." 

Harry hugged his tighter. "What are you saying," he said softly in Draco's hair. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Dragon"

Draco’s breath hitched at the use of the pet name, it was something he allowed only Harry to call him. His face still buried in Harry's chest, Draco shook his head. It was now or never. "I—I like you Harry. I like you a lot."

Harry froze. Draco felt it the instant when Harry's entire body went rigid. Draco's stomach dropped. 

Harry pulled away, keeping Draco at arms length, his jaw slack as he looked at Draco with an unreadable expression in his face. 

Draco dropped his eyes to the floor. His heart hammered against his chest, filled with guilt and self loathing. How could he even dare to like Harry, let alone love him. And now Draco had gone ahead and dumped his feelings on Harry. It wasn't fare to him. He was sure Harry would hate him now. Or worse, he would try to make it up to Draco, and would be too careful around him to avoid hurting him by further. 

"I will understand if you want me to—” Draco hiccupped—"I would understand if you don't want to remain friends with me anymore. Not that we were ever friends. I wouldn't be so arrogant as to assume that but—I know I shouldn't—It’s okay if you hate me. I deserve it. I would never say it again, I promise. These are my feelings and you don't have to—" 

Draco's rambling was cut off by a pair of soft lips crashing into his in a chaste but firm kiss. Draco's eyes widened, but then they fell shut on their own accord as Harry snaked an arm around Draco's waist, his hand coming to rest on the small of Draco's back and pulling him close, his other hand cupped Draco's jaw before burying into Draco's hair as the nape of his neck. Draco gasped, Harry deepened the kiss and continued to kiss Draco like a traveller in desert quenching his thirst. 

The kiss was languid and sure and warm and chaste, full of assurance and meaning, like the sweet words of comfort or the safety of Harry's embrace. Harry kissed like he protected, like he cared and like he loved. With his entire being, giving away his everything, without demanding anything in return. Just giving and giving and giving...

And Draco was drowning in it. His toes curled, and the very tips of his fingers tingled with the sweet sensation of the feeling of Harry’s lips on his, Harry's hand on his back, his firm chest and his strong shoulder in Draco's grip where he clutched onto Harry for dear life. 

Slowly, the heated kisses turned gentle and light and lazy, and Harry finally pulled away, his hand still on Draco's cheek, the thumb of his other hand tracing circles on Draco's back, teasing the hem of his shirt where it had ridden up. 

Draco's eyes fluttered open. Harry was staring back at him, his hair and eyes shining like a mossy lake under the moonlight. He looked ethereal. 

“Why?" was all Draco could manage.  

"I like you too." He tentatively wiped Draco's tears, caressing his cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I am sorry I didn't say anything sooner, love." 

"Do you really mean that?"

 Harry nodded. 

"But what about Wood?" Draco asked, his voice just above a whisper , afraid that this was a dream and he would wake up  if he raised his voice. He deliberately stopped himself from fixating too much on the fact that Harry had just called him love. "I just saw you two together..." 

Harry's mouth formed an "O" "You saw that?" 

Draco nodded, his cheeks burning pink, whether from embarrassment or fear, he didn't know, or maybe it had something to do with Harry's closeness or the affection in his eyes when he looked at Draco. He suddenly realised that Harry had been giving him that look for weeks now, only he had failed to notice it in his apprehension. 

Harry ran a hand through his hair, “That was just drinks and we were being stupid....Oliver would be leaving tomorrow for his tour anyway. There is nothing between us. We were just fooling around." 

"But wasn't he your special someone?"

Harry laughed, then shook his head when Draco's eyes widened in horror, thinking that Harry was mocking him and that this was all a sick joke. Harry stopped and smiled fondly at him, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Draco's ear. "No, you prat. Oliver isn't my special some, you are." 

Draco stared at him dumbly. "But I thought—Why didn't you ever say anything?" 

“I tried! I tried to ask you but I kept chickning out and then you said that you were going with Pansy." 

"I said that because I thought you were going  with some one else and I didn't want to—you know..." 

"We are so stupid." 

Draco pouted. "Speak for yourself, Potter. You are the one who chickened out of asking me to the ball. It was all your fault." Draco sniffed. "We could have avoided all the angst, but no, you had to go and make me cry. You enjoy it, don't you?" 

Harry burst out laughing and pulled Draco close again, smothering him in a hug. "Like you gave me any chance. You are as cold and stiff as an iceberg." 

Draco pulled away just a little from where his face was smushed against Harry. "I was obvious, Harry. You were just too oblivious to notice." 

Harry raised an eyebrow. 

Draco held up his hands in a gesture of dramatic defeat. "I shared my desserts with you and sacrificed my beauty sleep from time to time to be with you. That's as obvious as it gets. Even Blaise knew, and he is a slut who only concerns himself with the matters of his dick, and even he saw that I was arse over tit for you!"

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again, looking amused. "You are ridiculous." 

"No, you are just thick!" 

"Hey! That's no way to treat your boyfriend." 

Draco’s stomach flipped and he blushed. "Boyfriend?" 

Harry looked away, "I mean, if you want to." 

"Do you want to?" 

Harry glanced at Draco and nodded. 

Draco's heart skipped a beat and he inched closer to Harry. Boyfriends! 

“Wait. If you and Wood are not an item then why were you snogging his face off? I can understand why he was doing it. But I thought hook-ups weren't your thing?"

Harry flushed crimson, looking sheepish. "I thought you would never reciprocate my feelings. I was trying to get you out of my system." 

Draco's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "By snogging Wood?" 

“Yes?”

“Why would I not want you, Harry? Have you seen me? Have you seen yourself?" Draco gestured at Harry from top to bottom, generally encompassing his whole being. 

Harry just blinked back at him. And Draco realised that Harry, stupid, idiot, modest, wearing-his-heart-on-his-sleeve, dorky Harry, really did think that Draco would reject him. 

Draco couldn't help the fond smile that curled across his lips. Harry's innocence in such matters was endearing. Harry really had no idea how amazing he was. It looked like his dreadful relatives really did a number on him when it came to self-appreciation. Well, Draco would just have to rectify that.  

“So," Harry said haltingly, almost hesitant. “Now that you know everything, may I kiss you?”

Draco blinked, his lips parting in shock. He was still a little dazed and incredulous at the turn of events. The first kiss had been sudden, barely giving Draco any time to think before he had reacted. But this time it would be for real. 

Harry took his silence as a yes and slowly leaned in, giving Draco enough time to pull back. His lips graced Draco's, gentle and tentative at first, then sure and firm and full of promise as he pulled Draco close. 

Wrapping his arms around Harry's neck, Draco kissed him back with fervour, almost climbing onto Harry's lap. 

Draco stopped, panting. "You know, there are a lot of rooms here," he mumbled between their almost touching lips. 

"Yeah? Would you like try one?" And without waiting for an answer he hauled Draco up with ease. Draco squealed and instinctively wrapped his legs around Harry's waist.  

"Someone is impatient," he said, breathless, brushing his nose against Harry's. He felt so elated he could fly. 

"You bet I am." Harry mumbled before attacking Draco's exposed collar. He pinned Draco against the nearest door, his hand fumbling as he swiped his all access Auror card to enter the room, all the while not taking his mouth off Draco. The moment the door was shut behind him, he pushed Draco against it and latched onto his neck. "I have been waiting for this for so long, you have no idea." 

Draco moaned as Harry sucked at a specially sensitive spot. "Really?" 

Harry broke away, "My fantasies were getting so blond It was creepy." 

That startled a laugh out of Draco—who would have guessed?—but it was cut short as Harry grinned and attacked his mouth again. 

Safe to say that Draco had an amazing Christmas.

[icollectyoursins]

NSFW Prosciutto headcanons

Pseudo_Possom on AO3 said: “This is beautiful... I’m not on tumblr, but may I request some Prosciutto NSFW headcanons that are also kinda wholesome? I need more slightly wholesome ham in my life.”

I have been looking forward to writing this since I got the request. I love me some juicy ham! It started wholesome, then slowly went down to the nastier things, then back to wholesome.

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: Breeding, lingerie, cock warming, riding, fingering, oral, handjobs, sounding, pegging, panty sniffing, jerking off, mentions of porn, vouyerism/glory holes (Receiving oral as well as watching S/O do that with someone else), cuckolding (I guess), threesome, sloppy seconds, cuddles as after care, also baths.

Word Count: 2,110

Alrighty, where do I start? This man loves to breed to S/O. Just adores seeing his seed leaking out of them in a slow stream. Now, unlike other characters I have done headcanons for, he is not one to go for too many rounds, so expect lots of sweet, warm, littered-with-kisses cuddles. If he’s pent up, he’ll usually go for more, but he tends to last long enough to make up for multiple rounds so he doesn’t see the need.

If you two are able and are trying to have a child, he is so tender. Pulling you into his arms, making a nest of pillows around you (this man has 10 on his bed, convince me otherwise) and just massaging your stomach whispering about how he can’t wait to see you grow. 

I dunno, I just think this man is soft for his S/O which only becomes more apparent when he’s filled them with his seed. 

Kissing Prosciutto would be fucking ascending. Equal parts passionate and sweet. His lips are so soft against yours and the smell of his cologne seems to just envelope you. He buys only the best for both himself and you, so of course he’s soft. He tastes the tiniest bit like mint. Not overwhelming or strong, just subtle. And a sweet mint. 

Your first time with him can either go one of two ways: it’s either a rough, quick but still hot and heavy fuck in the back of his car before he drops you off at home, or it’s desperate, deep and gentle thrusts into you that rock the entire bed. Just the image of him crawling back into the front seat, adjusting his shirt and pants has me fucking drooling

Oh. Surprise him with lingerie. Casually walking out of the bathroom in a revealing body suit or stockings and garter belt. Prosciutto is weak. If you’ve been together for a while, he’s more vulnerable with his arousal and adoration, mouth dropping open and just staring. If it’s a new relationship, he’ll try to hide it by either giving you a chaste compliment that sounds a little derogatory if you read into it too much or getting suave with it, trying to flip the table so you’re the one being seduced. 

     You ran your fingers over the delicate fabric clinging to your body, admiring your form in the mirror. Lace and straps wrapped around you, sitting in all the right places, complimenting your figure. 

     “Piccola/Piccolino, are you here?” Prosciutto called out to you as he entered your shared bedroom, immediately noticing your missing presence. You grinned to yourself in the en-suit bathroom. He called out your name, taking off his jacket and tossing it on the bed. While he adjusted his clothes, making himself more comfortable, you slowly made your way out. 

     “I’m here,” you said smoothly, leaning against the door frame. He quickly glanced at you in the mirror, expecting you to be in pajamas and ready for bed. A double take was made when he saw what you were wearing. 

     Prosciutto’s mouth had dropped open slightly as he turned around to look at you. He muttered something under his breath that you didn’t quite hear. All you did was chuckle at his amazement as he slowly made his way to you, hands creeping up your sides once before sliding back down to grope your behind.

     “What is this?” He mused. “For me, piccola /piccolino? You spoil me, you know.” You smiled at him sweetly, gently cupping his face with your hand before leaning in to kiss him. Hungrily, he pulled you closer, quickly getting more aggressive, biting your lower lip and roughly exploring your mouth with his tongue.

     Prosciutto pulled away, staring at you with a sinful glare.

     “Look at you,” he growled, breathing heavily. Suddenly, he pulled your arm, then pinned you against the wall. His voice rumbled in your ear as his lips grazed your neck. “You’re not going to be able to walk out of his room.”

If he’s feeling lazy and you’re feeling randy, he is 100% down to let you just ride him into the sofa while he’s watching TV or just cock warm him. I think he just enjoys the intimacy, you know? Like, he’s finally able to let some of his barriers go that he just completely relaxes. Not to say he can’t be rough, he absolutely can, but he enjoys the soft moments just as much as he loves the rough sessions.

Alright, oral. He’s... okay at giving, sitting in between being good and bad. I don’t see him being super into giving oral (ie. eating someone out or blowjobs) unless he’s bottoming that night which, of course, rarely happens because of his pride. Receiving, however! Loves it. Give him a quick blow before he goes into a meeting and he’ll probably have your mouth on his mind for the rest of the day. Tease him with your tongue and you might have him begging. He would do anything to get those lips around him. 

For the more relaxed moments of sex I can picture him being tender and soft with his praise, running his hands through your hair, calling you beautiful or moaning out “belissima” when you take his entire length. Pros cums instantly if you make eye contact while slowly swallowing him whole, then pull back to the tip. He’s practically drooling when you clean the cum off of him. After, he’ll cup your face pulling you into a sweet kiss before returning the favor and getting you off with his hand/fingers.

With more rougher sessions, he’s fucking your face. You head is pinned against the wall and he’s just destroying your throat in the best way. When he gets close, he’ll cum on your face or chest, calling you every dirty word he could possibly think of. Needless to say, you’ll both be left a wreck after that.

Now, while he may not be a master of oral, he absolutely has fingering down to an art form! On S/O’s with a vagina especially (not that he isn’t good at hand jobs, as well, I think he just has a slight preference). *blurb below is fem!reader*

     Long fingers curled up into your sweet spot making you cry out, arching your back. Prosciutto pushed you back down onto the bed again, picking up the pace as punishment. His thumb came to you clit, rubbing back and forth with a force that seemed to blind you. His name fell from your lips an endless amount of times as you lost control, legs kicking out against the sheets. You begged him to let you cum.

     “No.” He said sternly. You whined in protest. “You can take it.” 

Well, now that that’s out of the way! Hand jobs. I can’t get the picture of you being tied down to a chair, naked while he’s completely dressed (save for his jacket which was tossed somewhere else). He’s rubbing your length as softly as he could to keep you from cumming too soon. When you get close, he casually pulls away, adjusting his clothes. Dude just likes denial, what can I say?

I have that this written in my notes forever: sounding. Mmm. Tying him down on the bed or even just ordering him not to move while you liberally apply lube to the tip of his cock and then slowly spreading the opening with a thin rod. Oh! The way he would writhe. Delicious.

Pegging this man would be heavenly. The first time he would be so shocked, almost kind of offended you brought it up, but then he would start looking at porn of it because you peaked his curiosity (not that he’d ever admit it) and then... he just wants to do it all of the sudden. You’re gentle, of course, but even just the smallest buck of your hips has him melting. Nothing but putty in your hands, freely and wildly moaning.

Now you’ve got him hooked. Wanna play a more dominant role? Order him to do something. Don’t just say “get on your knees.” Order him. Drag a crop along his cheek. You will absolutely make him weak so he’ll either drop to his knees and do whatever you say, or (more commonly) he’ll be a tough nut to crack and make you work for his submission. 

Alright, this one... this is a gross one that he will probably never admit to anyone, but I read somewhere that he’d sniff his S/O panties while jerking off and my mind fucking exploded. Even just inhaling the scene from your shirts or pillow case gets him going. Come home early to moans coming from the bedroom and getting just the tiniest peek of your clothing pressed to his face while he furiously rubs his cock. *Chef’s fucking kiss*

He would never EVER admit to it though because it’s something Melone or Illuso would do and he has more class than that. Or looks like he does.

Prosciutto probably watches a lot of porn, lets be real. Not as much as the two previously mentioned or Formaggio, but still a lot. He does it to research more than actually get off, looking at some of the weirder things that Melone is into (which mostly feet, but there are a few gems in there) like dominatrix things, swings, glory holes, that kind of thing. He tends to favour the glory holes, if he’s being completely honest. 

If you’re into roleplaying being strangers and meeting up at a glory hole he will probably cum more than he ever has in his life. After the “hook up” he’ll give you nothing but praise and kisses for the rest of the night.

Or, if you’re okay with actually doing it with strangers, he’ll watch (or film it for later) then fuck whatever part of your body was used just to boost his pride by saying shit like “they were good, but you like this more” or “time for a real man to fuck you. You really only feel good with me, right?” Just nasty stuff like that.

     Prosciutto’s eyes grew wide as he watched your lips wrap around the unfamiliar cock in front of you, eagerly sucking in more of it. You looked at him out the corner of your eye, just to make sure he was still looking. He moans quietly, palming himself through his pants while still trying to keep steady, hoping the video would turn out okay. He wasn’t really paying attention to camera angles. 

     You got more bold, wrapping your hand around the cock that was now lubed up with your spit. Now, you bobbed on it in sync with your strokes. The man on the other side of the wall quickly came into your mouth. You showed the camera the load, mouth open wide, then you swallowed it, showing your empty mouth again. 

     Your partner practically scrambled to turn the video off, pulling his pants down as fast as he could. He turned you around, wasting no time thrusting himself into you. “Fuck. You really know how to make a man jealous, don’t you?” You cry out as he starts fucking into you relentlessly.

Would be more into threesomes if he wasn’t surrounded by La Squadra. Although, the idea of putting Melone in his place does sound rather nice and watching you do it? Even more so. What? No, he doesn’t actually want to fuck Melone, he just thinks he’d look good forced to cum on his cock over and over again... okay, maybe he wants to fuck him, but it’s not like that-

Alright, I wrote about this in the Demon!Risotto x Reader x Demon!Prosciutto thing but sloppy seconds are so good. Doesn’t really care who’s cum it is (save for Pesci and Illuso because he would never let Illuso do that to you, just rubs him the wrong way), he just loves the look, the feel; everything that comes with sliding his cock into your already full hole and watching it leak out over the sides of his length.

Not the king of after care, but good. Prosciutto loves to take long lavish baths with you or going to the spa just to make yourselves feel nice and pretty after doing something raunchy and “gross.” Grabs you two water if you need it, massages any sore spots on your body, just general stuff. 

More reluctant to receive after care because of his pride, but will eventually cave and let you rub his sides or whatever, then he just melts. You’re just so warm against him and he’s so tired. He falls asleep quicker than he usually does and wakes up feeling a little more chipper than usual.

-----

Translations: piccola /piccolino -baby girl/baby boy belissima-beautiful

[let-it-raines]

your wonder under summer skies (6/?)

Summer in Storybrooke, Maine means one thing for its residents: tourist season. This year, for Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it means relationships ending and friendships changing all the while they attempt to figure out just what their relationship is. It’s somewhere straddling the line between friends and lovers, and there’s no guarantee of a soft landing if they fall into new territory.

rating: mature

a/n: I’m sorry for the delay. I’d hoped to have finished writing this story and then post pretty quickly, but personal life things have kept my mind other places. But hopefully you guys keep enjoying this story 💙

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

-/-

Sand shifts beneath Killian’s feet as he runs along the shoreline. The tide hasn’t quite come in yet, the water just missing him as it wades onto the shore, but Skipper is getting soaked with salt water as he runs on his leash in front of Killian. He used to not have to put Skipper on a leash for their morning runs since no one else is on the beach at this time of the morning, but then the damn dog went and swam in the ocean only to get caught up in a rip tide.

So, leash it is even if it makes Killian run faster and harder than he ever intends to.

Bloody hell, his calves are absolutely on fire. He should have run along the boardwalk to save himself from this kind of pain.

“Skip,” Killian whistles. “Slow down, mate.”

The dog obviously doesn’t listen and keeps running, but Killian tugs on his leash until he pulls back, stopping and sitting down in the sand. He’s definitely going to have to be shaved later.

“Good boy,” Killian sighs as he finally catches up to him. “You want to head back home? Are you tired yet? I’m exhausted.”

Skipper barks and sticks out his tongue. Killian takes it as sign enough that it’s time to go home.

The sun begins to rise over the horizon on Killian’s walk home, and he slows his pace to watch the world be coated in shades of orange and pink that are like nothing he’s ever seen replicated. Milah used to try with her paintings. She was always so obsessed with the sun and the way it shaded things differently, and he’d catch her painting the same building over and over again with only the most minute differences. She was a bloody brilliant painter, too, and the more time that goes by, the more he wishes he’d been able to keep just one of her paintings.

He’d given them to her son.

Her son who deserved them much more that Killian ever did. His only hope is that they’re displayed instead of shoved in a supply closet or decaying in a landfill somewhere. Her family had been furious when they found out about him, and he doesn’t blame them.

He felt the same way.

Except Killian was the hidden boyfriend who was driving the car that killed Milah, and he wasn’t exactly welcomed by her family at the funeral. He’d always thought that she didn’t have family, that she had few people just like him, but she apparently had hordes of people in her life.

How can he still harbor love for her when she betrayed him?

When she’s the reason he hasn’t been able to commit himself to anyone since.

Well, there was Tink, but she was exactly the same as Milah in so many ways.

At least she didn’t help in giving him the scars that run up and down his arm and wrap around his hand so that there was a permanent physical reminder of her. She simply, well, sunrises don’t remind him of her in the way they remind him of Milah.

Skipper barks again, and Killian shakes himself out of it before continuing to walk up to the beach. Some of the cabana boys are already dragging out the lounge chair cushions to the beach, and Killian nods at them before turning at the boardwalk and making his way to the shop. He goes through the back door so that obnoxious bell won’t go off, and as soon as they get inside, Killian slips out of his shoes and takes Skipper’s leash off before quietly walking up the stairs.

The lights in the apartment are all still turned off, and Killian uses the dim light of the rising sun to find his way back to his bedroom. The only light in there is the brightness of Emma’s phone shining on her face.

“Why did you get up so early to run this morning?”

He pulls off his sweaty shirt and tosses it in his laundry bin. “I’ve got a full day. I’m down at the marina all day. Why? Did you want to come with?”

“I’m doing a spin class with Ruby tonight, but I do need to start running on the beach again. That is a hell of a workout.”

“You’re telling me. My calves are still on fire.”

Emma hums and keeps typing on her phone. What the hell is she writing this early in the morning? He didn’t even think she’d be awake, but he probably woke her up when he left. Damn. He thought he was being quiet.

“I’m going to take a shower. Do you need to take one?”

“I’m not showering with you, Jones.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

She drops her phone and raises her brow. “I’m sorry. You’re a man who doesn’t want to have shower sex? I think you may actually be a unicorn.”

“It’s a very small shower, love, and I don’t think my knees can take being on the tile. My legs are definitely too tired to have to hold you up.”

“I’m not complaining,” she laughs. “I’ve just never had this happen before. I feel like I need to document it. You can leave the shower on for me. I’ll hop in after.”

Killian raises his hand and salutes at Emma before stripping out of the rest of his clothes and walking into his bathroom. He closes the door behind him and turns on the shower, allowing it to heat up for a minute or two before stepping inside and letting the water pound against his back. It feels better than he imagined it could, and even with this, he knows he’s going to be beyond sore by this evening.

He easily could have stayed in bed with Emma this morning. He could have slept in, had some kind of drowsy, lazy morning sex, and then been on with his day without being sore.

Now that he thinks about it, that would have been the better option.

Then again, the two of them aren’t really wake up in the morning and have sex kind of people. It’s happened, but it almost feels outside of their deal. He’d like to stay inside the deal and within the guidelines of their rules as much as he possibly can.

It’s funny how easy it’s been to fall into this thing with her. It’s usually not like this when he starts sleeping with someone new. There’s a game to be played, no matter how much he’d sometimes rather not play it, but with Emma, it’s not like that. There’s no tip-toeing around each other or questioning motives, not anymore. It is what it is, and they’re both okay with that.

No games may be the most refreshing thing in the world.

Killian quickly scrubs himself down with soap and washes some shampoo in his hair before rinsing it all off. His bathroom door opens, and Emma walks through without a stitch of clothing on.

Bloody hell.

“You almost finished?” she asks, apparently without a care in the world that she’s nearly rendered him speechless.

And possibly changed his thoughts on shower sex, even if that would absolutely be the most uncomfortable thing in the world right now.

“It’s all yours, milady.” He slides open the glass door and grabs a towel while Emma slides by him and steps into the shower. “It may be a little hot.”

“It’s scorching. What is wrong with you?”

“Trying to relieve my sore muscles, love.”

“By burning your skin off?”

“It is not that hot.”

She rolls her eyes and grabs his shampoo bottle. He’s got to stop looking at her if he wants any hope of being able to get dressed comfortably.

“Do you have conditioner?”

Killian bends down and pulls out an old bottle that was left here. “This work?”

She reaches out and grabs it. “Do you have more of this?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because whichever girl left this is my new favorite. This stuff is expensive, and I think I’ll be able to actually brush through my hair now.”

Killian scoffs and adjusts the towel around his waist. “What’s wrong with the stuff in the shower?”

“It’s awful. The fact that you have such good hair is amazing.”

Oh, well, if she’s going to compliment him, he can’t pass that opportunity up. He twists his head and gets in her eyeline, ignoring the way water is dripping off her breasts, and moves his brows up and down.

“Why, darling, who knew you had such a thing for my hair?”

Emma’s nose scrunches up. “Shut up.”

“No, no, I can’t let this go. Tell me, what else do you find attractive about me? I know there must be quite a list since you’ve decided to sleep with me on a regular basis.”

“Again, shut up.”

“Nope. I’m not letting this go now. You find me attractive, Swan, and believe it or not, I actually quite fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me.”

“Don’t you have something to be doing?”

“I have nothing to do but stare at you.”

Emma’s laugh is louder than the spray of water, and he sees her shake her head before she goes back to washing her hair. Killian should shave this morning, but he can put that off until tomorrow when he’s not incredibly distracted by the naked woman showering next to him.

Killian brushes his teeth and dries his hair before walking out of the bathroom, leaving the door open for the steam to waft out, and he gets dressed for work. He’s still got hours until then, but if he puts joggers back on, he’ll not want to go. He knows the families who are coming in today for sailing lessons, and as much as he loves that part of the job, he does not want to deal with a group of twelve-year-old kids today.

The shower water keeps running, and Killian sees Emma out of the corner of his eyes before he opens his bedroom door and softly closes it behind him. The lights in the kitchen are on, and when he gets close enough, he sees Elsa standing over the stove with eggs in the pan. He didn’t even know she’d stayed over last night. He should be paying more attention to that. Then again, he doesn’t want Liam to know who he has staying over, so maybe it’s a good thing that they can quietly go about their business.

When Liam and Elsa get married, though, Killian hopes they either kick him out of here or move into Elsa’s place. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take living with Liam because of situations like this morning, but that’s not exactly an easy conversation to have.

“You making enough for everyone?” Killian asks.

Elsa twists around and smiles. “I’m making enough for me, but if you want some, that’s not a problem. Did you go running this morning?”

“Aye, and yes to the eggs, too.”

“That’s really early for you to go running. I didn’t even know you got up at that time.”

“Love, I almost never sleep in. The Navy will kill that habit before they do anything else.”

“Liam has managed to curb that, I think. That or he fakes sleeping in so I don’t feel lazy when I wake up later than him.”

“I think you may be onto his evil plans.”

She laughs again before plating the eggs in the pan and opening the carton next to her to crack open two more. “Oh, by the way, Emma is coming over this morning to help me with some wedding stuff. Anna is going to call in since that’s all really her cup of tea, but Emma is going to help get me a lower rate on one of the club venues. So, if you could go downstairs and unlock the door for her, that would be great.”

Killian swallows and grabs the plate of eggs from Elsa’s side, seasoning them and adding some cheese. “Isn’t that really more Mary Margaret’s department? The weddings, I mean.”

“Mary Margaret is more passionate about it, but they technically have the same job. Plus, Emma was free to meet me this early so we could talk to Anna at the same time.”

Killian accidentally shakes a little too much salt into his eggs. “When is Emma supposed to be here?”

“In about thirty minutes. Did I say you could have those eggs?”

Killian stuffs some overly salted eggs in his mouth. “I figured you’d want them while they were still hot, so I’d take the old ones.”

Elsa hums and nods. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Don’t I know it?”

Killian stuffs the eggs into his mouth, eating far more quickly than any normal human should, and he’s going to regret it later. But he needs to finish and run back into his room because Emma cannot come out this way if Elsa is in the kitchen.

“Did the water just turn off?”

“Hmm?”

“I thought I heard the water turning off, but I must be hearing things.”

Shit.

“I didn’t hear anything.” Killian puts his half-empty plate down. “These are really good, Els. I’ll be right back, yeah? I need to check my phone.”

She doesn’t say anything, and Killian quickly leaves before she can. He doesn’t know what they’re going to do. Elsa is in the kitchen cooking, and she always likes to eat on the sofa. He can’t exactly tell Elsa to go back to Liam’s bedroom so he can sneak Emma out of the house only to sneak her back in.

What the hell, Emma? Why did she even come over last night? Did she not think this through? They’re going to have to start thinking things through if they don’t want to get everyone else involved. That would be a disaster that neither of them know how to get out of with how nosy their friends are.

When he gets back to his room, Emma is still in the bathroom with her hair wrapped up in a towel as she brushes her teeth. At least he thought to buy her a toothbrush to keep here after last week when she tried to use his.

“Do you want to tell me why you thought it was a good idea to meet Elsa here this early in the morning?”

“Huh?” Emma spits into the sink. “What? Why do you – oh you have egg on your shirt, KJ.”

He looks down and flicks it off. How did that happen? “Swan, why did you stay here last night if you knew you were meeting Elsa this morning?”

“Because then I wouldn’t have to drive from my place?”

“What was your plan? Get up and leave only to come back in two seconds later?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“And what do you plan on doing now since Elsa is awake and sitting in the living room eating her breakfast? She’s not going to leave, and I don’t really see how you plan on getting out.”

Emma’s toothbrush drops to the sink. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“You have to get her out of there. Get her to take Skipper on a walk or something.”

“She has plans to meet you. she won’t have time. Plus, she knows I already went on a run with him.”

“Shit. What am I supposed to do climb out your window?” Killian’s brow arches. Now that’s an idea. “No,” Emma starts, “no, no, no. This is the second floor. I’m not jumping down. What if I break something?”

“You’ll land on the sand, and you only have to drop about ten feet.”

It’s ridiculous, this idea, but he’s starting to think it might be the best one. Killian walks over to the set of windows in his room, opens one up, and looks down at the small ledge. His room drops directly down onto some sand with Liam’s bedroom and the living area completely out of sight, and as long as she doesn’t land terribly, she should be fine.

Yeah, just fine.

Emma’s stare switches between him and the window, but eventually she goes to grab all of her things, either putting them on or holding them in her hands, and makes her way toward the window. She tosses her shoes down first and then her purse. Finally, she climbs over the ledge of the window and looks back at him.

“Next time, we’re staying at my place or we don’t spend the night or something. I am not climbing out of a window for you again.”

“If I stay at your place, what am I going to do about Skipper?”

“Have Liam take care of him.”

“I can’t very well tell Liam I’m spending the night at your place because I’m shagging you, now can I?”

Emma’s eyes roll. “Your British is coming out. And, literally, Jones, just tell him you went home with a woman. It’s not a lie. It’s not the full truth, but it’s not a lie. Most importantly, it means I don’t have to jump from a window so I can talk to Elsa about price packages for her wedding.”

He hates to admit it, but she makes a good point.

They obviously are still working out all of the kinks in this arrangement since neither of them thought them through.

Idiots. The both of them.

“If I break something, you have to clean my apartment for me.”

“I will be happy to, love.”

“And you owe me lunch this week.”

“You can eat all of my extra crisps for the foreseeable future.”

Emma nods and hooks her leg over the window ledge. He hears her swallow, and then she’s climbing down and holding on to the window as she dangles from side of the building.

“You’re lucky that the sex is good, Jones. And that you do manage to entertain me with more than mediocre conversation.”

“There you go complimenting me again.” Killian flashes her a smile and winks. She is definitely going to try to murder him when she gets back up to this apartment. “I’m not the one who scheduled a meeting. This is technically all your fault.”

Emma doesn’t respond. Instead she looks down at the ground and then drops with a subtle thud. When Killian looks down, he sees her standing on her feet brushing the sand off her ass. That’s definitely going to be a devil tomorrow.

Killian chuckles to himself and then closes his window before heading back out of his room. He’s still got to unlock the shop for Emma. Maybe he should get her a key.

Wait, no. That would definitely be taking it too far.

“Your eggs are definitely cold now,” Elsa says as he walks through the living room where she’s now sitting with her food in front of her. His remaining eggs remain untouched next to hers. “I thought you were avoiding that.”

“No, I was avoiding that for you. I don’t actually mind because Skipper will eat leftovers anyway.”

“Where is Skipper?”

“He’s probably still wandering around downstairs. I’ll send him up when I unlock everything.”

When Killian finally gets to the front door, Emma is standing outside with her arms crossed over her chest and her lips pressed into a firm line. God, all he wants to do is laugh, but he does still want to live to see tomorrow.

“Good morning, milady,” Killian sighs. “I’m loving the look. Very natural. The use of sand is just…stunning.”

Okay, maybe he doesn’t want to live to see tomorrow.

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“I am not doing that again.” “As long as you plan things a little better, you won’t have to.”

Emma huffs and brushes past him, but he reaches out and tugs on her wrist until she’s pulling back to him and standing with her hands pressed against his chest. He can see her freckles and the blonde of her eyelashes when she looks like this, and it reminds him of all the times they’ve gone out on the ocean or spent the day at the beach.

It reminds him of how close her lips are to his.

“You have sand in your hair, love.” He reaches up and picks a few pieces out, letting them fall to the ground before he tucks her hair back into place. “How did that happen?”

Emma’s lips part. “I don’t – I – ”

There’s a bark behind the two of them, and they quickly part as Skipper sticks his nose between the two of them.

“I need to go meet Elsa,” Emma finally says as she scratches behind Skip’s ears. “You want to come and talk weddings with us?”

“You know, love, I think I just might.”

“You sure? Anna is very into it, I’ve heard.” “Anna is very into everything. It’s part of her charm. This is also her actual job.”

“True. I’m just kind of here to help with finding them a date. They want it to be this summer.”

Killian mock gasps and walks with Emma. “So soon? Do you think my brother has been improper and gotten that nice girl pregnant?”

“I don’t know, but that’s the gossip around these parts.”

“However will they regain a good reputation? Do you think it will affect the business?”

“It might. You best prepare to be making less money.” “What the hell are the two of you talking about?” Elsa laughs as they walk into the apartment.

“Oh, just how Liam knocked you up and ruined your reputation.”

Elsa’s eyes roll. “I’m not pregnant, and we don’t live in the 1800s.”

“Still. Such a short engagement. People might get ideas.”

“You’re far too cheeky for it to be this early in the morning,” Elsa sighs. “Do you have sand on your jeans, Emma?”

Killian bites his tongue, but he still can’t hold in his chuckle. Emma reaches over to slap him, but she stops herself right before and places her hand on his shoulder before looking down at her jeans.

They are not smooth.

“Huh,” Emma sighs, “I guess that I do. It was windy this morning. It must have blown over on me. Is Liam joining us?”

“Yeah, he’s getting dressed. I honestly think he might be trying to avoid Anna.”

“Or me,” Emma mumbles so quietly Killian thinks only he hears it.

“What?” Elsa asks.

“Nothing, nothing,” Emma quickly corrects. “I’m going to fix myself some coffee and then we’ll get started. Do you have all your numbers?”

“On my phone, yeah.”

Skipper comes walking up the stairs and sniffs along Killian’s shoes before moving over to Elsa and settling down at her feet. The back bedroom door opens, and Liam walks out. Part of Killian wants to stay for this meeting, to get to know what exactly his brother and Elsa are going to plan for their wedding, but he also doesn’t want to be a witness for the cold shoulder Liam will inevitably give Emma. Killian’s never understood Liam’s problem with Emma, but hopefully the man can keep it together enough to not make some asinine remark when Emma is doing him a favor.

“Well,” Liam smiles, “are we all ready to plan a wedding?”

-/-

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings​ @mrtinski​ @klynn-stormz​ @scarletslippers​ @jonirobinson64​ @snowbellewells​ @therealstartraveller776​ @thejollyroger-writer​ @sherifemma​ @shardminds​ @captainsjedi​ @galaxyzxstark​ @galadriel26​ @idristardis​ @karenfrommisthaven​ @teamhook​ @spartanguard​ @searchingwardrobes​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @jamif​ @shireness-says​ @ultimiflos​ @nikkiemms​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @onepunintendid​ @bluewildcatfanatic​ @superchocovian​ @killianswannn​ @carpedzem​ @captainkillianswanjones​ @mayquita​ @jennjenn615​ @onceuponaprincessworld​ @a-faekindagirl​ @scientificapricot​ @xellewoods​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @stahlop​ @kmomof4​ @tiganasummertree​ @singersdd​ @tornadoamy​ @cluttermind​ @lfh1226-linda​ @andiirivera​ @cluttermind​

[dvp95]

can’t breathe when you touch my sleeve - chapter 2

pairing: dan howell/phil lester

rating: e (eventually)

warnings: none

tags: alternate universe, slow burn, fluff & humour, tiny bit of inner turmoil wrt sexuality but trust me it’s not that deep, eventual smut, idiots in love

word count: 3,884 for this chapter (9,268 total)

summary: Dan keeps making a fool of himself in interviews, to the point where it’s basically a meme. Now he’s got to sit down for the better part of an hour and sell his show to the YouTuber he’d had a massive crush on when he was a teenager.

read from the beginning on ao3 or on tumblr!

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

It's going to take a lot more than a couple of dissociative episodes between embarrassing himself on camera for Dan to, like, be comfortable with everything that hanging out with Phil might mean or might lead to, but he knows he has a bit of a habit of overthinking, so. He empties his entire suitcase onto the hotel bed and tries to find something suitably casual but cute, because he can admit that much to himself: he wants Phil to think he's cute.

Dan spends too long on his clothes, finally deciding on some ripped jeans and a striped jumper just as his alarm goes off. He eyes his hair in the mirror - he can either leave now and meet Phil on time, or he can straighten his hair and be half an hour late.

Shrugging at himself, Dan slips his phone and wallet into his bag. He doesn't care so much about his hobbit hair when he isn't going to be on camera.

--

"What is that," Dan deadpans.

"It's for vlogging," says Phil, waving the small camera around. He almost drops it and Dan steadies it. "Oops, thanks. Don't worry, I don't have to film you if you don't want, I just always need stock footage of Thor."

"For your endscreen," says Dan. He knows that, now.

Phil beams at him. God, those eyes are like a targeted attack without the barrier of his glasses. "Yeah! Anyway, hi!"

"Hi," Dan echoes, a smile tugging on his own lips. "I was promised a corgi, you know."

"I thought we could get coffee first," says Phil. He puts one of his hands in his jacket pocket, the other still clutching the vlogging camera. "I'm really bad at juggling my drinks and his lead."

"Fair enough. I'd drop everything, too."

When Phil laughs and turns to walk in the wrong direction, Dan allows himself a moment to just look before gently reminding him that the coffee shop is the other way.

Dan tracks the movement of Phil's hands as he talks about London so that he doesn't keep looking at his shoulders, his thighs. He's so expressive that he almost drops his camera twice more before Dan quietly takes it and stuffs it in his own backpack for safekeeping.

Phil looks good today in well-fitted black jeans and a bright red shirt under his denim jacket. There are pins on the pocket that Dan desperately wants to know the story behind. It all really makes Dan wish that he'd taken the time to pull the straighteners through his hair, but whatever. He thinks being late would have been worse.

"But you're from around here, right?" Phil says, interrupting his own tirade about the best tourist traps. "You know all this."

"Near Reading," says Dan. He holds the door of the café open, smirking when Phil almost keeps walking right by it. Phil sticks his tongue out. "I dunno, I didn't come to the city all that much. No friends and no money meant I just played RuneScape til my eyes bled."

"Oh my god, RuneScape," says Phil. "Talk about a blast from the past."

They chat about various websites they'd lost their teenage years to until it's time for them to order. Phil rolls his eyes when Dan hangs back, intending to pay for his own drink, and curls his fingers around Dan's wrist to drag him forward.

Dan is a little transfixed by the sight and feel of Phil's hand around him. The barista has to ask him four times what he wants, and he stammers it out like he's never spoken to another human being before.

Phil lets go of Dan to pay, chattering at the tired-looking barista until they smile, and Dan has to put his hands in his back pockets so he doesn't do something stupid like reach for Phil again. He doesn't even register that Phil has stopped talking to the barista and started talking to him again until Phil snaps his fingers in front of his nose.

"Uh, what?" Dan asks, blinking back to reality.

"You were on another planet," Phil laughs. He doesn't seem to mind much. "You wanna sit and talk or walk and talk?"

"Always sit," says Dan. "Unless you can lie down, I guess. Then lie down."

"I don't think they'll let us lie on the floor," Phil muses, taking their drinks from the counter with another bright smile at the workers. "But thank god, I didn't want to walk more than I have to."

Dan follows Phil to a table, feeling a bit like a lost puppy. "Then why did you offer, doofus?"

"Wanted you to think I was someone who walked just for the hell of it," says Phil. He's still smiling, it shouldn't even be allowed.

"I'd like you a lot less if you were," Dan jokes, stirring his macchiato absently. "I'm lazy as fuck, mate."

"Same," says Phil. "So how was BuzzFeed?"

"It was alright," Dan says, wincing. "They talked to us about memes from the show, kept calling us by nicknames we didn't consent to, and I swear they were just waiting for me to fuck up the whole time."

"Did you?"

"Not a lot," says Dan. "Just tripped. Didn't even fall."

With a quiet laugh, Phil raises his coffee cup. "Well, hello, let's celebrate that."

Dan snorts despite himself. He bops his disposable cup against Phil's and takes a long drink from it.

"How was your day, filming?"

The way Phil's face lights up when he gets to talk about making a video has Dan's heart doing double time. He talks to Dan about it with the same passion he'd talked about London, gesticulating a lot and smiling at Dan like he's the only person in the room. Dan hears everything Phil is saying but retains roughly zero of it, too busy looking at the way thin lines around Phil's eyes crinkle when he's happy.

"It's nothing too crazy," says Phil, as if Dan has any earthly idea what they're talking about. "But I always get so excited when I can do something more... I don't know, creative? Really put my master's to work."

"Your masters?" Dan asks, bewilderment knocking him back into the conversation. "Think it's a little early in the friendship to tell me about your BDSM shit."

Phil blinks at him and then laughs, loud, one hand coming up to cover his mouth. His blue-green-yellow eyes are sparkling as he looks at Dan like he's the funniest person in the world. "Oh my god, Dan, my master's degree. From uni. Where the hell does your mind come up with this stuff?"

"Pardon me," says Dan, "I need to go walk into traffic."

"So it's not just interviews you do this in," says Phil, still grinning. He gestures vaguely at Dan's entire being. "This is just... what you're like."

"Yeah," Dan says miserably.

"It's endearing," Phil assures him.

"So you have a master's degree," says Dan. He can feel the heat in his face, knows he's all red and patchy. He knows he looks and sounds ridiculous right now.

Thankfully, Phil allows him to change the subject with nothing more than a smirk. "I do, it's a post-production thing I spent way too much time on. You want to uni in Manchester, didn't you?"

"I did," Dan says, a little surprised by Phil knowing that. "I mean, I didn't finish uni, but I did go for a bit."

"I grew up near Manchester," says Phil, "so that kind of stuck out when I read up on you, because I was like, what if we had mutual friends back then? Went to the same parties? What if we passed each other on the street and I didn't know I was looking at someone who was gonna be famous? It was a whole, like, existential thing."

Dan's heart feels like it's going to burst, but he just laughs. "Me? Parties? Friends? Going outside? You're drastically overestimating my uni life."

"Guess so," Phil laughs.

Like it's second nature to keep the conversation going - and as a radio host slash YouTuber, it might be - Phil offers up stories from his own time at university and asks Dan a bunch of questions about everything under the sun. Dan barely has the presence of mind to answer them accurately, let alone ask any questions of his own, and it feels a bit like he's sitting for another interview. He doesn't mind much, though, because Phil listens so intently and is really good at jumping onto new conversation threads at points that feel right.

Before Dan knows it, their drinks are long empty. He could probably get another and just sit here and talk to Phil about video games for ten hours straight, but he doesn't want to give up the option of meeting Phil's dog.

They keep chatting while Phil leads the way to his place. Dan manages to think of some questions and ask them; Phil manages to get them hopelessly lost for a few minutes while trying to rattle off fifteen hamster names in a single breath.

Dan pretends to get a phone call when they reach Phil's stoop. He isn't sure he's emotionally prepared for being in AmazingPhil's flat, or Phil's flat for that matter, and he'd rather stand awkwardly on the pavement than deal with that. It's a narrow brick building, snug in the middle of a whole row of narrow brick buildings, and looking at it almost makes Dann feel claustrophobic after so many years in the boroughs of Atlanta, Chicago, Los Angeles.

He doesn't feel homesick for any of the places he'd couch-surfed or filmed in, exactly, but he does feel a little homesick for privacy from nosy neighbours. He feels like someone is watching him through their blinds right now, and knowing what he knows of the British elderly, there probably is.

All thoughts of America are thrown unceremoniously from Dan's mind when the blue front door swings open again and Phil reappears with Thor at his heels.

"Oh, look at you," Dan coos, his voice going into the soft one he reserves for cute animals and small children. He's crouching down before he can even remember giving his body the command, and Thor gives him a quizzical sort of head tilt.

"It's okay," says Phil. His voice is soft, too, way sweeter than Dan has heard it before. Dan wouldn't be opposed to hearing it more often. "Say hi, Thor."

As if he was waiting for Phil to give him the go-ahead - maybe he was, Dan doesn't know fuck about training dogs - Thor barks once and jumps up, putting his stumpy front legs on Dan's knees and allowing Dan to give him scritches. Dan's eyes well up a little bit and he chokes the tears back as he pets the soft, small, very good boy.

"Hello, oh my goodness, you're such a good, good boy, your fur is so soft and pretty and I would fall upon my sword to keep your tail wagging, do you understand me? Do you even know?"

"Oh, he knows," Phil says, fond. "Fall upon your sword?"

"I'm not even a little kidding," says Dan. He can't stop staring at Thor's puppy eyes and perked ears. "I'd legit die for this dog."

"Same, but he wouldn't even appreciate it," says Phil. He gives Thor's lead a tiny tug, and Thor yips, abandoning Dan to wind himself through Phil's long legs a couple times.

Dan grins like an idiot as he looks up at Phil, and Phil grins right back at him. It takes a moment before Dan realises that he's still crouched on the pavement and he's very much eye-level with -

He stands up so fast that he has to blink spots out of his eyes.

"Uh, yeah, totally," Dan stammers. He has no idea what they're talking about anymore. His brain has gotten tripped up on the idea of being on the floor in front of Phil like it's a record scratch. He's pretty sure that Phil can tell, there's no way it's not all over his flushed face right now, but Phil just laughs and lets Thor lead the way down the street.

"He's way better at navigating than me," says Phil. He sounds so casual. Dan is focusing on not walking into a lamppost. "And that's really good for some stuff, but he also brings me to the park when I'm trying to go to the shop."

"Right," says Dan.

"Oh, can you grab my camera?" Phil asks as if he's just remembered its existence.

"Yeah." Dan is thrilled to have a task that doesn't involve thinking about Phil's body more than he ought to be. He digs around in his bag and fiddles around with the settings on the camera while Thor takes a leak. "This is pretty cool. You want me to hold it for you?"

Phil grins. "You wanna film me?"

"That's not what I said, I -"

"Sure."

"- didn't mean - sure?"

"Sure," Phil repeats, tongue between his teeth as he smiles. "I don't usually have someone to help me out."

So Dan films some stock footage for the AmazingPhil endscreen, because that is what's become of his life, somehow. He gets a new perspective on Thor doing various dog things on the walk to the park, laughs every time Thor or Phil do something cute, and feels his heart start to swell more every time he sees Phil's answering smile.

As soon as they get to the dog park and take him off the lead, Thor is zooming off to bark with his friends. Dan keeps rolling and just turns the camera on Phil, who pulls a silly face.

"Is this what a day in the life of AmazingPhil is like?" Dan asks in his best announcer voice. Phil giggles.

"Honestly, no," says Phil. His hands are in his pockets and, despite a camera being on him, he isn't using his camera voice. It's all a very good look. "I stay home and answer emails until Thor forces me to stop working."

"I don't know if I could have a dog," Dan says. "I'm too fucking busy. Aren't you busy?"

"Gonna have to bleep that," says Phil, which Dan guesses is more as an aside to himself, since he doesn't pause for Dan to apologise. "Yeah, I'm really busy. Like. All the time. But I stopped being so careful for a little while, there, during some family stuff, and made a pretty impulsive decision or two. Thor was one of those, and I honestly don't regret it."

"Ooh, what else did you do? Get a tattoo? Join a cult?"

Phil winks. Tries to, anyway. He mostly just blinks a little out of sync like he's got something in his eye. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

The cackle that's surprised out of Dan is not at all an attractive sound, but it makes the happy crinkles around Phil's eyes deepen, so. Worth getting it on tape. He's not even sure that Phil will use this footage for anything.

Dan turns the camera off and slips it back into his backpack so he can fully focus on taking photos of various dogs on his phone. He and Phil migrate to a bench where they don't have to interact with any of the other dog parents milling around.

"God, I love dogs," says Dan.

Phil laughs at him but nods in agreement. "So do I. Well, I love basically all animals, but dogs are the best kind."

"Is it good, having Thor?" Dan asks. "Even though you're busy?"

"Yeah," says Phil. "I mean, do I wish I could give him more of my time? Of course. But having something else relying on me to function has forced me to take better care of myself. I couldn't keep working myself to the bone when I had this tiny thing who needed attention and, like, proper routine."

"They do say that having animals is good for your mental health," says Dan. "Maybe the routine thing is part of why."

"Not to mention the unconditional love." Phil grins and whistles over at a group of small dogs, who all perk up. "Thor, c'mere!"

Thor happily bounds over to them on his stout little legs, and Dan coos when Phil picks him up, sets him in Dan's lap. The dog seems fine with this development, giving Dan's nose a lick.

"Oh, hello," Dan breathes.

"What do you think?" asks Phil. "Is it worth turning down some work opportunities for this little dude?"

"Yes," says Dan. He's petting Thor and feels his eyes start to water when Thor lolls his tongue out in a goofy sort of grin. "Yeah, I mean - I personally still move around too much to get my own dog, but it makes sense for you. If I had a home base, maybe I'd consider it more seriously."

"Yeah," Phil agrees, sounding happy. Then he clears his throat. "Feel free to tell me off, but can I get a picture of the two of you? You're just so sweet with him."

"Course you can," says Dan. "Tag me on Instagram."

When he looks up from scratching Thor's ears, Dan is taken aback by the softness in Phil's expression. It's gone as soon as it appeared, fleeting, and Phil grins as he pulls out his phone. "I just figured you wouldn't want to, like, make this a public thing."

"I don't mind," says Dan.

There are some people who he probably would mind that for. Usually the same people who call him Dan even after he says not to. They just want to seem closer to him than they are in order to further their own agendas.

Phil isn't like that. Dan has known him for only a handful of days, but the man is so genuine in every interaction they've had that Dan doesn't feel like this is put on to gain some kind of audience.

It's fun and easy to let Phil take silly pictures of Dan, teary eyed with a dog in his lap. It's just as easy for Dan to take the phone out of his hand and snap a selfie of the three of them. And it's even easier still to take shots and short videos of Phil rolling around in the grass once Thor has had enough of sitting still. They go back and forth for what might be actual hours, training their phones on each other like they're just regular friends hanging out.

By the time Phil puts his phone away, Dan's stomach is grumbling loud enough for the whole park to hear.

Phil laughs, but it isn't a mean one. "C'mon, I should get Thor home, and you need to eat."

It isn't an invitation to keep hanging out, exactly, but it isn't a dismissal either. Dan is impressed by Phil's ability to walk a line like that, to keep his own feelings on the matter a complete mystery.

As much as Dan would love to spend the rest of the afternoon following Phil around like a puppy, he has to spend some time recharging or he'll hate himself tomorrow.

"Yeah, my leftover Domino's is calling my name," Dan says lightly. "Then I've got to prepare myself for the pure horror that will be tomorrow's interviews with teen magazines, what the fuck, I'm not a Jonas brother."

"Nice teen reference," Phil deadpans.

"Shut up," says Dan. He scratches Thor's little head, looking down at him so he doesn't have to look at Phil's reaction to his probably-desperate-sounding, "We've gotta do this again."

"We do," Phil says, all warm and happy in a way that makes Dan flush pink, bite his lip. "I had fun."

"Me too," Dan admits. He sticks his hands in his pockets so he doesn't reach for Phil, fidgeting with the inner fabric. "Like, a lot of fun. I don't get to do this a lot."

"I figured - and neither do I. Text me when you're done your interviews tomorrow, yeah?"

It's a good moment for them to hug again, probably, but Dan doesn't think he can handle that. The more time he spends around Phil, the harder it is to ignore how badly he wants to feel Phil pressed up against him.

With a promise to text and an awkward salute of a wave, Dan tries to walk away. He only gets a few feet when Phil calls, "Oi, Dan, hold up a second."

Okay, so he's not getting away without another hug after all. Dan takes a deep breath to brace himself before turning to Phil again. "Yeah?"

"You," says Phil, smiling wide, "still have my camera."

Dan narrowly avoids facepalming by digging in his backpack and muttering apologies. Phil just keeps smiling at him. When he takes the camera back, Phil's fingers brush against Dan's wrist in a way where Dan can't tell if it's intentional or not.

"Sorry," Dan says again.

"It's okay," says Phil. He bites his lip, just for a moment, and then waves with the hand holding Thor's lead. "See you around!"

--

Messaging Phil is the only thing that keeps Dan sane through the next few days of both print and filmed interviews, the same questions over and over, publications dying for a new tidbit of information so they can be the first to talk about it. Dan is used to all of that, at this point, but it doesn't make things any less repetitive.

Phil sends him photos of Thor and chatters about his own day and generally gives Dan something to look forward to. Dan doesn't think he's ever hit it off with someone so quickly.

Granted, Dan hasn't actively tried making new friends since uni. He's an adult now, which means he's got work friends and people he plays MMOs with and a bunch of acquaintances on his Facebook who can't wait to catch up whenever he's in town.

That's not the way this thing with Phil feels. It's just as easy as their day together had been, talking about everything under the sun between their various responsibilities.

They talk about movies and television and video games, where they find that they've got a lot in common; and they talk about music and books, where they find they don't have much overlap at all. But Phil listens to Dan's rant on why Janelle Monáe changed the concept album game and so Dan, in turn, lets Phil waffle on about Stephen King in the middle of the night.

The fact that he has trouble sleeping afterwards is entirely irrelevant.

Dan learns a lot about Phil over these days. Not all of it is good, but nothing makes the festering warmth in Dan's gut start to recede. He's got a crush, and it's getting worse by the day.

--

"What a cutie," is Jaime's opinion when she sees the photoset on AmazingThorgi that Dan has been tagged in, which includes six pictures of the two of them and Thor at the park.

"He takes crap selfies," Dan tells her in case she wants to snoop Phil's personal Insta.

Jaime quirks her thick eyebrows in a way that makes Dan feel wrong-footed, like she can see directly into his soul. "I meant the dog."

[dubsdeedubs]

An Outreached Hand [7/?]

Summary:  On a cold winter’s day in 1982, Stan Pines shows up at his brother’s door with two cats tucked in his jacket and no heartbeat in his chest.

[AO3]

Notes: I actually posted this like two days ago but didn’t make the Tumblr post for it till now.  Probably says a whole lot about how distanced I’ve been asojioda

There's someone staring at him from across the diner. A waitress, to be more precise, squinting at him suspiciously under heavy purple eyeshadow, a sharp twist to her expression that even his tired mind can read immediately as 'trouble.'

Ford's fairly certain that he has never met her in his life. But then again, his life hasn't been entirely his for several months now.

Lady over there's giving ya a real stinker of a look.

He can't help but start at the echo of Stan's voice in his head. It's... not something he's used to, hearing his brother in what used to be the domain of someone - something entirely different.

He thinks maybe it's something he will ever get used to.

You stiffed her on tips before or what?

Now that Ford thinks about it... no, yes, he had made a visit to this establishment once before. He's sure of it. It had been shortly after Fiddleford had left him, and around when Bill had decided to up the ante where psychological torment was involved. The memory of being surrounded by a dozen pairs of yellow-slitted eyes flashes before his mind's eye, and he grimaces despite himself.

Had this woman been there for that disaster of an attempted breakfast? Did she remember him from his frantic escape?

Not for the first time, he's thankful that for all of his brother's abilities, he either could not - or did not at all want to - read Ford's thoughts.

His left hand lifts itself up and flicks his nose, hard.

Ford flinches, more out of surprise and confusion than any real pain. It takes him a moment to make sense of what had just happened.

"Stanley -"

'Stanley' yourself, his brother says flatly, entirely unamused. You've been sitting for a full ten minutes in this place without moving a muscle. Have ya ever heard of ordering food when you're in a restaurant? Or is that something hermit scientists don't do?

Ford bristles. "I know perfectly well how to order food, I just haven't done it yet because the waitress has been staring at me for the past -"

He blinks, looks again.

In the span of this extremely distracting exchange, said waitress had disappeared entirely from his view.

Ford's mental alarm bells go off almost immediately.

He had long held suspicions about the local townspeople, which were only exacerbated by the recent appearance of mysterious hooded figures around town. And, considering that Bill was perfectly able and entirely willing to manipulate other people to get to him, being around anyone at all was a security breach of the highest magnitude..

The waitress had seen and recognized him. She must have noted that he was here, vulnerable and out in the open without any of the defensive measures he had set up around his home.

There is just one reason he can think of for her disappearing so immediately, and that was to share that information with others.

He knew this was a terrible idea, Ford thinks, heart racing.

He knew, but his brother just wouldn't listen to logic and sense (but why would he, when for all Stanley must have thought, Ford was just being paranoid? Because he couldn't know, not about the extent of Bill's powers, not about what had happened to Fiddleford, not about everything that Ford had been manipulated into being a part of -)

Ford needed to leave, the sooner the better. There was no telling how much time he had left before they - whoever they was, whether the hooded figures or a pawn of Bill or something he had not even anticipated - used his vulnerability to their advantage. He had to -

"Are those wild animals in your coat, mister?" Says a voice right behind him, far too close for comfort.

Ford jolts forward with a sharp noise of surprise that he refuses to call a squeak.

When he twists his head back, eyes wide, the waitress is staring back with a scrunched Look of deep disapproval. He thinks somewhat stupidly that the heavy magenta eyeshadow added magnitudes more to its power.

For a moment, his brain just doesn't process the words.

"Wild - wild animals?" He repeats.

She points down at the two furry heads poking out from the neck of his old trenchcoat.

Mabel - he thinks, it's not nearly as easy to tell the two apart as cats than as children - offers a single cheerful meow.

Ford stares down at them, speechless. He... had entirely forgotten they were there. How had he forgotten about two live animals tucked inches away from his own body?

"We don't allow animals in here," the waitress says with a frown. "Got a sign on the door and everything."

She points at it for emphasis. He stares after her finger for a moment too long, expression slack.

The waitress squints at him. "You alright there, mister?"

Ford, Stanley says flatly, you're useless.

Just like that, his mouth stretches into an entirely unfamiliar kind of grin, slow and flirtatious, the kind of expression Ford doesn't think he has ever made in his life.

"Sure I am, sugar," Stan says smoothly. There's an easy confidence to his words that's enough to make Ford feel just a twinge of envy. "I would ask ya the same thing, uh -" He squints at the messy scrawl on the woman's name tag. "- Susan. But I gotta say, it looks to me like you're doing just fine."

He winks. Ford cringes.

The waitress - Susan, he reminds himself - stares at them for a long moment, looking very flustered. Understandably, Ford thinks to himself, considering that from all appearances, he had switched gears from 'confused' to 'Casanova' at the drop of a hat.

"See, I think there's a little bit of a misunderstandin' here."

"How so, mister?"

"This is a family diner, yeah?" Stanley says. He gestures at the door. "Says it right there. 'Greasy's, for the whole family.' Right above that sign about wild animals."

He squints. "Why - why do you have that sign about wild animals anyways?"

Susan blinks. "Well," she says after a moment, "whaddaya know, it sure does!"

"So thing is. These two here, they ain't 'wild animals.'" His brother pauses, for what Ford highly suspects is just for dramatic emphasis. "They're family."

Her eyes widen. Her jaw drops.

Stan leans in closer slyly, going for the kill. "And this can't be a family diner if the whole family can't eat, right?"

In the privacy of his own mind, Ford lets out a deep sigh. This... was entirely ridiculous. It spoke magnitudes about Stanley that he had thought it would actually work. Everything else aside, they had snuck two full-grown cats into a dining establishment in their coat. There were - there were rules against these things, he was sure, rules that he doubted a waitress would -

"Oh hon," Susan chirps, and slaps them on the back hard enough that they choke on their own spit. "Ya should have said somethin' earlier!"

In the span of what feels like a second, the woman's demeanor had transformed entirely. Easy understanding had replaced suspicion on her broad face, and there was a new friendliness to the way she held herself.

"For a moment there, I figured you were one of those characters that come in marrying woodpeckers and kissing raccoons -"

"One of those -" Ford chokes. "Marrying what?"

"- but I can tell now, you're nothin' like 'em. Heck, I can already tell what you are!"

A chill goes down their back, and he doesn't know if it's from him or Stan. Maybe it doesn't matter.

"And," Ford says slowly, with a tone of vague concern, "what is - that?"

"A kindred spirit, handsome!" Susan winks like she doesn't know how to.

"...Oh."

Aaaaaalright, Stan announces, I did the heavy lifting. You're on your own now, Sixer.

Wait -

Somehow, he can tell that his brother is studiously ignoring him. Ford sighs.

"Family! What a perfect way of puttin' it!" Susan gushes. "You're right, why keep 'em cooped up in there? Let your kitties stretch their legs!"

"Are - are you sure that's alright?" He starts to ask, an eyebrow raised. "The sign -"

"Oh hun, this is Gravity Falls," She scoffs. "Just about everyone around here has seen much, much worse in this diner, I bet ya."

That... did absolutely nothing to ease his worries. Ford nods dumbly, more than slightly alarmed by the casual revelation.

The cats stretch out on the diner table, low and lazy. Which... probably wasn't hygienic, but considering the stains and flecks of unknown substance already present when he had sat down, he supposed a few animal hairs wouldn't do much worse to the establishment's bacterial ecosystem.

Mabel, or at least he thinks it's her, looks between him and Susan. She gives him the feline version of a wink. Ford looks at her in horror.

"What are their names?" Susan asks, drawing close, a soft expression on her face. "Your sweet little fur babies."

"They're my niece and nephew, actually," he corrects quickly, edging away, and realizes too late how odd that statement came out without the benefit of context. "But, ah. Dipper and Mabel."

Susan doesn't seem to mind the slip-up, however. In fact, judging by the extra sparkle in her eyes, that only seemed to endear him to her even more.

"Well, my oldest is Mr. Snookums," she says conspiratorially. "He's getting up there in years, maybe just a year or two older than your kitties here. And then there's Mittens, except she's the kind of lady that likes ta put a twist on things, so lately she's been trying out something new. Look, I've got pictures!"

Ford blanches.

It's after noon when Ford peers through the window of the local grocery store with an air of dawning apprehension. No one inside but a lanky teenager with a stunningly large cranium, manning the cash register with an almost physical air of general rebelliousness.

Ford swallows. "Stanley, are you sure it's fine to, ah -"

Relax, poindexter, his brother groans. I take the kids everywhere I go, and I've never run into any trouble.

Very carefully, Ford wonders if that was less about the actual regulations in place and much, much more about nobody wanting to tell a certain casually terrifying individual that he needed to leave his pets outside.

Besides, bringing the cats worked out fine in the diner, right?

"That doesn't count," he retorts immediately. "That woman was - she was obsessed with cats, Stanley, I didn't even know half the things she was talking about., and we talked for two hours."

Hey, I'm not seeing how that's a bad thing.

"Two. Hours."

Hell, I didn't even know the 'not having a collarbone' thing. I mean, it's not like the kids would have known about that. Though, Stan says thoughtfully, that definitely explains some of the crazy places they've gotten into over the ears.

"If you enjoyed it so much," Ford snips, "perhaps you should have spoken to her instead."

Nah. By the looks of you, Sixer, you haven't talked to another human being for a loooong time. Better a nice lady with a whole lot to say about cats than, uh. Mr. Potato Head inside there.

"Stanley."

What? I call it when I see it. Guy's head is disproportional.

Ford lets out a long sigh, and carefully does not admit that his brother was right about Susan. The social interaction had been overwhelming and occasionally bewildering, but it had been - a comforting sort of normal, in a way that nothing in his world had been for a very long time now.

Just chatting with a waitress in a diner about the best way to brush a cat. Nothing like his angry confrontation with Fiddleford, or the conversations he had with Bill that just thinking about made him reel with self-disgust. Nothing like everything that had happened since his brother had shown up at his door, just yesterday.

He walks into the store with his back straight, carefully ignoring the furry ears rubbing against his chin.

Then just as Ford steps over the doorway, there's a loud welcome chime.

He flinches, and jerks back with so much force that he knocks over the store display right next to him.

The cardboard figure hits the ground with a too loud thwap. The teenaged cashier glances up at him, a strangely intense look in his eyes.

"Apologies," Ford says stiffly, and awkwardly moves to stand it back up.

What the hell was that?

"I didn't expect the sound," he admits reluctantly.

"Who are you talking to?" The teenager asks, an odd look on his face. His voice is an entirely unexpected baritone, one that fits his craggy face but is strange with his frame.

"No one," Ford says, a bit too quickly. "Just - ah, just wanted to hear the sound of my own voice -"

Ford, shut up and just keep walking.

He does clumsily, and almost trips over his own feet. The cashier's stare feels heavy on his back all the way.

So. Grocery shopping. You want some of uh. Eggs, or something? Cheese? People buy cheese, right?

"...Stanley?"

You're on your own for this, pal. Look, I'm dead. I haven't had to eat for a long, long time. Thank God, because from what I remember hunger was uh.

A long, telling pause.

Not fun at all.

Ford looks up, and then even further up at the cans and boxes that line the shelves and seem almost to reach up to the ceiling. There's oats, then organic oats, then something about added sugar or reduced sodium and -

"I'm a bit rusty with grocery shopping myself," he confesses.

What, Stan says skeptically, you would rather eat out, now that you've got a college degree and big science money?

"Stanley, I told you, that's not how research funding works. I can't just spend that money on anything I want - "

Ford cuts himself off before he can go on the whole rant. He has a sneaking suspicion that telling his undead brother about the intricacies of research grants and scientific stipends was pointless.

"No," he says instead, voice clipped. "I just didn't eat."

His brother goes quiet at that. ...Well, all I know how to buy is food for the kids, and as horrible as I'm guessing your eating habits are I doubt you wanna get cat food -

Ford coughs. "Yes, not cat food would be good."

...You want stuff that doesn't go bad quickly, right? Canned stuff would be good for that, you can probably figure out how to fry bacon or something for the extra protein. Hell, you know what, eggs aren't a bad idea. And maybe some uh, green stuff. Vegetables. Spinach, kale, whatever.

"Stanley -"

Eh, what do responsible adults eat? Hell if I know.

"Stanley, that's - a great deal of food," he says carefully.

That's the point, Sixer.

"The issue is, ah. I can't afford all of that."

There's a long silence.

You can't - afford all of that, Stan says blankly. Like, you don't got enough money for it?

"Y-Yes, that's usually what it means to not be able to afford something -"

But you have money, his brother argues uncomprehendingly. You went to college, didn't ya? Isn't that what going to college is for?

Ford blinks, entirely thrown off-guard. "No, that's -" He starts off weakly, and then goes quiet with sudden realization.

He had been away from his family for years now, keeping the bare minimum of contact. So it had been easy to forget, surrounded by other college students and even more educated professors, that his household had always held a very fundamental misunderstanding of what higher education entailed.

Filbrick Pines had lived his entire life working for a living, and the idea of putting effort into studying something with no direct financial reward was entirely disjointed from his reality. Ford had smiled (grimaced, if he had to be entirely truthful) along with his father's loud boasts about how his boy was going to make the whole family rich, that his college admission meant they were all set for life.

It had been easier then to just stay quiet. Though, of course, that just meant the inevitable fallout was just that much more explosive.

But Stanley hadn't been there. He had left home long before Filbrick realized that Ford's research grants weren't free money, before the big argument that had ended with Ford admitting that no, his studies weren't going to make them rich, not any time soon, and no, that was never what college was for. Not for him, and he had gotten his degree for himself, not anyone else.

Which meant, this whole time, his brother had thought -

"Going to college didn't make me rich," Ford says at last. "It was... almost the opposite, really. Backupsmore gave me a full scholarship, but I had to take out loans and work on the side to eat and pay for textbooks. I got money to come out here for my research, and I suppose it's a large enough amount as a lump sum. But I need to justify all of my expenditures to the committee that approved me, and..."

He smiles wryly. "As it turns out, research scientists don't prioritize 'quality of life' too highly."

...Huh.

The words had come out almost terrifyingly easy, and it hits Ford suddenly that it's the most he's told his brother about his life in their years apart in... well. Very possibly ever. It's an odd feeling, one that comes with something like regret and slightly more like panic.

But mostly like relief.

Geez, Stan says suddenly, you could've just said so earlier. And here I thought you were stuck on an actual problem.

"An actual problem," Ford repeats blankly. "So you're saying this isn't an actual problem."

Sure. We can just steal.

A beat.

"You," Ford says, horrified, "want to do what?"

His voice cuts off suddenly, entirely out of his control.

You wanna say that any louder? Stan groans. Trust me, Mr. Potato Head doesn't want to care, but keep shouting about robbing this place and he's gonna have to.

"Don't call him tha - Stanley, I refuse to steal," Ford hisses under his breath, entirely scandalized.

Eh, suit yourself, his brother mutters casually, too casually. There's a loaf of bread down your shirt, by the way. And half a dozen oranges up your sleeve.

He freezes. "How did you - when did you -"

Don't ask questions you don't want answers to, pal.

"Stanley."

Stan hesitates, then sighs.

Look, I didn't have to eat, but I had to feed the kids somehow. And it wasn't like I was getting any kind of real job, with how I look. You figured out a way to make the system work for you, and guess what? So did I. Maybe it isn't as pretty. Or as legal.

He's quiet, for a moment.

...But it works. So shut it, alright?

Hearing that makes Ford's mouth goes dry. For the second that day, it hits him just how thankful he is that Stan can't hear his thoughts.

"Alright," he says hoarsely. "Do what you have to do."

"There's something wrong," Ford says quietly, about thirty minutes after they leave the store with something like a week's groceries stuffed in various pockets and folds.

Not about the stealing. The cashier - 'Ivan', as his name-tag introduced him as with an unfitting cheerfulness - hadn't looked twice at him when he paid for a single carton of eggs to keep up appearances. He hadn't seemed at all thrown off by his meager purchase, or even the two cats peeking out from the neck of his coat.

But there was a strange intensity in the way he had stared after him as he left, It reminded him of the looks the townspeople had given him on the streets that morning, how some of the other diner customers had turned to glance at his table as he talked to Susan and ate an uncomfortably filling breakfast.

"I'm being watched."

What, like right now? Stan says skeptically.

"No, this - this whole day. People have been staring at me. Following my movements."

Ford, you haven't showered in a week, you've got two full-grown cats hitching a ride in your coat, and as far as everyone's concerned you've been talkin' to yourself this whole time, Stan says flatly, sounding distinctly unimpressed.

"Still -"

Honestly, Sixer, I would be shocked if people weren't staring at you.

That... was true.

But...

For just a moment, Ford hesitates, ready to argue -

- and doesn't.

He lets out a sigh. He's tired, the bone-deep exhaustion and general stress of the past several months hitting him all at once.

Ford... doesn't want to think, can't think. Not right now.

"You're right," he says at last. "Let's go home."

They do, but it's Stan who pilots their body for most of it.

He's the one who gets the groceries put away and cooks an omelette that turns into scrambled eggs somewhere along the way, on a range that sputters and dies before the liquid gets all the way solid (Ford scarfs it down anyways - he's facing a host of much more immediate dangers than salmonella.) He piles firewood that Ford had completely forgot he still had into the fireplace, and struggles to light the flames with a box of soggy, year-old matches.

It ends with him curled up on the least destroyed armchair he has, moth-bitten blanket clumsily draped over himself, two warm bodies snuggled in and purring on his lap.

Somewhere distantly, he wonders if, just maybe, he had forgotten something.

With the fireplace roaring just a few feet away and the feeling of soft fur under his hands, Ford doesn't even notice when he falls asleep.

[tb5-heavenward]

artwork by the fantastically talented @birdologist and animation by the lodestar of my heart, the inimitable @awkwardarbor

There’s going to be a transitional chapter in between this one and the one previous that makes the time skip a bit more apparent, but it’s a pain in the butt to write, annoying to format for tumblr, and I’m lazy. And I thought people might be more interested in 4.6k words of Scott and Jeff instead, considering that I’ve kinda shafted the lot of you when it’s come to their interactions so far.

So, here’s some Scott. Next up is Virgil. There is a theme.

a_moment_of_dawn

You can find Heavenward on Tumblr // Ao3 // ff.net

a_moment_of_dawn - part 15

The boardroom is adjacent to his father's office, and the meeting starts in half an hour. It's a nice office. It's all leather and wood and glass and it looks like a little piece of the island, transplanted high above the Manhattan skyline. It hasn't changed from the last time Scott was here, only now he's no longer expected to take his father's place, because his father's back where he belongs. This is his father's office again, and this is the sort of detail that Scott keeps catching hold of, the sort that still brings a giddy thrill of gratitude burgeoning up from the heart of him, regardless of the reality outside of the office door.

A glance at his watch tells him that there's still a few more hours before Tracy-1 lands on the island, finally bringing John home, along with the rest of the family. A little less than a week of hospitalization, and he's been deemed well enough to be remanded to private care. A few more weeks of antibiotics. Quiet. Care. Rest. Family to look after him, people to talk to. In short, all the things Scott should've ensured, the first time around.

Scott's in a three piece suit, navy blue. He wears it like it was made for him, which it was, perfectly, expertly tailored to compliment his height, his whip thin frame. A grey silk tie picks up the threads of silver at his temples. He looks more like an adult than ever, but feels, irrepressibly, younger than he has in years. He stands at the window, using the reflection to surreptitiously watch his father, who's just exactly where he's supposed to be, seated comfortably behind his desk. Jeff's just taken a call from Lord Creighton-Ward, and Scott is waiting politely for this to come to a close. There's a meeting due to start in half an hour, not, of course, that it would start without them. And there's a conversation he and his father need to have.

It's going to be a conversation about his brother.

Because his brother's been through hell. His brother's been broken so utterly and completely that Scott sometimes has a hard time thinking about him. Sometimes—and only sometimes, and it hasn't even been a week, so it's not like just sometimes could even amount to very often at all—sometimes Scott tells himself he has more important things to think about than his brother, just to give himself a break.

He'd last seen John on Sunday, four days ago now. Virgil's birthday. It's an unfortunate truth about Virgil's birthday that it tends to get buffered and buffeted aside, swept away from proper celebration by the currents and tides of their family's frenetic day-to-day. It's almost a running joke, although it's rarely funny. Something always comes up on the fifteenth of August, and this year was no different. Virgil turned twenty-six in a hospital room, with his grief-stricken older brother for a birthday present, all wrapped up in pain and anguish.

Scott had entered the room, late in the afternoon, and it had been him in the doorway; Virgil, sat in a chair on the far side of the hospital bed; and their brother, between them. John had been curled on his side with his back to the door, nestled in a tangle of disarrayed hospital blankets, still and silent. At first glance Scott taken him to be asleep—but approaching, it became apparent that Virgil was talking to him, leaning forward in his chair with his elbows resting on the edge of the bed and his head bowed close, speaking gently and carefully and in a softer voice than Scott had been able to hear. He'd stopped when Scott took the chair on the other side of the bed. He'd put a hand protectively on John's shoulder and quietly said something further, and only then had he lifted his gaze to meet his eldest brother's.

And there'd been something new in Virgil, then. Something fierce and ferocious and defiant, a titanic shift in attitude from the moment before, when there'd been only gentleness, compassion. And he'd asked, taut and terse, "Dad with you?"

Even just the mention of their father had been enough to send a bodily shudder through the brother between them, and to draw a low, anguished sound from the heart of him, something like strangled pain. It had been animal and alien and disconcerting, especially from John. And Scott hadn't entirely known what to make of it when Virgil's grip had tightened John's shoulder in response, and his eyes had flashed with something like anger.

The answer was no, that their father was back at the hotel, closeted in a meeting with TI higher-ups, and that Scott had come to let the rest of the family—Virgil and Alan and Grandma, and John, for as much as John was aware of anything—know that Dad was going to be heading to New York, back to the East Coast HQ. There was so much going on. So much needed to be managed; the press, first and foremost, clamouring for information about Jeff Tracy's reappearance. The GDF, intent on finding out just how their father had enacted project Heavenward. Tracy Industries itself, ready to be brought back beneath the helm of its owner and founder.

What he hadn't expected, upon his rather hesitant delivery of this news that their dad would be leaving Zurich for New York, was the way Virgil's jaw had clenched, and the way he'd said, almost snarled, "Good. And he can stay there."

Scott's still not sure what Virgil had meant by that.

Of course, it's not like there was a lot of ambiguity about it, but Scott can be remarkably dense when the mood takes him.

So Virgil's angry at their father.

Virgil's right to be angry at their father.

Their father secretly undertook a massive, almost impossible task in the GDF's stead, for reasons that sound noble and altruistic, but which Scott still has the sense to suspect had more to do with ego and power. Their father refused to accept the impossibility of said task, and instead made the mistake of allying himself with a war criminal in order to accomplish it. Their father had been betrayed. Their faked his death. Their father spent three years in hiding with next to nothing, stubbornly trying to cobble together a workable solution to a billion dollar problem. And, when the game was up, when he'd been caught out in the middle of all of it, when John had finally run him down and cornered him—instead of coming home, Jefferson Tracy had bent Scott's little brother backwards over the altar of his ambitions, and carved the heart right out of him, in sacrifice to his goal.

Scott should probably be angry at his father, too.

He's not sure if it's cowardice or weakness or just plain old pedestrian denial that's the reason he isn't. Even if he can forgive Jeff for everything else, for all the bad choices and bad luck that led up to the end of it; Scott should be furious about what's happened to John. Maybe he is. Maybe it's why he's avoiding even the thought of his brother. He's here on John's behalf, anyway. He's here to help their father put everything right—and there's a lot to put right. John had gone tearing across the world with very little regard to the lawfulness of what he was doing. Their father had had eight years to carefully construct a bunker of legal protection around his actions. John had nothing of the kind.

And so that's why Scott's here. It's on John's behalf that he's plunged back into the corporate half of his family's legacy. Their father's going to take care of it. Scott's going to help.

Behind him, as he watches his father's reflection in the glossy surface of the window, he hears the call come to a close, a series of short, brusque affirmations, and then—"—Right. Thank you. I'll see you in London, Hugh."

Scott glances down from the window, shifting his posture into something casually inattentive, and pretends to be studiously examining his neatly trimmed fingernails, until his father clears his throat to get his attention. Scott makes sure to smile as he turns back into the room, careful not to betray the line of his thoughts.

His father's in dark, ascetic gray, his suit conservatively cut, double-breasted, with a crisp white shirt and a dark tie. He carries the gravitas of his attire with a sense of poise that Scott can't match. He rises behind his desk as Scott takes the seat in front of it, and goes to the liquor cabinet on the other side of the room. The smokey, possessive scent of whiskey fills the air. Ice cracks in crystal glasses. Jeff doesn't say anything as he pours two drinks, and when he returns, he sets a tumbler of Scotch in front of his son, who murmurs his thanks, and then Jeff takes the seat beside him, instead of behind his desk.

Scott wonders if his dad remembers the bottle of thirty-year-old McCallan that had gained three further years of age, sitting in the lower right hand drawer of his desk, back on the island. He wonders if John had known what he was doing, when he broke it open. It's always been hard to tell anything, with John, and that night it had been harder than ever. Jeff can't know how appropriate it is, how it parallels the last time Scott had been forced to really think about John.

His father raises his glass just slightly, just enough to give Scott pause as he catches the movement out of the corner of his eye.

"To your brother," he says, with uncharacteristic softness, when Scott looks over to match the gesture.

Hell. Maybe he does know. That's the thing with Dad, and it's one of the things Scott had missed most about him. His dad just always knows.

"To you, sir," he answers, and means it with the parts of himself that haven't thought too hard about what his father has done.

The parts that have note the shadow of a grimace that pass across Jeff's features. His father nods a brief acknowledgment, and they drink.

And, just as Scott had anticipated—or had guessed, really, because unlike his father, he hadn't known—the conversation starts with, "I do need to talk to you, Scott, about John."

Scott answers with the part of himself that doesn't think too hard about his brother. The part that only wants to hear the good news. "I hear he's doing much better. Starting to turn a corner, Grandma says." He sits a little too close to the edge of his chair, has to make a conscious effort to keep his posture somewhat casual, instead of sitting upright and eager and at attention. He takes another sip of his drink, maybe a little hastily. "John's tough," he adds, as an afterthought.

His father's expression is neutral, unreadable. The hand not holding his drink rests on the arm of his chair, the wedding band he still wears glints on the ring finger of his right hand. Late afternoon sunlight slants through the window of the office, and it catches the amber in his father's glass. "He's made it through a hell of an ordeal," his father says, after what seems like a little too long. He doesn't quite say it as though he's agreeing with Scott's assessment of his brother's resilience. "What I need to know, Scotty, before I can start to talk to people about just what he went through, is just how well he really handled it." There's a meaningful pause, and again with that softness in his father's voice, "Because you know it's true about your brother, that he hates for anyone to know when he's struggling. It's why things got so bad with him after your mother died."

This is going to feel like an indictment. Scott can already feel guilt starting to squirm in the pit of his stomach, and he attempts to douse the feeling with another swallow of Scotch. He has to clear his throat slightly before he can answer. "Well...you mean after the malaria, I guess. And everything else. I never should have let it all happen to him, and I know that, and I—"

His father cuts him off, absolves him with a dismissive flicker of his fingers. "I don't know that you could've done anything, Scott. It's neither here nor there at this point. What's done is done, and I'm mostly concerned with what led him into everything that followed."

Guilt twists like an augur in Scott's stomach. Everything that followed was dependent upon the fact that John had staked out the bounds of a massive blindspot in his family's view of him, and had managed to maintain the illusion of composure—control, cohesion, coherence—when reality had rendered him fractured, frantic and desperate, and delusional on the point that he could find, retrieve, and ultimately save his soulmate from certain demise. Not for the first time, Scott wonders if it might all have gone easier on his brother, if he could've been convinced that EOS was a lost cause, if he could have come to understand that her loss was inevitable.

But then, it's not certain that Scott would be sitting high above Manhattan, drinking Scotch alongside his father, if that had been the case. Sometimes—usually the same sometimes when he carefully avoids thinking about just how deeply his brother must be hurting—he thinks that the cost was worth it, and that John's going to see that, one day.

He knows better than to say that, though.

What he can say is what's true about the last time he'd been here, drinking his father's liquor and thinking hard about his brother and the state he was in. That's what his dad's asking, after all. Scott's had this discussion before, too. Quietly, with Brains, pulled discreetly aside and away from anyone who might've overheard, or misconstrued what was being said. There'd been a particular way Brains had put it. A very careful choice of words, as though he hadn't wanted to make things sound quite as dire as the language he'd couched them in.

Scott has to concentrate to call up the specific memory, and he hopes he manages the same level of tact, as he begins to choose his words, halting, but deliberate, "There were...we were all watching him. Trying not to be obvious about it, but everyone...everyone was more or less aware that he was having a hard time. He'd been so sick—and Dad, I don't know if anyone would've told you, I don't know how well he really remembers, but he was really—just, he was godawful sick. He ran a fever that hit a hundred and five. Had three seizures. He was comatose for three days after that, and almost as soon as he came around, he got fucking kidnapped." He realizes what he's said the instant after he says it and a flush of heat rises in his cheeks immediately. "Sir. Sorry, Dad, pardon my language, it's just—"

"No, I understand. What do you mean by a hard time?"

Scott shifts uncomfortably, and finishes his drink. He notices, more than a little self-consciously, that his father's barely touched his own. But there's nothing for it now. Father knows best, anyway. He'd needed a drink, maybe, as a catalyst for the honesty necessary to talk about his brother. "Well, the words 'post-traumatic' might've been used. Not wrongly, I don't think. He didn't—John didn't want to cop to that. He said that, specifically, that if he admitted to PTSD, then he'd use it to cover up grief. It would've explained a lot, though, about the way he was acting, before he left."

"Hm."

It's nothing much, just a small, considered little sound, and indication that Scott should continue. The ice in his glass has barely had time to melt, and it slides and clinks softly against the side of the tumbler as Scott tilts it slowly back and forward. He looks at this in lieu of looking at his father, as he goes on, "It's hard to sort out what was what, exactly, with everything that had happened to him, between the stress and the trauma and what he had to be planning...he seemed different, maybe, by the time we got home. Forgetful, sometimes. Less focused, I guess. Distant. Cagey."

"Would you say it's possible he wasn't in his right mind?"

Scott can be remarkably dense, when he wants to be.

And so the question drops, sudden, like a stone into the pit of his stomach. He'd expected that his father would want to talk about John. He knows what the meeting in half an hour—twenty minutes, now—is going to be about. Knows it's going to be a meeting with lawyers—but there hasn't been a meeting he's been to, since accompanying his father to New York that hasn't had lawyers present in some capacity. He'd expected to talk about John, because he'd known this meeting was going to be about John, and about what John had done, while he'd been gone. What the repercussions were going to be. The reasons his father would ask a question like that.

Scott's answer comes after a moment short enough that it still seems immediate—and it's instinctive, a flat denial in his brother's defense. "No. I mean...no, sir. Dad. No." He feels it, when his father fixes him with a serious, evaluating stare, and his voice starts to run away from him, as he continues, "I mean, I think...I think that's overstating it. He'd just been through such a hell of a lot, was all it was, really. He just needed time, and he didn't get it. He would've gotten better if he'd just gotten some time. That's...I-I mean, that's my fault." He swallows, hard, and reiterates, "Dad, he's not crazy. He's just—he'd been hurt and he was about to lose something important, and he was scared, and he needed more help than I knew how to give him. And when I thought I could trust him to take care of himself, he bolted. I should've known better. I should've done more for him. I guess maybe I'm trying to make up for it, now."

Beside him, his father shifts in his chair. The ice moves in his glass, chimes softly against the sides, but he continues not to drink. Scott continues to feel embarrassed about how quickly his own glass had emptied, liquor to wash away his nervousness, to dull the sharp edges of his thoughts. It seems almost non-sequitur when his father says, "I appreciate that you're here, Scott. But I'm starting to wonder if it might not be better if you went home."

This is alarming. This has Scott sit bolt upright in his chair, searching for the reasons why his father might want to send him away, trying to work out what transgression he must've committed, that his father wouldn't want him here any longer. "Dad, I—"

"Not because you haven't been valuable to me. And not because I don't want you here." Jeff dismisses his son's fears brusquely, without a great deal of warmth. "But because this is about your brother, and the things he's done. I'll tell you now, Scott, nothing's going to happen to him. What he's been through—he's done so much, and lost so much—it's more than anyone will ever understand. No one's going to take him away, no one's going to punish him. No one's going to do anything to your brother, not the GDF, not the World Council, no one. I won't permit it. But the means to that end—" And now his father pauses, exhales a slow sigh, and drinks. Drains half his glass, while Scott watches, intent. "—it's going to be ugly, Scott. I'm going to leverage money and power and influence, I'm going to pull strings and cut deals and do all of the dubiously ethical things that get done, in situations like this."

"I understand that."

Jeff glances at his watch, and then jerks a thumb over his shoulder, towards the office door, and the boardroom that waits beyond. "In fifteen minutes, I'm going to go through that door, and a dozen highly intelligent—highly paid—attorneys are going to try to convince me of the value of having your little brother declared insane. Legally and mentally incompetent to the repercussions of his actions. None of them know John, but they know the details of who he is and what he's done, probably better than he does, at this point. They will render your brother in terms that make him sound like a madman and a criminal. They will make an excellent case. They may not even actually be wrong. They will propose an easier, gentler alternative to a protracted legal battle, and I will be tempted to take it."

Scott almost scoffs at this, at the audacity of it. The things lawyers will say. "John's not crazy."

"No? I wonder. Crazy's an ugly word for it, and not the legal term. PTSD, you said. That's not hard to believe. Would you swear to it, if it were his sake? Even if you wouldn't, there's more than that. Three days in a coma. Neurological sequelae related to cerebral malaria, actual, physical damage to his brain. I do know a thing or two about malaria, Scott. A demonstrable history of complicated grief and the prospect of terrible loss. When your mother died, he stopped speaking. He was hospitalized because we couldn't get him to eat. There's plenty there to work with. It's not difficult to make the case."

Scott's glad he has a chair, because he's pretty sure the floor's fallen out from under him, and it's a long, long way to the ground. Maybe it's the Scotch that's causing the sudden sense of vertigo, the way his palms have grown warm and his mouth has gone dry. He can't think of anything to do but repeat, less certain now, "John's not crazy."

As though his father could make it true.

"I know."

And maybe he can.

For the first time, with the late afternoon sunlight growing ruddy as sunset approaches, Scott gets a glimpse of the depth of the sadness in his father, the remorse. The office around them is empty and silent, and Scott feels a moment of deep, intense connection to the man sitting beside him, and knows in that instant that they both want the same thing. His father goes on, sober and sorrowful, "I think that might be the worst of it all—just how sane he is; how tightly he held onto the things he knows, and his ability to know them. Your brother is stronger than I can even comprehend, Scotty, and he deserves better than to be maligned and discredited by a plea of insanity. So we'll need to do it another way. It's just going to be a matter of working out what that is."

The way the tension goes out of him, it's like a line's been cut. Scott hadn't realized the way his limbs had all drawn taut, the way his spine had stiffened. Even here, just sitting with his father, talking frankly about the state his brother's in—it's hard. And his dad, in just the way he always does, knows that, and gives him a way out.

"You've never wanted to be part of this side of things, Scott. I've never asked you to be, and I won't ask you now. It's going to be difficult and it's going to be ugly, and you don't need to be a part of it. You can go home. You should go home. Take care of your brother, Scott. He needs you more than I do."

That might be true. Scott had gone to John's hospital room, four days ago now, with a decision as yet unmade. Their father was going to New York, and he'd left it to Scott to deliver that news. He'd also given Scott the option to come along, to take TB1 and follow afterward, across the Atlantic. And maybe if it had been Alan at John's bedside, instead of Virgil, Scott might have decided to stay. Maybe if Virgil had been radiating sorrow, instead of pure, molten fury, Scott would've felt like his presence was wanted—warranted, even. Maybe if his father hadn't asked, he never would've offered, would've known that his place was with his brothers—with John.

But instead he'd made his apologies, and said that he would be joining their father. Just for a little while, he'd said, just to make sure everything was under control. John was out of the woods. Alan and Virgil and Grandma had everything in hand. At the time they'd felt like reasons, but Scott realizes now that he might have been making excuses, at the same time he said his goodbyes.

Because as hard as it is to think about his brother, it's harder still to be around him, and know that their father is the reason for what he's suffering, when all Scott wants is for his father to be the reason he has his brother back. He doesn't want to think about everything else.

So he can pretend that he's here for John's sake. He can pretend that his dad needs him, even if he says otherwise. He can make that same decision again, to be at his father's side, instead of his brother's. John's got Virgil and Alan, Grandma and Gordon, Kayo and Brains. John's got an entire family of people looking after him, and he'll be taken care of. He doesn't need Scott.

His father has to stand in front of a roomful of lawyers, and tell them that—despite all readily available evidence to the contrary—his son is not out of his mind, and that they're going to find a way to clear his name. Scott's been there before. Scott remembers wishing he didn't have to be there alone.

Scott gets to his feet, wanders back over to the window. Makes use of the reflection again, as he pretends to stare out over the Manhattan skyline, and instead watches his father's image, watches to see if his dad changes at all, when he's no longer got his son by his side. Not appreciably. Doesn't matter. Scott's already made his choice. He doesn't turn as he says, "With due respect, sir, I think I can do more for him here than I can at home. If it's all the same to you, Dad, I'd like to stay. I know there's a lot that needs to be done for his sake. I'd like to help you make sure it gets done, however I can. Whatever it takes."

He hears ice chime against crystal again, as his father finishes his drink. He closes his eyes for a moment, against the light of the setting sun, and listens to his father behind him, with a soft little sigh before there's a grunt of effort, and he gets to his feet. He's not entirely expecting it, when there's the warmth of his father's hand on his shoulder, and a gentle, grateful squeeze, and the gratitude in the older man's voice is genuine, sincere, when he says, "Well, then I'll thank you, Scott. I'm glad you're here."

"Thanks, Dad. Me too."

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (17/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/n: Everyone enjoying all of these post-season games? Even if your team has already lost like mine 🙈 Anyways, we’re back in London for one more chapter here and @resident-of-storybrooke is still the mvp for reading all of these words. 

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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-/-

Emma can feel Killian’s nose nudging between her shoulder blades, his scruff scratching at her skin, and as good as it feels, she can’t help but curl further into her pillow and bring her knees up to her stomach, hoping that he’ll leave her alone so that she can sleep longer. So much longer. Jet-lag is a bitch, and she just wants to sleep forever. They don’t even get a day off when they get home, and just thinking about it has her dying.

Why in the world did she get sent over here when she’s only writing an article and doing social media stuff? Jeff should have come with her, Ruby too, but right now, she can’t really complain.

This bed is really soft.

London is wonderful.

Killian smells really good right now. He shouldn’t smell this good this early in the morning, and he probably got up to brush his teeth and put cologne on or something stupidly wonderful like that.

But she’s tired, and all she really wants is to sleep some more and for the pleasant ache between her thighs to lessen a bit so she won’t be thinking about it all day long. It’s a wonderful memory to have to think about as her day goes on, but still, a girl has got to be able to walk without her mind going to weird places.

The new phase of a relationship is so damn fun.

Sighing, she hugs her pillow more closely and keeps her eyes shut only for Killian to place the softest kiss in existence on the back of her neck that has the shiver multiplying its intensity by ten with each new vertebra that it reaches.

“Did you know that you are a kicker in your sleep?” he murmurs, his voice hoarse and gravely like it always is in the mornings. She really likes that. Like, really. “And that you are also a heat seeker, and I am in no way safe from your assault.”

“That sounds like a hard life,” Emma mumbles, still not bothering to open her eyes.

“The hardest. Do you know that we’ve only ever spent the night together in hotels? You’ve never even seen my bedroom. We somehow have never made it past the living room.”

“You’ve never seen mine.”

“True,” he sighs as his hand inches over her waist so that his nails can run over her stomach, making the muscles flutter. Or maybe those are the damn metaphorical butterflies. It doesn’t matter. “We should remedy that when we get home.” Home.

He means New York. He doesn’t mean his apartment or her apartment. He simply means the city they both happen to live in, but knowing that doesn’t change the way her heart is hammering in her chest, that residual feeling of being terrified that this is all going to blow up in her face still lingering. It’s not there as much as it used to be, some of the fear tampering down the more comfortable she becomes with Killian, but as old ones fade away, new ones emerge like one of those creepy aliens in movies.

Killian isn’t like Walsh or Neal or any of the people who have hurt her. Anyone with half-functioning eyes could see that, and it’s reaffirmed in how he supports her every day. He sends her articles she’s written in the past with little notes attached to them on what he thinks. Sometimes he shares links to YouTube videos of her interviews, asking her how she noticed the strategy they employed to win that day or simply complimenting her on thinking on her feet when she gets put in a tough situation. The only people who could possibly support her more are Ruth and David, but Killian is very much inching up to the top of the Emma Swan fan club.

He’d probably make t-shirts. Several. And wear them under all of his clothes, the dork.

Dark and broody but also dorky. That’s how she’d describe him if she had to in three words or less.

So she’s not worried that he’s going to demean her or belittle her or make her feel unworthy like she has felt in the past, but there are so many other ways for him to hurt her. Their relationship getting out, for one, could destroy her professional credibility, at least for a little while. That’s something she thinks about every time she sneaks out of her hotel room and into his. It’s ridiculous hard to find a time when someone isn’t in the hallway. But what if he’s secretly shitty in some kind of other way? What if he doesn’t continue to be so open and honest with her? What if he realizes that her hang-ups are too complicated? What if he realizes that he doesn’t want to be patient with her when she does have her freak outs? He’s so damn patient with her, always waiting for her to make the move before he does, and there’s no guarantee he won’t get tired of that.

Why is this the morning that she thinks about this?

Probably because the reality of them telling their friends and family is hitting her. It was her idea, the guilt of lying to everyone overwhelming her, but now the actuality is overwhelming her even more.

Last night, she told Killian that she would go to Addy’s birthday party under this insane plan that he has of them fake running into each other in the hallway, and the reality of meeting his family is kind of freaking her out. She’s never met a boyfriend’s family before, which was always such a blessing, and now she’s invading Killian’s niece’s birthday party.

Where his brother, who he absolutely admires in every way, will be, along with his wife and their kids and all of these other people who are important to Killian.

Emma wants to run. She knows that she does. Feelings overwhelm her, the feelings she has for Killian most of all, but she thinks she’d rather be overwhelmed by the happiness that he helps her feel rather than the anxiety.

The new phase of a relationship is fun but also terrifying.

“Are you inviting me over for a sleepover?” she finally asks, hoping that Killian can’t tell that she’s freaking out a little bit.

Killian hums into her neck, and she finally opens her eyes, the brightness of the sun shining through the curtains blurring everything for a moment. “I am. I can get you all kinds of snacks. We’ll wear our best pajamas, watch movies, play truth or dare, maybe have a pillow fight or two.”

“Do you get all of your sleepover knowledge from 2000s rom coms?”

“Possibly.”

Emma chuckles before turning on the mattress, shifting into Killian’s space like he shifted into hers, and when she’s turned in his arms, she blinks at him, taking in the unshaven scruff and unruly hair that most definitely hasn’t been tamed. She likes that too. His hair is always doing different things, and she can’t decide what she likes best.

“You very obviously did,” Emma sighs, running her hands over the muscled curves of his biceps, “but that’s okay. That’s where all of my knowledge came from too. The closest I’ve ever gotten to one that’s not, like, a sexual thing is when Ruby and I room together on road games.”

“I don’t think that counts because then Robin, Will, and I have had a ton of sleepovers, and none of them involve any of the fun things I was talking about before.” He reaches up to cover her hand with his before leaning in and lazily moving his lips against hers. There are a lot of things she’s learning at twenty-seven, and one of them is most definitely how much she likes lazy morning make out sessions. They’re definitely one of the seven wonders of the world. “And who said there was going to be nothing sexual about our sleepover? I was definitely planning at least a little something.”

Her nose scrunches up, and Killian moves to gently bite it, making her laugh. “We can have something sexual happen, but only if it’s during truth or dare. No funny business otherwise, mister.”

His lips part like he’s going to say something, and she runs her hand up and down his arm as she waits. But then he blinks one long, slow blink and shuts his mouth, whatever words he was going to say curling back on his tongue.

“What?” she questions, moving her leg against his.

“Nothing,” Killian smiles, pressing forward to run his lips over hers again, making her toes curl from the way that he knows just what to do in a kiss to make her happy. “I was simply thinking of this sleepover we’re going to have, and how I need to buy some better pajamas for it. I can’t have you seeing me in anything less than decent.”

“You’re not wearing any clothes right now.”

“And I’ve yet to hear a complaint from you about that, so I think this may be decent attire.”

“Well then,” she sighs, slowly running her foot up his calf again and watching his eyes darken, “I think it’ll be perfectly fine attire then too.”

-/-

This is stupid.

This is so, so stupid. She can’t believe she’s doing this. It’s ridiculous. The most ridiculous thing in the entire world. Okay, maybe not in the entire world, but she’s feeling extra dramatic right now.

The most dramatic, and that’s not an exaggeration.

Killian told her to meet him in the hallway where all of the suites in the stadium are located, and she’s been standing her for fifteen minutes pretending to look at her phone instead of actually looking at her phone and answering emails or something. Or checking stats for the game. She should be doing that, but they’re still in the top of the first inning, and she’s pretty sure this is going to be the game that never ends.

Ever.

And she’ll be stuck in this hallway in London for the rest of her life and die in the yellow maxi dress that she spent thirty minutes picking out because she had no idea what to wear to her secret boyfriend’s niece’s tea party birthday. She’d also debated on going out and getting a gift despite their conversation last night, but then she’d reminded herself that she’s not technically planning on coming to this thing. It’s some kind of fake spur of the moment thing, and bringing a gift would ruin that.

She needs to calm down.

This is fine.

A set of doors to her left open, and she sees Killian walk through. She’s so used to seeing him dressed in his uniform or sweatpants and some kind of team-branded t-shirt when they’re in a baseball stadium that it throws her off when she sees him in tight-fighting blue jeans with a light blue button down tucked in, the sleeves rolled up and several buttons at the top undone so that she can see little tufts of black hair and the silver chain that he wears to keep his mom’s ring next to his heart.

Athletes have all kinds of traditions and superstitions for every part of their life, but her favorite is that Killian keeps that ring on him at all times.

“Hello, kind acquaintance,” he teases when he sees her, eyes darting around the hallway while he steps closer, “funny running into you here looking absolutely gorgeous in that dress. I’d say it’s perfect for a tea party.”

“You are ridiculous.” “You have got to stop saying that about me like it’s new information.” Killian steps up to her then, looking around once more before quickly dipping his head to kiss her while grabbing her ass like they didn’t just see each other two hours ago when she finally left his room. “You do look just beautiful, though. Sometimes I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

Heat immediately rises to her cheeks, but she tries to shake it and the butterflies in her stomach off. “I ask myself the same thing about you all the time.”

Killian rolls his eyes at her before holding his arm out. “You ready to go?”

Her eyes glance down at his elbow before looking back up at him. “Why are you holding your arm like that?”

“Because it’s proper to escort a lady to an event by giving her your arm when you walk, and I like to do proper by such a lady.”

“Killian,” she protests even as her heart absolutely hammers in his chest, “we can’t do that. There are people.”

“There’s no one. Indulge me for sixty seconds, okay?”

Maybe it’s that she’s feeling overwhelmed and like taking a risk or maybe it’s the way that he smiles, but something about him has her taking his arm and placing her hand in the crook of his elbow as they walk down the hallway until they’re at the double doors of the suite.

“It’s going to be fine, Swan,” Killian promises, squeezing her hand before letting go and pushing the door open so that the sounds of children excitedly talking fill their ears and her eyes take in all of the people in the room.

It’s not many, less than are usually in a big suite, but she can see at least fifteen kids, most of them children of players, and maybe ten other adults. That doesn’t seem like the right ratio, but these kids are old enough to be semi self-sufficient about most things. Everything is fine. She’s just nervous, which only gets worse when Killian’s niece spots them.

“Uncle Killian,” Addison screeches, stopping where she is and running toward the two of them in her blue dress. Killian immediately crouches down to her level, opening his arms to her and taking her into the tightest embrace before lifting her off of the ground while Addison nuzzles into his shoulder.

It may very well be the cutest and most heart-warming thing she has ever seen in her entire life.

“Happy birthday, my little love,” he sighs, swaying her as they stand. “How are you six years old? I’m pretty sure you’re still supposed to be a baby.”

“I’m too big to be a baby. Don’t be silly.”

“Don’t be silly?” he guffaws, pulling back and adjusting his grip on Addison. “Darling, I am always silly, but so are you. You’re basically the silliest goose.”

Addison scrunches up her nose, and Emma can see Killian in her there. It might be the dimples or the blue of her eyes, but Emma can see something even though both of Killian’s nieces look exactly like their mom. She is not weird at all for noticing these things. “We have talked about this. I am not a silly goose. I am a girl.”

“Geese can be girls.”

“Did you bring me a present?”

“A present?” Killian gasps, tickling Addison’s sides so that she giggles. “Am I supposed to bring you a present? No one told me.”

“But it’s my birthday,” she pouts.

“Did you bring me a present on my birthday? I don’t remember.”

“Yes,” Addison groans, holding her head back. “I drew you a picture of us.”

“Oh, that’s right, that’s right,” Killian sighs, glancing to the side and winking at Emma, which definitely doesn’t do something weird to her heart. “You did. I have it framed on my bookshelf because I love it so much. I do have a present for you, but your mom and dad told me that I had to leave it at home so you can’t open it until you get back to America.”

“What is it?” she gasps, not at all deterred by the fact that she can’t open her present yet.

“Addy,” a male voice sighs, and Emma turns her head to the side to see Killian’s brother standing near them, and that definitely does something to her heart, “remember what we talked about? You have to be patient.”

“But I’m excited!” Killian puts her on the ground so that she’s no longer at eye-level with all of them, but her confidence might as well make her six feet tall. “Where’s Lucy? I don’t see her.”

“She’s sitting with Mommy. Why don’t you go find them while I talk to Killian and Ms. Emma here?”

That’s when Addison’s attention turns to her, and suddenly she feels like more eyes are on her than when she’s on television.

Is she terrified of a six-year-old? No, that would be ridiculous.

(Also, Killian’s brother knows her name, and while that’s not weird, she feels like it is. Then again, she knows his entire family.)

“Who are you?” she questions, her hands on her hips and eyes focused.

Emma plasters a smile on her face, one that was already there even if she didn’t realize it, before squatting down so that she’s eye-to-eye with Addison.

“Hi, Addison. My name is Emma. I work with your uncle.”

“Are you a baseball player?”

“No,” Emma laughs, and she looks up at Killian when she hears him chuckle. He simply shrugs his shoulders and waggles his brows across his forehead. “I wish I was, but I work on TV. You know those people who ask Killian all kinds of questions?”

“That’s you?”

“That’s me.”

Addison smiles, the teeth she has missing obvious, before she steps a little closer to Emma and touches her dress, running her fingers over the material. “I like your dress. It kind of looks like a princess dress. Are you going to stay for my party?”

“Only if you want me to.”

“I do. Do you want to come and look at my cake with me? It’s shaped like a unicorn.”

“Sure, sweetie,” she answers, smiling at Addison and taking her hand as she’s dragged off to the other side of the room, leaving Killian and Liam behind.

For the next hour, her best friend in the world is Addy Jones, who very much takes Emma under her wings as she shows her around the suite and introduces her to all of her friends. The only real experience Emma has with kids is Leo, and the four-year difference between six and ten is kind of insane, but it’s not hard to adjust and talk about all of the right things. It gets a little more difficult when she meets Lucy, if only because Lucy is one reserved little girl, but Emma notices that she very easily follows in Addy’s footsteps and has her own little personality, even if it’s quieter.

Lucy Jones also very much loves her uncle, and it makes Emma’s heart do that funny stuttering thing every time she looks up and sees Lucy sitting with Killian as he animatedly talks to her and makes her laugh with this little high-pitched squeal. She’s always known how much Killian loves his nieces from how he talks about them and how he has pictures of them in his apartment and on his social media, but seeing it in person is this whole new thing. He’s in his element, even more than he is when he’s on a baseball field like the one just outside, and this smile that’s been with her most of today continues to increase, the corners of her lips constantly ticking up whenever she thinks about him.

Which is a lot.

Probably more than a normal amount, and she just loves him so damn much that…

Holy shit.

She loves him.

She loves him.

Why is she realizing that right now as she sits at a table with people she doesn’t really even know while she watches him very obviously stick his pinky out while drinking tea teaching Lucy to do the same?

How in the world did this happen?

And is she terrified or so incredibly excited that it feels a lot like the fear that’s been weaving in and out of her days lately?

Does he love her too? Can he? She thinks that he can, that he does, but how is she ever supposed to know for sure? It’s been a good while since she actually felt this way, and she’s not sure that she trusts her heart to realize the difference.

“It’s Emma, right?”

Emma looks up from her seat to see Elsa Jones standing above her, blonde hair pulled back into a complicated braid and soft smile painted across her lips.

“Yeah, yes, that’s me,” Emma stutters, holding out her hand to shake Elsa’s. “Elsa?”

“The one and only. Well, kind of,” she laughs before pulling out the empty chair next to Emma and sitting down. “It’s so nice to meet you. I feel like I know you from your job.”

“Funny, I feel like I know you.”

Okay, so that’s probably pretty creepy. Was that creepy?

Before Emma can think about it too much, Elsa laughs, something that sounds genuine, and Emma has to remind herself that this is just another person who she knows is kind. There’s nothing to be afraid of. She talks to people for a living.

“I would bet. Killian talks far too much, so you get a lot of information out of him when you’re likely just looking to talk about the game. I really liked the special you did at the beginning of the season. It felt very much like him as a person, which I’m always so happy to see.”

“He’s a great subject. It’s not easy getting a lot of these guys to be charming and funny about things other than baseball, so I love when I find one that knows how to open up. And he’s so good with your daughters. I hope I’m not intruding on your day, but Killian – ”

“Found you wandering the halls and dragged you along?” Emma arches her brow, but Elsa simply waves her away, shaking her head from side to side as she glances out the windows to the game that Emma is only half paying attention to even though it’s her job. “Liam told me. You’re not intruding at all. Addy has gone on and on about her pretty new friend Emma, and any friend of my girl is a friend of mine. Plus, we Joneses owe you about a million apologizes for my dumbass brother-in-law asking you out.”

She has to cover her mouth with her hand as she laughs, a snort escaping her before she can stop it. “Did you guys give him hell for that? I feel like he does deserve it.”

“Oh, most definitely. Killian is not a super spontaneous guy, especially when it comes to women, not anymore at least, so I’m not entirely convinced someone didn’t spike his water bottle. I actually choked on my own water bottle when I saw it happening, so I gave him hell for that too.”

“Good, but I’ve forgiven him as long as he never does something like that again. Our working relationship is much better now because he can basically never say no when I want an interview.”

“True,” she says, her smile somehow brighter. “You’ve got to use those kinds of things in your favor. I do it with Liam all the time. It works like a charm.”

“What does?” Liam asks as he steps up to them.

“Hi, sweetie,” Elsa greets him, tilting her head back so that Liam can kiss her. “Have you met Emma?”

“I did when she came in, but I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to her before Addy dragged her away. So, it’s nice to meet you, Emma.”

“It’s nice to meet you as well. I was telling Elsa that it’s good to put real faces to names I’ve heard so much about.”

“You’ve heard a lot about us?”

“Oh, y-yeah,” she mumbles, internally cursing herself again. “Work and all. I know far too much about the lives of all of the players, which is both a good and bad thing.”

“I would bet. Do you know about – ”

“Yesterday?” she asks. Liam nods his head, his smile tightened. “Yeah, I know. It was shitty, but it happens. And I’m glad Will and Killian and some of the other guys stood up for me like that, even if Killian was an idiot for messing up his hand. But I feel like I’m part of the team sometimes, and it’s nice to know they have my back.”

“Emma,” Addy squeals as she runs toward the three of them, completely ignoring her parents, “Killian said to come and get you to ask if you wanted to join our tea party. He says that you don’t know how to drink tea, and I have to help you.”

Her eyes immediately glance over to Killian, and when he moves his brow across his forehead, laughter bubbles inside of her stomach and her mouth falls into a soft smile. The ridiculous fool.

“You know what, Addy,” she sighs, “I don’t think I know how to drink tea. You and Lucy will have to teach me, okay?”

“I know. Come on.” Addison tugs at her arm until she rises from her chair, excusing herself to Liam and Elsa before she’s dragged across the room and over to the table where all of Addison’s friends and Killian are eat snacks and drinking tea, which looks a lot more like orange juice, and Emma is told to sit down in the chair next to Killian who is holding Lucy’s goldfish snacks while she inspects all of them. “Uncle Killian, I brought Emma over. Emma, do you want orange tea or apple tea?”

“Um, orange tea.”

Addy nods her head before she’s running off to the other side of the table and leaving Emma with Killian and Lucy.

“So, you need to teach me how to drink tea then?”

He shrugs his shoulders as he attempts to flip the hair that’s fallen over his forehead back. “My brother and sister-in-law had cornered you, and I thought you might need a little saving. I knew that you were a little nervous about meeting them.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“You talk in your sleep.”

“I do not, you as – jerk,’” she corrects, stopping herself when Lucy looks up at her. “Hi, sweetheart. I like your dress.”

“Thank you,” she says quietly, sweetly. “It’s yellow. Yours is yellow.”

“I know. We’re basically twins. Are you going to eat your goldfish?”

Lucy softly smiles, little blonde curls falling in her face, before picking up a handful of her snacks from Killian and offering them over to Emma in a sweet gesture that definitely rivals everything romantic that her uncle has ever done.

“Thank you, Lucy.” Emma pops one into her mouth only to look up at Killian and see that his eyes are crinkled, those little lines showing up, and her stomach pleasantly twists at the sight of it. She realized that she loved him less than twenty minutes ago, and there are still a lot of crazy feelings processing in her brain right now. A lot. “Do you want some, twenty-nine?”

Killian blinks, almost like he doesn’t recognize her nickname for him, before reaching over and taking some of the fish that she’s offering him. It’s cheesy and very romance novel-ish, but she swears that she feels sparks when his fingers brush over the palm of her hands.

“Thank you, love.”

“I have your orange team, Emma,” Addy shouts as she comes back to them, balancing a far too full plastic cup of orange juice that spills a little on the carpet until Emma takes it from Addy’s hand.

“Well, thank you, Addy. But it’s your birthday. Shouldn’t I be helping you do something instead of you handing me my tea?”

Addy hums at this, her forefinger tapping against her chin while her foot taps on the ground. “You can help me open my presents later, okay?”

“That sounds like a deal.”

-/-

“Working hard or hardly working?”

Emma pulls the headphones from her ears so that she can hear Killian better, even though she could most definitely hear the cheesy phrase that just came out of his mouth. His family is flying back on the team plane, as are all of the other players’ families, and since she is Addison Jones’s new favorite person as of seven hours ago, she was asked to sit with all of the Jones clan, which has really just been her sitting in a seat by the window with Addy and Lucy switching seats until the both of them were corralled by their parents to go to sleep. And now she’s got Killian sitting next to her, which is what she was hoping for but isn’t the most subtle thing in the world.

They are not subtle people even when they probably think they are.

She’d never make it in federal law enforcement or something like that.

“My deadline is in an hour, and I had to pay twenty-seven dollars for WiFi so that I could send it in.”

“So, working hard?”

“Yep.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No, no,” she protests, reaching down to take another sip of her coffee. Her jet-lag is going to be even worse of a bitch tomorrow. “You can stay. I just have to check my stat facts, and then I’ll be finished. It’s kind of hard to work when everyone else is asleep and it’s so dark in here, so, you know, I’m drinking all of the caffeine to stay awake. I think I have a food baby made of unicorn cake.”

“Aye, me too,” he laughs as he pats his stomach. “That was too much sugar.”

“No such thing.”

“Oh, but there is, darling.” His hand brushes over her forearm, and she can see the slight scabs and marks from him punching Arthur yesterday. Nothing new has been said, no suspensions mentioned, and she hopes that it stays that way. She also hopes that nothing like that ever happens again.

“How does your hand feel?”

“A little sore, but I’m right as rain. It’s a good thing I have several days off, yeah?”

Emma groans, shutting her eyes just at the thought of getting up to work tomorrow like most people on this plane except for Killian and Robin. “Don’t remind me. I’m going to look like a zombie tomorrow, and feel even worse than that. If I ever go overseas again, it’s going to be for long enough to adjust to the time.”

“You and me both,” he yawns, and she’s totally endeared by the way his face contorts there only for him to smile at her with a tired, boyish grin that she’s endeared by even more. “Finish up your article, my love, and then I say that you at least try to go to sleep.”

“Always looking out for me.”

“You know it.”

Her hand reaches over his scarred one so that she can squeeze it, which is all she can really do right now. But honestly, being right here next to him simply sitting together after all of the craziness of these few days – baseball, meeting her boyfriend’s family, asshole players getting punched, quick tours of London that went by in a blur, and realizing that she loves Killian – is more than enough when it’s already absolutely everything.