#Tangled Crew Appreciation Week

[maylalupa]

If you asked me, all credit should go to Shane Prigmore instead of Chris manchild Sonneburg.

Tangled Crew Appreciation Week: Shane Prigmore

Not enough is said about this unsung hero of Tangled: the Series. Shane Prigmore was there at the beginning, helping to design and develop this story, turning these empty three years “between the kisses” into a story that even Roy Conli could approve of. 

And then Shane was promoted to Vice President of Creative Affairs for Walt Disney Television Animation, which is why we actually don’t hear about him in conjunction with TTS. He is credited as creator, developer and writer for Tangled: Before Ever After and Tangled: the Series.

I had the honor to randomly run into him at D23 Expo, and I can say that he is friendly, humble, warm and open. And when @forever-tangledup and I were able to give him a Tangled Fandom Resurrection button, he was extremely delighted and grateful to receive it.

As well as being a writer, Shane is an incredible artist who has worked both as a character designer and animator, working on such titles as How to Train Your Dragon, Rise of the Guardians, The LEGO Movie, and Coraline, among many others.

[fanaticsnail]

As far as I know, you're not a big Zoro girlie, but imagine, if you will:

Relaxing with Zoro in his hammock. You're both facing each other, legs tangled together as you're both occupied with your own little activities. It's quiet and peaceful;relaxing, even.

Breaking the silence and asking him a question, only to look up and see your favorite moss-head fast asleep. Allowing yourself to relax and drif off yourself, book still resting on your chest.

Not waking up until late in the evening, when Sanji's yell of "Dinner!" sends you both tumbling out of the hammock and into a heap on the floor.

-♡♡

Hey Anon. Your ask ran away with me and I had to see how some softness would play out. While Zoro is not one of my main blorbos, I do appreciate this marimo. Had to give him some appreciation with a drabble for you.

I Don't Sound Like That

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,400+

Synopsis: You and Zoro have grown closer over the past few weeks. Being invited to rest and study beside him in his hammock, you reflect on your journey travelling with your crew aboard the Going Merry.

Themes: Zoro x gn!reader, Fluff, teasing, tiredness, mention of injury (Zoro), kisses.

Notes: Had this request sitting in my asks for a day, and I needed this bad enough that it pushed my other thoughts aside.

Tag List: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @indydonuts @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @i-am-vita

Lounging lazily within the hammock and entangled within a burly mess of limbs, your bodies rocked to the sway of the waves crashing against the hull of the Going Merry. The gentle rise and fall of the swell surrounding your vessel shepherding into your next adventure had you soothed from your restless day. Flipping through the pages in your book, you sigh softly and enjoy the warmth from Zoro’s encumbering embrace as he rested in his hammock beneath you. 

The reason you sought out the First-Mate to your Captain, Luffy, was not only because you felt protected under his care above Usopp, Nami, Luffy or Sanji, nor was it due to the fact that he wouldn’t likely tell you “no,” should you ask to enjoy an embrace with him. 

The reason you fell into his hammock and joined yourself in his resting space is because you had grown closer over these past few weeks. He was still healing from the large gash and soft stab in his chest from the legendary warlord, Dracule Mihawk. Fighting the Arlong-Pirates while in such a state did a number on his body, and he would constantly fall by your side and sleep within your shadow. 

He was comfortable with you enough to let you know how truly much he was struggling with his injuries. You were ships counselor, it was your job to be privy to the thoughts of your captain and crew - aiding them in their journey of reflective self-discovery. Luffy needed guidance as your captain, and as his counselor; you were ready and willing to provide that to him. 

While Zoro confided in you that his injuries truly ached, you offered to be by his side in his hammock to give him some pressure and warmth from your body to his. It was in the 'name of healing', you informed him, 'no funny business'.

As the ship waded through a particularly large swell, the hammock shook you from your thoughts and had you look up to notice Zoro had risen from his soft slumber. He was looking at your face through furrowed brows, attempting to get a read on your thoughts with an elevated brow. 

“Something on your mind, Counsellor?” he smirked, the corner of his lips ticking up as he looked down at you on your position on his chest. You anchor your chin over his heart, watching as he winces under your face. Noticing his soft wince, you mutter out a soft “sorry,” and readjust your position to not hit any of his injuries. 

Gazing up into his eyes, you look at him through narrowed eyelids and fluttering lashes. 

“Just thinking about how we all got here, is all, Swordsman,” you murmur in response. Zoro’s hazelnut eyes stare down at you, his expression softening as he witnesses your soft confession. He gently reaches his hand down and takes your cheek in the palm of his hand. Running his thumb over the apple of your cheek, his expression softens further. 

“Oh?” he murmured with a soft swell at the end of his question, “Regretting joining us already, hm?”

"Not at all," you laugh through your nose, rolling your eyes at his teasing tone. “You regret begging me to come with you at Syrup-Village?” He huffed a small shocked laugh at your tone, shaking his head slightly at your question.

“Begging?” he scoffed in return, drawing you closer to his face by your chin and jaw, “The way I remember it,” he moved his hand to the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair and smiling softly, “You were the one who said ‘Oh, big, burly swordsman. I need you so badly. Take me in your strong arms and usher me into a life of adventure at sea’.” You scoffed, hitting him on the chest playfully and earning a soft grunt in response to the small smack. 

“I don’t sound like that, and I never said those things,” you scrunch your nose up at him, “You were the one that said: ‘Luffy. You need guidance, and I’m not smart enough to give you the help you desperately need. We need someone way smarter than I could ever dream of being,” that comment had a small chuckle rise in his throat.

You continued to deepen your voice, openly mocking him with joy, “We need to get you a counsellor, and someone I can bare my soul to when I keep watch alone at night. The sea gets so lonely, and I need someone in my arms at all times. I am a sucker for comfort, and I need to cradle something into my stocky, broad chest after I get lost- mmfhph!” 

Zoro cut you off by joining his lips against yours. His lips were chapped and tasted of salt from the sea, and slightly sweet from the hard sake he drank earlier. Your eyes were wide and staring at his fluttering eyelashes. His brow was furrowed in deep concentration as he breathed in a sharp inhale through his nose, his lips parting to deepen the soft oscillation. He groaned at the feeling of you opening yourself up to him, enjoying the soft kiss he was pressing against you.

This was not something you had anticipated on receiving from the swordsman, particularly because you were yet to formally begin anything together. You shared embraces, sure. The odd sparring session, certainly. Using your body to sit on his back while he did pushups, or sit on his feet to hold them steady while he curled his stomach in a flurry of sit-ups, absolutely. But kisses? Not something you expected. 

After breaking the soft kiss, he cradled your chin in his hand and thumbed over your bottom lip affectionately, uttering a simple, “You talk too much,” before scolding you, touching his forehead to yours, “And I don’t sound like that.” 

You shook your head at him, placing your book face down and open on his chest beneath you, rubbing the tip of your nose against his affectionately. 

“That may be true,” you utter softly, “But you don’t deny you said half of those things I said.” He chuckled, removing his forehead from yours and giving it a soft shake. You laughed alongside him, scrunching your nose and looking at the mossy-haired swordsman cradling you in his arms with soft adoration. A flutter ignited in your chest as he pressed a soft kiss against your temple. 

“Get back to your reading, Counsellor,” he murmured, giving you a soft nudge and rolling you off his chest and onto your back beside him. He laced his arm over your side, handing you back your book that was once on his chest, nuzzling into your neck and pressing a soft kiss against your shoulder. “Let me know if you read something interesting enough to bother me with it.” 

Your mind was racing, knowing that he desired to leave the soft kiss at just that for now -  not desiring to dive into a flurry of: ‘what does that mean, what does that make us, how are we going to go about everything as if we didn’t just share a kiss’. You gulped back your racing thoughts and reopened your world discovery novel, choosing to ignore the tingle of his breath igniting your skin with gooseflesh. 

You do as you’re told, enjoying the warmth he was giving to you behind your body within the hammock. As you read further, you found something interesting regarding the metal and make of sword wielders in a distant land on the other side of the world. You turn in his arms, attempting to look at him over your shoulder as you ask him your question.

“Zoro?” you whisper softly, “Zoro, do you know anything about a country called ‘Wano’?” You turn to face him in his arms, noticing the heavy rise and fall of his broad chest before anything else. You gaze up into his face, his brow relaxed and his eyes clamped shut enough to indicate heavy sleep. 

Taking a moment to study his face, you allow yourself the luxury of giving in to the warmth in your face and simmered fluttering in your chest. These past few weeks of getting to know him further, and the soft kiss he placed against your lips and shoulder moments ago, had your mind running away with you. Taking a moment to appreciate his proximity, you realize there was truly nothing that could tear you away from this moment. 

Closing your book shut, you enjoy nuzzling into his chest and you press a soft kiss against the indent of Mihawk’s stab-wound over the swordsman’s heart. Eyes fluttering shut, you are ushered into a soft and blissful slumber within the cage of his body holding yours firmly against it. It does not take long until your breathing synchronizes, your dreams of what's to come on this next adventure a distant thought…

…Until the loud alert of your blonde chef wakes you from your slumber, his voice yelling a booming, “Dinner, moss-head! Get your idiot-ass down here and eat! Also, has anyone seen the Counsellor?” 

[mvrtaiswriting]

Hello, handsome. x Trafalgar D. Law ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :

(part 2)

hullo! as anticipated, here's the law piece I've been working on the past few days. i love every word - it all started as pure brain rot and ended up in.. this. i hope this will make up for my absence!

warnings: nsfw is implied but nothing more! spoiler free.

feel free to reblog, like, and leave a comment. i would very much appreciate it. if you enjoy my works, click here to read more or buy me a coffee.

It all started with an innocent invitation to Law's office a few weeks ago, to discuss the next steps of the alliance between the straw hats and the heart pirates and better define you mode of attack. Now you were in his ship, carefully hidden in the depth of the sea, making a mess on Law's desk.

His usually meticulously tidy paperwork was now everywhere - on the floor, under you. Some of it even got ripped but neither of you cared; you couldn't keep your hands to yourselves. The sexual tension was stronger than your survival instincts, and meetings to organise a war ended up with Law being inside you, making you his.

Casual meetings became a daily routine, and daily routines became midnight talkings. Both of your crews won't see you for days, whilst the two of you were simply tangled together in his bed or on the floor of his studio. Before you could even realise it, your little runaways for a quickie became hours spent together, cuddling each other and sharing your deepest thoughts.

Law was getting used to see you walk around his ship, wearing nothing but one of his shirt - everything about it felt just right. He often wondered why would you ever join the straw hat pirates; you didn't belong there. He was crazy about you, to the point where he was willing to try everything to make you stay - even if that mean being as reckless as your captain. Maybe, Law thought, if he could show you he could be a better leader, you would give up Luffy and his stupid dream and just sail the sea with him instead.

Wrapping his arm around you, Law made you brought you closer to him, letting your back rest against his bare chest. Snuggling his head between your neck and shoulders, he started leaving gentle kisses all around the area, the beard on his chin lightly tickling you.

"Hello handsome." you giggled, turning around to face him but still remaining in his arms. Dragging the blankets over both of you, you rested your head on his chest.

"Hello." he replied, a soft smile forming on his face.

It had been three days since the two of you hid in the ship. Staying under the sea somehow dilated time, with little to no light coming out from the little portholes. But he knew you eventually had to go back to the surface and come up with a good excuse for your absence. For now, however, he just wanted to savour this moment. He loved holding you in his arms, the way your bare skin touching his almost felt like a like an electric shock being directly sent through every nerve in his body.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, gently caressing your shoulders, letting his rough hands travel on your body.

"Like a baby." you reply proudly, kissing his chest and enjoying his soft attentions. The only thing Law managed to do in response was holding you tighter to him, striving for more closure. He wanted to feel you under his skin, so that he would have never had to let you go. Maybe the coziness of the ship could make you stay for longer.

When the two of you finally rejoined the crews, you noticed how every one looked at you suspiciously. Your little white lies and your undercover missions in the city weren't holding up as they used to.

"You know, maybe we should stop disappearing for a while." you suggested at one point, while the rest of the crew was asleep. You and Law were the only ones awake, strangely being on guard's shifts at the same time.

Law didn't say a word, lifting his head up to take a better look at the night sky. He was hoping to find an answer hidden amongst the stars, something that would give him enough courage to just spit it all out; how he felt towards you, what he thought about your stupid captain. Truth was, the stars never replied to Law's pleas - and so he kept silent. Your suggestion felt like a thousand dagger planted exactly in the middle of his heart, which now ached at every single beat. Was this really the end? Were your little rendezvouses nothing more than just that?

After your suggestion that night, Law's attitude completely changed. He was grumpier and more silent than usual, not reacting to Luffy's reckless decisions or dumb suggestions. He became almost passive, letting life just happen to him. Hiding in his mental palace, Law was really just trying to cope with his broken heart. Experiencing something similar to withdrawal symptoms, he wasn't able to function properly - something in his system broke and it was obvious to everyone. You kept him sane and shed a new light upon life; he felt alive again after a long time. Most importantly, Law felt loved - for the very first time after years of lonesome and darkness.

You never meant to cut him off of your life - his complete detachment was not what you wanted or meant. Flashbacks of the intimate moments you shared on his ship flashed before your eyes during the day, never failing to make you visibly blush and zone out - sadness insinuating under your skin moments later, every fibre of your body suffering from Law's absence. And you couldn't bear it anymore.

This situation was tearing both of you apart, and it quickly became visible to everyone. Everybody knew you and Law had something going on, and seeing both of you so heartbroken just confirmed everyone's doubts.

It wasn't until a few weeks after that things changed.

A very tired, worn out Law finally made a move. Joining you at dinner after the first times in weeks, he sat in the dining room with you and the rest of the crews. Sitting in front of each other was the first interaction the two of you had in weeks. Kicking your leg under the table to catch your attention, he finally looked at you after what felt like an entire lifetime.

"Can we talk?" he asked quietly, knowing his comrades were making enough noise to cover his voice up. Your eyes lighted up for a second, and you simply nodded in response before getting up and putting your plate in the sink. Excusing yourself, you walked out of the kitchen and reached what used to be your usual place - a small spot under the oak tree right outside your hideout.

Law was quick to join you, letting himself fall on the grass and finally sitting next to you once again, remaining silent. The sole sensation of having you near made Law's heart skip a beat.

"I missed you." you said, finally breaking the silence.

"I missed you too." he was quick to reply, biting his bottom lip. He slowly turned his head towards you, scanning his eyes all over your face. His eye bags were darker and his face looked more sunken than usual.

"This was never what I meant." you said, your voice shaking as feelings of guilt wrapping your heart as a barbed wire. "I hate this. I only wanted to make it less obvious to the others - instead, you completely shut me out of your life." you added, talking a little faster than before.

Law remained silent whilst he visibly clenched his jaw, only nodding in response. He needed to digest your words, his feelings and the whole situation, really. Maybe he brought the pain upon himself with his usual self sabotaging ways, ending up hurting you too.

"Law." you called him, resting your hand on his shoulder. His silence was killing you, and it weighted heavier than any word he could have said. "Please talk to me." you almost begged, your voice shaking as the lump in your throat became harder to ignore.

He sighed in response, before pulling you closer to him - he couldn't resist it anymore. Letting your head rest on his chest, he wrapped his arms around you, making you disappear in his embrace. Kissing the top of your head, he kept holding you tight as if he was afraid you could easily slip away from his arms at any moment. His heart beat fast against his ribcage as he finally felt alive again - as if he had held his breath until this very moment; as if you just brought him back to life.

"I'm sorry." was all he managed to say. Not because he couldn't come up with anything better - his mind was flooded with things he wished he had said to you before getting the both of you into this stupid, senseless, cold war. He kissed your forehead again, then the tip of your nose before peppering your cheeks with gentle kisses. God only knew how much he had longed for you.

A cheeky smile appeared on your lips before latching your arms around his neck, finally pressing your lips onto his into what quickly became an heated, sloppy kiss. You were both starving, needy to finally let your bodies become one once again, melting the passion and lust away.

"Should we.." he whimpered, excitement building up in his body as he tried to catch his breath. All it took was a nod from you, and before you could realise it you were finally in his bedroom, in his ship.

Maybe you could get used to become an heart pirate, after all..

[katareyoudrilling]

Construction Corner (AU Joel Miller x Female Reader) Episode 3: The Moreno Family

Fandom: The Last of Us/Pedro Pascal

Pairing: TV Host Joel Miller x divorced Female Reader

Summary: Joel and Reader go on a date!

Word count: 2.2k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: Alternate Universe, cameos galore, inaccuracies about tv show production, filming, and construction, f masturbation, heavy petting (I guess?)

A/N: Extreme weather and a resulting internet outage kept me from posting this earlier today, but it gave me time to make sure that it’s just how I want.  I hope you enjoy!  Reader is divorced and in her late 30s but is otherwise a blank slate.  Big thank you to @wheresarizona​ and @just-here-for-the-moment​ for the help!

Comments and reblogs very much appreciated!

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Just a little more…

You like that?

So good for me…

Let me hear you…

You wake up with a gasp, sweaty and tangled in your sheets, the heel of your right hand pressed against your center.  You are on the verge of coming from the hottest, filthiest sex dream you’ve ever had… starring one Joel Miller.  You debate what to do about the throbbing between your legs.  Take care of it or hope it goes away?  Your hips grind against your hand of their own accord, your body apparently deciding for you.

Relaxing your legs, you begin circling your clit.  It doesn’t take long until you’re throwing your head back as your pussy pulses around nothing.

“What the fuck?” you pant, lying limp on the bed after.  Joel’s confession seems to have flipped a switch inside you.  It has been an interesting couple of days, to say the least.  A part of you that has lain dormant for a long time has suddenly come back to life.

If your body lights up at just the memory of him kissing your hand, what will it do when he kisses your mouth? Or lower?  You whimper into your pillow as heat pools in your belly once again.

He asked you to take your time to make sure you were ready and you’ve been thinking of little else since that conversation.  On paper, it feels fast.  Your divorce is only a few months old.  But, in reality, your marriage was over long before.

You have lived enough life to know you can trust your gut.  You appreciate that he gave you time, but you know what you want.

You glance at your alarm clock.  You’re due on set in an hour, just enough time for a much needed cold shower before you head out.

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

You can hear the voiceover in your head as you watch the B-roll the crew shot last week…

When single dad, Marcus, and his daughter, Missy, aren’t busy with work and school, they love watching movies and cooking dinner together.  Marcus seemingly does it all… but he could use some help on his DIY project.

On the screen, Marcus and Missy throw a frisbee and set the table.  Marcus looks over Missy’s shoulder while she does homework, and she snuggles next to him on the couch.

These two are perfect for Construction Corner.

Their project isn’t a big one – a pretty standard bathroom remodel gone awry – which means the shooting schedule is packed into just two days, with another Austin shoot scheduled for the rest of the week.

Hopefully Marcus is ready for the fan mail that’s about to come his way… there is going to be A LOT of it.  An attractive single dad is HGTV catnip.  God knows Joel gets an astronomical amount.  At first, the network sent it to him, but he quickly asked that they stop.  He just couldn’t handle that much attention.

You wonder what he would think of what you did this morning… waking up to thoughts of him and getting yourself off.  Embarrassment heats your skin, and you fan yourself with your notebook to cool down.  Then another thought occurs to you… what if he liked the idea?  That has you fanning yourself even more.

“Hey, lady!” Your dirty thoughts are interrupted by a friendly voice nearby.

“Marlene! Hi! I didn’t know you were visiting today.”  You wrap your friend up in a big hug.  One of the best parts about shoot days in Austin were that friends often came to set to visit.  Marlene works for the local PBS station that first aired Construction Corner.  Since the show moved to HGTV, you haven’t seen nearly as much of her.

“I thought we would stop by to say hello.” Just then, Marlene’s adopted daughter, Ellie, a precocious 8-year-old, spies Joel near the craft services table.

“Jooooooeeeellll!” She squeals as she runs over to him and leaps into his arms.

“Hello, darlin’,” he laughs as he gives her a hug. “You got a joke for me?”

“Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?” she asks seriously.

“I dunno, why did the monkey fall out of the tree?” he replies, just as seriously.

“Cuz it was dead,” Ellie replies dryly.

“Ellie!” Joel barks out a surprised laugh.  “What’s your mama lettin’ you watch?”  He looks over to Marlene, who smiles and shrugs.  “Want to go look at the tools?”  Ellie nods enthusiastically, and the two of them set off together, but not before Joel looks back at you and winks.

“What was that?” Marlene turns to you in confusion.

“Oh… well…”

“Spill.”

“It’s just that… we might… start seeing each other,” you mumble.

“Lady! That’s great!” She pulls you into another hug.

“You think so?  It’s all very new.”

“Of course, I think so! You deserve the very best, and Joel is one of the best men I know.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.  It’s a little weird, with work and all… but I really want to,” you admit with a whine.

“It’s not like either of you actually works for the other.  Go for it!”

“I think I will,” you smile to yourself.  Joel and Ellie are making their way back to you.  Ellie is chattering excitedly about something while Joel nods along.

“Well, we’d better take off,” Marlene takes Ellie’s hand.  “It was great to see you both!”

After another round of hugs and whispered promises to tell her everything, Marlene and Ellie make their way back to their car, leaving you and Joel standing together for the first time since your hotel room last week.

“Hi,” he ventures, tentatively.

“Hi,” you reply, biting your lip. “I’ve been thinking about what you said last week.”

“Is that right?” the low rasp of his voice sends a swoop of pleasure to your belly.

“I think I’d like to go on that date you offered.”

Joel’s eyes crinkle as he breaks into a slow grin.  “How about tomorrow?  I’ll pick you up at 7.”

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

“What we’re gonna do next is caulk around the new countertop,” Joel explains to Marcus and Missy as you listen over the monitor.  “I’m gonna show you a trick to make sure it’s nice and neat, not like what was in here before.”  Marcus looks sheepish.  “It’s ok, it’s trickier than it looks.  The pros do this all day and make it look easy.  But we’re gonna use tape.”  Joel holds up a roll of blue painter's tape and then starts lining it up carefully on either side of where the caulk line will be.

He hands two rolls of tape to Marcus and Missy and lets them do the rest.  Once they’ve finished, he continues, “You’ll lay your line of caulk, smooth it with your finger, then remove the tape and have a straight and even line. Ready?” Joel hands the caulk gun to Marcus.

Marcus takes it from him solemnly and does as Joel explained.  Joel nods his approval as Marcus pulls off the tape, leaving a perfectly caulked vanity.

“See how nice that looks?  Don’t be a hero.  Use the tape,” Joel says, patting Marcus on the back.

“Hear that, Dad?” Missy interjects.

“I heard him,” Marcus laughs and hip-checks his daughter.  Joel smiles at them proudly, another job complete.

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

You open your door to a very handsome man.

Joel has cleaned up since the shoot this afternoon.  He replaced his worn work jeans with dark, crisp ones that hug his hips.  Instead of a t-shirt, he wears a button-down with the collar open and the sleeves rolled up.  His hair is stylishly mussed.  Knowing him, it probably just does that on its own.

His warm brown eyes skate up your body, “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you reply, shy under his gaze.  You opted for a sundress since the fall evening was still rather warm, the fabric brushing softly over your skin.

Joel reaches for your hand and leads you to his truck, opening the door for you to climb in.  He circles the front and gets in his door as you settle yourself in the seat.

“I made us a reservation at Fonda San Miguel, if that’s alright?”

“Joel, that’s my favorite restaurant!  It sounds wonderful.” You reach over and squeeze his arm.  He smiles happily as he puts the truck into gear.

“Thought I remembered somethin’ like that,” he says casually as he turns out of your parking lot, and your heart squeezes.

Dinner passes in a blur of delicious food and lively conversation.  Fonda San Miguel’s eclectic backdrop is perfect for a relaxed yet special first date.

You and Joel know each other well, so there isn’t the awkwardness of most first dates, but there’s still a lot you don’t know about each other’s histories.

Over bacon wrapped shrimp with jalapeño and cheese, you fill him in on your marriage and divorce, how you’ve realized that you’ve been lonely for a long time.

While digging into Cochinita Pibil, he tells you how he had never dreamed that he would be able to provide a college education for Sarah, how his dreams are so much bigger now, how he wants to do good in the world.

Between bites of a shared Tres Leches Cake, you agree that this feels right and exciting.  Your eyes lock over the table.

On the drive back to your apartment, words begin to fail as anticipation builds between you.

Joel gets out of the truck first and opens your door.  He holds your hand as you lower yourself out of the cab.

You’ve barely touched tonight – only chaste hands over the table – but now your body is just inches away from his, and you sway towards him.  He moves his hand to your waist.

“Can I kiss you?” he rasps with an edge of desperation.

You nod eagerly, and he closes the short distance between you.  His plush lips brush gently against yours – exploring, tasting.  He cradles your jaw in his strong hands as he delves into your mouth, urging you to open for him.  You grasp his hips to hold yourself steady.

The heat of his body warms you through your thin sundress and you can’t get enough.  Your hands roam over his muscled back and down his firm biceps.  His mouth on yours is warm… soft… insistent.  After an eternity, and far too soon, he breaks the kiss.

“Would you like to come inside for a drink?” you blurt out and he nods at you with heavy-lidded eyes.

You lead him into your apartment and into the tiny kitchen.  The door has barely closed behind him when he spins you up against the counter and dives back into your mouth.  His hands roam more freely this time, digging into your hip bones and sliding up your ribs, nudging at the swell of your breasts.

You press into his front and are rewarded with the hard line of his erection against your stomach.  You moan and grind into him even more.

“You’re gonna kill me with the sounds you make, sweetheart,” Joel growls, nipping at your neck, hands moving lower over your ass.  With a hand under each thigh, he hoists you up onto the counter.  Your knees frame his slim hips.  You pull him towards you with your heels, craving friction against your center.

His hands dip under the hem of your skirt.  They skate up your bare thighs until his thumbs brush the edge of your underwear – calloused fingertips on silky skin.

“Please, Joel,” you beg between wet, desperate kisses.  He complies and slips his thumb under, cursing raggedly when he finds your slippery folds.

You rock your hips into his hand as he kisses down your neck and across your collarbone all the while circling your clit.  You come undone with a gasp of his name and slump against his chest.

Joel holds you firmly against him as he drags his mouth across your temple, your forehead, and finally back to your lips for slow, languid kisses as your breathing evens out.

“I should go,” he rumbles against your mouth.

“But… no... what about you?” you look up at him in hazy confusion.

“I’ll be ok,” he assures you before dragging his thumb down your cheek and pulling at your lower lip.  “It’s getting late… and I want to take my time with you.”  A shiver runs up your spine at the promise in his words.

“Don’t go, please,” you whisper, looking up at him.

“Sweetheart, I know, I’m sorry,” he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his strong arms around you, “but we have to be on set so early tomorrow.  We don’t have time tonight for what I have planned for you.”  He pulls back and lifts your chin to look you in the eye.  “I promise, I’ll make it worth the wait.”

You whimper and his eyes flash with want.  But he’s a patient man – a man who does things the right way – so, he helps you down from the counter and kisses you deeply at the door one last time before heading out into the night.

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

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A/N: for anyone not familiar, this episode’s cameo is from the movie “We Can Be Heroes”

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[grimmmviewing]

S1E22: “Woman in Black”—C+ (Watched 7/26/24)

Odd as it might be, I’ve always had this vague fascination with synopses of TV episodes, especially finales—something about the way they reduce so many minutes to several lines of bullet-point-worthy moments and particularly the special energy of the final moment of a given episode. The “worthiness” of it, in a sense.

Reduced to a summary like that, I think “Woman in Black” has exactly the vibe you want in a season finale for a show like Grimm. With regard to my weird interest, it has a satisfying amount of action and a number of callbacks to previous episodes, and it ends on an appropriately climactic revelation—that the titular Woman we’ve been seeing throughout the episode is actually Nick’s mother that he/we thought was dead. (In retrospect, I knew she wasn’t dead but had just forgotten over the years.)

The assumed dead parent actually being alive isn’t just a fine-enough reveal that any show could have ended on, though. It also works well for Grimm specifically as a bookend to a season that began with family as a focus, with Nick losing his aunt Marie, the closest thing to a parent he thought he had. To end with the (re)introduction of his mother makes a lot of narrative and/or “artistic” sense. I was hoping that they’d re-use “Sweet Dreams” as well to circle back to the start of the season, but I suspected that wouldn’t actually happen. What is here is definitely… fine, engaging enough for what it is.

The big downside of an episode as stuffed as this one is, though, is that there’s not much to chew on, in stark contrast with the previous few episodes. Maybe that actually qualifies as justification of a sort—“Big Feet” can be a bit more interesting and creative and thoughtful, while the finale goes hard on action and pure, straightforward dramatic beats, which include a somewhat extensive brawl at the end between Nick and the last of the “Three Coins in a Fuchsbau” crew involved in the deaths of his family. I thought it was much better than the Nick-Adalind fight in “Love Sick,” though Nick’s vague Grimm abilities that I guess let him tangle with a trained fighter like this Akira Kimura remain a point of frustration for me. I’m not a Power Level-obsessed person, but exactly what Nick is capable of (or, more critically, what his limit is) is something that could have been more clearly established. I’m going to argue that that sort of definition and growth is part of the appeal of a show like this, though obviously there’s no predefined suite of “powers” for people to anticipate like there was in something like Smallville. I still appreciated the sustained melee action, however.

At the beginning, “Woman in Black” looks like it’s going to focus hard on the Akira Kimura angle, but there’s a big detour in the middle involving Juliette that may derail the pace of things. The obvious fairytale reference is tied to this plot, where Adalind (a witch) arranges for a bespelled cat to scratch Juliette (a beauty) at work, which eventually puts her into a coma (sleep). It’s incredibly slight in terms of an adaptation, I think, but the personal stuff with Juliette is still great since her relationship with Nick is a favorite part of the series for me. It’s just that I also felt like it pumped the brakes on the energy from the other conflict and that it could have been better paired with a more mundane case of the week so that it could more smoothly “steal” the spotlight.

From a craft perspective, I can definitely appreciate the “have your cake and eat it too” approach that the writers took here: Obviously, Nick telling Juliette about his Grimm work is a big, juicy chunk of drama the audience would love to feast on, but by having Juliette fall into a magical sleep during the attempted explanation, that lets them indulge the drama but also essentially punt on truly resolving things. Between seasons, they could (if they didn’t already know) decide if they wanted her to remember any of this or if they wanted to draw out the tension of her not knowing for longer.

A fair number of the callbacks I mentioned before are tied to this thread, as Nick takes Juliette to the trailer (and then to Monroe’s) to try to show her the truth and convince her that she needs to be worried about the cat scratch. This attempt is… bad, but I think intentionally so. As I mentioned before, I like Nick and Juliette as a couple. Their teamwork is a highlight of the episodes where it actually happens (see “The Thing With Feathers,” especially). I thought Nick would handle this better based on the precedent of their usual interactions. I’m going to just paste in a little chunk of my notes for “Woman in Black” below, as it shows the strength of my feeling about this major element of the episode from right as I was watching things unfold:

“You want the truth, you’re going to get it.” < Nick to J during their arg about Adalind and why Nick’s so suspicious of her and insistent about J getting her cat scratch seen by a doctor. Like, this ain’t good boyfriend! Vague! Threatening! Bad Nick!

Of course, the writers know this, and that’s why Nick’s desperate rant in the trailer comes off like what it is (a desperate rant from an increasingly sweaty-looking guy). It wouldn’t make sense for Juliette to not be scared! After doing this reflection, I added a “+” to the episode score solely because of this sequence and how thoroughly it got under my skin. The fact that I didn’t like it was probably the goal, and I simultaneously expected Nick/his writers to handle this moment better when it came while also wondering how you would “realistically” pull this off. I may have actually told Nick (to the screen) to focus on the fur Juliette found in “Big Feet,” which had her wondering about this stuff on her own. Maybe if he had led with that instead of all but throwing books and morning stars and terms like “Verrat” at her…

I wasn’t pleased with how he put Monroe on the spot about revealing himself to Juliette to make her believe either! It feels like the possible nadir of the more transactional side of their relationship, where Nick only spends time with or talks to Monroe about what amounts to work. I couldn’t say exactly if my opinion of “Woman in Black” would be better or worse if it had somehow ended on the Juliette plot rather than with the mother reveal. Although, to be fair, the coma stuff is also a good fit for a season finale.

[jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets]

Love Beyond the Black - CH 4

Fandom: Ateez Rating: Mature Pairing: Jung Wooyoung/Choi San, with a little bit of Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa sprinkled in AO3 Masterlist

Summary: Wooyoung is the son of a merchant sailor for the King, one of his best. He is coming of age to prepare to take his fathers place as the captain, and so his father takes him on his first sail. After nearly facing death in a raging storm at sea, Wooyoung and his father make port at their destination. Not long after their arrival Wooyoung finds a boy washed up on sea, still alive, and the most gorgeous thing he has ever laid his eyes on. He is instantly entranced by him, taken by this boy with no memory of where he came from or why he had been washed up on shore. Wooyoung couldn't have cared any less about the unanswered questions, but how will he feel when he finds out the boy he has so very quickly fallen in love with turns out to be one of the most revered pirates to have ever sailed the seas?

*** MY WORK IS NOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER SITE WITHOUT MY EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION. THOUGH REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE SUPER LOVED AND APPRECIATED! THANKS FAM!***

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter four

     The ship was still in need of repairs, but Wooyoung couldn't have cared any less. He was certainly in no rush to get back out to sea, and things had honestly been quite good lately. They’d been stuck in Nero for over a week, and where normally Wooyoung would be dying to get home, he didn't care if they never left.

     Over the last week, he'd spent almost all of it with San. There wasn't much they could do down at the docks while the ship was being repaired, so they spent their time walking through the town or laying in the fields beyond the kingdom walls. Sometimes they merely stayed in their room all day and laid side by side, San’s hand on Wooyoung’s hip while Wooyoung ran his hands down San’s face and chest and arms. It was perfection, bliss, and Wooyoung never wanted it to end. 

     Today was one of their stay in bed days. They had woken tangled in each other's arms and legs, and for the sixth night in a row Wooyoung had woken from a full night's sleep, not a single plaguing nightmare. The day had passed while they laid there together, talking and wasting the day away. 

     Wooyoung had gotten up in the late evening, and made his way down to the kitchen to gather some food for himself and San. On his way back he passed his father’s room. The door was slightly open and voices were coming from inside. One he knew was his fathers and the second sounded like his new chief mate. He stopped to listen, curious as to if they were speaking about the state of the ship and if they would be forced to leave soon. 

     From the crack of the door he could see his father leaned back in a chair, his feet crossed in front of him while he spoke. "The ship should be ready any day now, so ensure the crew is ready to leave at a moment's notice. As soon as the ship is ready I would like to return home, we've been far too long away."

     "Yes sir," the new chief mate answered, "and what of this boy Wooyoung found washed up along shore? Have you decided what to do with him? I assume his memories have still yet to return?"

     His father was silent for a moment, Wooyoung could see him scratching his fingers over his chin in thought. Then he leaned forward and planted both feet firmly on the ground before he answered, "I shall take him with me, as I promised. He has been a good friend to Wooyoung during our time here and has kept very close to him, seems to want to protect him."

     "As he should. Your boy saved his life."

     His father smiled and then leaned back again. "How can I deny him when he treats Wooyoung the way he does? So he will come home with us, live with us, and should his memory return and it so happens that he has a family waiting on him somewhere else, then we will return him to them. Until then he is welcomed with us."

     "Wooyoung will be happy then," the chief mate smiled, "good thing the boy didn't turn out to be the pirate you feared he could have been."

     Before Wooyoung's father had a chance to respond, Wooyoung was through the door without having realized his feet had moved of their own accord. "A pirate?" He was shocked, his eyebrows were practically in his hair. "You thought San was a pirate?"

     "Wooyoung! Have I not told you about listening at doors!?" His father scolded him, but then his expression softened and he turned to fully face his son. "I know San is not a pirate. He is far too gentle a man to be anything like those monsters. He bears no scars or tattoos like any other pirate would, brands of the life they live. But it was a thought I had to entertain, especially since he is so close to you. That storm could have wrecked any ship, even that of the greatest pirates who sail the seas. But not to worry, Wooyoung, I trust him with your life. I have seen the way he takes care of you, no longer do I worry about a pirate slumbering within him."

     "Good," Wooyoung nodded, "and he can still come with us."

     "Yes," his father answered, smiling at his son as he did, "San will be staying with us. I promised to take care of him, and I intend to keep it. So both of you make sure to be ready to set sail as soon as the ship is ready. Pack your things and make sure San has everything he needs for the journey, anything else he doesn't have we will get for him when we return home."

     Wooyoung said nothing more and ran off down the hall. He burst into his shared room with San and found the man lounging on the bed, waiting for him to return. He placed the plate of food he'd grabbed from the kitchen on the bedside table and all but jumped on top of San.

     He laughed and grabbed Wooyoung in his lap, lifted and turned him so he was straddling him with Wooyoung hands wrapped around his neck. "What's gotten you so excited?"

     "I overheard my father speaking with one of the crew." San watched him curiously and waited for him to continue, while his hands rubbed idle circles on his hips where they rested. "He said that the ship will be ready any day now and we'll be returning home soon! And of course, as promised, you'll be coming with us!"

     San smiled and pulled Wooyoung against him for a tight embrace. "I owe you and your father everything. You for saving my life and your father for taking me in, despite my memories still not returning."

     "Speaking of that." Wooyoung pulled back and moved off his lap to sit beside San. “I Also overheard my father talking about how he was worried when I first found you, that you could have been a pirate who washed off a ship during that storm."

     Wooyoung laughed, but San’s face scrunched and his lips pulled into a frown. "What if he's right?"

     "San, he's not," Wooyoung said, placing a hand on his cheek, "like he said, you're far too kind and gentle to ever be a pirate. It's not possible."

     San thought about it for a moment, and once again tried to regain some kind of memory that could help him figure things out, but there was nothing. Just a continuous empty void. "But there's a chance… I don't remember anything, so maybe-"

     "San," Wooyoung turned his head back to face him, staring him down intently while he spoke slowly, "you are not a pirate, and I don't believe that you could ever be one. The San I have come to know, even over this short of time, is not capable of the devilishly cruel life of a pirate."

     He watched Wooyoung for a moment, saw the truth and sincerity glistening in his eyes as he stared back, and smiled. "Yeah, you're right. I could never be so ruthless or merciless."

     "Good," Wooyoung answered, then turned and grabbed the plate of food and passed it to San, "now eat, and then we have to make sure we are packed and ready to go as soon as the ship’s ready. Then we can lay in bed all night and relax."

     "Sounds perfect."

~~~~~~~~~~~

     "What are you reading?"

     Wooyoung placed a finger in the book and closed it as he turned to look at San and showed him the title. "It's called Everlasting."

     "What's it about?" San asked and scooted closer to him on the bed.

     "It's a romance," he answered, then ran a hand gently down the book as he continued, "it's about a wealthy woman in England who falls for a poor servant boy who works in her family's stables. She loves him so much, but it's expected of her to marry according to her status, so a poor stable worker is not good enough for her, especially in the eyes of her father. So they try to run away together, but they get caught and the boy gets thrown in a cell and sentenced to death."

     "Why?!"

     Wooyoung chuckled at his enthusiasm, and answered, "Because the girl's father accused him of kidnapping his daughter. And because he had such a high status, his word was taken over the poor boys and he was given the sentence."

     "What else? Does she save him? Do they get to be together?!" He had practically crawled into Wooyung’s lap, begging for answers.

     "Unfortunately no," he answered, giving San a small smile when his lips turned downward, "not in life anyway." San gave him a quizzical look that Wooyoung found extremely cute, so he continued. "She is forced to watch his execution and it destroys her. Then her father forces her into a marriage she doesn't want with some high class brat who she hates. All the while the only thing she can think of is her lost love. In the end, because she just can never forget him or the love they shared while he was alive, she kills herself while laying on his grave to be with him. So they meet again in the afterlife and it turns out he'd been waiting there for her the whole time, and they finally get to be happy together in the end. It's a sad ending, but kind of happy I guess. I've read it before, but it's honestly one of my favourites. You can read it when I'm finished if you want."

     San frowned and shook his head. "I can't read." It was Wooyoung's turn to look confused. "I don't know if it's because of the memory loss, or maybe I was just never taught, but I can't read. I tried to read some over your shoulder earlier, but I couldn't."

     "I could teach you," Wooyoung offered with a smile, happy to do so.

     San thought it over then shook his head and said. "Or you could just read it to me. I'd rather just sit and listen to your voice anyway."

     Wooyoung beamed and maybe even blushed a little, though he didn't try to hide it. Instead he just sat further back against the headrest, stretched his legs out, and patted them for San to lay down. He settled in right away, laying on his back with his legs hanging over the bed, staring up at Wooyoung as he turned the book back to page one and began to read.

     "Elizabeth was a quiet girl." His hand instantly found its way to San’s hair, playing with it idly while he read and San purred at the touch. "A good girl. She made no fuss and caused no grief. Did everything she was told and always with the sweetest smile. She was loved by all she came across, admired by many more, and cherished as her fathers only daughter. Elizabeth was a good girl, until she met Edward."

     "The poor stable boy!" San gasped, and wrapped a hand into the front of Wooyoung's shirt.

     He laughed and ran his hand through San’s hair again. "Yes, he's the stable boy." The he turned back to the book. "Edward's father had worked for Elizabeth’s family for years, and upon his retirement, Edward took up his place in her family's stables. What was supposed to be a simple job for him, turned out to be a change in his life he would have never expected."

~~~~~~~~~~~

     The next two days found Wooyoung and San never leaving the bed. San was so fixated on the book, on the story of Elizabeth and Edward and their growing love, that all he wanted to do from sunrise until sunset was listen to Wooyoung reading. Sometimes San would even snuggle close to his side and hold a candle near the pages, just so they could continue into the night. Wooyoung didn't mind one bit.

     By the second evening they were over the halfway mark and just getting to some of the good parts, one of them being one of the more passionate scenes that was Wooyoung’s favourite. He had a feeling San was going to enjoy it as well, if his love for the previous romantic scenes in the book was any indication.

     "It was this night,” Wooyoung read, “this chilled autumn night, with a star-covered sky and the sounds of owls and crickets playing the symphony of their love, that Elizabeth and Edward decided to become one. 

     She was nervous, excited, her entire body thrumming with nerves. After dinner that night with her parents, she retired to her room and immediately ran to her window to throw it open. Edward had said he would light a torch in the barn window when the other stable hands had left, when it was safe for them to be together for the night without the risk of being caught.

     She waited there, perched on her window for what seemed like hours before the torch finally bathed the barn window in a bright orange. Finally their time had come.

     Elizabeth climbed over the window sill and out into the cool night air. She ran across the yard to where the barn was and quietly snuck inside. Her nerves made themselves known again, twisting her stomach in all kinds of knots, but she pushed them aside and walked further into the barn.

     Edward was there, as promised, waiting for her. He had set up the loft with a blanket, some old torn pillows, and surrounded it in lit candles, all ready for their night of romance. 

     Edward held out his hand to her, led her up the stairs and into the loft. Without a single word said between them he helped her down to the blanket, laid her back and settled himself between her legs…" Wooyoung paused for just a moment, long enough to look down at San where he was laying in his lap. He was on his side with his arms wrapped around Wooyoung's waist and his head turned so he could look up at him. His eyes were wide, the anticipation in them was clear. Wooyoung was right, he had known San would like this part of the book just as much as he did. 

     Wooyoung quickly snapped the book shut and placed it on the bedside table out of San’s reach. "I think that's probably enough for tonight, we can read more tomorrow."

     "What?!" He shook his head and jolted up, staring at Wooyoung in disbelief. "We can't stop there! You have to keep reading."

     He reached over Wooyoung and tried to grab the book, but he grabbed his hand and stopped him. "I think it's a perfect place to stop," he smirked, knowing this would get San going, "and it's already dark, it's getting hard to see the pages in the candle light."

     "But I need to know what happens!" Wooyoung simply laughed at him. Then San sat up fully, twisting so that he was straddling Wooyoung's lap. "You could just tell me then, so I'm not left wondering. Tell me what happens."

     Wooyoung smiled at him and settled his hands on his chest, rubbing gentle circles as he spoke. "Elisabeth and Edward get to have the night they were hoping for. They spend the night together, making passionate love until the sun rises the next morning, and then she leaves him with a kiss and the promise of more nights spent in bliss."

     San sighed, as if the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders. "Good," he said, "but I need to know more! I need to know how their night went, and if they realize how much they love each other," then added with a coy tone and a sly smirk, "I guess that, during their night of passion, there would have been lots of kissing, a lot more than just one simple goodnight kiss."

     "I would think so," Wooyoung agreed, matching his sudden seductive sway.

     "And they probably get really close, just like this." He leaned in to Wooyoung, touched their noses together, felt the breath catch in his throat.

     "Yeah," he nodded, his breathing picking up.

     "And then…" San moved in all the way, closing the gap and placing a gentle kiss on Wooyoung's lips. It was simple, merely a press of lips on lips, nothing more. But it was the most exhilarating thing either of them had ever felt, a spark that lit their nerves on fire.

     When they parted they kept close, their lips ghosting as they lingered in each other's space. "Have…" Wooyoung started, still breathless, "Have you ever kissed anyone before?"

     "I can't remember," San shook his head, nudging his nose against Wooyoung’s as he did, making him laugh, "but if I had I think I would have remembered, especially if it felt like that."

     "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

     San just smiled and leaned in again for another kiss, intending this time to take more from Wooyoung and give him even more in return. 

     Wooyoung jolted up to meet him, eager, needing San to devour him, craving his touch already.

     The halls outside erupted into sudden chaos, and both boys pulled back and turned to face the door, frozen. They could hear screaming, people running through the halls. It sounded like people were falling, banging into walls and knocking things over. It made Wooyoung's skin tingle and his hair stand up on edge. He clutched to San’s shirt as the commotion continued on endlessly, and his breathing picked up for an entirely different reason.

     The door to their room burst open and San jolted from the bed, placing himself between Wooyoung and whatever was coming through the door.

     "Boys!" It was Wooyoung's father. His face was white and panicked, there was sweat gathered on his brow. "We have to leave now!"

     "Father, what's going on?"

     He ran into the room and grabbed the two bags Wooyoung had packed for him and San, and slung them over his shoulder before he turned back and uttered one single word that left their blood running ice cold. "Pirates."

~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I know it's been a while, but things got a little crazy around here for a while, but I am back with another chapter for you! I hope you like it, things are starting to get a bit more heated between San and Wooyoung... XD

[banditcoyote]

Wrangled and Tangled

Sasuga stood by the sink washing the last of the dishes from tonights meal. She smiled softly to herself as her tail flicked behind her, happy about the sets of cups and plates she had picked out, feeling domesticated and settled looking over the two sets of dishes her and her lover had shared, something about them in the drying rack felt almost romantic to her. But maybe it was just the way the sunset was showing so pink and purple over the water that was making her feel that way, the cool summer breeze blowing in from the open Lanai. She hummed to herself a little as she dried her hand and reached for the first plate, ready to dry them herself, when the dish cloth was plucked out of her hands swiftly.

“Let me take care of that.” Simon said perching himself onto the counter and starting to dry one of their plates.

“All the left overs put away?” she asked leaning against the counters and bringing her wine to her lips.

“Most of them.” he said with a nod. “Except for the second helping I couldn’t resist, which is now residing in my stomach.”  

She laughed lightly, brushing her hair back behind her ear “Well I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She said with a nod, moving to cozy up to him just a little bit, her eyes full of warmth, and maybe a bit of mischief. “Maybe we can enjoy some other things when you’re done putting those dishes away.” She said with a curl to her lips.

Simon returned the smile and took a moment to lean down to kiss her easily, drawing back with a little hum. “I can think of some things for sure.” He added. “But before we get too distracted.” He placed the clean plate down on the counter and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small ring box and placing it on the counter next to her hand. “Happy Anniversary.”

Sasuga froze at the sight of the small velvet box and her large eyes went wide, slowly looking up into Simon’s face, searching for the meaning.

Simon at once realizing what she might have thought smiled and blushed. “I know we’ve talked about it, but this is just a promise ring.”  Sasuga let go of the breath she was holding with some relief. He picked the box up and opened it. “See?” inside was a thing gold band with a small rose quartz crystal cut into the shape of a heart that side horizontal to the finger. He reached for her left hand and slid it on to her ring finger kissing it into place. “I love you Sasuga, I know that this might not be perfect, but I wanted you to know how much you mean to me.” Sasuga looked to the ring on her finger, feeling tears pull at the corner of her eyes. He hopped down from the counter “Oh no….is it too much? I know we said we weren’t going to do anything, that dinner was enough but-“

She shook her head “Don’t be stupid.” She said choking back her emotions. “I love it. I love you….Thank you.” She looked at the ring again before reaching up to tug on one of his horns pulling him down into a kiss. “Forget the dishes….come on.” She said, her tail already snaking up around his waist to guide him toward their bedroom.

Coyote woke up with a start, staring up into the dark ceiling above him. He contemplated for a moment what that dream could have meant, and his jaw tightened in his face. Did Sasuga sleep with Simon while he was away, it was the only rule he had given. Or maybe that had made the whole thing more enticing for the two of them. Still, why would Sasuga end up with Simon, he had the feeling he was absent, that house not looking familiar to him in the slightest. He closed his eyes again, almost willing it to come back to him, but some of the finer details were already fading from his memory, and all he remembered was the way the pair looked longingly at each other before they kissed. He gave a little growl and pushed himself up quickly to throw on some jeans and a shirt.

“Coyote?” Shishi asked lifting his head from where he was curled up on one of the pillows. “Where are you going?” he asked rubbing one of his eyes sleepily.

“I’m heading back to the Makai” he told Shishi as he pulled his shirt down over his torso.

The imp eyed the view appreciatively before his senses snapped back to him. “Should I be worried?” he asked knowing of Coyote’s sometimes prophetic dreams, and he wondered if he had some type of vision of Sasuga’s fights. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Coyote shook his head. “No. No. It’s nothing like that it’s….” only he wasn’t entirely sure he could begin to really understand it himself. He shook his head “Sasuga’s fine. I just need to see her. I only had that one other show at the end of the week anyway, stay here, I’ll go tell Russell to pack everything up and head on home. You’ll be fine finding a flight right? I mean, stay the night, don’t leave on my account.”

Shishi laughed “Oh it was that kind of dream was it?” he grinned. “Okay, Well, tell her I said hello and get back safely.” He said as he yawned and laid back down to sleep. “I’m sure Kurama and Gatlin will be happy to have me home, if they haven’t torn each other apart yet…”

Coyote slapped on his cowboy hat and grabbed a jacket though he felt his skin burning. “And you remember what we said about this right?” he asked as he headed toward the door.

“My lips are sealed.” Shishi murmured. “Not a word to anyone”

“Especially to Sasuga.” He confirmed hand on the door.

“Especially Sasuga.” Shishi promised “She’d probably be more upset with me than you anyway” and waved him off.

Coyote found himself easily at his ring manager’s trailer, pounding on the door. He felt bad to be waking Russell up like this but he knew he couldn’t just disappear in the middle of the night and leave Shishi to explain for  him, things looked weird enough having him around. Russell answered the door, looking as if he was still blinking back sleep. “Coyote, everything alright?” he asked looking around.

“No…Um no, there was a fire back at the ranch.” He said lying on his feet. Thinking easily of the fire at Thom’s he could use as a cover even if the time line wouldn’t match up. He figured it would never get back to Russell anyways. The manager looked concerned. “It’s nothing big, a small one thank god, no one hurt, but I really should get out there, I know we only have the exhibit at the end of the week so I was just going to head home now. Would that be too much of a pain for ya’ll to handle?”

Russell cleared the sleep from his eyes with his hand “Yeah, yeah I can handle it no problem. Take care, hope it’s as small as you say.” He said and headed back to his bed.

Coyote made one more stop, saying farewell to Poncho in his trailer, before he headed towards the nearest portal in the woods, which was still pretty far, and Coyote had to be careful no one saw him as he slipped into the woods and transformed, having to sprint as fast as he could to reach the portal before daylight. He was glad he had the foresight to try and keep his motorcycle as close to him as possible, as the only other way he could have gotten there was to fly back home and then race to her, and he wasn’t sure he could stand being on a plane the way he was feeling.  All cooped up without being able to run or move, or do anything. It would have been torture, not like the past few weeks hadn’t been. The time away from Sasuga had been harder than he’d like to admit, and he already knew he would never plan on being away from her like this again. All the time away from her he had felt like pulling his skin off. He had helped Thom around her house before he left, and at the rodeo he did more of the manual work than anyone really wanted him to. He ran Poncho as often as he felt he could without causing the poor animal too much strain, and then would run laps as fast as he could as long as he could well into the night. But it was never enough, the women that tried to greet him as soon as he stepped out of the rodeo corral still enticed him to the point he had to nearly run back to his RV. All that hair, perfume, and how the hell where they making such good bras now adays? Though he was sure that some of breasts out there weren’t only held up by a bra but maybe some type of surgery, that didn’t sway him away any. Then the fact that in some of the more populous areas there were actual demon women in the crowds, and those he really had to avoid. He was sure they’d sense something about him, and he was doing his best to be incognito. Luckily his prior years of fooling around with plenty of the women at these things rarely had any of his crew spotting him being social, so now that he was hiding out on his own it went unnoticed. Coyote tried to run himself ragged, exercise, the rodeo, his variety of plants and a few sex toys paired unironically with the body pillow he had snuck on board, none of it had done the exact trick. Which had then led him to call Shishi. It had been a long shot, but it didn’t take much convincing getting him to come out to see him in secret, even if he was a bit miffed at having to mostly stay hidden at the events. Coyote let him have the pass into where the wives or girlfriend’s normally sat, and he posed in his refinery during the events when it fancied him. It had helped tire him out, but he still hadn’t been getting enoug

He thought he could remain out here for the full month, and they had gotten so close, it was almost silly to run now. But after the dream with her and Simon he just couldn’t deny the ache he felt for his mate any longer and he had to find his way back to her. Dawn was just about to break as he reached the portal and he wasted no time heading through it and heading towards where he had hidden his bike. He felt like a dog that had gotten a scent, and he wasn’t going to rest until he got to her. **** Four days later still hours from dawn, Coyote stashed the bike behind the hotel, barely taking care to hide it, and stumbled into the lobby. He had all the faith in the world that Sasuga was still in the tournament, and held the most hope that meant she was still in the hotel room that he had the key stashed for. He limped into the lobby where the clerk paled at the site of him. “Sir….” He said rushing around the desk and towards him. “Do you need a medic?” he asked looking him over.

Coyote didn’t waste the energy to speak to him and only shook his head as he stumbled forward before catching his balance again. He knew what he looked like, but wasn’t stopped as it was clear the clerk in his pristine uniform was afraid to touch him at all.

“Is there someone I can call?” he said walking along side him as Coyote shuffled to the elevator, bracing himself against the lobby wall and causing a smear of blood to press into the wall paper.

Coyote considered it for a moment, but shook his head again. If Sasuga was still in the tournament this late in the game there was a chance she was injured as well, and he wanted her to save her strength for fighting. He’d be okay. He just needed a shower, some stitches, and her.

The clerk did not follow him into the elevator, being the main hotel for the tournament he was surely not the only injured guest they received, and he retreated back to their desk, probably to call for maintenance to clean up whatever other mess Coyote had left behind him. He leaned against the wall as it started it’s ascension toward the upper floors, again leaving a smear of dirt and blood where his shoulder braced himself. A few droplets of blood dripping from somewhere onto the floor. It seemed to take forever for the elevator to reach it’s destination, the doors pausing once as a couple was about to get on, but after seeing him let him go on without a question. Coyote almost passed out, unsure if it was from blood loss or exhaustion, but the dinging and wooshing of the doors riled him, and he staggered out into the hallway. Knowing he was so close to Sasuga spurred him on, and he was relieved to find that the card key still worked. He let himself into the hotel room, finding it dark and quiet and he did his best to move with stealth into the bathroom. He passed the bed and spotted Sasuga sleeping peacefully by herself, he was grateful for this because with the rage that was still somewhat in his veins if he had found Simon with her he might have taken a regrettable action. In that moment iat took everything in him to not simply cover her with himself, though with how dirty he was he knew it would only concern her more. There was blood in his mouth and under his fingernails, matting his hair down and sticking to his hat. Better to clean himself up first, and he shut the bathroom door behind him before turning on the light.

He did his best not to look at himself in the mirror, but finding it a necessity to assess some of the damage. If he had made it this far like this it couldn’t have been too bad. Still he was in rough shape. Not only was his face cut, bruised, and swollen, but he had also lost enough weight that he appeared gaunt under the torn and dirty clothes he wore. He slowly undressed, assessing each wound, fresh bruises forming on top of old ones, some cuts that were still bleeding every time he moved, gashes that would no doubt need to be closed up. He hissed as some of the clothing stuck to him where blood had dried, let his effects fall to the floor, his gun empty and tucked back in his holster, and stepped into the shower letting the water strike at his feet until it was warm enough to step into. He braced himself against the wall, letting it flow over his hair and down his back, feeling the sense of relief start to fill him as well. He had made it, he was close to resting, and he was close to his mate, that was all he could ask for right now.

[merakiui]

A Leaf Swept up in an Autumnal Breeze

yandere!kaedehara kazuha x (gender neutral) reader art credit - Tourou_7 on twt cw: yandere, unhealthy/obsessive behaviors, slight nsfw implications/thoughts, alcohol consumption, intoxication, spoilers for kazuha’s character story + inazuma lore note - i decided to write something short for kazuha as i analyze what we know so far of his character. hopefully the characterization isn’t too off! please enjoy nonetheless! orz

The moonlight casts its thin rays upon the calm, motionless sea. In the distance, fish surface and their movements are captured in the ripples that expand in the water, a minor blip in the otherwise tranquil atmosphere of the dark night. As if a god has taken a brush to the sky, utilizing its inky vastness as a canvas, the stars have been drawn in small specks—winking down at those who sleep underneath a blanket of natural light.

And you are caught up in the glorious shimmer, grinning widely as Beidou wraps her arm around you, pulling you against her as if the two of you have known each other for years. In reality, it’s only been a few months since you were discovered on her ship: a hidden stowaway with your Vision clutched in your hands and raw resolve etched into your body in the form of bruises and old scars. You’re a fighter and yet you also ran from something. Kazuha can’t quite tell what it is you’ve escaped. Whether it’s another person, a group of people, or even an entire nation, he’s certain it’s worthy of the risks that come with fleeing.

Your Vision shines brightly, a stark contrast to the dark color scheme of your clothes. He tries to place a nation to your outfit and comes up empty, his thoughts returning to Inazuma as though it’s the only place he can think of. And he supposes that’s true. The situation in Inazuma has clouded his mind with its strange fog, taking up residence in the nooks and crannies of his brain. Though he can dwell upon the past and the mistakes that led up to the downfall of a precious friend, he knows there is no use for such somber reflections during a happy celebration. Life moves on, as the common saying goes, and he cannot allow himself to remain trapped in the past.

During moments such as these, where he relives the horrible memory in vivid detail, you are a sweet balm that soothes the sting of loss. Even when you’re struggling to stand, face hot from the intoxication of good drinks in even better company, you’re a wondrous presence who chases away his doubts and worries.

Unknowingly, you cast a temporary shroud over those matters and he’s put at ease the minute you extend your arm in his direction.

“Kazuha! Come over here. Let’s dance!”

A hiccup interrupts your jovial giggle and Beidou chuckles before throwing her head back to drink what’s left in her flask. The aura of her ship is beyond lively. Men and women alike celebrate another successful week with drinks, harrowing tales of past heroes, and broken ballads sang in drunken tones. He can’t help the smile that sprouts on his lips. You’re such an outgoing person, always wanting to include him in your daily activities. And though he politely declines whenever you offer him alcohol, he has wondered what the appeal could possibly be.

Perhaps it’s the idea of losing your sensibility for one night, ignoring all reason for the sake of spending pleasurable moments in the confines of a warm bed, wrapped snugly in a lover’s embrace. Such instances are lost to intoxicating pleasure—buried under a hazy recollection come morning. But you haven’t done that sort of thing. Kazuha would know. He listens in while you’re relaxing—while you’re bathing and going about life on the ship without a care in the world—and his head runs wild with all sorts of fantasies. Fantasies he never would have imagined had he not met you.

To think you were just a mere stowaway, a trespasser who had snuck onto the ship and hid in the darkest corner, obscured by crates and chests. And he had pulled those crates aside in search of a few ingredients and his eyes met yours and you held your finger to your lips—a silent urge to keep quiet—and his heart skipped a beat.

It was a special meeting between two, which will remain locked away in his heart for all of eternity. A memory he regards with warm fondness. After much negotiation and a disarming conversation, you were soon welcomed with open arms as Beidou practically offered you to join her crew. You had nowhere else to go—no one else to see or protect—and so you agreed. And Kazuha felt a relief he hasn’t felt in a while, the sort of emotion that stems from almost losing something important.

The pure relief that comes and goes once he realizes you’re a missing piece in the puzzle of his life.

“You’ll trip,” he warns, pushing off from the side of the ship and walking over to you and Beidou. “It wouldn’t be wise to dance in your inebriated state. Surely you’re aware of this, no?”

“I can hold my alcohol.” Your wavering glare doesn’t reach him. “Don’t... Don’t think otherwise or else I’ll—ah!”

The majority of Beidou’s weight burdens your shoulders and you nearly almost crumble.

“You—“ she searches for a means to steady herself— “worry too much,” the captain adds, nodding in agreement to an unspoken statement. “It’ll be okay! Live a little while you’re still young.”

Kazuha sighs and easily slips between the two of you, hooking his arm around Beidou’s waist as he guides her to a barrel. The scent of alcohol kisses the air, clinging to your clothes and breath like an oversaturated perfume. Once she’s sat down, now fully determined to get the last few drops from out of the flask, the rōnin turns to you. He’s caught by surprise when your hands grasp his, your eager expression stabbing his heart with a dozen pins. He’s rooted to the floorboards, unable to look away when your face is dangerously close to his.

“You heard the captain,” you tease in a slurred voice. “Live a little.”

And he does. Or he thinks he does. Having traveled with Beidou, this is the current life he’s come to know and appreciate. But is it truly living if he feels unfulfilled in the process? To find a means for bringing back the familiar glow in a lonely Vision. To secure peace of mind and put his rowdy thoughts to rest. To one day return to the nation he was forced to flee, with you in tow. Are all of these things necessary in order to fill the gaping void in his damaged heart? Kazuha wonders if you also came from Inazuma. Perhaps you wouldn’t be so surprised to see the scenery if he were to take you there. Not now, of course. Sometime in the future, if such a future holds a changed Inazuma.

“I’m going to warn you now,” he mumbles, his fingers ghosting over your waist, “I’m not what one would call a dancer of skillful grace.”

“I don’t think that’s true, dear Kazuha.”

He blinks once and then releases a short laugh at the endearing term. “If you say so.”

“Enough talk.” You huff and pull him into your chest and he feels as though he could stay locked in this position for millennia. “Dance with me before...” A stilted pause as you nearly forget your sentence. “Before I turn in for the night. That’s it.”

Or before you get sick, he thinks, not so cheerful about the inevitable mess. But he’ll tolerate it because you’ve tolerated him. You never pry into his past, nor do you force him to answer personal questions regarding Inazuma and the Raiden Shogun. If you ever notice the way he lingers near your quarters, you don’t say a word. And if you hear his subdued moans as his hand moves in time with a picturesque fantasy of your nude form pressed against his, you keep your mouth shut. You are everything he could ever want and like the very ideal the Raiden Shogun wishes to uphold he wants to pursue an eternity with you.

Your movements are far from the precision you normally have when moving about the ship and it’s a very odd dance. Yet you spin him and he follows your unusual lead like an animal with tunnel vision. For a taut moment, the background noise melts away into obscurity and the two of you are the only people in existence. He stares at your face the entire time, ignoring the way your sandals crush his feet or the instances where he unintentionally returns the gesture. It’s certainly an awkward sort of waltz, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

And in this moment where no one else matters, he sees your radiance in the glow of the moon. You truly are worthy of the sun and the stars beyond and should you verbalize an outlandish wish of that nature he has no choice but to follow through.

Like a leaf swept up in an autumnal breeze, reminiscent of a ronin who lacks a place in the world, Kazuha allows himself to be carried on by the winds that rustle the sails and tangle through your hair, painting you in a backdrop that’s heaven handcrafted by the pickiest god. And where you have your wits, a lively Vision, and your confidence, he only has his blade, a dull Vision, and an inkling of hope. But that’s really all he requires.

[tangledbea]

Tangled Crew Appreciation Week: Props to the Props Designers!

Rapunzel’s frying pan, Cassandra’s swords, Eugene’s satchel, Varian’s alchemy equipment; none of this would exist without the prop designers. Their work is in literally every scene. They bring the characters to life by giving them an environment to interact with.

Tangled: the Series has three prop designers: David Lee, who I met at D23 Expo (and let me tell you, the look on his face when I gushed about his work on the show made everything worth it. You could tell that he doesn’t get recognition for his job well done very often), Eunji Lee Roess, and @taranicoledessine (Tara Whitaker), who provided the picture above, and is responsible for Rapunzel’s in-series art style. (Other than the art that @claireonacloud (Claire Keane) provided, such as the mural on her wall.)

So, give it up for the people who add the flavor text to the series! The show wouldn’t be nearly as interesting without you guys! Thanks so much for all your great work!

[enruiinas]

She had a point there. Even in the early days of the alliance, when Nami had been one of the only few among the rival crew to question his motives and the surgeon would have denied any chance of them ever having a late night conversation together (let alone any of the things that would come after), it had been difficult not to appreciate the navigator in all her natural beauty. 

Hiding it had been easy enough, though - at least until it wasn’t. Until weeks of quiet fondness had begun to shift into something else Law managed to ignore, right up to the moment he’d pinned her between his body and a wall. He’d tried harder than ever after that to pretend there was nothing between them but the alliance. Convinced himself that that was for the best, because their alliance was only temporary and they were busy and Law would not allow himself to do something as silly as missing her when those late night moments between them came to an end. He would not. 

And yet he had. He’d missed all of it - from waiting for the quiet sounds of her approaching footfalls when she couldn’t sleep to every little thing he’d pretended he hadn’t cared to discover that night. The sounds she’d made as he sought to take her mind off of everything else. The rise and fall of her chest against his when they’d lain tangled and spent together afterward. The taste of each breathless kiss he’d tried to sleep off with his injuries. 

That same taste he arched into now, neck craning to follow every move as Nami all but crawled atop him in a bid for control. Whether it was out of deference for being in her room or awe of the enticing image she made, Law could not say - but he didn’t resist her efforts. Perhaps he was too focused on his own exploration of her body, he thought, sparing a single moment to shrug his shirt off before his hands slipped underneath hers, bunching the fabric up with every centimeter his fingers traveled upward along her slender frame. Taking the time to appreciate every dip and curve in his path until fingertips grazed the bare swell of her breasts. His note of approval was a soft growl against her lips. 

❝True,❞ Law broke the kiss long enough to hum in agreement, giving her breasts a gentle squeeze before he nudged the garment up for her to dispose of. ❝Personally, though, I think you look the best in nothing,❞

[goingmorry]

The Art of Domesticity [Trafalgar Law x Fem! Reader]

Synopsis: On a whim, Law decides to indulge you with a hot bath. Feeling lethargic despite your nap, you are more than delighted to take him up on his offer.

Tags: domestic fluff, sexually suggestive themes, male and female nudity, established relationship

Word Count: 2,161

In the depths of the Grand Line, deadly sea creatures swim idly by, patiently waiting for the next unsuspecting shipwrecked pirate to serve as their next meal.

Not long after, an unknown object of immeasurable speed barrels across the ocean floor, whirring past the mess of Sea Kings. Intent on chomping down on the foreign entity, the creatures join together in pursuit.

A yellow submarine, adorned with a Jolly Roger resembling a smiley face and inscribed with the words "DEATH,"  shakes beneath the water pressure.

The Polar Tang, home to the notorious Heart Pirates, aggressively reverberates in response to the Sea Kings' pursuit, mimicking the chaos inside the ship.

Meanwhile, in the control room, Captain Trafalgar Law stands at attention, face impassive as he calmly assesses the situation. In contrast to the rest of the crew's panicked behavior, Law had complete confidence in his crew's ability to make it out of this predicament unharmed. Right on cue, Law watches as his navigator, Vice-Captain Bepo, expertly maneuvers the ship away from dubious underwater beasts and excess debris. Under Bepo's supervision, Shachi and Penguin carefully operate the numerous controls to keep the sub afloat. In the engine room, Ikkaku and Jean Bart attend to the ship's generators, air compressors, and fuel pumps, ensuring their pristine condition during the onslaught.

After weeks of being submerged, the Polar Tang steadily heads to the surface. And with every second that passes, the distance between the pirates and the monsters increases until the vessel can no longer be seen by their pursuers. Sure enough, having lost sight of their target, it became apparent to the Sea Kings that they were no match for the submarine's speed. Where the ship once was, only faint bubble traces remain.

Unbeknownst to the pirate crew, loud rumbling sounds vibrate across the sea bed, the Sea Kings' roars echoing across the deep oceans, scaring away small fishes that dare to come close.

"We've lost sight of them, Captain," Bepo exclaims, swiveling his chair in Law's direction.

"So it seems," Law says, grabbing the nearby Den Den Mushi to announce their successful escape to the entire crew.

Almost immediately, Penguin and Shachi cheer in conjunction with the rest of the crew's boisterous laughter. To celebrate their victory, the Polar Tang resurfaces, providing an opportunity for the crew to receive some much-needed sunlight.

The turbulent atmosphere moments ago can no longer be found, replaced by a serene calmness. In celebration, the Heart Pirates gather in the upper deck, engaging themselves in various recreational activities. The perfect time to disappear for a bit, Law thinks.

Voicing these thoughts, Law directly addresses Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin. "I'll be in my room."

Shachi nudges Penguin, suggestively wiggling their eyebrows at each other. Bepo curiously looks at the duo, sneaking glances at his captain, while Law scowls at their childishness.

"Don't worry, Captain! We'll make sure no one bothers you two!" Penguin blurts out, earning a swift elbow to his ribs.

"You idiot! Be more discreet next time!" Shachi angrily whispers in Penguin's ear, looking around to see if anyone was eavesdropping on their conversation, before continuing, "They're still in the honeymoon phase."

"More like hornymoon phase," Penguin huffs, causing both of them to break out in uncontrollable giggles. Bepo lets out an innocent smile.

Choosing not to respond since nothing he could say could convince Shachi and Penguin otherwise, Law hurries to his quarters, leaving the two to their incessant bickering.

- - - - - - - - - -

Standing in front of his bedroom,  Law raises his hand to give two light raps to the door. He frowns at the lack of response, turning the door handle to reveal your upper body sprawled on his desk. He pauses for a moment before walking over to your slumped form. Upon closer inspection, you were sleeping soundlessly, seemingly unaware of earlier's events. Your head was nestled atop your forearms, an expression of serenity overcoming your features. Sheets of paper and various writing instruments were strewn across the corner of the desk, haphazardly pushed aside to accommodate your slumbering figure.

Law lifts his tattooed hand, gently brushing the stray hair that had fallen on your face. He runs his fingers across your unruly hair, noticing several tangled knots that had formed. Despite your less-than-ideal appearance, however, you never looked more beautiful in his eyes.

Deciding to let you sleep for a moment longer, Law saunters over to the bathroom, intent on running a bath for himself and you, should you choose to wake up in time to join him.

The sound of the water steadily splashing as it fills the tub is enough to rouse you.

Your eyes flutter open, turning around in search of the source of the noise before landing on the ajar door leading to the bathroom. A familiar lanky figure - sporting his signature leopard jeans - crouches over the tub. You couldn't see the top half of his body, but you were pretty sure he was monitoring the tub's water level. Not long after, you hear the sound of the faucet turning, and the water stops. Law stands up, walking over to lean against the doorframe. His golden eyes meet yours in amusement, mouth turning upward in a slight smirk.

"Mmm... Did something happen?" you mumble, voice raspy from your nap. You stretch your arms over your head, groaning in satisfaction before leaning back against the headrest of the chair. Despite the needed rest, you didn't feel as refreshed as you'd hoped. You felt so exhausted, your lips dry and your mouth parched.

Law must have noticed your tiredness in your appearance and voice. He reacts almost immediately, enveloping you in a familiar blue film. "Room," he says in that low tone you've come to love before a mug of water appears on the desk in front of you. You blink at him in surprise, humming appreciatively.

"I... Thanks," you say, gripping the mug between your hands before taking generous gulps. He can be so thoughtful when he wants to be, you think, unable to hide the smile gracing your lips as you do so.

He returns your hidden smile with a smile of his own. "Nothing important," he vaguely adds.

You look at him in confusion before realizing his was response was to your previous question. You nod in acknowledgment, deciding not to pry, before setting the now empty mug aside.

Law walks over to his side of the bed, pulling his cap off to set it down on the nightstand, keeping it relatively safe and away from tonight's activities.

"I ran you a bath. Get in it."

He glances at you before striding over to the bathroom. You cock an eyebrow at his retreating figure.

Before you have the chance to retort, he pulls his shirt over his head, throwing it over to the laundry basket. The sight of his muscled backside, inked with his jolly roger, makes the words die in your throat.

Before you can stop yourself, your tongue peeks out from the corner of your mouth to moisten your chapped lips. Your thirst was for an entirely different reason now.

"Don't keep me waiting." As if seemingly aware of his effect on you, Law disappears behind the door, the sound of clothes rustling reach your ears, no doubt the sound of the remainder of his clothes being shed. You can hear the amusement dripping in his honeyed tone, can picture the full-blown smirk evident on his face.

You reflexively gulp, feeling your body flush in response to his invitation. You've seen Law naked plenty of times by now, you reassure yourself. Have become well-acquainted with each other's bodies. Know firsthand how the heart tattoo inked on his chest ripples under your teasing touch as your hands trail down his chiseled abs. How the sweat glistens his toned skin and how his usually impassive face contorts in pleasure as he thrusts into-

You shake your head to keep the dirty thoughts at bay.

We're just having a nice relaxing bath together, you think, not entirely convincing yourself.

Following his lead, you stroll over to the laundry basket, stripping yourself of your clothing to join Law in the bath. Your head peeks out from the corner of the open bathroom door while the rest of your naked body remains in the bedroom, away from his prying eyes, your nervous gesture making it appear as though you were an innocent virgin.

Adorable, he thinks.

You look at each other expectantly, your eyes admiring his perfectly relaxed posture. His jet-black hair was in disarray, poking out in all directions, evidence of his combing through them in a careless fashion. His arms were stretched to the sides, slim fingers gripping the edges of the tub. His naked upper body was in full display; the dark ink of his tattoos was a stark contrast to the white bubbles that formed on the surface of the water, obscuring the lower half of his body.

You clear your throat, eyes returning to meet his golden ones that were alight with apparent amusement. "Sorry to intrude."

Law chuckles, the sound of his baritone voice echoing across the bathroom walls, only for your ears to hear. When you take a step forward and close the door behind you, his eyes drop to your naked form, shamelessly admiring your breasts and derrière.

"You look like you're enjoying yourself," you say indignantly, pausing right in front of the tub, his brazen admiration of your nudity quickly restoring your confidence.

"I am," he says without hesitation, golden hues darkening with desire at your bold gesture.

Leaning over the tub, you bring your face close to his, lips a breath away from touching. For a moment, you pull back to admire his rugged handsomeness, fingers ghosting over his goatee to his cheek before settling on the back of his neck. Lightly tugging his hair, you pull him in for a chaste kiss, your free hand grasping the edge of the tub for balance. Law has other plans, however, as he reciprocates by licking the bottom of your lips for permission to dive into the wet expanse of your mouth. You let him, of course, moaning at the feel of his demanding tongue as it fights against yours for control.

His hand snakes across the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of hair and tugging, mirroring your previous actions, while his other hand firmly kneads your breast. You groan against his mouth at the display of dominance in his rough handling of your body, loving how depraved he can be when aroused by you.

After what seems like an eternity, his hands gently encircle your waist, coaxing your body to join him into the warm pool of the tub. You oblige, breaking off the kiss to positioning yourself in between his legs, facing toward him. You sigh in contentment at the feel of the bubbled water and the warmth emanating from his bare body. Making an executive decision not to escalate further should both of you decide to forego the bath in favor of more risque activities, you avoid the softness of his lips. Instead, your mouth latches onto his neck, leaving trailing kisses to his jaw before stopping to rest your head at the crook of his shoulder. In response, Law sighs in defeat, hands rubbing reassuring circles against your back. The heated passion of your earlier kiss was replaced with soothing affection.

"Will you wash my hair?" you ask, voice slightly muffled against his skin.

Law looks down at your head nuzzled against him, eyes softening at your vulnerable state. "Honestly, you're hopeless without me," he says before nudging you over to turn around.

You do as your told, adjusting yourself into a comfortable position. His hands reach over the side of the tub for your shampoo, squeezing a sizable portion onto his hands, lathering it up into a foam. His hands weave into your hair, softly massaging the shampoo into your scalp in circular motions, careful to avoid your ears.

You can't help the wide grin that stretches across your face, thankful that your lover can't see your smile from the way you're positioned away from him. Trafalgar Law - a notoriously fearsome pirate, Captain of the Heart Pirates, and a former Warlord of the Sea - is the perfect picture of a doting boyfriend as he methodically applies shampoo onto his girlfriend's head, eyebrows furrowing in deep concentration.

"I love you," you say as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

His hands still for a moment before resuming their ministrations. And though you've said it plenty of times before, he can't help the wild beating of his fragile heart in response to your sincere declaration.

While words fail him, actions don't. Law pulls you into a comforting hug, wrapping his strong arms around your shoulders as you lean back against his defined chest, blissful in each other's embrace.

- - - - - - - - - -

Please like and reblog if you enjoyed my writing! I'd love to hear feedback. 💖

[boldlyvoid]

ain't it fun? | part two

Part Two

summary: reader just needs an NA meeting before they have a meltdown, they end up with the best friend they could ever make.

warnings: falling in love, fluff, hurt/comfort, implied/referenced smut, non-descriptive

a/n: so glad you liked part 1 I couldn't help myself from continuing

word count: 3k

from the beginning

She’s laying in his bed, one of his friends showed up early and she’s pretending she’s not there. But his friend brought breakfast and it smells good and she’s starving.

After crewing the hell out of her lip and 5 minutes of hyping herself up; she gets up off the bed, still in her sweater and shorts from their movie night, and she slowly opens the bedroom door, peaking out to see if Spencer was in view.

“Hello?” A friendly man spots her, standing as he makes his way to shake her hand. “I’m Derek.”

“Y/N,” she smiles.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he smiles back. “What’s going on here?” He gestures to her and then back to Spencer as he exits the kitchen and sees her.

“We watched star trek all night, if you don’t believe me I can make him recount it to you from memory?” Y/N replies, smirking like she knows him just as well as his friend.

“And how might you know Spencer?” Derek teases right back.

“He’s my best friend in the whole world,” she replies like it’s nothing, “and I live across the hall.”

Derek shoots a look at Spencer that’s almost proud, almost emotional, like a mom who heard she’s going to be a grandma, “Is that true?”

Spencer blushes, “she’s my best friend.”

“Tell me how this all happened!” Derek is more than excited, sitting down on the couch with a wide grin as he waits to hear more.

“Um, we met in the hall, we have the same interests and now we watch movies together and have sleepovers with candy and popcorn, like we’re 13-year-old girls? I’ve even braided his hair,” she avoids the real reason why they met. Unsure if Spencer has told anyone about his drug problem or not.

���And now I’m going to go finish sleeping in my own bed,” she makes awkward finger guns at the door accompanied by her most awkward smile and she’s off.

Spencer follows her out into the hall, closing the door and looking at her apologetically; “I’m sorry, I won’t tell him anything more about us if you don’t want me to?”

“Us?” She questions? “You tell me you love me a lot, but you’ve never told me who you want me to be to you… I want you to think about that and then come and see me later.”

“Can I have a kiss? It helps me think better,” he whispers as he leans in.

She rolls her eyes, playfully, leaning in as well until their lips meet. It’s soft and sweet and she wishes there could be more, but for now she has to go.

Once she’s inside, she leans against the door of her apartment and listens to see when he goes back inside. Only what she hears is even better, “Derek, I’m going to have to ask you to leave so I can go ask her to be my girlfriend.”

He shoos the man from his apartment, avoiding all his questions and convincing him to finally leave by saying, “you’ve been telling me for months that I need to get over it, and now you’re going to stand here and stop me from telling her I love her, again?”

“Again?”

“Derek!”

“Fine.”

And then he’s knocking on her door, “who is it?” She teases.

“Y/N, open the door, please?” He begs without a single regret behind his tone.

She opens it slowly, “yes?”

He tilts his head with a look that screams; ‘come on?’

But she looks back at him as if to say; ‘what about it?'

“Are you really going to make me say it?”

“The first step in getting help is admitting you have a problem.”

He laughs at the absurdity, “you’re kidding?”

“Spencer, even though you’re a pain in my ass; would you like to be my boyfriend? I’m asking because the words make it real, and I would like you to really know how I feel, thanks for coming,” she extends her arm into the apartment, gesturing for him to walk in and he does so with a laugh.

“I would love to be your boyfriend,” he responds once the door is closed. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I didn’t want this to be real?”

She can tell he’s not sure why he’s apologizing, “I need confirmation. I can’t sleep in your bed almost every night for a month, and just have to guess if I’m allowed to call you my boyfriend when my mom calls and asks why I won't text her back at night.”

“Oh,” he looks upset. “I thought that by telling you that I love you that it would work, but I understand. I really would like to be your boyfriend and be yours for however long you’ll have me.”

Her heart melts in her chest, he's so nervous and shy because he truly means it. His heart is in her hands now, “how long are you available?”

“Forever.”

“I have more questions,” she whispers as she moves closer, pressing their bodies together as she holds his sides and he holds her shoulders.

“Okay.”

“What did you mean out there, and also sorry for listening, but I’d like to know…”

“It’s okay,” his words are soft. “I’m um, a virgin?”

“Oh?” Her eyes shoot wide open, “I was expecting like an ex who broke your heart?”

“Oh no, I’ve never… I don’t... no,” he shakes his head profusely. “I’m not in a rush either, I just wanted him to leave me alone. That’s not what I’m in here for.”

She smiles, “I am too…” she whispers, “I’m really glad you are too, actually.”

“You’ve thought about it?”

“Think, big brain, go back to right before I closed my door that first night…” she teases him before making a fake VHS tape rewind sound that always makes him laugh.

“You wanted to leave the group because you can’t sleep with members while you’re healing,” he smirks at his recollection, “I mean, other than the general attraction, have you thought about the possibility of that happening for us one day?”

She nods again, “one day, I’m cool just making out with you for now, actually. But yes. I would like for you to be my first because I trust you the most out of every single person I’ve ever met.”

He looks like his heart is exploding as his grip on her shoulders tightens, “I would like for you to be mine too, eventually.”

“Eventually,” she repeats with a small smile, leaning in for another small kiss.

“Derek left without his breakfast, and he didn't even get a chance to touch it yet…” Spencer whispers against her lips.

She laughs through her nose, kissing him once more before pulling away, “come on, boyfriend.”

—

She’s been in Quantico for 5 months, 3 of which she’s now spent with Spencer.

She’s laying beside him as they watch star trek and her mind is off in space. She can’t focus on anything other than the thought of her rent coming due and how she’s probably going to have to decide if she wants to leave after her 6-month lease is up.

“Spence,” she whispers, “do you know any other cheap apartment buildings in the area?”

“Why?”

She turns to face him, the yellows, reds and blues flash across the screen and illuminate him lightly, “I don’t have enough money to keep living here, and I don’t want to move back in with my parents.”

“Would you like to move in with me?” He asks carefully, “don’t feel pressured to say yes, it’s just I’m never really here and I don’t want you to leave.”

She smiles at the offer, “If I move in I have to tell the disability people, and then my disability money will change because you make so much and they still believe that men own women when they get together, like some what's yours is mine, shit.”

“Really?”

She nods, “yeah. They'll want to know how much you make every month when I get my statement and then they decide what I deserve because if you’re making money, clearly I’m taken care of, right?”

He can hear her sarcasm and he knows it's just to mask the hurt, and she can tell by the way his whole face changes.

“Wrong,” Spencer is oddly defensive. “That is so wrong, there are so many women in this country trapped with terrible men who abuse them. They never see a single dime of the money that comes in, and if they have children they are lucky to receive money for groceries. I’ve seen all of it first hand, it’s horrific, and yet they still think they can take care of disabled women who are in more need of money than anyone else?”

“I love you.”

“What?” He stops, breathing, blinking, everything. He just stares at her as he comprehends it.

She hasn’t said it back yet.

“I love you.” She repeats it and smiles, tears welling in her eyes as she appreciates how much he really does care; how much he really gets it.

“Lie, tell them you’re back with your parents. It’s not like they check-up and then just stay here. Move your things in and make this your place too, do whatever you want to it, it deserves to be lived in.”

“You’re really serious?” She’s not sure why she’s so surprised, he’s been saying he loves her every single day for the last 2 months and 3 weeks.

She’s loved him the whole time, but she’s afraid of that at the same time because once she loves him out loud, then she loves him for real and that’s scary. He has a scary job and he’s never home and if she loves him then she has to deal with that and the fact he might not come home one day.

He nods gently, “I know you need a lot of space for your art supplies so move whatever you need to to make room. I think you’re magnificent, and I don’t think that you should feel held back, I'll do anything to help you with your little craft store.”

A tear slips past her eye and towards the pillow, she blinks as she smiles, unable to speak as she just appreciates his kindness, “I think when whatever is out there made your soul, they were like 'this one; he’s special, we’re only making one of him and he’s going to go through some shit, but it’s because someone else is too and they need each other.'”

Spencer’s smile grows, large and toothy as he moves in closer to hold her. Noses pressed together, they’re hugging basically now, arms wrapped around each other and legs tangled as they enjoy the moment. It’s so nice, there’s nothing left to say.

They’re content with each other.

—

She moves what she needs into Spencer’s apartment the next week, he’s out of town and it’s easier this way with him out of the way.

It’s easier to miss him in here though, everything smells like him and feels like him, and his personality is on every single wall. She wants him to come home so badly, living without him for random bouts of time was the worst part of their relationship.

The rest of her things are in boxes in her apartment, waiting by the door for when Spencer comes back. He offered to put everything in his old Volvo Amazon and meet her parents for the weekend and her mother was through the roof over it.

She has called 4 times in the last week to ask about all Spencer’s favourite meals, what he likes for breakfast most mornings and if he had any allergies. She’s cleaned the “guest” room, which was really just where she slept before, and she was very clear that he was allowed to sleep with her as long as no funny business happened.

That was the funny part.

They still weren’t doing it and she was fine with that, so was he. Neither of them was ready, emotionally nor physically. They’ve both been through some terrible things that make it very hard for them to want to share yet.

She loves him more this way, while the sex would probably be amazing and she knew they were both getting off anyway and they weren’t secretive about it, at all. They just didn’t do it together yet… and she was starting to want to.

The most they’ve done is the occasional mutual masturbation session and that was just when they were too lazy to do it when they were alone, earlier in the day, and just needed to in order to finally sleep. It was always quick, quicker than when she would do it alone because he was just so cute like that.

She found herself getting off to thoughts of him more than anything else the longer and longer they shared more and got to know each other.

Because while, yes, they live together and they’re dating; they’re still really just best friends and roommates. They don’t see each other as often as they want to, they have separate friend groups, she has meetings on the other side of town now and they’ve never even been on a date.

For how fast they looked to be moving to anyone who knew them, they were going extremely slow behind the scenes. The reality is, they were following the rules of addiction recovery more than the rules of society.

She wasn’t really ready to take on the emotional commitment of having sex with someone when she wasn’t really over her trauma. It went far deeper than just her addiction, there was more Spencer had no idea about and she wanted to make sure he knew everything before he met her parents.

So like always, they got into bed as soon as he returned and they had a cuddle conversation. It was soothing to not only feel the other person close, but they both stimmed by running their hands over something soft. He knew something was up as soon as he walked in the door and she asked for a cuddle before even saying hello.

He didn’t, however, expect the long-winded backstory of her childhood to be the issue. He was silent the whole time she explained, he cried with her as his cheek rested on her forehead and her tears fell onto his shirt below her face.

Learning his past was just as hard.

She cant imagine how no one could love him, no one took him in and offered him shelter and love and warmth. He deserved kindness and family. He was worth the world and then some to her, and it hurt so deeply to think of no one showing that to him. He’s spent the last 25 years just searching aimlessly for a single iota of respect.

No wonder he fell in love with her so easily.

—

The first time is terribly awkward but incredibly euphoric… and they cry after. Not from sadness or regret; no, they’re so in love and so happy with their choices, it’s more of an overwhelming overflowing of emotions that was bound to erupt along with them.

“This has to be the most vulnerable time in the entire world if you really think about it,” Spencer justifies why he’s crying as he starts to get anxious about being too much. “I mean we’ve already seen each other naked and know each other outside… we might as well share what's going on inside too.”

She nods against his sweaty chest, “I used to be really upset that my doctors put me on Dilaudid. I still hate that all this happened to us, but I’m really glad we don’t have to be alone anymore.”

“Me too,” he whispers.

It gets easier the more they do it. It’s still always hilariously awkward, they were so stupidly in love it translated into every moment; like when they attempted shower sex and knocked the curtain down and got water everywhere. Or the time they attempted a quickie in the bar bathroom and his boss walked in, and they had to try not to laugh or move or do anything as they made the most awkward, silent, eye contact ever, in the corner of the stall.

Being horny and awkward was the worst combination but they made it work pretty well.

He was tender and loving and he listened to instructions well. He was a quick learner, he was happy with whatever she wanted and he always, always, tried to finish last. (He wasn’t that lucky) but he was a truly nice guy.

She loved him more and more as the seconds passed. He was just so wonderful, he had his up and downs but they always had great communication, and he understood her unpredictability from her disabilities. The best part was that he loved her regardless of how she was when she woke up in the morning, and she always went to bed with either a kiss or a text proving he loved her.

Before they knew it, a year had passed and she was laying in his bed while he got ready for work. She loved watching his selection process, his colour coordinated closet and handy-dandy tie organization rack. He was so cute, and he always looked so amazing.

“I don’t want you to go in today,” she whispers with a pout.

He takes his phone off the dresser and calls in then, “yeah, Hotch I’m really not doing well. I don’t know what we ate last night but I— yeah thank you.”

He puts everything back in the closet and crawls right back into bed, he snuggled back in close and she smiled at her job well done. He didn’t need to be at work as often as he was, he had a lot of personal and sick days stored and they were always telling him to use them. He deserved a break for that beautiful brain of his, an 8-hour turnaround between psychopaths wasn’t good for anyone, especially not the 2nd most prized possession of the FBI.

“What do you do during the day when I’m not here?” He asked, genuinely not knowing how she occupied her time outside of his presence.

“I sleep until 11,” she whispers as she snuggles in closer.

He’s warm and cuddly and perfect. Naps in the morning are possibly the best periods of sleep someone can ever experience. It’s so relaxing to reward the body with more time, and it’s even better when it includes the perfect snuggle companion.

Taglist:

@g0lden-cth @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @ssavanessa22 @spookyspence @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria@reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 18

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 7.6k

Abu Dhabi holds a special place in Pierre's heart. The food is great, the views are spectacular, and there is always plenty to do to keep him busy. Night races are some of the more exciting races too and Pierre appreciated the variety.

Coming into the final race of the season, Pierre holds on to seventh in the championship by a few points. Perez sensed the usurper creeping up on his seat and had cranked it up to eleven. 

Exams had kept you in London for the race in Brazil, where Pierre had finished sixth and Checo DNF'd. You had managed to fly out for the weekend in Saudi Arabia, where Perez had finished fifth and closed the gap to Pierre to only four points behind. 

If Pierre didn't finish ahead of Perez this weekend, he was fucked. And he was at the distinct disadvantage of his good luck charm being absent, stuck in London finishing up your final few exams of the semester. Two weeks without seeing you coupled with barely hearing from you had worn on him. It wasn't purposeful on your part but Pierre's stress was already compressed like the suspension on his car. Stray an inch too far over the racing line, hit a curb too hard and it was liable to snap, sending bits and pieces flying.

Pierre checks his phone for the millionth time as he waits to check in to the hotel. Wednesday was late for this many crew members to be arriving. His main concern though was that you hadn't responded to the text he'd sent you upon landing.

"Look lively, will you?" Max claps Pierre on the shoulder and he slides his phone into his pocket. "It's the last race of the season. We get to go balls to the wall and leave it all out in the track. And here you are looking like a kicked puppy."

"Easy for you to say," Pierre starts, grinning at his friend. "You clinched the title weeks ago. You don't even have to race this weekend if you don't want to and you'd still win."

"Doesn't mean I won't be shooting for a podium."

Pierre rolls his eyes. "Yeah well we can't all be so lucky, can we?"

"Next year you'll be playing with the big dogs." Max hands the receptionist his ID, says a few words and turns back to Pierre. "Looking forward to having you as a teammate again. It was fun for those couple races and I'm sure you'll be a challenge now that you've found your groove."

"You're gonna jinx it if you keep talking." Pierre laughs, praying that it covers up the old wound Max's statement picked open. Pierre hated the idea of moving back to Red Bull but he didn't have much choice. He was still contracted to one of four Red Bull branded seats for next season. A promotion, at the very least, would help him showcase his talent and further cement his value. If he had to spend any longer than that with the team, ripping out his hair was a real possibility.

"Wasn't someone supposed to be with you this weekend?" Max quirks a brow. "Where is she?"

"In London." Max bringing you up doesn't help the pit forming in Pierre's stomach. Win or lose, seventh or eighth, Red Bull or Alpha Tauri, come Sunday Pierre wanted you at his side. Interview requests were bound to roll in either way and Pierre would need someone to ground him, a task much easier to accomplish if you were physically at his side.

"Too bad." Max clicks his tongue and takes his room keys from the receptionist. "It's gonna be a fun weekend."

"I don't think-"

Pierre's vision goes dark at the same time someone whispers, "Guess who?"

Pierre sucks in a breath, spins on his heel and wraps you in a hug in one smooth motion. You laugh as he lifts you off your feet and presses kisses to your cheeks. 

"What are you doing here?" He grabs both suitcases and tugs you aside. His room can wait.

"Tost asked me to come." Your grin is contagious, its twin appearing on Pierre's own cheeks. "He said that since you were flying out from Milan on your own there was an extra seat on the jet, so if I got myself to Nice I could fly out with the Red Bull boys."

"Seven hours trapped in a tin can with Max, Yuki and Checo?" Pierre rubs his chest. "I've got heartburn just thinking about that."

"It wasn't so bad," you say, finally giving him a proper kiss. "Yuki and I just played games on our phones the whole time. And I beat Max at Scrabble."

"How many Dutch words did he try to use?"

"Mmm, about half the words he tried were definitely not English."

"Yep, sounds about right." Pierre throws an arm around your shoulders and leads you back to the reception desk. He pays for an upgraded room when you aren't looking- though when you're assigned a suite there's not much higher you can go- and slips the woman behind the counter an extra bill for good measure.

"I could use a nap," you note, leaning against Pierre like you'd otherwise fall over. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

Pierre checks his watch. "We've got time for a nap."

"We?" Your raised eyebrow is question enough. Pierre smiles and swipes his key card once you're in the elevator with him. He hadn't looked at the price of the room but he was positive it was more than he'd spent on a single night in his entire career, considering it occupies an entire floor of the swanky hotel.

"It's date night," Pierre says simply. Initially his plan had been to invite Charles over for a game of Fifa but the Monegasque wouldn’t fault him for cancelling at the last minute. "We're in one of the most luxurious cities in the world and I'm going to show you off every chance I get. The restaurant down stairs is to die for."

Your attempt at nodding along with what he says is thwarted by a yawn. "Sleep first, eat later." Seeing as it was impossible to deny you, Pierre simply drops a kiss to the crown of your head.

"Wait until you see our room." The way your eyes light up when he says our room makes him want to say it again and again just to see you sparkle.

"I know you upgraded it, Mr. I-think-I'm-sneaky." You uncurl yourself from against his arm when the elevator chimes. "How much did it cost?"

"A few extra pennies."

The stainless steel doors open directly into the suite. The living space is dominated by a curving crescent of full length windows overlooking the cerulean harbor and the jagged steel of the city skyline beyond. Suitcase forgotten, your jaw drags along the floor as you toe off your shoes in favor of sinking onto one of the half moon couches situated around a low coffee table.

"Did you get some sort of bonus you didn't tell me about?" Pierre sees your inner engineer cataloging the chandelier dripping crystals over the carved dining table and the pattern of the black veined marble flooring. "This cost more than a few pennies."

"I didn't really look at the price so it's possible," he admits. In the end it was worth it to see you like this, happy as a pig in mud. Pierre was in his element at the track you were in yours in beautiful buildings. For all Pierre cared you could be sharing a dingy room at a motel; it would still be five star worthy with you there. 

Every once in a while though, you deserve a bit of pampering for all you put up with. Late nights and months apart wasn’t easy on either of you, but you stuck by him. And when the day comes that Pierre retires or loses his seat, you would be the one there to comfort him. Spending frivolous amounts of money to see you smile was nothing in the grand scheme of things. 

In Pierre’s world, money is temporary, you are forever.

"Well I have half a mind to tear into you for spending so much on a room we won't spend all that much time in," you start, your star-speckled gaze landing on Pierre, "the view is too pretty to be upset about."

"Mine isn't half bad either." You laugh, tucking an errant hair behind your ear. You both know he isn’t referring to the glittering bay or the expensive furnishings.

"Up," Pierre demands softly, holding out his hand. Your hand is warm and dwarfed by his long fingers but you barely seem to notice. The heart in his chest pounds for no discernable reason as he leads you down the narrow hall past doors leading to what he can only assume are bedrooms and bathrooms, to the one at the end of the hall. Based on his mental floor plan this one has the best view, if he's guessed correctly.

Your breezy oh confirms his hunch. You stutter at the threshold, coming up short behind him to bathe in the beauty of the sea, dotted through with white sails. Sunlight twinkles off the waves and if he breathes deep enough, he can almost smell the salt.

"Come on," Pierre says with a chuckle, urging you to fall into the fluffy down of the bed with him. You follow reluctantly, too enamored by the sights to pay any real attention to how Pierre arranges your limbs to his liking, your head resting on his chest and your joined hands laying atop his stomach.

"How about that nap?" He murmurs, running the fingers of his free hand through your unbound hair. 

You sigh and snuggle in closer. It was rare that Pierre had the opportunity to steal moments like this during a race week, when he had nothing better to do than tangle himself in you.

"I'll tell you a story." 

Just as he expected, you leap at the offer. "Can you tell me the one about the time you and Charles got in trouble when you were karting?"

Normally he opts for something fictional that allows him to embellish the details to fit his narrative. Pierre loved spinning tales rife with laughter and intrigue but he also didn't mind indulging your curiosity.

"Yeah, I can tell that one. Let me set the scene. It's midnight on a Friday at a little track outside Rouen. Two gangly teenage boys, one French and one definitely, positively not French, have nothing better to do than get themselves in trouble…"

**********

Fans began whispering when Pierre set foot in the lobby. The price of stardom was high and had taken years to get used to. Some days the bombardment of people asking for photos and autographs overwhelmed him to the point he was desperate for an out. Most people respected his boundaries and when they sensed it was too much, they backed off. Other days it was simply too much and he would mumble excuses and book it out the door.

The pressure increases tenfold when he steps into the lobby with you on his arm, the pair of you dressed to the nines. He clocks a group of women- clearly tourists based on their body language- perched on a sofa the minute their low murmurs turn into excited squeals.

Pierre mentally braces for you to stiffen or stop altogether but you do neither. You carry on unaffected, either ignoring them or completely oblivious to the women who do nothing to hide their pointed stares.

"Table for two please." You smile at the restaurant host and then at Pierre. You must not have noticed the fans then. You were getting better at coping with the photos and whispers, although your smile usually became forced the longer it dragged on, the polar opposite of you currently beaming at him.

Pierre's shoulders sag a bit when you're led to a secluded table towards the rear of the dining space. Privacy wasn't a luxury he was often afforded. With his back to a wall of windows, there were fewer angles for people to approach from which was a small comfort.

Apparently you find sitting across from Pierre unacceptable because you shuffle your chair to his side of the table before plopping down in it. Pierre shoots you a questioning look but keeps his mouth shut. Inquiring after your motives didn't tend to end well for him.

Instead he leans over to kiss your cheek, relishing the blush his lips coax to the surface.

“It all sounds good,” you say, scanning the menu. “You’ve been here before, I take it?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah I have. It’s all wonderful.” 

The fans from the lobby remain in the blurred fringes of his vision. Pierre does his best to focus on the waitress explaining the specials. He tunes in automatically to the fan’s heavily accented English as they argue with the host, vying for a table as close to Pierre as possible.

Their phones remain out as an annoyed waiter tries and fails to coax the gaggle of girls into ordering something. Pierre drags a hand through his hair.

Being the center of attention usually doesn't bother him. Coping with the spotlight and the scrutiny that accompanies it is second nature; if the press conferences at Spa in 2019 had taught him anything, it was the importance of a solid poker face. Fame is new to you though and interactions with polite fans make you nervous. Having your picture taken without permission and splashed on social media? Forget about it. Pierre didn't care to find out how you'd react.

"Don't be nervous." You lay a hand on Pierre's thigh. The touch is enough to temporarily pause his bouncing leg. "You're going to do amazing this weekend. All you have to do is finish in front of Checo and you're golden."

How you haven't noticed the girls giggling mere yards away is beyond him. The last thing he wants to do is ruin this perfect, beautiful moment of bliss. You look gorgeous with your painted lips and that sinful black dress that he doubts can be comfortable based on how it hugs your curves like water. To top it off, the pride in your gaze is something to behold, making it impossible to doubt himself when you so clearly and openly believe he can conquer the world.

But it's better to tell you now versus you finding out on social media later. "That's not what's bothering me."

"Oh?" You sit straighter and set the menu down. "What is it then? Because if it's Horner, I have no problem marching in there and chewing him out. Birdy will back me up."

Despite himself, Pierre can't hold back his smile. "Where did all this confidence come from, hmm?"

"I'm learning," you insist, nodding your head firmly. "I'm growing as a person and you should be proud."

"I never said I wasn't." Maybe you'd spent the last month at university interacting with racing fans on campus. Perhaps being exposed to endless questions in a setting you controlled was the key. "Did you take a course in confidence at university?"

You scrunch up your nose and laugh in the most adorable way. Pierre's heart lurches at the sight, regardless if it was him you were laughing at.

"No, but I did make a few new friends that have a habit of pestering me about you." You jab a finger in his side for good measure. "It helped, I think. I don't look for cameras as much anymore. You're my focus now, not paps that may or may not be lurking in bushes."

"I knew it." Pierre is slightly impressed that he'd hit the nail squarely on the head. "I figured there had to be someone at uni responsible for helping you out."

You shrug and purse your lips. "I guess we'll have to see how I handle this weekend. I mean, there's bound to be press trying to corner me, what with the stakes and all. But I think I can take them." You raise your fists in front of your face and Pierre has to laugh. 

“Throw a punch like that and you’ll break a finger.” He takes one of your clenched fists in his and untucks your thumb from under your fingers. “That’s how you make a proper fist. And you hit with these knuckles here- make sure you distribute the blow across all four, or you’ll be hurting.”

“Regardless,” you say, jabbing the air a few times, “The shock factor of having little old me in their face ought to be enough to earn me an advantage.”

Pierre finishes the lap to circle back to the topic at hand. "How about we test your confidence?” 

"Okay," you say, dragging out the 'a' until it hangs in the air between you like a spider's web. 

Pierre rakes a hand through his hair and nods to the girls a few tables away. "They've been taking pictures since we sat down. I'm sure they'll be all over Instagram in an hour, if they aren't already."

You steal a glance at the table in question under the guise of grabbing something from your purse. You hum, contemplating how to go about responding. Pierre is almost certain you'll ask to head back upstairs where it's just the two of you, no cameras or outside influence to ruin your night. His wallet is already out under the table, ready to leave a hefty tip for putting up with your drink-and-dash.

“We aren’t doing anything interesting,” you point out, swirling the knuckle’s worth of whiskey in your glass. “Why do they feel the need to document every passing second?”

Pierre lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “It’s just what some people do. If you’re uncomfortable we can go.”

“Who said anything about leaving?” You scoff, the corners of your lips turned up in a teasing smile. “I figure the best course of action is to give them something worth photographing.”

“What do you-”

Pierre’s yelp is decidedly unsexy when you yank him forward by his tie and attach your lips to his. Caught entirely off guard, he flounders for a moment before he catches himself and sinks into you. One hand on your cheek and the other creeping up your thigh, Pierre slides his tongue over the seam of your lips. You don't hesitate to obey the silent command.

He should be embarrassed. He should be contemplating the consequences of this kiss being splashed across tabloids the world over. He can’t bring himself to care, not when you’re the only release he needs and something as simple as a kiss sets his skin alight and causes any sane thoughts to trickle from his head.

Nothing matters. You're kissing him and your hand is a few inches below his hip on his right thigh, burning a brand that he prays leaves a puckered pink scar. Your scent and your mouth and your unmistakable hiss of pleasure saps the worry from his limbs. He's floating up off his chair, lungs filling with helium as you steal every last molecule of oxygen from the room.

Just like that, Pierre is the one that's roaring to leave for an entirely different reason.

Your hand on his jaw keeps your lips a hair's breadth apart as you whisper, "Are they staring?"

A blissed out nod is all he manages. Thoughts evade him and speaking is utterly out of the question when your lips are within striking distance. He surges forward for another kiss, heavier on teeth than on tongue. He makes sure to hold your lower lip between his teeth longer than necessary, putting on a show now that you've given him permission.

"Pierre," you murmur, using the hand splayed on his chest to push him away. The whine that escapes him is wholly unintentional. Thankfully it's low enough that only you hear, pressing a finger to your sinful lips.

"Down, boy." You extricate his hand from the dimpled flesh of your hip and place it chastely in his own lap. "We've accomplished what I wanted to."

Saying you tossing a wink over your shoulder at the intrusive fans isn't the hottest thing he's ever seen would be a lie. Pierre needed to be sure to thank Daniel's girlfriend the next time he saw her for whatever the hell she said to finally bestow you with a healthy serving of self-assurance because this new you is an entirely different entity, one Pierre intends to explore at the next opportunity.

"Problem solved." You brush your hands together and Pierre half expects to see dust clouds in the air like you'd just finished a woodshop project. 

Pierre's brain is operating on a ten second delay. So really, normal operating procedure when he was in your vicinity. "I don't think we've accomplished everything I'd like to get done."

"We have a dinner to finish first." You pick up your menu and resume browsing like you hadn't just forcibly ripped his appetite for anything other than you right out of him. "The salmon sounds good, don't you think?"

"You sound good," Pierre mumbles under his breath and picks up his own menu. God, he'd love to let his fingers drift to the apex of your thighs. You’re always cute when you squirm. It was so simple to do too, all you needed was a brush of his knuckle to your center and you'd be gasping.

"Are you ready to order?"

The soft-spoken waitress bursts Pierre's bubble. She brings fresh drinks and jots down an order of two salmon fillets and leaves with a smile. 

How Pierre has managed to make it this long without fucking you is beyond him. From the moment you surprised him in the lobby, his limbs have been thrumming with energy. And now your surprise kiss had been the pebble that preceded an avalanche of feverish longing. Those red painted lips would look better wrapped around his-

The pointed toe of your shoe digs into his calf. "Quit staring."

"Either you let me daydream or you let me take you upstairs,” Pierre quips back, licking his lips before he can catch himself.

"Can we get through one date without you mentally undressing me?"

Pierre dips his grin in a vat of lust, his words dripping with waxy promise. "No. Not when I know that as soon as we're alone, you'll let me do what I want."

"And what about what I want?" Your pouted lip does absolutely nothing but push his mind further in the gutter. 

"Your wish is my command." His hand floats under the hem of your dress to graze along your core. And there it is, that sound he would swim across oceans to hear, your chastizing gasp of surprise. 

The cross way you whisper his name is a thing of dreams. No one else's name sounded like that on your tongue, that honor is reserved solely for Pierre. The two breathless syllables are more exhilarating than standing on the top step. The rush of adrenaline that accompanies them is ten times what he is rewarded with when passing a world champion on track. He'll give it all up to hear you repeat it when you're pissed or lonely or tired- he just wants your voice echoing in his ears like a broken record.

You move his hand a safe distance down your thigh, nearly at your knee. Pierre gives your leg a sharp squeeze. "Can we please get our dinner to go?"

"Not tonight. You can wait, mon amour."

The French rolls off your tongue awkwardly but Pierre will be the last to complain. Your encyclopedic knowledge of which buttons to press when had come back to bite him in the ass.

"That's not fair." His pout is a mirror image of the one you turned on him earlier. "You can't use my own language against me."

You pat your pockets as if searching for something and shrug when you come up empty. "I don't see a rulebook anywhere."

Reminding you what happens when you tease him shoots to the top of his to do list. "I'll play if you wanna play, ma chérie. Don't bite off more than you can chew."

"I think you're forgetting who usually wins off track."

Pierre can't help it. He takes advantage of his superior reflexes and surges forward to claim another searing kiss. You did normally win and it wasn't for lack of trying on his end. No matter the tactic he employed, you generally got the better of him. Not that he minded.

"Why don't you come here?" He purposely grazes his lips to your ear as he speaks and grins when a shiver runs down your spine. 

"Because we are in public," you hiss back, though the way your head tips to the side betrays you. Pierre's nose touches the underside of your jaw and you struggle to find your breath.

"We should eat." A self satisfied smile splits his face when he notices your heaving chest and wild eyes. 

"When did our food get here?" Pierre did that. He got you so worked up that you blocked out your surroundings so thoroughly that you hadn't heard the clink of plates. Pierre wears that fact like a badge of honor.

"A minute or so ago. Remind me again who's winning?"

"We may be even," you relent, adjusting the skirt of your dress. Yeah, even isn't the word he would pick, considering how flustered you are. It's a good thing Pierre has learned to eat with one hand because he doesn't plan on moving the arm currently slung over the back of your chair anytime soon. His finger traces the letters of his name on the bare skin of your shoulder. Whether you realize what he's writing or not you lean into him as you eat, falling in closer with each lemon-scented bite.

"Excuse me?"

You don't bother to look up but Pierre does. Disappointment washes over him when he is met by one of the fans, apparently deeming now to be the appropriate time to approach him, while clearly on a date, in the middle of a meal.

"I'll be happy to take a photo once I'm done." Sometimes passive aggressiveness works best with people like this, who have no regard for personal space. "Right now I would prefer to be alone, thanks."

"Oh, right." The blonde giggles, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "You two make a… cute couple?" The end of her sentence turns up and your fork falls to your plate.

Pierre tucks you a little closer to his side, both possessive and reassuring. "We know."

Your discomfort is plain, the way you curl in on yourself making his heart hurt. But you surprise him by taking a deep breath and turning to the woman with a smile. 

"If you'd let us finish our meal, I would appreciate it. We can stop by on our way out and chat with you." Sylvie would be proud of that answer. Diplomatically phrased and said with a smile that negates any negative connotations.

"Of course." The blonde's smile is sickly sweet. To Pierre she adds, "Good luck on Sunday."

Pierre nods. The woman's rude behavior didn't warrant a verbal response. She mumbles a feeble goodbye before slinking back to her friends. If nothing else at least their whispers died down, put out by his behavior. 

Pierre loves his fans. Without them he wouldn't have a sport to compete in, and of course he appreciated their endless support. Stopping for photos or autographs had gotten him in trouble with Marko multiple times for being late to meetings that usually turned out to be pointless anyway. As a whole, their enthusiasm gives him an extra boost on Sundays and lifts his spirits after a bad weekend.

And then sometimes there were people like the blonde woman that had interrupted his dinner. Those people he has far less tolerance for. Basic manners were imperative to Pierre giving someone the light of day, otherwise he saw no need to waste time and energy on them.

"All good, ma chérie?" Pierre rubs your shoulder, hoping it'll stave off any anxiety.

"I'm good," you confirm with a nod of your head. "Let's finish up and go to our room."

Pierre presses a kiss to your temple and scarfs down the remainder of his meal in record time. He flags down the waitress and hands her his card, leaving a substantial tip when she returns with the check.

“Can you distract that table?” Pierre asks, aware of how unusual the request likely is. “I’d like to get out of here without making a scene.”

“Of course,” the waitress says with a warm, sincere smile. Pierre waits until she loudly announces, “Excuse me? Your card has been declined, do you have another method of payment?”

Neither of you can contain your laughter as you stumble through the lobby. In the sanctity of the elevator, Pierre wraps his arms around your middle and molds himself against you. "You look especially gorgeous tonight."

"You're not too bad yourself." One of your hands finds the nape of his neck, guiding his face to the crook of your shoulder. Pierre takes the invitation at face value and nips at the sensitive skin. Your hum goes straight to his cock, twitching against the swell of your ass.

"I win," you purr, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging. 

For once Pierre is glad to be in the world's slowest elevator. Since he's already lost, he might as well lose in style. He spins you to face the mirrored wall. And because he knows it'll make you tremble, he trails his hand lazily over your throat to grip your jaw.

A low moan leaves your parted lips. Pierre studies your reflection, from your hands gripping the railing to the skin dimpling beneath his fingers. 

"Fine, you win this time. But I think you and I both know, I'll come out ahead in the end."

**********

Waking up to soft kisses will never get old. Thirty years from now when Pierre was retired and you fell asleep each night with his arms around you, you'd still yearn for the brush of his lips to your cheeks, neck, and shoulders to rouse you from the violet shores of sleep.

"Good morning," you mumble, a sentiment which Pierre echoes with his gruff, sleep tinged voice. "Sleep well?"

"Best sleep I've ever gotten. You tired me out last night." You both grin at the reminder. Fueled by a slight tinge of jealousy after the women at the restaurant made eyes at him, you had refused to let him tumble into bed until well past midnight, when you both were well and truly exhausted. Thursday is press day, nothing strenuous that he couldn't afford to be a little sore for.

Pierre rolls to straddle your hips, lips capturing yours for a proper kiss. The taste of freshly brushed mint makes your skin tingle when he tugs your lip between his teeth.

"It's too early for that." You throw your arms around his neck and urge him to bend his elbows until he falls atop you. It takes him a moment to snuggle in, his head on your chest and his arms sliding under your middle. 

You're convinced that ten minutes in this position can cure any ailments, physical or mental. The weight of your soulmate pressing into you, forcing you to focus on breathing instead of whatever might be bothering you. It's easy to forget about the outside world when everything you require to be happy is wrapped around you like a blanket.

You stroke a hand over Pierre's hair until his breathing evens out, only rousing him when the sun peeks over the harbor. Amiable silence fills the space as hues of orange and pink paint Pierre in swaths of color. Suddenly you're seeing him for the first time, completely enamored by the angles of his cheekbones and the sharp cut of his stubbled jaw. The golden hour of dawn shines on it's golden boy, his lashes brushing his cheeks as he turns towards the warmth calling him home.

"Pyry and I are going for a run soon if you'd like to come with us."

You cringe. Running used to be fun when you were in school, but seeing as you hadn't properly trained in years you doubted you could keep up with a pair of professionals. "How about you text me when you're back and I'll come to the gym with you? It looks fancy, if George's snaps are anything to go by."

Pierre trails kisses up your sternum, over your neck and only speaks once he's reached your lips. "Looking at other men, are you?"

"Shut up," you laugh, shoving him off you. "I'll have you know it was a rare shirt on picture, thank you very much. I don't need to see George shirtless ever again."

A satisfied, "Good," rumbles from Pierre's chest and he stands to stretch the lingering sleep from his limbs. Clad in nothing but a pair of white four inch inseam shorts and with his back to you, you grin as an idea forms. You scramble forward before he can process you moving and smack his ass so hard he yelps.

"Gotcha!" You devolve into a fit of giggles as he rubs the spot you hit, whining about you taking advantage of his distraction.

"You like it," you tease, and Pierre remains strictly pouty for two whole seconds before he breaks into a grin and nods. "Now put on a shirt and get downstairs before Pyry calls you and you get reamed for being late again."

Pierre leans down for one last kiss before rushing off to the lobby. Waking up before the sun leaves you plenty of time to laze about if you choose to. Kicking your butt into gear seems like the better option so you drag yourself out of the relative warmth of the sheets and shuffle to the kitchen in search of coffee. 

Apparently the suite came fully stocked with a handful of different freshly ground blends, and much to your delight you recognize one of your favorites. You scroll through the room service menu on your phone while it brews. Without a doubt Pyry would rope you in to whatever workout he had planned for Pierre, albeit giving you a watered down version of what he gave the driver. Regardless, it would still be grueling and you needed to fuel up.

A hearty breakfast of fresh fruit and cinnamon sugar oatmeal shows up at your door ten minutes later. You're just finishing up when Pierre's snapchat comes through and you nearly choke.

Come on down baby

The sweaty, shirtless selfie that accompanies the caption is wholly unnecessary. Pierre's stupid tongue sticks out and the fingers of one hand are tangled in his hair. The muscle of his bicep is perfectly flexed, an obvious but appreciated attempt to rile you up. You shamelessly screenshot the photo before it disappears to save it for later.

You change into a simple set of leggings and a loose t-shirt and head to the elevator, curating your music queue on the way down.

The outdoor gym overlooks a pool of the same crystalline blue as the sea not far beyond. A few Alpha Tauri and Red Bull team members you recognize occupy a handful of machines. You wave at the ones you recognize, including Alana- she was a sight for sore eyes. You make a mental note to catch up with her at some point today, as you're sure to cross paths again.

Pyry spots you before Pierre does and waves you over. "Start stretching," the fin orders, "I'm glad you dressed for the occasion this time."

"I've learned my lesson." You plop down next to Pierre and lean into a stretch to stage whisper, "He drives you this hard?"

"Get used to it." Pierre shoots you a grin that sets you on fire. He's got a shirt on now, which means he only took it off earlier to send you that snap. Tease.

Any other time you'd chide him for his behavior but this weekend you let it slide. Tension has been brewing since the moment you spotted him across the lobby; simple things tip you off to the stress winding up in him. If flirting could offer him a small amount of release, then so be it, even if it was torturous for you to see him like this and be unable to do anything about it.

"If you two can't get through this without making heart eyes at each other I'll separate you," Pyry warns, pushing at your shoulders and helping you stretch a few more inches. You hide your wince and laugh, leaning into the slight burn.

"Sorry coach," Pierre chimes in, "I'll keep my hands to myself, don't worry." He accepts Pyry's hand to be pulled to his feet. Bouncing on his toes he throws a few punches at the air and catches your gaze over his trainer's shoulder.

"Definitely not you I'm worried about."

As Pyry says it, you blow Pierre a kiss. You quickly tuck your hands behind your back when Pyry's head whips around. Your cheshire grin gets you off the hook and Pyry just points to the stationary bike in silent command. At least he was going easy on you.

Headphones pumping a Pierre curated playlist, you lose track of time as you cycle mile after mile. Pierre sparring on the fringes of your vision helps distract you from burning muscles. Sweat soaks his black tee and is absorbed by the waistband of his oddly patterned orange and white shorts. No matter how incessantly you tease him for his fashion choices, he never fails to amaze you for how well he pulls it all off.

Lost in the music and the incredible view, it takes you a moment to realize Pierre's lips aren't just moving silently. You yank out an ear bud and blubber, "What did you say?"

Pierre's breathless laugh is accompanied by a shake of his head. He half curls in on himself, hands on his hips and mouth agape as he tries to catch his breath. The image stirs memories of the last night, when he was panting just like that but with nothing obscuring you from drinking in his godlike muscled body.

"I said," Pierre starts, walking over to kiss your cheek, "I need a shower before press. I'm going upstairs. You can stay here and Pyry can take you through some more-"

"No thanks!" Pyry shrugs off your immediate refusal. Training top tier athletes and training you sat at polar opposite ends of the spectrum and often times the Fin pushed you farther than you thought capable. You'd like to be able to function tomorrow, thank you very much.

The elevator ride to the suite is filled with salted kisses and wet touches. A breadcrumb trail of clothing leads from the stainless steel doors to the glass encased shower. There's not enough time to worship Pierre like you'd wanted to but he sighs when you run a soapy cloth over his body. Your lips follow the suds, leaving light kisses to the tender muscles. By the time you pour shampoo in your palm and lightly scratch at his scalp to work it into a lather, he's practically purring.

Media appearances are a necessary part of being a driver. Pierre usually handled them well enough on his own and occasionally with Sylvie's help when she could be bothered to get off her phone for a few minutes, but having you with him is different. You pride yourself on reading him well enough to know exactly what he needs. Some days, when the press isn't a pack of rabid animals, he returns to his driver's room and needs nothing more than a quick kiss to have him righted. On days when the pack of piranhas descend to feast on the bones of a bad session or the whispering of drama, a delicate touch is required.

If your suspicion proves right, today would be the latter. Being ahead of the frenzy might take the edge off when Pierre got in the thick of it.

When the tap cuts off, you step out and wrap Pierre in a fluffy towel. His smile communicates how grateful he is- and that he knows what you're doing.

You hand him a stack of Alpha Tauri branded clothes and sit on the foot of the bed. "Do you want me to come to the paddock with you?"

Pierre pauses with his shirt half on. "If you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind." You pluck a few of his rings from the nightstand and hold out your hand. "You have to complete the look."

"What would I do without you," he murmurs, slipping one on his pinky and one on the thumb of his opposite hand.

"Probably be ridiculed for your lack of fashion sense."

**********

As a driver's girlfriend, you had come to grips with being relegated to a background role when it came to team events. You have to ask Sylvie to repeat herself twice before her words sink in.

"Come with me to the media pen," the woman grits out. Apparently Tost intended to have some fun torturing the woman before he fired her at the end of the season. Hopefully whoever Pierre got stuck with next was a bit more personable than Sylvie.

"Pierre told me to wait here," you say, gesturing to the garage buzzing around you. You were a rock and the mechanics were the stream, parting around you without a care in the world. You were barely a blip on their radar, everyone too honed in on their tasks to pay you any mind.

"And now I'm telling you to come with me. The other wives and girlfriends are in attendance and it'll look odd if you're not there too." Clearly, Sylvie didn't like the idea. And any idea that pissed Sylvie off sounded like a good one.

"I know the way," you say and breeze past her. Your feet follow the familiar path to the cluster of reporters crowded around metal gates, keeping the drivers in like caged animals. It was fitting, considering how often people referred to the sport as a traveling circus.

Pierre is already knee deep in an interview with one of the more popular journalists in the bunch, Will Buxton. Careful to stay out of the lens, you lean against the guardrail to listen in. So far it seems to be going well, Pierre's laugh brings a smile to your face.

"So, Pierre." Will shifts on his feet, pausing to create a sense of drama. "Your seat for next year. We know you'll be in Alpha Tauri or at Red Bull. Only a few points separate you from being demoted right back to eighth in the championship, which would officially relegate you to keep your seat at Alpha for the upcoming season. Are you worried about a mechanical problem or an accident stripping you of your chance to prove yourself and leaving you stuck where you are?"

Your stomach sinks. Buxton knew how to phrase a question, you had to give him that. Each word had been carefully chosen to elicit an emotional response from Pierre. You hate seeing him backed into a corner, forced to answer the same questions again and again, helpless to prevent it.

"Well first of all I'd like to stay that I'm not stuck at Alpha." Pierre shifts his weight and you exhale. Buxton's poisoned dart had missed its mark.

"Given a few years of development I know we could have a really competitive car. But it's more so that I'm ready to move up, fight with the leaders now instead of waiting. I'm in my prime and I don't want to let that pass me by.

"So no, I'm not worried about things that are out of my control. My team has given me an amazing car this year and I'm not concerned about mechanical problems. Things out of my control aren't worth my energy. There's nothing I can do about it so I don't even give it thought. I'll focus on my driving and pushing my limit- if an accident happens, I'm just a passenger."

"Well said." Buxton nods and turns away, effectively dismissing Pierre. As soon as he's out of the camera's view he's reaching for you and you meet him halfway. Sylvie trails after you as Pierre leads you through to the Alpha garage.

"Five minutes until your briefing," Alana says the second you enter. "And hey girl. Don't think I've forgotten about that sweater I loaned you. I still want it back!"

Your friend doesn't leave any room for rebuttal before heading for the conference room, presumably to set up whatever presentation she had created. Sylvie had disappeared too, leaving you as the only one for Pierre to focus on.

"You think I can do it?" He asks quietly, playing with your interlaced fingers.

"I don't think." You tilt his chin up so he's looking at you. "I know. And I'll be right here when you cross that line on Sunday and bring home points. You've got this, baby. Don't doubt yourself now."

"Pierre!"

Your grip on his chin prevents him from following the voice, not that he would if he could. You shoot him a raucous grin, "Red Bull colors would look pretty good on me, huh?"

Pierre's smile is brighter than all the stars in the sky. "Anything with my name on it will do.”

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval @0forgottenparadise0 @evie-pr @avsensio @ninuffi @lu-morningstar @ggaslyp1 @swiftyhowlz @xeniarocks @teenwaywardasgardian @saintandrea-droidsmuggler​

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future updates!

[itjazzbicch]

2-0

Pairing:  Matt Jackson x Fem Reader

Summary: Based off Surging Waves:

The reader and Matt have a wonderful first date that ended with some spice and created a strong bond between them. With a busy schedule, the reader tries to make some time for them and they do find time in the ring, learning their ring chemistry and then some...

Warnings:  SMUT! (18+ ONLY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Requested by:  No one (But I hope you all enjoy!)

Word Count:  2043

Tag List: @demonqueen29​ @jessiebean00​ @new-zealand-chic​ @crowleysqueenofhell​ @justamess44​ @thatpanpal​ @hungmanhorsecarriage​ @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch​  @linziland13​ @xxx-jazz-xxx​ @writtingrose​

I DO NOT OWN THIS GIF

[Hey Matt, I know we’ve both been busy lately, but here in the city, I have my own ring. Wanna hang out and get some training in? Here’s the address if you decide to come]

A true connection was established during my first date with Matt, that connection making my heart ache a little every time he was away.

It had been a little over a week since we had time to ourselves because of how filled our schedules were but with a day between shows in the same city, I figured this would be the perfect opportunity.

I was hoping I didn’t come off as clingy or desperate by that message. Not receiving a response was a bad sign in my eyes.

An hour had passed when I gave up. Matt wasn’t coming. With a tense, angry hand, I snatched my sweat towel, ready to exit the ring, but then I heard knocking on the door.

“It’s open!” My voice echoed throughout the room, eyes exploding with happiness and relief at the sight of Matt walking through the door with a gym bay.

“Nice ring!” Matt complimented, finding the apron and jumping up, getting a good feel of the ropes, “Man, I don’t think our crew even does this good!”

“Thanks,” I appreciated, “I put a lot into this ring.”

Matt always knew how to make my eyes lock onto him, adoring his tye-dye t-shirt, but enjoying the show much more when he revealed his bare chest, his abs built and tone, tossing his shirt off.

I was enraptured by his every move but also distracted and just able to roll out of the way when he jumped off the top rope and into the ring, coming at me.

A sharp wheeze made my chest seize, exhaling deeply in the corner, stressing, “What was that about?”

“I told you, next time we’re in a ring, we’re having a match,” Matt recalled, “Remember?”

That was during our first kiss and I remembered, clear as day.

A fiendish, playful smile was my response; nodding my head when I stood up in the corner across from him, smiling, “Oh, I remember. Remember what I told you? Don’t get too ahead of yourself.”

It was hard not to laugh when Matt turned away, as if there was a timekeeper's area, yelling, “Ring the bell! Ding! Ding! Ding!”

The first thing we did was get into a lock-up and this time, I actually had to use a good bit of strength. Matt was a lot strong than I anticipated, but I was able to keep up.

I tried keeping it simple with some chain wrestling, but our pace picked up a lot, especially since I was a high flyer. I was so used to moving so fast.

Lucha rolls, jumping off the ropes, dropkicks, arm drags, cross bodies; If we were on Dynamite, the fans would eat it up. We were basically wrestling a real match and it was astonishing how evenly matched we were.

All that fast-paced wrestling was wearing me down, so I decided to go for a pin. Matt and I’s hands were interlocked, trying to overpower one another, but I swept out his leg, then jumped on top of him.

With my head pressed hard against his shoulder, pinning him down to the mat, I called out, “One! Two!”

He kicked out and I tried again, pushing my head against his other shoulder, yelling, “One! Two!”

Matt was truly proving his strength, almost breaking my hold, trying to throw me off with a thrust of his hips upwards, but with a loud groan, I pushed them back down, keeping mine pinned against his.

Silence fell between us, a desirous look in his eyes when our eyes met, both of our chests heaving.

“Got damn it, I can’t take it anymore,” He heaved, breaking my hold and sitting up, cradling my face with both hands, powerful zealousness in his lips when they met mine.

His passion was so strong and stirring, small trembles radiating through his body, tensed up muscles that made his arms latch around my waist, keeping me in a warm embrace.

All those feelings flowing between us continued to grow stronger as my reaction was to return an even more spirituous kiss, my hands now cradling his face.

We probably could’ve kissed each other to the point where we stopped breathing and collapsed, but the sound of our lips popping free echoed in the room, the look of lust being shared between us.

“God, have I missed that,” Matt confessed, taking the moment to catch his breath.

“Really?” I whispered shyly; swimming in those deep brown eyes made me a little nervous. Everything about him was so striking, anything he did made my heart flutter and that intensified the second I felt his lips against mine.

“Yes,” He assured, chuckling like I was speaking nonsense, but the lust came back and kicked in hard, making me even more flustered, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you and it feels so good to have what I want.”

Knowing that we were experiencing the same emotions regarding one another made that nervousness fade away, getting what I wanted to, kissing him along with a scruff of his beard.

I fell in deep, getting lost and we began to think unconsciously, our bodies beginning to move together.

“What do you think of turning this match into a submission match, hm?” Matt offered, thrusting his hips into me gently.

“You think you can make me tap out?” I snickered, shaking from arousal when his hands pinned my hips to his, biting at my lower lip and growling:

“I know I can.”

“I’d love to see you try,” I grinned, slowly grinding against him, able to feel how the tension bulging between his thighs, his erect cock creating tight friction against his shorts.

“Oh, I’m going to,” He pledged, swapping positions and slamming me against the mat.

Clothes were flung all over the ring, shoes kicked out to the floor. For a moment, I couldn’t believe I was doing this in my ring, but the emotions between made me careless.

Only focused on Matt, kneeling back down to the canvas, hand giving soft strokes, attending to the length and thickness of his cock.

Stars were spinning around my head already, my brain so pleasurably dazed that I had my own, slow-motion view, but the speed of our movements caught up to me.

Our skin was hot pressed together, stinging steaming trapped and it wasn’t going to get any cooler from here.

His smile against my lips showed his excitement, enjoying the squish of my thighs when he spread them wide.

Sweat was forming and I was filled with heat, moaning against his lips, looking down for a moment to see his cock slowly disappear inside me, inch by inch.

My body showed how hungry I was for this, walls keeping ahold of him and not wanting to ever let go, slicking him so much already.

I could feel him being milked with every thrust, fighting some noise that could be declared sinful, feeling a pinch in my lower core that made me groan, “ugh!”

“You hiding your moans? Don’t act all tough “ He panted, holding my face by the jaw, sloppily kissing, “I know every noise you’ll make will be beautiful.”

“Ugh!” I gasped, still registering that pinch, “M-Matt!”

It made my body tremble, my brain having to process every move he made because it was so overloaded with pleasure and bliss, his pace quickening to satisfy both our needs.

A hand got tangled in his hair, pulling unintentionally, I just needed something, getting the contact I needed when I latched around his body, eyes rolling to the back of my head.

“Still not ready to tap yet?” He teased, not ready for the moan that jumped from his chest due to the feeling of my hips beginning to chase his, moving faster this his current pace.

“You should know by now, I don’t go down without a fight,” I growled, pulling at his hair a little again.

“You don’t go down without a fight?” He repeated with a deep grunt, making it tough for me not to fall into a puddle when he went off like a jackhammer, sentence being finished with a rough thrust.

With a tight scrunch of his nose, he sat up to admire his cock pulling back just to be sucked back in so quickly, biting his lips and focusing on the squelching sound being created between us, making an even bigger mess of me.

“G-go-“ I stuttered, a sharp arch forming in my lower back, fingernails scratching at the canvas.

“Spit it out,” He smiled, curious as to what I was going to say, thinking I was ready to tap.

“Got damn you, Matt,” I whined, gasping at the feeling of my sweet spot being hammered, rattling my body like an earthquake and I didn’t know how much my body could take before I became undone.

Matt could always read me well, doubling his efforts, such a sexy but devilish look on his face; hair falling down past his eyes, that look alone had me ready.

His eyebrows raised with expectancy when I became so dazed I could only babble out his name, lips having trouble that I made me drool.

To keep a stabilized flow of pleasure through me, he established a quick, pounding rhythm, balls slapping against my wet skin, raising my legs a little higher with a tight grip of my thighs.

It was as if someone was taking bumps in the ring with the way he was going, feeling every movement vibrate against my back and spine, ricocheting all over the place and making all of the pleasure ping around me and hit hard like a pinball machine.

There was no way I was going to get the chance to turn the tables and I didn’t want to. I wanted this and Matt blew my mind.

“I can’t understand you when you’re babbling like that,” Matt noted, wanting my words to express what was happening to my body.

My core coiled up like a spring, a spring that was ready to snap. It made my back arch harder on its own, almost making me sit up, but my body was also ready to collapse, keeping my shoulders down.

The heat was growing in the air thickly, making me overhear, breaking out in small sweats and with Matt going and going, his stamina showing no end, there was no running from the orgasm that lurked.

The squelching grew louder, deep groans rumbling in his chest from my walls pulsating, but there was no slowing him down.

“Matt!” I cried out loud, frantically grabbing him by the shoulders, needing his body for support, his heart pounding hard against my chest when gushing slick drenched his cock and thighs, making his cock pulsate, not daring to slow him down, delivering deep thrust and continuing to fuck me thoroughly.

There was no denying how good every part of it felt, but with all the heat trapped in my body, how my legs were shaking like hell, a faint ring in my ears when my chest stopped heaving, heartbeat echoing with a pound in my head.

With a faint wrist, I tapped his shoulder, holding his head that fell to my shoulder, kissing it with a smile, pinning his hips against mine to take a moment of his own to breathe.

The ring shook a little when he moved his knees, faintly giggling, “Your winner! Matt Jackson. Undefeated against Y/N!”

He was such a goof sometimes and I loved it, making me laugh hysterically when he added quickly, guilt in his voice, “Also, uhhhh, a new canvas is in this ring’s future.”

“Courtesy of Matt Jackson!” I huffed, mocking his announcer's voice.

He wasn’t done getting moans of out me yet, sharp whines falling from my lips when he sat up, slowly pulling out with a languid thrust, smiling into my eyes, “I think you and I should have more matches like these.”

“Oh yeah,” I grinned, blowing him a kiss, “I’m beating that undefeated streak of yours.”

[notmrskennedy]

Noticed

Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

A/N - Howdy! Here’s another little something from my drafts. It’s a draft and a half again so be gentle with it. Also, I’m touch averse and I would be so happy to find someone I wasn’t upset with touching. But c’est la vie! I hope y’all enjoy!

Summary - The touch averse agent starts getting touchy....

W/C - 2.5k

Warnings - none I think, but lmk if there is something

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

If Morgan was being honest with himself, he thought you were dying. Or maybe ill. Or so feverish you’d abandoned every single principle you had. Because he’d been there that first day of yours, waltzing up from the coffee machine to see you nervously trailing behind Hotch. It was painful to watch, he remembers, so terribly nervous you’d envy the kid on one of his bad days.

He had smiled at you and stirred his coffee and remained optimistic that someone so obviously terrified would be a decent field agent. (You’d been decent and then some, especially in an interrogation room). There’d been one non-committal wave—distinctly reminiscent of a certain genius—and the first full sentence of, “I’m sorry, but I just don’t do the touching thing. Handshakes included.”

Every little touch plagues you. You’re six inches away at all times, lest someone accidentally bump into you or get the wrong idea that you might be willing to brush shoulders. There’s no friendly pats. No high fives. Certainly no hugs. Garcia is furious in her attempt to loosen you up—to no avail—but Morgan knows better than to push. Something makes you hate skin to skin contact and he’s not looking to share trauma stories with you. Not yet.

So this, Morgan thinks as he wanders into the bullpen while stirring his coffee, is a sign that you’ve lost your mind.

He watches as you carefully extend one palm to one Dr. Spencer Reid. Perched on the edge of his desk, you’re a regular fixture, just another cute figurine to add to the collection. It’s the end to some wild discussion he could hear in the kitchenette, full of flailing limbs and butchered sentences. Everyone always thought it was cute, if you stripped away how irritating it could be.

This is the point where you two are caught up in whatever moment you’re having, so much so that you extend an upturned palm between the two of you. Reid threads his hands through his hair, stunned at your peace offering. Or maybe an offering of something more than friendship. Morgan assumes its something more; not only because you have the softest grin he’s ever seen, but because your fingers are practically begging the kid to hold your hand.

Reid’s careful in how he asks his question—Morgan doesn’t know what it is, but he can just tell. The wide eyes. The scared contemplation. The are you sure parting the kid’s lips.

Grinning and blushing, you just wiggle your fingers. Murmur something that Morgan isn’t allowed to hear. Something only for Spencer. There’s surprise before he grips onto your hand, wriggling all ten combined fingers together. You giggle as you spin him around in his desk chair and get tangled up.

Dropped jaw and grinning, Morgan can’t believe you, so touch averse you, are willing engaging in such risky behaviour. There’s a weird few moments when he wants to remind both of you to wear protection in such endeavours.

And as he’s wondering if hands need condoms, the two of you let go and move on like nothing’s happened. You go back to punctuating your points with your flailing hands. Spencer goes back to distracting from his blush with paperwork.

Morgan goes to get more coffee, trying to stop imaging that you two were his kids, growing up without his consent. And maybe also the hand condoms.

#

It’s shortly after JJ’s wedding—about midnight as the cleaning crew are picking up the straggling drunks—both Hotch and Rossi notice. They’re leaned up against the bar, each smoking a cigar, watching a slightly tipsy you teach an awkwardly sober Spencer Reid how to swing dance.

It’s no secret that you and Reid get on like a house on fire, two nerds that couldn’t shut up about whatever weird ass shit was on your brains. Rossi never made much move to care. Hotch was too stressed to think about what the pair of you did off company time. Everyone, them included, imagined that what time you did spend together was three feet apart. In museums. Wherever. No one questioned what kind of weird nerd shit you did, especially stuff that they couldn’t really be bothered to care about.

Now, they’re forced to carefully consider the implications of how touchy you’re getting. With Reid.

He’s even more gangly and uncoordinated than normal, as Hotch and Rossi watch on, getting thrown around like a rag doll. It’s kind of adorable, Rossi thinks and shares a well meaning look with Hotch. The two of you would be cute and he’s hoping that you do get together. Rossi always knows about these things, even if Hotch is positive that you two are just friends. And as two professional gentlemen do, they made a bet.

Twenty bucks.

Your laugh—one that no one gets tired of hearing—echoes around Rossi’s whole yard, even into his house. Reid’s voice is about two octaves too high as you spin him around on his wobbly feet. You go from three feet apart to chest to chest and back again. Rossi remembers high school dances vaguely and Hotch absently thinks about Hayley’s old infatuation with Grease.

Rossi takes another long drag from his cigar, grateful for the indisputable proof that you two are shacking up. There is no way that two people so touch averse could be touching this much without prior exposure. The yard is a ruckus of both of your laughters, year after year of awkwardness falling off you both in sheets. They’re no denying you two shut in nerds are finally having some fun.

It’s warming both Hotch and Rossi’s hearts.

And their bet.

#

Penelope notices next. Who knew that such a simple interaction could leave her speechless? Stammering and stuttering over not even a full minute of insanity.

She didn’t know how she’d gotten sick, or what she’d come down with, but the only thing that was keeping her in her work chair was you. And the endless buckets of soup that you kept pouring down her throat. Without a case—thank god—for the last couple days, all that you’ve done is sit in the bat cave, keeping her and her soup warm.

It’s as you are finishing some corny ass joke that she thinks how sweet you are. How loving. Penelope’s love language has always been touch—she’s given too many hugs to count—but it’s taken her a minute to figure out yours. And as she stares into the chicken soup in her hands, she realises that it’s everything you do for her. Your love is literally palpable.

It’s in the bright keychains you bring back. Or the crazy pens. Or the way you always drive her home after drinking.

As she’s opening her mouth to tell you, tell you just how much she appreciates everything, when Reid pops his head in, whole body following. He’s got too much of a grin this early. But when he’s far enough into the room, he spreads his fingers out over your shoulder and squeezes. Says something about a case and you follow behind him with a wave of your hand at Penelope. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like Penelope hasn’t been the one furiously trying to break you out of your shell. The predetermined first to get a hug in the office.

You’re still up and still waving and by the time she’s got her wits about her, she’s asking, “You let Reid touch you?”

The empty room and the closing door don’t answer.

#

JJ is nearly the last to find out. Well, your little touching relationship with Spencer has been the only topic of gossip between anyone for the last six weeks. They can’t believe they hadn’t picked up on the little bits of affection passed between the two of you.

Hand touches. Shoulder squeezes. Quick brushes. The mystical hug Morgan claims he once saw.

For the rest of the world, you and Spencer were nothing but friendly. Maybe even best friendly. To the team of highly trained profilers who had been friends with the pair of you for a combined 15 years, this was marriage material. This was you and Spencer screaming the pair of you had eloped.

You two crazy kids had to be together, but the team was left to sussing it out for themselves. Neither of you two would ever say anything, never give anything up. But surely, the three of them—using Penelope would be cheating of course—could figure out when you two had started up. Because you had to have. There was no way all of this was just friendly.

And it isn’t. That much is clear when JJ gets a phone call from you while she’s looking a crime scene over for what feels like the gazillionth time. Some un-sub with the usual cocktail of daddy issues, anger issues, and a healthy dose of narcissism.

It’s rare you call anyone without good reason. You aren’t the type to just chat—everyone has speculated you got enough of that from Spencer. And once JJ says hello, you start bawling.

You’re sobbing and JJ has no idea what to do.

“Y/n, y/n,” she tries, hoping you’ll calm down enough to breathe properly. “You have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s—it’s Spencer,” you hiccup. JJ can hear you sniffling into your sleeves. Can hear the blinkers go as you change lanes. “He’s not answering—not answering his phone. And he said he’d—that he’d call, but he hasn’t. And JJ something’s wrong.”

By the way your breath hitches and your sobs crackle into the phone, JJ knows exactly how bad it has to be. Spencer, however, is supposed to be following up a lead with Emily. Some paint huffer in his mom’s garage—nothing more than a routine witness report. She almost can’t believe something would go wrong.

“What happened? Where are you?”

“JJ,” you sniffle before the flood gates open again, “I can just feel it. Something’s wrong.”

JJ’s mind scrambles. As much as you played it off, you had a sixth sense. Every time, every countable time, someone got hurt, you knew before it happened. You had a gut for these things and JJ didn’t want to think about how bad this was going to be. How bloody. So she scrambles for her car and doesn’t wait for the other detectives to figure it out.

JJ’s halfway to the witness’s house when you make it there yourself. You’re still on the phone, doing a horrible attempt at trying to keep each other calm. You’ve traded the sobs for hiccups, thankfully. JJ can hear you climbing the porch stairs. She’s taking corners at 65 miles an hour.

Nothing seems fast enough when JJ hears the phone clatter to the floor and the shout of “oh my god, Spencer!”

Nothing is fast enough when you’re sobbing out, “You can’t die on me like this.”

Nothing is fast enough when JJ quietly but distinctly hears, “I love you too much for you to fucking die, Spencer Reid.”

#

Spencer Reid always thinks he’s the last to find out. He’s blunt and oblivious and thinks too much to just see what’s in front of his face. He was so sure they had all seen how in love he was, just how desperately he was clinging to the hope they wouldn’t notice. If they didn’t notice, you wouldn’t. Not while wearing the same sort of blinders he wore.

But once everything had come out? He was positive everyone else had known. That he’d come into work one morning and there would be a cake engraved with the words, “Congrats on Shacking Up!”

It never happened. No cake. No lights. No surprises. No one seemed to know or notice or anything. Spencer and you went on like nothing had changed—it really hadn’t anyway. He liked to laugh when you told him the two of you had been practically dating since the first time he’d offered to take you to a Korean film festival.

Two years later and he’s become very aware of you. And also the ache. All of the very dull and consistent ache in his body. Another scar to add to the collection, he bitterly thinks, out of anaesthesia enough to know that he’s in a hospital. That he’s been hurt. That someone’s holding his hand.

It’s calloused and soft and just perfectly latched onto his. A hand he’d waited to hold for too long. One that he’d be holding for the rest of his life.

Attached to the hand is you, sleeping haphazardly between his bed and a plastic chair. Your fingers are tangled in his, head rested on the crook of your arm and the bed. There’s too much of you curled up in a chair. It’s one of his favourite bits about you, just how dedicated you could be. How you were always there when he woke up and always would be.

He smiles and chuckles despite the pain in his ribs. You wake with a start, one startled gasp followed by a shuddery exhale as you realise again where you are. That nothing’s changed. That everything’s changed.

Through lidded eyes, he watches your eyes light up, matching you grin for grin. He watches the anger flash across your face for not even a second, and he knows exactly how bad you want to murder him for scaring you so bad.

Instead, you press frantic kisses to the back of his knuckles, message fully received. You missed him. You’d been terrified. You’d cried so hard, he can still feel the salt on your lips.

“Spencer,” you breathe, giving his hand one more kiss for good measure and pressing his knuckles to your cheek. “God, I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“I’m alive, y/n, I promise,” he whispers back. Hoarse and adorably okay. It’s one thing to expect to get shot going after un-subs. It’s another to get attacked by a PCP addled grandmother.

He wiggles a finger against your cheek. Even though he can’t see your red rimmed eyes or the dark tear tracts on your cheeks, he can feel the tear that pools on his finger. But before he can reassure you one more time, you shush him and tell him to get some sleep and that you’ll both worry about this later. Maybe over jell-o.

He grins.

#

The team, visiting the next morning, doesn’t have the heart to wake up either of you. Reid looks happy for the first time in—years—with you carefully curled into his side. Sure, there’s a scratchy hospital gown and some pesky lines overriding everything, but it’s cute. No denying that. Thank god you two knuckleheads are finally being open about it. Even if you’re sleeping.

Emily smiles to herself as she readjusts her sling. Morgan and JJ are trading exclamations of shock, while Hotch passes Rossi twenty dollars. You readjust and Reid’s arm moves to rest across your cheek. JJ isn’t subtle when she takes a photo, sniggering.

Emily is even less subtle when she snorts. “I guess I can finally let the cat out of the bag.”

Everyone perks up; she swears she sees Reid open an eye.

“Nearly six months ago, y/n drunkenly confessed to dating Reid. She’s a real wild card on tequila, let me tell you.”

“You knew?” Morgan screeches, “and you didn’t say anything?”

Emily shrugs, winces with her busted up shoulder. “Does it matter? Didn’t we all know?”

[elizabeethan]

Rising Tide

An Overboard Addition

The decision to travel to the Outer Banks to follow the Bluefin Tuna fishing season through the winter was an easy one, only once Emma had suggested that they go together. Even after three years of marriage, he still couldn’t imagine being apart from her for more than a week, never mind an entire winter season. But when Emma found out about the extended season down south, thanks to the blasted television show out of Massachusetts, she insisted that they take part, together.

Of course, he didn’t exactly expect her parents and brother to join them.

A/N: I wrote this because I felt like I was being too mean to Mary Margaret and decided to spread the wealth.

For @the-darkdragonfly​ for keeping my enthusiasm for this series alive, and for being the best beta around.

Rated M

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~~~~

There are too many people on this bloody boat. 

 Killian’s fishing vessel has comfortably held himself, his wife, and his two crew members on countless occasions, but something has shifted with the addition of a fifth person. 

 Or, perhaps, it’s the fact that his crew members have been traded for Emma’s entire family. Plus, there’s their dog. 

 The decision to travel to the Outer Banks to follow the Bluefin Tuna fishing season through the winter was an easy one, only once Emma had suggested that they go together. Even after three years of marriage, he still couldn’t imagine being apart from her for more than a week, never mind an entire winter season. But when Emma found out about the extended season down south, thanks to the blasted television show out of Massachusetts, she insisted that they take part, together. 

 Of course, he didn’t exactly expect her parents and brother to join them. 

 Leo has just turned 21, and is, according to his sister, soul searching. Emma claims that he isn’t sure what he’s doing with his life, what with his decision not to attend college and his struggles to find a steady job. She thought that maybe helping Killian this season would also help Leo, perhaps exposing some passion for fishing he never knew he had. But of course, Leo has never fished before, so his father is tagging along to make matters easier and safer. And why not throw Mary Margaret into the mix too… the more the merrier. 

 At least that’s what Killian thought until they all got onto his bloody boat and shoved off.

 It really isn’t meant for five people. Plus a dog the size of a miniature horse. 

Emma enjoys sunning herself on the bow, even in the winter, and Killian enjoys watching her. What he doesn’t enjoy is the quick and judging looks he gets from her father and the snickering and giggling from her mother each time he’s caught. He doesn’t enjoy the groaning and eye rolling he gets from Leo each time he kisses his wife, seen because of the painful lack of privacy on this bloody boat. 

 The whole journey down was near torture. Emma and Killian have grown accustomed to a certain amount of privacy, as well as a certain amount of pleasure for each of them. Everyone says the honeymoon phase will fade, and yet it hasn’t for them. Everyone also says that he will soon struggle to keep up with the energy of his much younger wife, and yet he has not experienced such a thing. 

 Killian’s always been a private person, preferring to love his wife in seclusion. At least when it’s Will and Robin on the boat, he can tell them to shove off if they’re caught in some unsavory position. But when her father does, Killian nearly jumps overboard. 

 It takes them about a day to sail into Wanchese, the harbor almost as accommodating as the one back home. They’re friendly here, but he can’t help but get a sense of competition burning between himself and the southern fishermen. Killian’s never been much for competition, but David is. 

 He says something cheeky and mildly ominous to the others in the fleet, something about catching the most tonnage this season despite not being from down here, and Killian stiffens beneath Emma’s hand on his back. She leaves warmth between his shoulder blades where he always seems to be stiff. 

 “It’s alright,” she says as she kisses his shoulder over his sweater, pressing up onto her toes. “It’ll be fun.”

 “The season down here is short,” he explains, though she already knows. “But I have a feeling it’ll feel quite long.”

 She hums and laughs, kissing him once more and wrapping her arms around his waist from behind him as he pulls away from the docks. When he hears her mother’s voice cooing at Ripple, “look at your mommy and daddy over there,” he stiffens again. 

 It’ll be a long season. 

 ~~~~

 He’s only glad for the hotel room that her parents have rented. 

 Leo’s still on the boat, of course, acting as Killian’s first mate, but he can handle that for the evenings. Leo does well preparing the lines and fishing for bait, and he tries to see the upside as Emma serves him spaghetti for the fourth night in a row and he realizes that they once again won’t have any privacy. 

 “Thank you, love,” he says softly to her as she hands him the floppy paper plate. “Smells delicious.”

 She snorts, shaking her head as she takes a seat beside him on the bow. It’s become a favorite spot for them; a place where they can unwind together, make love to each other, console each other’s demons. “Don’t lie,” she says, bumping their shoulders together. “I’m a shitty cook anyway, never mind on the water.”

 “You’re a brilliant cook.”

 “Yes,” she laughs, nodding and twirling her fork in the flaccid pasta. “My recipe for peanut butter and jelly is award winning.”

 “Aye, well, I do like when you sprinkle the potato chips in them.” 

 “That’s because we’re both eight-years-old.” 

 He leans towards her, securing his plate in his lap so that he can press a lingering kiss against her temple. “I should hope not,” he jokes. 

 They sit quietly for a while, enjoying the dinner she made for them despite her complaints that it’s mushy and watching the sunset. It’s beautiful here, he has to admit, and he can’t help but appreciate the way the pink sky bounces off of the sea and into his wife’s hair. 

 “It’ll be fine, you know,” she says softly, her lips pressing to his neck. “It’s only a few weeks, and I don’t even think they’ll come out most weeks.”

 “Aye, love,” he murmurs into the top of her head. “You know I’m not upset about this, right?” 

 “Yeah, but I can tell you’re not completely comfortable either. I mean, my parents--”

 “Emma,” he interrupts, although he doesn’t like to. He takes her face in his hands and gives her a smile. “I love your parents because I love you. I can handle a few weeks with them.”

 “You promise you won’t gaff them if they mess up your boat?” 

 He laughs, if only to remove the image of such a violent proposition from his mind, and nods. “I promise, my love.”

 ~~~~

 Things start turning south after a few weeks on the water, her parents, just as Emma had predicted, only making a few appearances. David was helpful enough teaching Leo the ropes, and he’s become an invaluable member of Killian’s crew. Now that he’s trained quite thoroughly, David and Mary Margaret have taken the opportunity to explore the Outer Banks. 

 Only today, they’re out on the boat, along for the ride since Killian suggested a shorter trip just past the sound. It was hard enough crossing the bar with Emma’s father’s watchful eye on him, and now that they've made it to deep enough waters, his anxiety is at an all time high. 

 Killian is a talented sailor. He knows this, and he also knows that he’s a talented fisherman. He’s earned himself a rather suitable fortune in his years catching tuna, and he maintains that he knows what he’s doing. And yet, having an audience-- especially one that seems to still be waiting for the other shoe to drop-- is making him entirely doubt himself. They’re waiting for their daughter to get hurt, either by him or because of him. He’s waiting for the doubt he has in himself to fade, and yet it never seems to unless Emma forces it away. 

 He would never hurt her. He would die if anything ever happened to her, especially if it was at his hands. If he were ever involved in any pain delivered to her, he isn’t sure how he would survive the guilt and anguish that would result. 

 Which is why he’s been so careful the entire trip, and each time she’s on his boat with him. He failed at his attempts to make her wear a lifejacket-- So what, you think I can’t swim? I’m a better swimmer than you, probably-- but he tries to take every other precaution. He’s even trained Ripple to bark when she sees a large wave incoming so that they can take cover. He keeps knives stashed around the boat so that he can cut any rogue line or rope, should anyone get tangled. He keeps lifepreservers as well, one on each corner despite the boat being small enough to reach one easily. Every sharp object has a home, a designated place to avoid accidents. He captains a very safe vessel any day, but when Emma and their Ripple are on board, it’s like his senses are heightened. 

 Which is why he watches her like a hawk each day, but especially now that her parents are on board. He just knows that one misstep will have them staring him down, judging his ability to care for their daughter, silently gaining confirmation that their marriage won’t make it. He knows it’s dramatic, and not entirely true, but he can’t help but fear that they think of him as too old for her. He’s not energetic enough; he can’t keep up with her needs. He can’t provide her with the life that she deserves. 

 They’ve talked about this, of course. But the reminders keep coming with her parents’ looks towards him, so his self-doubt flourishes. 

 They’ve only just hooked up when it happens. Leo is reeling-- he’s doing phenomenally as he works with the waves in an effort to drag the beast to them-- and Killian is driving. David stands at the helm with Leo, telling Killian when to go into reverse and when to go into neutral, when to turn left and when to turn right. They’ve almost brought the thing to the port of the vessel, and Emma stands diligently with a gaff ready to assist however she can. Killian can’t stop staring. Not only because she looks beautiful and strong, but because he worries for her too much. 

 He notices the rope on the ground quickly after it falls, calling to David to move it despite his distraction with the strained line. He kicks it away, a loop forming easily as he does so. He shouts once more, desperately as he watches Emma take a step to her left, and panics when he isn’t heard. 

 “Emma!” he calls from the wheel, turning towards her but unable to abandon steering the craft for fear of disaster. “Love, your--”

 She starts to trip as David throws the harpoon, the line tightening around her ankle and pulling at her leg until she has to drop to the deck. Killian abandons his post easily, rushing towards her and shoving against David with too much force so that he can grab for a blade and cut her free. 

 She falls forward into his arms, her gasp coming out forcefully as she seems to piece together what’s almost happened as the adrenaline wears off. 

 “Woah,” she breathes, squeezing his hand in hers as he helps her to straighten. 

 “Are you--” 

 “The line!” David calls. “It’s-- Emma?” He hurries towards them both, finally abandoning the tool as Leo cuts the beast free and does the same and crouches by her side. “What happened?”

 A sudden wave of disgust washes over him as an equally powerful wave from the sea crashes into his beloved boat. With the force of it, with his wife safe in his arms, he realizes he couldn’t possibly care less what happens to his fishing vessel as long as she’s alright. 

 “She nearly went overboard,” he spits. “Did you not hear me? Or were you too busy with the bloody harpoon?”

 “Obviously I didn’t hear you,” he argues. “But I don’t need you blaming me when your equipment doesn’t work. This harpoon line is way too long.”

 He breathes out an exasperated laugh, shaking his head and staring up at David. “Oh, so this is my fault? You aren’t watching your lines and nearly get your daughter killed and somehow it’s my fault?”

 “Babe,” she starts, putting her hand on his, but he’s too angry and worked up and terrified. 

 “No, I'm sick of this,” he says. He hears Ripple finally bursting out of the cabin after far too many attempts to break free, and she hurries towards Emma, towards her mother, to lick her cheek. Emma giggles and cuddles with the pup, seeming to allow her breath to finally even. “Every chance you get, it’s a dig at my ability to keep my wife safe. And when I-- when your Captain orders you to move a bloody line away from her damn foot--”

 “Killian!” 

 He can’t even respond, can’t do anything but take a heaving breath in hopes that it will calm him. He knows what she’s thinking-- that she wishes he would stop yelling at her bloody father-- but he can’t shake the feelings of rage coursing through him. 

 “I’m sorry,” he finally mumbles, finally able to turn his head and look her in the eye. “I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

 She takes his hand and squeezes once more, nearly forcing him to maintain eye contact, and says, “I’m fine, babe. I’m okay.” he tries to ignore the discomfort written across her father’s entire being. “Let’s just go below deck and you can check my ankle, okay?” 

 “Is it hurting you?”

 She blinks once and says, “It’s a little sore. Come on.” 

 They aren’t even able to shut themselves in before she tugs on his arm, dragging him close to her and wrapping him in a squeeze that he swears could kill him if it wasn’t exactly what he needs. It’s not as if she was dragged over the bow-- it’s not as if the rope truly cinched around her ankle and dragged her overboard, beneath the surface of the deadly crashing waves-- but she came pretty damn close. And now, as he comes down from the high of adrenaline of nearly losing his wife, his best friend, the most important thing in his life, he cracks. 

 He can barely breathe as his palms reach to cup her cheeks, if only to ensure that they’re still warm and pink and alive. He chokes when he has her in his grasp, his brows pinching together almost painfully and his teeth digging into the soft flesh of his bottom lip, likely drawing blood. “Love,” he stutters, his voice weak and small, and he nearly loses his balance as another wave crashes into them. She keeps him steady. “I almost--”

 “No,” she insists. “I know, baby, but you didn’t. I’m right here, Killian. I’m not going anywhere.”

 When his eyes meet hers, he says desperately, “I can’t lose you.”

 “You won’t,” she tells him with such certainty that he has no choice but to believe her. “Killian, I'm right here. I’m here with you, and I’m okay. You’re not gonna lose me.” 

 He shakes his head, and when he does, she creeps closer to him on the small captain's bed until her hips can straddle his thighs. His hands find her waist, unable to do anything but hold her and try to convince himself that she’s here and she’s fine. He didn’t lose her, although he almost did. The sea has given so much to him, but it’s also taken. It took his brother, or so he must only assume, and it almost took the love of his life. He knows now, now that it’s been proven to him, that he would gladly give himself to the sea if she took his wife. “Emma, my love…”

 She hardly gives him a chance to answer, although part of him thinks she knows that he had nothing to say. Her lips cut him off, pressing to his and destroying any thoughts of negativity or anger or fear. They fuse themselves to his mouth and take from him every ounce of distress he could possibly imagine feeling. They give him every ounce of strength he could possibly possess. Her tongue slinks out over his own and sends small tingles down his back to the base of his spine until his grip on her tightens. Until his grip is tight enough to convince himself that she isn’t going anywhere. 

 “I love you,” she presses against his skin, her mouth somehow never leaving his.

 “Emma,” he breathes again. With a gasp, he says once more, “Emma.” 

 “I'm okay,” she says. Then, with her hips pressing to his, she says, “Let me show you.” 

 In a move that he can barely perceive, one consumed with disorientation and a need to still feel her in his arms, she’s off of his lap and shedding her clothes. Her shorts were wet and difficult to peel from her legs, her-- his-- sweater, too, but her tight tank top, the one doubling as a bra, comes off of her easily. He reaches for her breasts, his lips finding her tightened nipple, and the moan that leaves her has him shaking. 

 She takes his clothes off, too, leaving hot trails of fire with her mouth each time she removes something from his skin. Her tongue follows a line between two freckles on his upper thigh and he throws his head back against the thin pillow that they share most nights. When her lips purse against the angry red tip of his cock, he grabs for her, fingers lacing through her hair and holding onto her if only so that he never has to fear letting her go. If he never lets go of her, he’ll never lose her. 

 She hollows her cheeks expertly, quickly working him to nearly his breaking point until he has to force himself to stop her. He wants her more than almost anything, second only to the feeling of finishing with the feeling of her walls reaching the same precipice around him. He thinks-- he hopes-- that the look he gives her conveys this, and when she releases him and licks her lips, smirking at him, he knows he’s succeeded. 

 Her fingers find her clit, although he’s quick to replace them with his own as she settles herself just above him. When she throws her head back with a gasp, her breasts swell and her long hair nearly tickles his kneecaps. When his fingers slide down from her clit to her entrance, smoothly spreading her arousal until he can tuck them inside, she lets out a moan that’s far too loud for their close quarters, so he sits up and fuses his mouth to hers. Her fingers grip the back of his head, holding him to her and tugging at his hair in a way that he knows means she’s mad with want. 

 His tongue traces her bottom lip in filthy need before he bites down on it, making her moan. “I want you,” she breathes as his mouth finds her earlobe. “Killian, please.”

 “I need you,” he murmurs without meaning to, suckling on her ear in hopes to silence anymore foolish confessions. 

 “Take me. Take what you need, please.” 

 Her core is just above him, his cock throbbing with a need to be within the heat of her walls, to be squeezed by her until he can spill all of the love he has for her inside. When she drops onto him, her clit running along the length of him and warming him from the inside out, he grips her hips once again and helps to guide her. When she whimpers desperately, a moan escaping the back of her throat making him twitch, his mouth finds hers once again. With another move along his length, her fingers reach between them and guide him into her, making her hiss and whine and bite and hug him tighter. 

 “I love you so fucking much,” she says as she grinds down against him. 

 He can do nothing but consume her, taking her mouth against his again and moving into her until she lets out a breathless sound of need and desire. It drives him mad, his whole body shivering as he thrusts up once again, and when she props herself on her knees and moves herself up and down along his length, he has to squeeze his eyes shut. 

 The fact is, he nearly lost her. She’s fine, she wasn’t injured, nothing happened, but it could have been so much worse than it was. He praises himself for being quick enough to cut her free, but fears what could have happened if he hadn’t. But when she takes his face into her palms again and presses their foreheads together, when she whispers that she’s here and that she loves him, he knows that he can believe her. He knows that he can allow himself to move on from the absolute terror that comes with nearly losing the one thing he can’t live without.

 “Emma, fuck.” 

 “Fuck me,” she says. Her grip on his hair tightens again and she commands, “Harder.”

 So he flips them over, Emma landing on her back and gasping when he slams back into her, her ankles hooking around his back and pulling him deeper into her. She moans in his ear when he tucks his face into the crook between her neck and her shoulder and sucks what he knows will become a far-too-obvious mark there. She’ll likely have to keep wearing his sweaters to cover it, not that he minds. 

 She squeezes, and she pushes against him, and she cries out against the lobe of his ear, and before he knows it, his hands are finding the back of her shoulders and pulling her up towards him so that he can hold her as close to himself as he can possibly manage. When she’s seated upon his thighs, his hips thrusting so that his cock can slide into her and hit every perfect part of her, she bites her bottom lip and screws her brows so tightly that he wonders if she’ll have a headache. 

 He can’t speak, can’t put into words the love he has for her, so he kisses her again and she kisses back. And though it’s quick and dirty, it’s just what the two of them need. She’s alright-- she’s just fine-- but they need each other now. He needs her to show him that she’s alright. She needs him to show her that he believes her. So when they come together, Emma squeezing him forcefully and desperately, he spills himself into her with just as much neediness so that they’re falling together, holding each other, losing themselves in one another. 

 Eventually, he falls forwards, Emma barely catching him before rolling the both of them over so that they're on their sides and facing one another. Once they’re comfortable, both of them panting heavily, she lifts her hand and rests it on his cheek, a soft smile gracing her lips and brightening her eyes, and he knows now that she’s alright. She’s fine, just like she said. 

 “You’re okay?” he asks in clarification. 

 “I’m perfect, as long as you’re here.” 

 “I’m always here.” 

 “Then I’m always okay.” 

 He didn’t expect to be here with her, now, with her family above deck, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world. When his palm lands softly on her cheek, the warmth of it heating his entire being, he smiles. “I love you.”

 “I love you too, idiot. You’re my husband; it’s kind of a given.” 

 With a laugh, he answers, “You’re very rude.” 

 “Only because I love you very, very much.” 

 “I’m not sure how those two things are equivalent, but…”

 She shushes him then, scooting closer to him so that she can press her lips to his. “Don’t overthink it, baby. You could hurt yourself.” 

 “You’re quite something.”

 “Yes, I love it when they say that to me after a night of passionate lovemaking.”

 “It’s only four thirty.” 

 She laughs softly, a warm breath pushing itself from her lungs and onto his face, his lips tingling in response to the heat of her presence beside him. He laughs, too, his hand brushing a rogue strand of hair away from her eyes. “Emma,” he whispers. 

 “Killian,” she whispers back, “I’m okay.” 

 He nods, because with her in his arms now, he knows. “I know.” 

 She kisses him one more time, then asks, “Now, what was it you always say to me? You’re only allowed to fuck me through your feelings if we talk about them afterwards?” 

 He sighs, nuzzling his nose against her own before it finds her cheek. “I’m sorry.” 

 “You don’t have to say you’re sorry,” she tells him, her exasperation clear in her voice. “I’m not mad, Killian. I just want you to know that it’s alright to feel angry about stuff that scares you.” 

 “When did you get so deep?” 

 “The ocean is pretty deep, right? And I almost got yeeted right into it.” 

 He wants to laugh, truly. He wants to make a joke about her idiotic, immature reference. But he can’t, for his fear of her actually going overboard takes over. And he doesn’t exactly know what the bloody hell that phrase even means. So he squeezes her tighter and shakes his head. “Hush,” he says, because he can say nothing else. 

 She whispers, “Killian,” and when he looks up at her, her eyes are deep and serious. “It’s no one’s fault. And nothing happened.” 

 He shakes his head. “Something very bad could have happened, love. If I ever lost you…” 

 “I know, I know,” she says, cutting him off with one more kiss. “And I know you’re mad at my dad, too, but it’s no one’s fault. That rope was there, and you cut it away.”

 Truthfully, he’s almost surprised by her mention of her father. It’s true that he became too angry, too blameful of the man who could have prevented a disaster from taking place had he only listened. But Emma is okay, she’s fine, and David is probably just as worried as Killian was. 

 “I know,” he concedes. 

 “And I know you’re a little upset about him… I guess he’s been kind of doubting you, huh?”

 He shrugs. She’s right, of course, but far be it for him to admit that he’s feeling this way. Why he can’t, he doesn’t know. 

 “It must get pretty tiring to have him always questioning you, especially since you're the captain. Your word goes, and all that.” 

 There’s no response, not without admitting that this is exactly the way he’s feeling, so he kisses her nose. She makes it easy, of course, and she’s completely right. He gave a command that wasn’t followed, and it could have cost him his life in the loss of her. “It’s just…” he starts, unsure if he’ll be able to finish. 

 “They’ve been doubting you all this time?”

 With a sigh, he nods. How she manages to read his every thought, his every emotion, is lost on him. “We’ve been married quite a while.” 

 “Three years,” she confirms happily. “And we’re pretty content, aren't we?” 

 “Aye,” he laughs, pulling her close to him so that he can tuck her beneath his chin and press a kiss to the top of his head. 

 “They have this need, Killian,” she starts to explain. “They gave me up, and now they have me back. They have this need to protect me and take care of me so they don’t risk losing me again.” 

 “I know, I just--” 

 “And I’m sure it’s impossible to rectify how they could somehow not see you as the one thing that’s protected me more than anything. But they need to be the ones, I think.” 

 He shakes his head, unable to move past the point she’s trying to make as he asks, “So what, I can’t be the one to protect my wife?” 

 With a soft sigh, she suggests, “Maybe their doubts are rubbing off on you? Making you doubt yourself?”

 “It’s not exactly difficult,” he says in spite before again trying to force away his irritation. Shaking his head, he says more softly, “I know that we’re perfect for one another, and that I can and will keep you safe above all else, but the constant distrust makes it difficult to believe that.” 

 Her fingers find the gray along his temple, scratching through it lightly in such loving gentleness. He’ll never tire of how much she loves his grays, his old age somehow feeling more manageable as her appreciation for it grows each day. She stays quiet, and he knows it’s because she knows he’s right. He’s said what he wants to say, and she agrees with him. 

 “You know,” she says, “you’ve known me as long as they have.” 

 “Aye, I know.” 

 “And you love me more.” 

 He clears his throat. “That can’t be true, love.” 

 “And yet, it is,” she laughs. “It’s okay, I like it. I’ve spent more time with you than I have them. I have more of a connection with you than I do with them, in a few ways,” she says with a chuckle, smirking and kissing him softly. 

 “Emma--” 

 “I spent my whole life craving a certain type of love from a certain type of person. I always thought it would be from the people who gave me up, but it turns out I was wrong. The person I was looking for was the person who would love me over everything. The one who would put me above everything. My parents did the right thing when they gave me away, but they still gave me away. You’ve never given up on me, Killian. All my life, I’ve been searching for this person, and I found you.”

 All he can do is hope that the look in his eyes as he stares at her conveys the depth of what he’s feeling for her. She tells him things like this quite frequently, her comfort with him evident as she continues to open up. When they met, she was an open book, although the stories were written in another language. Now, nearly four years later, he’s fluent. 

 Finally, after much silence passes between them-- too much, considering her family is still just above them-- he sighs and fiddles with her hair once more. He’s said his piece now, able to get off his chest the anger and fear that he felt, but with Emma’s heartfelt confession, he feels a need to clarify some things. 

 “Your life as a child who was, well--”

 “An orphan,” she tells him firmly. 

 “An orphan. It seems rather impossible. I just can’t imagine how hard that must have been, and how much strength it must have taken just to grow up.”

 With a soft, sad smile, she nods. “Why do you think I don’t want kids?” she asks with a shrug. 

 His fingers dance along the soft skin of her temple, drawing trails down the side of her face and to the back of her neck before he pulls them together and kisses her lips gently. “It’s… It’s alright for that to be the reason, love,” he starts, hopeful that he can actually get his point across successfully. “But I just want you to know… I mean… you have a reason, but you certainly don’t need one.” 

 “What do you mean?” 

 “I mean not wanting a child is enough of a reason for you not to have one. I know you struggled growing up, and you fear you could subject a child to a similar fate, but you would also have the right to make this decision even if that wasn’t the case.” 

 She leans in close to him, their foreheads touching and her nose bumping his, and she whispers, “I know. And I know that if we had one, we would love it and everything but… we’re enough,” she shrugs. 

 “We are.” 

 “Are you sure?” 

 With a tender, lingering kiss to her lips, he whispers, “What we have is perfect. You and Ripple are all that I need. A baby would add to what we are together, but it’s not something that I need to feel fulfilled. It wouldn’t complete us because we’re already complete.” 

 She sighs softly and nods, kissing him again. “Okay, good. I agree.”

 “I’m glad.” His hands cup her cheeks as gently as they can, all of the love he has for his wife washing through his palms and into her skin. “I love you more than anything,” he promises her. 

 “I love you more than everything.” 

 “Cheeky scoundrel, you are.” 

 “For you, babe.” 

 “When did you start calling me babe?” 

 She silences him with one more kiss, deep and passionate as their lips meld together and their tongues tangle briefly, before she pulls away from him with a salacious grin and stands up. “Come on,” she insists, holding out her hand. “My family is probably wondering what we’re up to down here. 

 He catches the small, genuine smile that graces her whole face, brightening her eyes as she says family. 

 ~~~~

 Dinner that evening is awkward. Despite having an unsuccessful day as far as fishing is concerned, they decided to call it a day and turn in early. The tension on the boat was too high, a conversation desperately necessary but not conducive to their environment. He needs to apologize to her father, he realizes, but he struggled to find the ability to do so while trying to captain his vessel. 

 When they got into the harbor and docked, they decided to go for dinner out rather than finding something to cook either on the boat or in her parents’ hotel room. The small local restaurant they came across just beside the harbor is quiet enough, the atmosphere relaxed and quaint, but it still feels too awkward to bring up his outburst of anger, no matter how justified it was. 

 Finally, after they'd each finished a glass of wine and gotten refills, he clears his throat. “Dave,” he says with little conviction. He scratches behind his ear, noting the way Emma’s left brow raises expectantly, and takes a swig from his glass. “I, uh, I’d like to discuss earlier.”

 Her father clears his throat just the same as he had, pressing his lips together and earning a startlingly familiar look from his own wife. “So would I.” 

 Without making eye contact, he nods, trying to find the right words. “It’s come to my attention that I may have gotten a bit angry.”

 David raises a brow, purses his lips as he stares down at the fish that KIllian can’t believe he has the ability to eat, and nods. “Me too.”

 The silence that consumes their table is deafening, the restaurant suddenly seeming far too noisy against the stiffness between himself and David. Perhaps this will be enough, he thinks. Although, he’s proven wrong easily. Dropping her fork dramatically and rolling her eyes, Emma exclaims, “Are you both serious?” 

 “My thoughts exactly,” her mother agrees. “Do men not talk about their feelings, ever?” 

 “No,” Leo laughs. 

 Her mouth is agape as she stares between them, each of them looking to her as if hoping for guidance in how she wants them to move forward. “You’re both being idiots,” she accuses, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms over her chest as she shakes her head. “Just tell each other that you’re sorry, Jesus Christ. What are you, toddlers?” 

 “Sorry?!” her father exclaims in outrage. “What do I have to be sorry for? Your husband screamed at me!” 

 “Because you didn’t listen to an order and almost got her killed!” 

 “I think you’re forgetting that I know what I'm doing when I’m out there, Jones. You don’t need to have a power trip with me.” 

 “I think you’re forgetting, I’m the bloody captain.” He’s seething, leaning forward into the table and resting his elbows on the hard surface. 

 “Shut up!” Her voice is too loud for the quiet space, but truthfully, her words are necessary. “Dad, I know you were scared, and maybe you took that fear out on Killian. But he was scared, too, and he did the same thing. And Killian, I know you gave an order, but he didn’t hear you. So if both of you could chill out and stop blaming each other for something that didn’t even happen, that would be great.” 

 Killian stays quiet, his jaw tense and his teeth grinding together with too much force. She’s right, of course, they’re being childish. She had already tried to tell him that there’s no one to blame, and here he is blaming her father. It’s unnecessary, an excuse for him to ignore his fears a bit more. So he clears his throat again. “I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I was afraid I was going to lose her and I took it out on you.”

 David takes in a deep breath and leans away from the table, the tension loosening slightly, and says, “I’m sorry, too. I did the same thing.” 

 In a moment of boldness, he says, “Although, it does feel like you’ve been doubting my ability to provide for her since we met, and it honestly feels like you aren’t in support of our marriage.”

 He sees Emma squeeze her eyes shut, her hand cupping her forehead, but she makes no attempt to stop the exchange from taking place. Mary Margaret stiffens, so does Leo, and David takes a moment before even considering an answer. 

 “Killian,” her mother starts, placing her hand over his in an attempt at being comforting. It works, a bit. “Emma, are you feeling that way, too?

 Though she’s clearly on the spot, Emma looks up from the table’s surface and shrugs. “I mean, yeah. I know you guys love us and support us, but he’s right. Sometimes it feels like you doubt we’ll make it.”

 David sighs and shakes his head. “That’s never been our intention.” 

 “We both believe in each other, in our marriage, but to always have you in our ears about how Killian’s older, and his job is dangerous, and how I need stability… It feels like you don’t trust us to take care of ourselves or each other. And now Killian’s doubting himself and blaming himself for something that he shouldn’t be.” 

 She’s honest, almost too honest, and the tension is back. 

 David’s eyes seek the ceiling, his jaw tight before he says again, “It’s not our intention. I’m sorry that we’re making you both feel that way.” 

 Wiping at her eyes, Mary Margaret says, “Emma, honey, we just… we worry about you. We want to make sure that you’re getting everything you need and that you’re well taken care of, and we put pressure on Killian. I’m sorry.” 

 “I know that,” she answers in exhaustion, shaking her head. “I know you guys are putting pressure on yourselves, too, to make sure that I have a good life now that I'm here with you. But I do have a good life. I need you to trust that Killian and I have the best life I could possibly imagine.”

 “We know,” Mary Margaret says softly, her head casting down. 

 “We don’t need different jobs, or a bigger house, or… or kids. We’re perfect just like this.” 

 There’s quiet across the table now, each of them seeming to settle and relax a bit with the truth out between them. It’s not like this isn’t something he and Emma have discussed-- they’ve talked at length several times about how her parents have a need to care for her. But having the words spoken aloud, having Emma ask them to tone it down, feels freeing. 

 “We’re sorry,” David finally says after a few moments of peace. “I’m sorry. I know I’m hard on you, Killian. I worry about my little girl too much, and it’s not fair for me to put that on you.” 

 It’s a big step. Truthfully, it almost takes Killian by surprise, considering the two of them couldn’t even look at each other a few moments ago. But now, David has acknowledged why he’s so upset, and he’s apologized for it. Her mother, too. Honestly, just them recognizing that this is the way they’ve been feeling is enough, even if they continue to doubt him. 

 “I don’t intend to let her down,” he finally says, earning a soft smile from her. “I-- Emma’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’ll do anything I can to keep her safe. Always.” 

 She squeezes his hand and she bites her bottom lip, releasing it so that she can smile once more. “I love you,” she says softly for only him to hear. To her mother, she says, “I love him, okay? I’m fine; we’re fine. I promise.”

 ~~~~

 The trip home has been a long one, her father constantly making jokes about how he’s driving that make him absolutely mad, although he knows them to be in jest. He taught Leo how to captain, showing him the ropes now that he’s used to the controls, so with only a few hours before they make port in Storybrooke, he’s able to meet his stunning, sundrenched wife on the deck of his beloved vessel. She tries to sunbathe, although it’s becoming colder and colder the further north they travel, so she’s wrapped in her blanket rather than lying atop it. 

 “Hey babe,” she smiles, tipping her sunglasses off of the bridge of her nose. 

 “Hi babe.”

 The face she makes is priceless, her nose scrunching in disgust as she shakes her head. “No, don’t call me that. It’s all wrong.”

 “And what shall I call you, if you can call me babe and I can’t?” he asks as he sits beside her and presses a kiss to her temple. 

 “You can call me… Darling, or my love, or the best thing that’s ever happened to me…”

 “Those are my options?” 

 “Take ‘em or leave ‘em.” 

 His arms wrap around her easily, pulling her against him until she wriggles herself on top of him. They lie down, Killian on his back and his love resting across his chest, and he sighs happily. “Well, my love,” he starts, his fingers scratching against her scalp until she sighs and melts into him. “It seems to have been a successful season after all.” 

 “Just like I told you.”

 “Aye.”

 “You should listen to your wife, Jones.” 

 “I suppose you’re right, Swan.”

 “It’s Jones, Jones,” she says softly, kissing his neck just above the hem of his sweater. 

 “My mistake, darling,” he almost whispers.

 They’re quiet, so relaxed as they lie together, the swell of the ocean rocking them into a sense of serenity. Her breath is warm as it washes over his skin, sending a shiver down his spine as they travel north, back into the northeast winter. He pulls the blanket they share higher so that it covers her shoulders, and she hugs herself closer to him.

 “Are you okay?” she asks softly after a while, her voice barely audible over the waves. 

 “Aye, are you? Are you cold?” 

 “No,” she shakes her head against his chest, “You're nice and toasty. But that’s not what I meant. I meant are you... okay?” 

 With a soft and understanding sigh, he nods. “Overall a successful season, my love, just like you’d predicted.” 

 “And you didn’t even gaff anyone,” she says with a grin he can hear through her voice. 

 “Well, no one messed up my boat.” 

 She laughs softly and squeezes her arms around him once more. “And you beat out those southern assholes.” 

 He chuckles and lets his fingers trail up her spine over his sweatshirt. He caught more than anyone else, earning more money and respect, along with a target on his back for next year. If he comes back, he’ll have to be careful to ensure that he succeeds once again.

 “I’m glad we… I mean, we got a lot out in the open. Things feel simpler now.” 

 She nods and kisses the small patch of hair that peeks out from beneath his sweater. “I know, I feel it too. It’s like things have finally settled down, ya know?”

 “Aye. Like we don’t have anything to worry about now.” 

 “Yeah.” 

 More time passes and the gentle hum of the motor lulls them as they skip over wave after wave.

 “I love you,” he says softly, cutting through the comfortable silence lying between them. If he could whisper and she’d hear him, he would. 

 “I love you, too, babe. More than anything.” 

 He moves his hand from her back to the side of her face, the side that’s exposed to the chilled air rather than tucked against his chest. He lets his fingers trace gentle patterns along her temple until she presses up to look at him, her eyes fluttering shut as he cups her cheek. “God, how I love you, best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispers. 

 She giggles and leans in, fusing her lips to his, their kiss pure and longing as she deepens it. She lets her hands cradle his head and hold him to her, her tongue sliding out of her own mouth and along the line of his bottom lip before she nips at it. With his hands beneath the blanket that conceals them from the wind and the sea spray, he squeezes her ass and pulls her hips down onto his, drawing a needy moan from the back of her throat. 

 She breaks away from him for just a second, taking in a deep breath without opening her eyes before she leans in again and meets him once more. With a whimper as he bucks his hips up into hers, he lets his hand begin to wander beneath the thick fabric covering her curves. 

 Her family is here, far too close for comfort, but even so, he thinks he would risk terminal embarrassment in favor of being with her if not for the rude interruption. They hear their angel, their Ripple, barking loudly from the rear deck, Leo unable to console her as she argues with the dolphins that greet her from beneath the water. Eventually, he calls for his sister for support, hopeful that Emma’s presence will calm the beast so that she doesn’t leap overboard. 

 Emma groans, breaking away from him and dropping her forehead against his in frustration. “Dammit,” she whispers. “I totally would have fucked you, too.” 

 He snorts, shaking his head and kissing her once more, and says, “I’m sure that’s true. I suppose we’ll just have to wait until we get home.” 

 She smiles softly as she presses another kiss to his mouth and says, “Know what’s funny?” When he hums in question, she continues, “We’ve been married for three years, but it still feels like we’re in our newlywed phase.” 

 He smirks, slapping her ass one more time as she moves to get off of him, and says, “I think we should stay in it.”

 “Agreed.” 

 Apparently, their agreement is binding. He never does lose the absolutely need-driven desire to make love to his wife any chance he gets, no matter what they should be doing instead. No matter the things that could come between them, he loves her, and he’ll never tire of showing her any chance he gets. It’s enough, they’ve both realized. They're perfect. 

 The End

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