#in my view it still deserves to be docked points for that but like they did pop off nonetheless

[armandsbf]

𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗗𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗗𝗮𝗺𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿 𝗙𝗮𝘄𝗻

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʟᴏᴜɪꜱ x ᴏᴄ x ʟᴇꜱᴛᴀᴛ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴡʜᴇɴ ʟᴏᴜɪꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴇꜱᴛᴀᴛ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀᴄʀᴏꜱꜱ ᴀ ʜᴜɴɢʀʏ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ᴀʀᴛɪꜱᴛ ʙʏ ᴛʜᴇ ɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴᴅʀᴇᴀ, ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱʜᴇ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪꜱꜱɪɴɢ ᴘɪᴇᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʟɪᴠᴇꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇʏ’ʟʟ ᴋᴇᴇᴘ ʜᴇʀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴄᴏꜱᴛꜱ.

ᴛᴡ: ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴘʀᴇᴅᴀᴛᴏʀ/ᴘʀᴇʏ ᴅʏɴᴀᴍɪᴄ, ᴛᴏxɪᴄ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘꜱ

an: this one-shot is inspired by a few iwtv fics I’ve read on here, but I tried to give it my own twist. I hope y’all enjoy my precious little monsters! Btw, it’s basically x reader but I have her a name and little bit of a backstory cause it makes things run a little smoother while writing.

Running was the only option. That's what she told herself as she stood in the darkness of the docks. The night was foggy and she would've been blinded by night had it not been for the lampposts. Her body shook with fear. They'd find her, she thought to herself. And if they didn't, they'd hunt her down, but now she was free. She was finally free.

If Andrea had one regret, it would be leaving her dear girl. Her light, her beauty, her Claudia. She had no idea what her parents had done or who they were. She was a happy little monster, and she deserved her freedom. She hoped she wouldn't hate her and that one day, she'd find her and let her explain.

It wasn't suppose to be this way. She was meant to be free after working at the Azelea. Make her money and take herself and her bother, Julian, far away from this place. They wanted to go to New York. That dream was long gone.

Andrea was never supposed to be wrapped up in Louis and Lestat's damned relationship. She wondered, briefly, if she'd ever even had a choice. She knew if she had, this would never had happened. She was wooed, seduced and then taken into that home without any knowledge of what that would be.

Running was the only option.

She knew this to be true. She would only remain human for so long, and she still wanted a taste of her freedom. For whatever reason they'd refused to turn her, especially so early. She was only twenty-five, and they enjoyed her innocence. The kind of innocence only a human could have. They liked her wide eyed optimism, and it made them feel less like the monsters they were.

Her innocence had been depleted into nothing but empty, inky blackness. She felt nothing but fear and despair now.

Her memories started coming back the more Claudia asked about her past and the more she drew blanks. Louis and Lestat would comfort her and fill in the gaps for her, but it never felt right. Her hands shook with fear as her memories settled back into her mind.

4 years ago

Andrea never thought she'd be working at the Azelea. She was a bright young artist with a point of view, her paintings were her pride and joy. But money was running low and Julian could not provide for both of them. He would never know what she did at night, or perhaps he did, but he never complained about the extra cash.

He wanted so badly to protect her, but he couldn't do it any longer, not when they were barely scraping by. She had to learn to fend for herself.

Luckily, the Azelea was a well kept establishment and she wasn't treated badly. Her boundaries were her boundaries and the girls there protected her when it was needed. Especially since she didn't like going past simple favours.

The true height of her nights was the two men who she got to lay her eyes on every night. The owner of the club and man about town, Louis de Pointe du Lac and his paramour Lestat de Lioncourt. How could an artist glance at them and not see what magnificent they exuded? They quickly became her inspiration after a few long glances.

Those long glances would soon turn into longing looks. When Lestat played the piano at the club, he'd lock eyes with her and then with Louis, as if he was playing for them. When Louis walked around the club with a cigar between his lips, he'd keep his gaze trained on her even as he talked to others. Andrea blushed and giggled when they did that.

What she didn't know at the time was that they knew every sickeningly sweet thought she had about them, and those gazes and winks were teasing, almost beckoning her to come closer. They watched her every night as she debased herself for lecherous men, but refused to go all the way. It was something she really didn't allow herself to do, and as there was no shortage of girls at the club, no one ever mentioned it

She'd find herself painting them on her nights off, which had become more and more frequent. For whatever reason, her work had become sparse and men no longer approached her. She felt she was doing something wrong, something that made her undesirable. Was it her resistance to do more than what she offered?

It wasn't so bad at the time, but she saw Julian's dejected face every time she got home with empty pockets. She couldn't stand it anymore and so to reduce the cost, she'd spend nights at the Azelea in that one room that was always free. Coincidentally it was the room she kept her painting supplies in.

The night had come to a close, even though it was still dark. Fake moans could be heard from most every room, but the band had cleared out and the tables were empty. Andrea was painting again and this time, she'd taken her appreciation for the two elusive men's beauty a bit far, portraying them as heavenly angels.

Given what they were, it later felt like a perversion of the holy paintings she'd seen all her life. But now, all she knew were that they were divinity incarnate, with eyes like church windows.

That's where she struggled the most, her brush strokes becoming more meticulous with every second. Their faces were sculpted like marble, each highlight and shadow falling perfectly into place. She sighed as she looked at the half finished work.

A knock at the door broke her out of her haze. "Andrea, I'm coming in!" According to him he had knocked twice prior to entering, but Andrea hadn't heard Louis.

She jolted and almost backed up entirely into her pairing. Thankfully, she barely managed to hide it from the smiling face of her angels. Louis had come in with Lestat behind him, grinning mischievously.

She giggled nervously. "M-Mister du Lac! Mister Lioncourt! How can I help you?" She had never truly spoken with them, having been hired by the head girl who everyone called Bricks. Andrea silently hoped they weren't here to talk about her lack of business, or to let her go.

Louis heard her thoughts that night too, and had internally scoffed at the idea that they'd ever let her go. He'd been the one who had made her off-limits to touch. Both he and his companion had quickly grown attached to the bright young girl, and seeing her be caressed and violated by random dirty men filled them with rage, so he'd put a stop to that.

"You seem nervous, Andrea. Trust me, nothing to be nervous about." Louis reassured, removing his sunglasses and placing them into his inner jacket pocket.

Lestat hadn't spoken a single word, only taken in the room around him. It seemed Andrea had built her on world in that room, and he wanted to know everything about her world. Her mind was a wonder to him, a cavern of artistic inspiration and a view of the world he hadn't seen in decades. It was so pure, just like her and just like her paintings.

She sighed, relieved. Then Louis looked down at her hands, stained with paint. "Painting again, huh?"

Her cheeks grew red with shame. "Y-you noticed that?"

"Of course, I did." His hand reached out and grabbed the side of her neck, his thumb brushing over her throat. Her breath caught in her chest as he pressed into her skin firmly, eyes wide at such a bold gesture. He huffed a laugh at her pure reaction, as if she'd never been touched before. He liked how sensitive she was and how curious her eyes grew, desperate to look at his actions but unable to. When he pulled away, there was emerald paint on his thumb. The colour of his eyes. "You've got splashes of colour all over you." He said slowly. She didn't speak, still shocked at his actions. "I've never seen a finished painting though." Was that an invitation? Did he want to see her work? She didn't know.

A presence was felt behind her and she jumped away. "The spirit of a true creator, and the instincts of a frightened fawn." The velvety baritone of Lestat spoke, she turned to face him, her back now facing Louis and her painting exposed. "Fascinating. Almost as fascinating as your most recent work, ma petit faon." My little fawn.

His eyes were glued onto the painting as Louis neared them from behind her. She could feel the coldness of his body, his chest almost settling into her back. His shining eyes settled onto the portrait of him and Lestat, specifically on the angel wings on their backs. The longing looks in their eyes and the intimacy of that.

"Angels? You painted us as angels?" He asked quietly. He was an angel to her? Truly?

Lestat smiled softly. "Closely entwined heavenly bodies. Is this how you see us, cherie?"

Andrea was still trying to stutter her words out, looking from Louis to Lestat as if one would help with the other. But they only stared at you with soft expressions on their faces. "I-I—" she cut herself off, gathering her thoughts. "On the nights I don't get much business," which was every night now. "I paint. I see you every night, the way you look at each other, the way you enjoy yourselves, your eyes. Unearthly eyes. Like stars." Her rambling had gotten the best of her. "Apologies, Mister du Lac, Mister Lioncourt, that was out of line—I shouldn't have—"

Louis placed his hand on her arm and pulled her closer to him, grinning down at her. "Careful there, sugarcane. If you keep talking like that your tongue's gonna fall out."

Her back was pressed into his chest, and she was silenced again.

Lestat stood before her, looking to the portrait one final time before glancing back at her. He placed his hand on her cheek with a certain finality in his eyes. If only she'd known what that meant. "It's enchanting. No, more than that, magnificent. You are a being of extraordinary talent, and extraordinary beauty."

Everything felt so hot. Andrea was breathing heavily at the feeling of being so intimately between these two men who she'd admired for so long. This moment could've lasted forever, it was art in itself. The Divine Damned and Their Fawn.

Lestat hummed. "I'd like to pay you for your work. Have this masterpiece hung in our home."

She jolted. "What?"

"Name your price and I'll take it. You'll have to come see it mounted of course, I'd like your keen artistic eye." His smile turned into a smirk at the thought of her in their home.

Andrea couldn't believe it. Someone wanted to pay for her work. Someone actually wanted to have her paintings in their home! This was amazing!

"Are we getting an answer anytime soon, Andy?" Louis asked with a laugh. Andy? That was new.

Andrea laughed nervously. "Mister du Lac—"

"Louis." He corrected. "You can call me Louis."

What was happening? She hadn't even spoken to them before tonight. Why were they being so kind? Something felt wrong.

"Louis." She said slowly. It tasted sweet on her tongue. "I can't possibly take your money. It wouldn't be right!"

"And why not?" Lestat asked. "You've created something of worth here and I'd like to see it appreciated. You must be compensated somehow. Unless you'd prefer another form of payment." He gave her a lustful glance up and down her body. She shivered.

"Lestat." Louis chided. "Pay him no mind, sugarcane. He can get haughty."

"Horribly untrue, mon cher. I'm only being honest." The Frenchman scoffed. "Your price, beautiful Andrea?"

"I couldn't possibly—"

"How's three thousand?" Louis piped up, not even blinking.

"Excuse me?!" She shrieked.

"Four thousand?" Asked Lestat. Her mouth was agape. "No, how about five?"

"Stop saying numbers!" Andrea interrupted loudly, immediately feeling ashamed. "I'm sorry, I am, I don't—"

"Five thousand it is." The blonde continued. "We'll come back in a week. Have it done by then, hm?" And then he pressed a kiss to her temple. "Shall we, mon cher?"

Louis nodded. "A week, Andrea." He reminded before pressing a kiss to her cheek.

And then they walked away. Seven days from that night, her entire life would change.

_______________

They'd come to collect a week later and with all her free time, she'd managed to finish. They'd both marvelled at the painting and immediately insisted she come to their home and tell them where to place it.

Andrea shied away at the prospect. She'd told her brother about them and Julian had asked her to stay away. He didn't demand anything of her, but he strongly advised against getting involved with them. He'd told her of the rumours, that they were in cahoots with the devil. She'd scoffed at that, but agreed something was off about them. There was no way to be so otherworldly and slightly off putting and still be normal, or completely human even. But she shook those thoughts from her head.

Of course they were human! They were right there in front of her, flesh and blood! It was silly to think otherwise, but then again they were just so fascinating. People usually weren't so.

She promised herself she'd only stay for an hour, but when they guided her through the door, her painting under Lestat's arm, she'd been accosted by a lovely girl with a large shining smile. She shrieked with excitement, jumping from her seat on the couch. "Oh, is this her, daddy Lou?" She asked him.

He nodded. "Yeah, this is her. Andrea, meet our daughter, Claudia."

He'd spoken of her a lot over the past week whenever he and Lestat came to visit her room. According to him, she was a lovely little horror that kept them on their toes every day. She'd laughed at that and told him she used to dream of being a mother to a girl like that.

That had made both him and Lestat incredibly excited.

"They talk about you a lot, Miss Andrea!" The girl confessed, giggling. "They said you were gorgeous and talented and you are!"

"Claudia." Lestat chided. "Calm yourself, ma petit. Lovely Andrea needs a moment. Don't you, sweet girl?"

Andrea just broke out into chuckles. "On the contrary, she is just as you described, and I love it!" She said. "It's lovely to meet you."

"You too!" The child said honestly. "Is that the painting? Can I see?"

After that night, visiting Louis, Lestat and Claudia had become regular for her. She'd spend her every moment there, teaching the young girl to draw and paint when her parents were busy and then passing the rest of her time conversing with the two men.

___________

"No!" She shook her head on one of these nights. "No, no, no! I'm sorry, Louis dear, but there is no way you truly believe that anything could come close to the brilliance that is Wuthering Heights! That's nonsense!"

He laughed at her passionate words. She was laid on the couch with her head in Lestat's lap and her legs on Louis', discussing their favorite novels. It was heaven.

This home was so cozy, so sweet. She loved it there. Her head was fuzzy from the champagne they'd fed her for the last few hours, fingers and face stained with charcoal from drawing with Claudia.

"Just because it's your favourite doesn't mean it's the best, sugarcane!" He rebutted kindly.

"No." She said simply. "It is the best. And yes, simply because I say so."

Lestat laughed loudly at that statement, pinching her cheek slightly. "What a brat you are, my girl. Never wavering from your opinions."

She pouted. "So you disagree then?"

"With you?" He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her nose as Louis caressed her thigh. "Never." He said dramatically.

"Oh, so it's ya'll against me now, is it?" The younger vampire cut in playfully. "I see how it is."

Andrea pulled his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss against his knuckles. "We haven't unionised just yet, Louis. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it."

"Not yet?" He asked. "So you will eventually?"

"She already has me in her thrall. I might not have a choice, mon cher." Lestat weakly defended himself.

"Not my fault." She mumbled lowly.

Louis chuckled. "He was right, you are a brat!" He said, and then pinched her side. She squealed and jumped. "Oh, you're ticklish, aren't you?"

"Louis, don't you dare!" She said. A meaningless warning as he began attacking her skin with a tingling sensation as she thrashed and laughed. "Lestat!"

"I'm not getting involved. This is far too fun to watch!"

"You monster!" Andrea said playfully.

She'd never been happier than in that moment.

__________

As of late, the moment she was left alone with Lestat and Louis it felt like everything was right in the world. She'd feel a title between her legs she had felt with so few people, but also a sense of safety.

"You two love each other, right?" She'd asked one night, lying in their bed. She didn't know how she got there between the drinks and jokes, but there she was, cuddled between them. Louis held her and Lestat had his head rested on her stomach, letting her play with his hair. The younger vampire would occasionally press kisses against her head and Lestat would whine and cuddle closer into her.

Lestat nodded. "Yes, we do, mon cherie. Very much." He answered. "Have you ever been in love?"

Andrea shook her head. "No. I'm only twenty-one, Lestat. I haven't lived long enough to fall in love."

They laughed at the reminder of how young she truly was. A lick and a promise in vampire years, truly.

"I hope I will." She confessed. "I'd like to. Fall in love, have a family."

We could be your family, Lestat wanted to say.

"At the club," Louis spoke. "The girls told me you don't do a lot."

She suddenly remembered that this man was not just her friend, but her bosses boss. Her cheeks grew red with shame and she moved away slightly even as his grip around her kept her firmly with him. "I-I'm sorry. I just—I couldn't—"

"I'm not sayin' it's anything bad, sugarcane. Don't worry." He smiled at her concern. "I just wanna know why?"

This time her cheeks were red with bashfulness. "I've never..." she paused. "I wanted to save it—"

"For a special occasion?" Lestat filled in, looking up at her with mischievous eyes. "That's sweet. Perhaps you shouldn't have taken up work as a prostitute then."

"Lestat!" Louis chided.

"You own the establishment, you don't get to play holier than thou." He scoffed. He then turned back to Andrea. "It truly is a sweet sentiment, though. It's a special thing."

"I think so." She said. She suddenly realised just how close Lestat's face was to the heat between her legs. She felt flushed and nervous.

Louis smirked at her, listening to her shallow breaths and her quick heartbeat. "Huh. Are we special to you, Andy?"

She nodded, unknowing of their thoughts. "Yes."

"How special?" He asked.

"Incredibly. You're my muses." She answered honestly, her head fuzzy.

Lestat's hand snuck under her dress, caressing her calf gently. He began to slowly bunch her dress up and pull it up, up, up her thighs.

Louis pressed a kiss on her forehead, and then her eye, her nose her cheek and finally her lips. She gasped at the two sensations, Louis dominating her mouth with his own and taking her in like she belonged within him. He held her neck with one hand and caressed her chest with his other. He pulled away and she whined.

Lestat bunched her dress over her hips and pulled her panties down her legs, throwing them haphazardly somewhere in the room. Another whine left her lips.

"You sure about this?" Asked Louis, lips swollen.

She nodded once at him and then down at Lestat. "Yes. Yes. Yes."

"Truly?" Asked Lestat.

"For tonight only, yes. I trust you." For tonight only. As if they'd let her slip from their grasp after this.

Given her profession, she wanted to get this over with soon, and now she had someone to do it with. Someone to guide her, to care for her and talk her through it. She knew she'd be leaving for New York soon, so didn't allow herself to think of any deeper relationship developing, and she thought she'd made that clear with her statement. For tonight only.

Louis' mouth was against hers again in a flash and Lestat went to work devouring her.

That night they took her in every way they could, and in their minds, had laid claim to her body as they had to her mind.

____________

Julian did not like the fact that she was with them so often. Not only was she with strange men at late hours, she wasn't bringing home any money. The money they'd given her for the painting had quickly run out and she couldn't find it in herself to ask for more.

"You can't keep doing this, Andrea." He'd sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I know you're enjoying yourself, and that's fine, I'm happy for you, but they ain't good for you, I swear."

She looked up at him from her seat on the floor of their apartment. "I like them. They're very nice to me." Andrea said, nervously playing with her hair.

He kneeled down in front of her with a concerned look on his face. "I know." He said, cupping her face. "I know that. But we gotta start buckling down. We're getting so close to New York." He said happily.

She gasped. "We are?!" She jumped to her feet, giddy. "New York, Julian! New York!"

"New-fucking-York!" He hollered, joining her in her excitement. "Woo-hoo!"

"Yes, finally!" She cried, years of stress falling off her shoulders. "How much more do we need?"

When he told her the number, she sighed in relief. All she needed was one more client to make that much. Sure, no one in the Azelea approached her anymore, but for this she'd be the one to initiate. Just a little more money, that was all, and they'd be free.

"I can get that." She told him confidently. "I swear to you, Julian, I'll get us that money, and we'll be out of here."

He sighed. "Andrea, you don't have to—"

"I do though." She interrupted. "And I will. I promise. Let me take care of this one thing, please."

And reluctantly, he let her.

That night she walked into the establishment with a goal, not even noticing the looks of confusion she got from Louis and Lestat. Not noticing them at all really.

She set her sights on the drunk man who was sat in the corner and had zeroed in on her the moment she walked through the doors. He was from out of town, she was sure. She hadn't seen him before that night, so he was perfect.

She didn't know the eyes trained on her as she finished her work and was given the money. Her body felt used, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She had the money now, and immediately went to speak to Bricks, so she could quit.

The older woman had looked her up and down sceptically. "You sure about this?"

"Yes. I am, Bricks." Andrea had said with a large smile. "I've got the money now. Me and my brother and I are heading to New York."

Her brows furrowed at those words. "Mister du Lac know about that?"

"Louis?" Andrea said, slightly shocked. "I'll say my goodbyes to him before I go. I don't see how he's part of this exchange."

"So he doesn't know." She filled in. "You might wanna talk to him before you quit."

"Why?"

But Bricks couldn't answer that. Or rather, she wouldn't. She hesitated to say anything, but knew her boss would want to be told as soon as possible.

So instead of supplying an answer, she just shook her head. "No reason. Just to let him know he's losing one of his girls." She clarified. "Good luck in New York, muffin."

She sighed, relieved. "Thank you, Bricks."

____________

When she'd arrived home, Julian had already started packing. She'd shown him the money and he'd thrown his arms around her with such glee, she never wanted the feeling to go away.

They laughed and teased each other as they threw their clothes into the suitcases, making plans for what they would do in their new city. Andrea had never been so happy before.

A knock sounded at their door. Julian furrowed his brows. "Expecting company?" He asked her.

She shook her head confusedly. "No. You?"

He shook his head as well, and then went to asked the door. She shrugged and continued packing.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, can I help you?" Julian asked their unexpected visitors.

She couldn't hear the rest of the conversation, it was quiet and muffled but then she made out the sound of Julian shouting.

Julian never shouted. He was a calm man with a good head on his shoulders. What had gotten him so out of himself?

She put her clothes down and walked out of the room, eyes immediately landing on the scene before her.

It was her angels, Lestat and Louis. The former had Julian up against the wall with his hand around his throat, and Louis just watched her.

She shrieked at the sight. "What are you doing?!"

Louis just shook his head at her and pointed his finger. "New York?" He asked accusingly.

She only nodded, confused. "What?"

"You're going to New York? Seriously?"

She swallowed her fear. "I was going to come say goodbye before we left, of course I was—"

But that wasn't the problem. He sped in front of her, his face so close to her own she could feel his angry huffing against her skin.

"After you made your money, right?" He seethed.

She shook. "How did you—"

"Before we could rip that dumb fucker off of you and chop his hands off?" It came out like a shout and she flinched, her ears aching.

She looked away from him and directly at Julian. "Lestat, please get off him!"

He only laughed mockingly and pressed her brother harder against the wall. "I don't think so, ma petit faon. He's the reason you want to leave, yes?"

She shook her head urgently. "No, no, we've had this plan for years—"

"But it was him." Lestat continued. "If he wasn't with you, you wouldn't even have thought about it. You'd be content with us."

"With you?" She repeated, fear and confusion getting the best of her. "It was one night, I told you it would be! I don't understand! Please just let him go!"

The blonde tilted his head, as if thinking. "Alright." And then Julian was thrown onto the other side of the room.

Andrea cried out. Her brother was hurt, hurt by the man she considered so horribly important. He must've broken something, bruised some other parts, and when she saw the blood staining his head she jolted forward. She needed to take care of him, to get him away from these people he'd been right about, she needed him to be better, she could make him better.

But Louis would not let her.

He wrapped his arms around her waist as she thrashed in his hold like a wild animal. "Sh, sh, sh, sh. It's okay. It's okay." He cooed in her ear. She was horrified, kicking and scratching at him but he didn't even blink.

"No, no! Julian!" She screamed. But he was unresponsive, minus some slight groans falling from his lips.

Lestat sauntered before her, flicking his wrist and looking down at her brother. Then he looked directly at her, placing his hands on her face like Julian used to. He pressed his lips to her temple and inhaled her scent, an angry hiss like sound leaving his lips. "I can still smell him on you." He sneered. "You really thought you could leave, sweet girl? This is your home, we are your home." He insisted.

Andrea still struggled against Louis' hold, tears streaming down her face. "He's right. Andy, he's right." She other spoke into her ear. "Please, just listen."

She wept as he spoke. "What are you?"

They paused at the question, Louis looking down in shame but Lestat ready to answer.

"Vampires, dear girl. We're vampires."

That sounded ridiculous. But she thought about it for a moment; they were only out at night, she never saw them eating, some men seen at the club once were never seen again, and their strength. The strength to throw Julian across a room without blinking an eye. There was no way, no possible, tangible way. But it was true.

Angels. She'd seen them as angels, when they were exactly the opposite. Their beauty was unearthly, but not divine. It was damned.

She breathed heavily, panic shooting up and down her chest. She thrashed even more, screeching like a wild monster. "Let me go! Let me go! Julian!"

Lestat's eyes grew soft and full of pity. His poor Andrea. His poor, beautiful Andrea who did not deserve to feel any of this pain. If only she'd told them before hand, and they couldn't removed this ridiculous notion from her head.

"Don't concern yourself with him." He cooed. "Soon enough, he'll be gone, and you'll be with us."

"Just listen to him, sugarcane. We'll be happy, I promise." Louis spoke softly into her ear.

He nodded towards his companion, a secret promise for something that must be done. As long as Julian was alive, he would haunt her every memory, even if they made her forget him. Even if they made him forget her, he'd see the pictures or read his diaries and look for her. He needed to be taken care of, so Andrea could be taken care of.

"But for now," Lestat said, walking back to the groaning body of her brother. He wrapped his hand around his neck again, twisting.

"No!" She cried, sobbing.

"Rest." Said Lestat. The last thing she heard before her eyes shut was a sickening snap! and the horrifying promises of her new life.

_______________

Present time

They'd made her forget it all. Replaced her memories of her brother with memories of a childhood friend who'd passed when they were young. Julian no longer existed to her, or to anyone at all. Until things began to click.

All she remembered was changing her mind about New York and running to their townhouse to confess her love, and they'd taken her in with open arms. Over the last four years, they'd crafted somewhat of a perfect relationship. They all worked together so well, and Claudia had been beside herself when Andrea had become a permanent fixture in their home.

It took no more than a month for her to refer to Andrea as Mama. Andrea was finally a mother, and her child was perfect.

But she was leaving. On the night the three of them had gone hunting together, she'd laid in bed and searched her mind for every one of your hidden memories, finally breaking through their brainwashing. She'd panicked immediately, grasping at her chest and finding disgust in every inch of the home, her paintings included.

They were hanged all over the house, in the coffin room, the living room, the hallways. Lestat said it was a shrine to her greatness. She wanted to puke.

She'd packed a bag and gotten a ride to the docks before they'd come back, buying the next ticket out. She wasn't even sure where the boat was headed, but knew it was far away from New Orleans. Perhaps she could make it to New York someday, fulfil her brother's dream. Honour him somehow. Guilt clawed at her chest. She should honour him, she'd gotten him killed. Her and her stupid love for those creatures.

She waited impatiently. She looked around her, and something suddenly felt very wrong. There was no one there. It wasn't odd at this time of night, but weren't there people working at the docks? It was so, very quiet, hauntingly quiet. She thought it was impossible to hear silence until tonight.

Panic grasped at her chest and she set her suitcase on the ground beside her. "Hello?" She called out. "Hello?" Again. No answer. She walked away to find another, perhaps safer spot.

A flash somewhere in the distance. No. They couldn't have. But they did. They found her. They'd fucking found her.

She ran, her suitcase long forgotten. But she couldn't run for long. They were vampires, apex predators with an all seeing eye. She would be caught and shoved back into her gilded cage soon enough.

But she still had hope she could run. She still had hope for her freedom. How stupid she was.

She kneeled between two crates, trying to keep her whimpering to a minimum but could not help her frightened noises. What would they do if they caught her? Would they hurt her? No, no, they wouldn't. They couldn't. Could they? She heard quick steps and angry breaths from near her and slapped her hand against her mouth. Her eyes widened and she curled into herself.

They would not get to her. She was alright, she deserved to make her own decisions for once. They wouldn't take it from her this time. She'd sooner die than let her take the last bit of herself she had left. But she was so afraid, so horribly afraid. It rung in her ears like a wasps nest, the constant ringing of a threat nearby. Her instinct was to flee, but they would catch her faster if she did.

Only when she heard the steps move further away, did she raise herself to her feet and carefully move away.

That was the wrong decision.

She bumped into something immediately, and then hands shot out to grasp her forearms. "Andrea? Oh, thank God."

It was Louis. He seemed so relieved to see her. It disgusted her to her very core. She reacted immediately, slamming her heal onto his toes. It didn't hurt, but it shocked him enough for him to suddenly release her. He cried out and she ran into a clearing. She didn't know where it led, but it was far away from him.

"Andrea!" He roared from behind her.

For a moment she thought she lost him, but she knew better than to be hopeful.

"Bonjour, ma petit faon." A voice spoke from beside her ear. She jumped to face him, but he simply held her to him tightly, her face pressed against his chest.

She shook in his hold, and thrashed slightly, but he grasped her arms and held her in front of him like a prized calf. "Oh, my precious girl."

"You killed him. You killed Julian, you monster!" She pushed her hands against his chest.

He just nodded slowly. "Yes, I did. And I did it for you. Just like I do everything for you."

"No, you did it for you! For you and for Louis! You killed him, you fucking killed him!" She was wild now, unforgiving, with nothing left to lose but her own life.

His face was now full of rage as he tugged her closer. "It was an act of love. The truest kind. I did what was best for you, I won't have you deny this."

"Let me go, Lestat!" Andrea begged.

He looked her up and down, as if considering something. A long pause between the two of them.

"Alright." He said. "Run."

"What?" She breathed.

"I'll give you your chance." He said simply, his face growing feral. "Run."

The game was beginning. His sweet fawn wanted to run, he would let her. He was a hunter, after all, and a hunter needed his prey. She could run all she wanted, her pretty little feet would tap against the ground and she'd search for safety, doe eyed and lost. He'd take her, bind her and bring her home. Home.

He dug his hand into her hair and pulled. "Run." He hissed.

So she did. The lovely little prey with two monsters on her tail.

She tried her best to slow her heartbeat, blood rushing into her ears and her throat closing up with unshed tears.

He took pleasure in this, she was sure. Two pairs of steps were behind her, and now she knew Louis had joined in and he was fucking pissed. While Lestat was playful, the other truly angry.

She ran? She actually fucking ran? How dare she, he thought to himself. They'd done everything for her, welcomed her into their family, and Andrea ran.

He'd get her, they'd get her, and make sure the thought of leaving never crossed her mind again.

She hid behind another crate, just to catch her breath for a moment.

"Come on out, sugarcane!" Louis called out, tired of this chase.

Lestat chuckled deeply at his anger. "What do you think, Louis?" He opened one crate with a flick of his fingers. "Is she in here?" It fell against the ground loudly. Andrea almost shrieked. "No. Our little fawn has sprinted further away."

"I'm getting real tired of these games, Andrea!" Louis huffed.

She carefully lowered her hand from her mouth and swallowed her fear.

Everything went silent and for a moment she thought she'd gotten away.

Then Lestat was before her again, a mocking, self-satisfied smirk on his face. "There she is."

Defeated, she just curled into herself. "No, no, no. Please just let me go."

"And let you slip between our fingers? Go where we cannot find you? I don't think so, dear girl." He shook his head.

Louis shot out to grasp her forearm and pulled her to her feet. He looked her up and down, anger pulsing from his body. But then his eyes creased in concern. "Are you hurt?" He asked shakily.

She shook her head, tears gathering in her eyes. He nodded. "Good. Good. That was a stupid thing you did. You scared me. Claudia's worried sick." And then he pulled Andrea into his arms, cradling her head like she was made of glass.

Her body shook with sobs, feeling so utterly undone, that she could no longer fight them. She'd tried and failed to get away. She didn't even want to think what they'd to to her now.

He pulled away and his face was confusing, half fuming half depressed. She didn't understand what he wanted her to say.

"That was fun." Lestat chimed in before he took her jaw in his hand with an iron grip. "But never again, Andrea. You don't run from us." He demanded. "Say it, you don't run from us."

Tears ran down her face. "I don't run from you."

"Good girl." And then he kissed her. It stopped her breath, but he didn't care. He wanted all of her, wanted to consume her being and take it into himself. She was him and he would be her once he had his way.

Before she could catch her breath, Louis kissed her as well and his kiss was desperate as if he searching for something within her that would satiate his hunger. She'd almost slipped away from him, and perhaps here and now he could show her how much he needed her, but he wasn't sure she'd ever know.

She was their light in the darkness, their rose eyed beauty who saw them as angels. Who saw them beyond their vampiric nature, and understood that they too could be good.

Unfortunately, Andrea was aware how delusional this was.

When Louis pulled away she finally breathed, tears streaming down her face. Lestat held her close and kissed away her tears. They loved her, in their own horrible way, they loved her.

"Home." Lestat said. "Let's take you home."

And home they went.

_______________

They didn't let her go out much after that, and hadn't bothered to erase her memories. She'd just find out again, and would try her luck in running once more. They'd rather keep her as she is, with the reassurance she wouldn't try and escape.

They'd also forbidden her from telling Claudia what had happened, and they said they'd know if she did. They'd lied to her and just told her that Andrea had lost track of time while painting in the park.

Andrea was relatively numb these days, except when she was with her daughter. She was in bed with Claudia, holding her tightly to her chest.

She watched her mother carefully, concern etched on her features. "Mama, what is it?"

"Nothing, baby." She assured with an unconvincing smile.

Claudia didn't believe her. "It's something. Did you fight with Daddy Lou and Uncle Les?"

It wasn't a fight, it was a fucking hunt. But she couldn't say that to her daughter. "No, Claudia. I'm just tired, I promise."

"Then I believe the time has come to sleep." They heard Lestat from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, a satisfied expression on his face. He was content, it seemed. "Say good night to Mama, Claudia."

The girl vampire frowned but pressed a kiss to her mothers cheek. "Good night, mama. I love you."

Andrea cupped her face. "I love you too."

She got off the bed and walked towards Lestat who held a hand out for his companion. She took it, but did meet his eyes.

He held her close as they made their way to the coffin room. She was already in her sleep wear, same with the other two. Louis walked into the room after them, having said good night to his daughter before joining them.

To the side of the coffin they shared, another one of her paintings lay. It was dark and stormy, two bodies falling through the sky, completely disfigured and angry. Angels wings turned leathery and rough, blood dripping from their mouths, but it was also a bit too blurry to truly make out. It was horrifying.

Louis took one look at it. "New painting?"

She didn't reply, only nodded.

He tried so smile at her. "It's nice."

Lestat pressed a kiss to her head and then allowed her to settle beside him in the coffin. "You've always been so talented, ma petit faon. It was your artistic eye that made us fall for you, I think."

Louis laid on her other side, making it an insanely tight fit, but they would have it no other way.

If they had looked at her painting a little longer, they would've noticed the eyes of the demons she had painted. One pair a disturbing emerald green, and the other an unsettlingly light shade of blue.

[ist4rgirlo]

────────── 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - 𝐜.𝐟

ONE SHOT !

they did say that when two people are meant to be together, they will eventually find a way back to each other. however, are you ready to open your heart again to a person who has broken it in the past?

SEQUEL TO : you’re losing me

───────────────────────────

“They say that your first love never dies. You can put out the flame but not the fire”

It was true, for me atleast. I’d be lying if I said that I don’t love Conrad, because I do, I still do — no matter how much he had hurt me before, a piece of my heart is still beating for him.

Time, curious time

Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs

Were there clues I didn't see?

And isn't it just so pretty to think

It wasn’t easy to move on, he made me feel things — things that I never felt before. He was different, he just was.

For two years, I had done my best to put the past behind me, but still, I would often find myself thinking of Conrad and wondering what could have been.

Until one day, when an unexpected text message popped up on my phone. It was from Conrad, of all people. Confused but curious, I opened the message. The only thing that it said was 'Are you free today?’ Could he possibly still care about me, after all this time?

A string that pulled me

Out of all the wrong arms right into that dive bar

Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire

Chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons

One single thread of gold tied me to you

I thought back to the words we had said to each other; the heartache that had been so painful that it had taken so long for me to move on. But still, here he was, wanting to see me. Was I willing to open my heart up to someone who had broken it so badly in the past?

───────────────────────────

Conrad asked me if we could meet at the beach near Cousins. I dont know why why I said yes, maybe I wanted closure — maybe I wanted to hear his side.

I stood on the dock, the ocean air getting caught in my hair. Although the sun was out and the sky a brilliant blue,

I couldn't bring myself to take in the beauty of the day. I was too consumed with my thoughts, instead glancing around, distracted and flustered.

I saw Conrad — standing at the end of the shore, a better vision than the view of the ocean I had become accustomed to.

I swallowed hard as I stared into his eyes - the same eyes that had shattered my heart months ago. He looked different. Older, strong, different from the man I had said goodbye to all those months ago.

But there he was, standing in front of me, arms crossed — pain pierced through me like a hot knife as I remembered fond memories I shared with him. Memories that were now tarnished by the hurt he had caused me.

I took a deep breathe and stepped forward — walking towards him.

“Hey Conrad,” I said tentatively.

He looked up with surprise, then quickly looked away. “Hey y/n,” he muttered.

“It’s been so long huh?” Conrad asked. I looked at him before answering “Yeah, It has. I just want to get to the point already. Why did you want to see me?” I asked him.

His eyes met mine, filled with regret and longing. "I never stopped thinking about you," he confessed, his voice laced with raw emotion.

I listened, my heart warring between the past and the present. Memories flooded my mind - stolen kisses, whispered promises, and the crushing pain of betrayal. And yet, beneath it all, the flicker of what once was remained.

"You broke me," I replied, my voice steadying.

Conrad reached out to gently touch my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine. "Please, Y/n," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. "What I did was fucked up, you didn’t deserve that — you didn’t deserve to be ignored, I-I should’ve paid more attention to you”

"I messed up, I admit it. I was a fool to let you go. I've regretted it every single day, and I wish I could turn back time and change things." He said, taking a step closer.

I blinked back tears, trying to resist the pull I felt towards him. "Conrad, it's not that easy. You hurt me so deeply, and I've spent so long trying to heal." I said, backing away from him.

"I know," he murmured, his voice cracked with emotion. "But I'm here now, and all I want is a chance to make things right, to prove to you that I've changed. I want to be better for you.”

His words tugged at my heartstrings, and I felt a glimmer of hope. Could we really find a way back to each other? Was it possible to rebuild what had been broken?

Time, wondrous time

Gave me the blues and then purple pink skies

And it's cool, baby, with me

The sound of crashing waves filled the silence between us, punctuating the weight of the moment. I looked into Conrad's eyes, searching for sincerity, I’m scared — scared of risking again. Scared of getting hurt again.

“I-I don’t know, Conn-“ I said looking down, he walked closer — his hands reaching for mine.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything, just.. just let me love you. Let me be a better man for you.” he paused “I’ll wait for you”

And isn't it just so pretty to think

All along there was some

Invisible string

Tying you to me?

I looked up at him, I saw the glint in his eyes — he was genuine, his voice sounded hopeful — his eyes filled with love. It wouldn’t hurt if I tried again right? maybe now, it’ll be right.

[selarina]

Bleeding Heart Dove (Part 3)

-> Nanami Kento x Reader

Summary: After acquiring two tickets for a play by the docks, you and Nanami get ready with anticipation.

Tags: angst, slow burn, marriage au, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, unresolved tension (they need to fuck nasty), smoking (discussion of quitting)

Word Count: 2.5k words

Read on AO3 | Part 1 | Part 2

Light seeps through the thin curtains of your hotel room window, stirring you awake. It’s a weak light, but it’s insistent, and you turn away. But the curtains are wide open—no doubt a result of Nanami being out on the balcony.

He was always an early riser, which prompted you to do better in that regard.

Your hand brushed against the cold sheets beside you as you shifted in bed. Slowly, you got up and headed to the bathroom, knowing that bathing right now would be your only chance today. The day was busy. Markets, museums, restaurants—exciting, but a little daunting.

Emerging from the steamy bathroom, the cold air pricked at your damp skin. Pulling your bathrobe tighter around you, you grabbed your lying pack of cigarettes and an obscenely bright yellow lighter, making your way out to the balcony.

You leaned your forearms on the railing, and as you turned, there he was— just as you expected. Nanami was sat on the jute chair, reading glasses perched on his nose, eyes fixed on his lap.

He had been there for a while, wrestling with a pesky crossword puzzle.

He looked up as you joined him, his eyes catching the wetness of your hair and the flimsy towel loosely perched atop your head. You slipped a cigarette between your dry lips and flicked the lighter.

The first drag was deep, the smoke accompanying the two of you this morning.

“Filthy habit,” he tutted, his voice a gentle chiding.

You turned, a soft smirk playing on your lips as you exhaled a thin stream of smoke. “Good morning to you too,” you murmured.

“Morning,” he says. “There’s some orange juice,” he points to the table with half a jar of orange.

“Yes, yes—Gimme!” you said, sitting down and pouring some into the empty glass beside it. Freshly squeezed orange juice after a smoke. Perhaps life wasn’t half as bad as you made it out to be.

Nanami watched you again, the cigarette between your lips, the smoke swirling around you as you took another drag.

“I wish you’d quit,” he said aloud. He’s disapproved of your smoking for a while. – a filthy habit you picked up two years ago when you got prompted and the workload tickled into your stress. He had tutted and thrown away countless packs, yet never before had he asked you to quit outright.

“You want me to quit?” you asked.

He nodded. He knew you wouldn’t see it, but this was the first time he had directly asked you to stop. He wasn’t sure what effect it would hold.

“I guess I can,” you said, taking another puff. “I’ll quit.”

“You’re serious?”

“I mean, if it bothers you— plus, it is the healthy thing to do, no?” You chuckled.

“You’re quitting because I asked?”

You turn around, smiling reassuringly. “Yeah, Kento.”

He wonders if you would’ve quit earlier if he just asked. He wonders if it’s the same way with other things. I wish you’d take some day off, you deserve it. I wish you’d be there beside me when I go to bed. I wish you’d fire that arrogant assistant of yours, he stares at you at you in ways I don’t like.

“Thank you,” he says simply.

You turned to him. “Can’t promise you this will be my last cigarette. But here goes—last puff for a while.” You took one final drag, the smoke filling your lungs before you stubbed the cigarette out. “Oh,” you said suddenly. “Hold on—”

You disappeared inside, returning moments later with something in your hand. “Here,” you said, dropping two slender, golden-striped papers into his lap.

He glanced down at the papers lying still on his open crossword book. He picked them up, holding them aloft and adjusting his glasses for a better view. “What are they?”

“Tickets.”

“What for?”

You take one from his hand, turning it to reveal bold, black lettering. “For a play. It’s tomorrow evening.”

His eyebrows lift in surprise. “Oh,” is all he murmurs.

Upon that, you elaborate. “It’s in the auditorium by the dock”

The Rose Auditorium was known for its top-notch productions—musicals, plays, and even orchestra and choir performances. The venue’s proximity to the beach made it a costly affair.

He wonders how much you spent on these, but most importantly, he wonders more about why he hadn’t thought to arrange this himself.

Observing his muted reaction and ensuing silence, you grow a bit uncertain on your feet. Shifting your weight, you speak up. “I should have asked though. We didn’t have anything planned for the evening, so I thought—”

“Yes,” he says at once, a warm, appreciative smile twitching on his lips. “I’d love to go with you. I was just thinking I don’t have anything appropriate to wear.”

At that, you laugh aloud. “Now, I know that’s a lie. You practically live in suits. We’ll find something fitting.”

He simply smiles back at you. He knows, he simply didn’t want his own wife to feel like she needed to ask permission to book something for the two of them. That would be absurd. That would be rock bottom.

Your eyes flit down to his lap where the tickets flicker against the book, and you notice the familiar crossword book. “Having trouble?” you ask.

“Huh—” He follows your eyeline, back down to his lap. “Yeah,” he says, as he watches you walk closer, moving his arm so you can plop yourself down on the arm of his chair. “7 letters.”

You lean closer, “What’s the clue?” you ask as you peer down at the crossword book nestled in his lap.

He moves the tickets, holding them in his right hand as he wonders what he should do with his left. Usually, it would rest on your waist, your thighs, or in your hand, but now it feels awkward. You no longer plop yourself freely into his lap, and he can’t help but leave his hand cold against his thigh.

"Something about a bird," he murmurs. "A tropical bird with colorful feathers. The middle letter is ‘c’”

You think for a moment, then grin, as you bend down to pick up the pencil, and you write down the word.

"Macaw?" he asks.

You hum, “It fits.”

He’s immensely better than you at this, but you always had a talent for picking it up when he can’t. Just one of those things.

“Guess it does,” he says with a smile.

—

Nanami sits on the edge of the bed, adjusting his cufflinks with his practiced steady hand, his feet tapping away profusely against the carpeted floor.

As soon as he hears the door unlock, he’s lifting his chin and drinking up the image of you stepping into the room. You’re wearing a dark olive dress, with a black lace bodice cover. The material looks satin, silk-like, and it flares out from your hips, where it’s girded by a dark black satin belt, cinching the dress where his hands have so often rested. He hasn’t seen this one before. It must be new.

“Help me with the necklace?” you ask, as you bring your hand up to show him a thin chain with a drop pendant.

He simply takes it from you, and the two of you move back into the bathroom.

His eyes flit down to the marble countertop, a myriad of makeup products and jewelry spread out. He should help you clean up before you two leave, he notes silently.

Standing in front of the mirror, you move your hair to the side, exposing your neck and back to him.

He steps closer, his hand brushing against your back. You draw in a breath.

"Cold," you murmur.

He hums in acknowledgment. His hand reaches in front to draw the necklace around, pulling it up until it rests neatly against your chest. Pretty, he thinks as he bends down, the lack of glasses making it harder for him to find the clasp, but after a few moments, he succeeds.

He looks up, meeting your gaze in the mirror. You’re watching him intently, curiously. He sees your lips, plump and lathered up in some shade of pink.

He straightens up, before bending down— his eyes still locked with yours as he presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of your back.

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs.

“Thank you,” you swallow, your shoulders rolling back. You break eye contact, turning to reach for a black clutch as you speak up. “We should leave soon.”

—

Nanami’s starting to wonder if he’s the biggest idiot in the world. Why couldn’t he think of this first? You loved this — the theatre, the whole ceremony of greeting and entering. Why didn’t he think of bringing you here? He had even seen a poster on one of your walks in the city yesterday.

This place—it's overwhelming in its opulence. Nanami was quite familiar with how metallic luxury tasted, a remnant from his early twenties, but even he could not help but feel somewhat dwarfed by the grandeur and extravagance of the architecture surrounding him.

He turns towards you, his smile somewhat wistful. He can tell you seem just as impressed as he is, even if your reaction is restrained and taut — a simple pursing of your lips indicates enough to him.

He sees beyond you, noticing how the ceilings are adorned with glass chandeliers that seem to drip gold, a place fitting for a woman of your stature, he can admit as much.

You smile back at him, as your hands come to encircle his bicep as you two move.

You produce two tickets from your clutch and offer them to one of the many attendants. Nanami watches as a smile brightens the attendant's face.

“Thank you,” he says. “Please turn right at the door and meet the usher at the elevator. From there, someone will escort you to your seats.” He hands you a program sheet and points to the right as the two of you make your way in.

Nanami murmurs a “Thank you” to the man and then you feel his hand on the small of your back, warm, guiding you towards the red ropes.

“Not too bad,” you say as you make yourself comfortable, smoothing down your dress in the seat next to him. Well, technically, it’s one seat. One long red seat for two, so there are no barriers between the two of you, apart from the ones you’ve built by placing your clutch and program sheet.

“How do you feel?” you ask.

“Yes.” His elbow brushes your forearm, as you turn to find that he’s already looking at you, wearing a fond expression. One you haven’t seen in ages. “I should have thought of this.”

Ah, you think. That’s what this is about. “Next time,” is all you say, with a warm reassuring smile, knowing that this is his battle.

“So, you never even told me what this play was about,” he says.

You perk up. “Oh, right. It’s about romance, marriage, heartbreak, war… you know the gist.”

He nods, not particularly interested in hearing more, and you know as much because you don’t seek to elaborate. He always believed it best to go into these things blind. The most effective experience.

The seats below and around you continue to flood with people as it nears seven, and by the time it’s fifteen the show begins, as was announced by a man in a silly tophat on stage. It was brimming full of people.

“I guess it’s about to—” He says, as he turns to find that your face glistening with red. “You’re bleeding,” he says, as he immediately gets up.

“Nanami, it’s about to start,” you protested softly.

“You’re bleeding,” he repeats, sternly this time. His hand grabs yours as the two of you dash out. You manage to trail behind him, grasping onto your clutch, as you tilt your head back, relying on his touch to guide you.

You hear him converse with who you assume is one of the attendees, asking for a bathroom.

You see the pristine white floor, and you’re so nervous — you don’t want to stain it red.

He points to the marble countertop. "Up," he commands, pointing to the marble countertop. You hop onto it, spreading your knees to make room for him as he situates himself between them.

Gently, he dabs at your nose with a tissue, getting rid of the excess blood dripping down to your nose.

“You haven’t had nosebleeds in a while,” he notes with quiet concern. “Are you feeling okay?”

You nod slightly, trying to smile despite the inconvenience, trying to steady yourself. "I’m fine. I think it's just the dry air."

You feel a bit embarrassed by it all. You’re grateful you didn’t see any of the onlookers’ faces.

“Here, let’s get this under control,” he says, handing you thinly molded tissues.

You carefully insert them into your nose, hoping to stop the bleeding.

"I'll get you some water," he says, and you nod, as you’re left to stew on the countertop, feeling somewhat foolish with tissues up your nose. Not at all how you expected the night to go.

He returns with a bottle of water, and you uncap it to take a sip. Even the water here tastes luxurious.

You take a breath in, removing the tissues wadded up your nostrils. “I ruined the night,” you say, with a frown.

"It's barely started. We can still go back in," he assures you.

"I don't want to," you sigh. Tired. "I just—"

He hums, squeezing your thigh gently in reassurance, urging you to continue.

"I want to go back."

"Are you sure?" he asks.

You nod, blinking in reassurance. “Unless you want to watch the play.”

"No," he says softly. "Let's go back.”

—

It is not often you walk away from commitments. Not work, not hangouts, not meetings, not runs. And especially not paid events.

You must be very tired, he thinks.

“Chicken and rice?” you asked, as the two of you made your way back.

Nanami’s blazer is draped over your shoulders. The night isn’t too cold, and you watch his white shirt flutter against the muscles underneath. You feel loopy.

“Chicken and rice,” he affirmed, his tone steady.

“Some dessert?”

“Tiramisu?”

“Eh,” you reply, disinterested, the idea of sweetness somehow too much, too indulgent.

“I want some,” he says, a bit insistent, like a child.

You smile. “Then we should get you some.”

Back in your hotel room, your heels and stockings are discarded onto the floor as the two of have finished eating.

“That was good,” you say, you’re seated on the couch, your hand resting on your full stomach as you stare back up at the ceiling.

He hummed beside you, his glasses abandoned as he stared at you. He lifted a hand to run by the bridge of his nose. “You look beautiful,” he says.

“You’ve said that today,” you say, turning back to look at him.

He hums, again.

At that, you turn back to the ceiling, not particularly certain what you can do with that response.

“We should do this again,” you say, still affixed on the bland off-white ceiling. You felt heavy and light all at once.

“A date?” he asks.

You turn back to him now, smiling. “Oh, was this a date?”

“I would assume so,” he says, matter of factly.

"I guess so," you said airly as you got up, turning back as you said. “Just attend things together. I miss it.”

Nanami smiles with a nod as he watches you walk into the bathroom. He misses you too.

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

So I’m mostly curious about this for Muriel’s sake (he’s my favorite) but I have an HC request for if the M6, whether through a dream or magic, got to talk with their past selves from the darkest point in their lives, what would they say? Try to comfort/cheer themselves up? Assuming everyone got their Upright endings.

The Arcana HCs: M6 talking to their past selves

~ this is such an interesting one, @httyd-chocolate! thank you for the request, I hope you like what I do with it! (for hc purposes, this occurs as a magical dream where past and present selves interact) - brainrot ~

Julian

The dream is so vivid that he doesn't realize what it is until it's over

But right now, he's staring down at this gangly, scared, insecure almost-teenager, and every heroic bone in his body is telling him that this boy deserves all the safety and support in the world

It's weird to hear his young self saying the same deprecating things that he still does, but the jokes that normally make him laugh don't sound funny at all coming from a kid

And before he knows it, all the words he's heard you and Portia and Mazelinka say to him are spilling out of his mouth

"You're not alone. People are fortunate to be around you. You only drag everyone around you down when you refuse to let them lift you up. Sticking around to see the future is worth it."

At the same time, seeing himself in that kid's eyes is world-altering

Because to that younger self, the man he is now is smart, and heroic, and important, and somebody worth growing up to be

They stroll down to the seaside, at one point, as Julian listens to tiny Ilya's frustrations with his sister, and himself, and not knowing who he is or what comes next besides a call away from home

"You're pretty cool, mister," Ilya says at one point, "who are you?"

"I'm you," Julian says, and the look of hope and surprised delight he sees on Ilya's face makes him wake up with tears in his eyes

Asra

They know where they are as soon as the back alleys of the South End swim into view. They don't expect to see themself though

He's caught glimpses of the past once or twice, with you by his side, but those were moments of a childhood of wonder and escape. The kid in front of him hasn't found that magic yet

Little Asra is hiding in a corner behind a trash heap, clutching their lost mother's shawl and trying to hide the sniffles that shake their thin shoulders. Though all that disappears when they spot Big Asra

Suddenly, he's being scrutinized with the most curious gaze, and there's no hiding who he is. So he joins hands with him and starts wandering around, paying for lots of street food along the way

They'd forgotten how many questions they used to ask people

Until one hits him out of nowhere: "what's it like for us now?"

They don't want to leave that scared, lonely kid without something to look forward to, so they play with the dream a bit and lead Little Asra to a familiar magic shop a few streets away from the town square

In the dream, you're dozing by the fire, tea and snacks waiting on the table, and Big Asra watches his child self gaze at you in awe and remember what home feels like

It's sobering, to lead that child back to the docks and tuck them in to sleep under the pier, but it's a glimpse of warmth they're glad they got to share

Nadia

She has a suspicion of what's going on when she opens her eyes in her childhood bedroom, and that suspicion is confirmed when her 14-year-old self storms in and slams the door shut

She's ready to provide a haven. A listening ear. Ready to tell the young woman in front of her that she's right, that she's ready for more, that being held back and dismissed like this really isn't fair

Until the 14-year-old opens her mouth and starts to unload her day

For the first time in years, Nadia's not sure what to say. Does she want to tell this young woman that she's right, her parents and older sisters are being overprotective and unreasonable? Yes!

But does she find herself agreeing that a 14-year-old should not be allowed to go off to the battlefield her older sibling is serving as a medic on to lead the army to victory herself? ... yes ...

Does the embarrassed, hurting, angry teen in front of her need to know that? Absolutely not. So Nadia listens and nods instead

There are other things she sees that she realizes she remembers correctly. The fear of not measuring up. The frustration of having to wait to meet the milestones her siblings have already passed

So she tells this precocious, prickly young woman what you've been seeing in her all along: she is strong. She is smart. She is someone worth having faith in, and she doesn't need to be afraid

Muriel

He doesn't have to think twice. As soon as he sees that big, bony lad that was himself in his early twenties, huddled in a cell under the Coliseum after his first fight, he's breaking him out of there

He starts to wonder if this is a dream, when the iron bars give way under his grasp, but he's focusing on wrapping his cloak around those shivering shoulders and leading him out of the city

He's forgotten how scrawny he'd been before he bulked up on the meals provided for Lucio's prized fighter, and seeing spatters of his first opponent's blood on such a boyish face breaks his heart

They're both silent on the way through the woods. The younger him is still in shock, and the older him isn't sure what to do next

When the reach the clearing, the hut is more like what older him is used to. He helps young Muriel into the outside bath and begins putting together a hearty stew for the two of them to share

They both stay quiet. Older him watches every flinch and start and quiet pause of happiness and safety and keeps realizing that he deserves better. He deserves good things. I want him to have that.

They both turn bright red when younger him notices that the bed has two pillows on it, but they both know that that's a good thing

When the time comes for them to wake up, Muriel wraps that kid up in his arms. "... it gets better. Promise. You deserve it."

Portia

This is trippy, but after what she's been through with you, Portia guesses this is just par for the course. Why is she in Nevivon?

Her question is answered when a nine-year-old girl comes careening around the corner, fiery curls flying, just in time to collide with her and go sprawling in the dust by the road

Oh, Portia thinks, I remember being like this. I remember her.

Portia watches Pasha pick herself up, lower lip trembling with rage and eyes full of tears, getting ready to lash out at whoever just ripped her dress and made her day go from awful to terrible

And she pulls that little girl into the tightest hug she can manage

Once Pasha's made good use of the handkerchief she's been handed, she takes Portia's hand and shows her around town

She tells Portia all about her life right now. About the grandmas who take care of her, and the parents she doesn't remember

And she talks and talks and talks about her amazing older brother, the last family she has, who left several months ago to explore the world and find adventure and save people - without her

Portia listens and comments, but she keeps getting distracted looking at the strong, clear-eyed, purposeful little girl next to her

So she spends the rest of her visit telling that kid that she's strong, she's interesting, she's exciting, and she is so, so very important, even when it's just her

Lucio

He's back in the frozen woods. He doesn't like the frozen woods

And neither, apparently, does the six year old boy across from him

At first he's just concerned. Why is a small child alone in the freezing cold? He needs to help them get safe and warm

Then he recognizes the golden head of hair, and the big, silver eyes staring up at him, and the nose red from cold, and he has to bite his tongue to keep from yelling as he starts a fire and asks for a name

He likes having a different name, he realizes, when he gets to introduce himself as Lucio the Adventurer to little Montag

Montag, he learns, is alone on a quest to hunt down a bear per his mother's instructions, but he's cold and hungry and frightened

To Montag, Lucio is a hero. He's big and strong and has a cool arm and builds a fire to keep him warm and listens to him talk about how he wants to be a leader when he grows up, without scoffing at his dreams

So the two of them huddle together by the fire under one of the trees, sharing a cloak and talking about who they are

Lucio hears the beginnings of his downfall already in Montag's stories about growing up stronger than everyone so the people in his family and his tribe will have no choice but to praise him

And Montag hears humility and hope from Lucio, about the importance of recognizing mistakes and learning to love and be loved

[euniexenoblade]

Ok so Apple released it's 100 Greatest Albums list a while ago and I scoffed at it, but after watching some youtubers whine about it in different ways, I realized I hadn't given it the fairest shake. I haven't listened to every album on it and a lot of stuff I have listened to I haven't listened to in a long while. So, I'm gonna listen to every album featured and decide how I feel about them. And for fun y'all get small quick reviews.

Starting off, here's part one of my reviews.

I decided to start with Adele's 21. Not for any special reason other than it seemed like it might be nice to listen to in the shower. Adele has a great, powerful voice, but the album has two song archetypes that just get repeated. The songs are mostly competent so individually they're fine, but together as an album they make a very boring experience. Also, I recognized Rumor Has It from a commercial or something, I fucking hate that song. Docked extra points for having that song. This album doesn't belong on the list at all to me, and even if we are throwing a bone to the modern 2010s-2020s artists, she definitely doesn't deserve number 15. A ridiculous placement.

I decided to take on Drake's Take Care and hey guys, does Drake make any other songs? Why do they all sound the same? Does he do anything other than sad boy shit? Of the three Drake releases I've now listened to, this one is easily the best one. I didn't hate the experience, for that Drake deserves some kudos. But, I don't think there's anyway to view Drake positively in 2024. Maybe in 2011 this seemed special, but in 2024 I can easily say that this does not deserve to be on this list, let alone at 47. Giving Drake a pity placement is fine, but not in the top 50.

I have never understood the love that Hotel California garners. Like, the song is good, but it's not earth shattering, and the rest of the album is pretty typical rock for the era. There is just so little content that I haven't got much to say, it's competent enough to not be laughably bad, but it's also so run of the mill there's no highlights. Picking it for a list like this is what I'd call a safe option, not a real option.

I'll be frank, I'm not very familiar with Robyn or Body Talk, so maybe I don't have context on how important this album was to the history of the genre or music at large. Though, to my ear, the album bounces between having wonderful dance pop tracks to having some really boring, repetitive tracks. Still, not the worst album here (not even the worst in this post), it's just hard for me to really gauge how deserving it is for this list.

Probably an album with an unfair advantage, I've been listening to RATM since I was a kid. My favorite Rage album is definitely The Battle of Las Angeles, but I'm not dumb enough to say that should be on the list. Still think Evil Empire had greater music and potentially greater reach than the self titled, but this being here isn't bad. Just a shame it's only at 97.

Did enjoy this a quite a bit. However, musically speaking it feels incredibly one note. This belongs in the top 100 albums ever? Did it really have that level of cultural inspiration? I'm not mad at it being included, not even mad it's at 96, but for it to be in a better spot than the self titled RATM album? Incredibly stupid.

Probably a dumb thing to say, but this is what I expected Drake's album to be like? Fun music and fun lyrics about being a sad boy, a lover boy, and being too playful with women. Honestly, the only reason it gets such low ratings is consistently Usher says shit like this

GET IT?! IT'S CONFESSION PART II, SO HE SAYS PART TWO OF MY CONFESSION!! SOOOO CLEVER come on man. Does it belong on the best 100 list? I don't know. Let someone else decide that.

I have no issue with either of this being on the list, being in the 90s, or any real thoughts to give. Burial isn't quite my vibe musically so I got nothing to say, and Solange is great so it's like. It's cool they're there, no thoughts.

I don't have an issue with George Michael being on this list, but this album? I vibe Faith far more.

Flower Boy by Tyler the Creator is absolutely one of my favorite albums. I'd have imagined that Apple would have chosen Igor, since it's the one people universally seem to adore, but I'm happy Flower Boy is getting love. Flower Boy is my favorite from Tyler and it has special meaning in my heart, so any praise the album can get.

Look, if you're picking AC/DC albums to put on a list, then this is probably the correct pick, but why would you put AC/DC on the top 100 Albums of all Time list? I don't even think they'd qualify for the Top 100 Hard Rock Albums from before the 2000s list! Is it cuz of the Iron Man soundtrack? It's gotta be right?

This is probably my most unpopular opinion: Lady Gaga is overrated as hell. I do not understand what people in 2009 saw in these songs and I still don't get it now. Maybe it belongs on this Top 100 Albums List cuz it had some kind of cultural impact, I mean her music was inescapable for a time. But, I don't get it, I wouldn't put it on my list, and Bad Romance is absolutely one of the most annoying pop songs the radio has ever played.

And, to conclude this long ass pointless post, I'll just jump ahead again to end this on an album I enjoy.

I don't get the weird revisionism that happens around Kid A. I do love it to death, but when it came out it was critically hated. It just feels like everyone treats this as the greatest triumph in music, when the only people that have heard it are Radiohead fans and the weird hipster that tries to act smarter than you in music. Oh well, it's Captain America's favorite album so I guess it works.

I guess more of the issue is Radiohead is one of like, three or four artists on this list that gets more than one spot. Why waste a spot on Kid A at 33 when you have Ok Computer at 12, let some other unnamed artist be on the list instead.

Neither Kid A or OK Computer are my favorite Radiohead albums, but hey, I like Kid A. It's one of four albums I listen to when trying to fall asleep at night, so it's nice to see mentioned I guess.

[precious-little-bhaalbabe]

You called us to send asks about mindflayer karlach 🙇 I am here to learn. What are your Thoughts

I’M SO GLAD YOU ASKED

Basically most of my points have been made before in the tags of other posts but she deserves her own post.

The jist of it is explained in this post and the accompanying image

Basically, Illithid transformation does destroy the host. Our Karlach isn’t Mindflayer Karlach, it’s her tadpole all grown up. Having absorbed all her memories. Because of this, lots of people say that the Mindflayer ending is Karlach’s bad ending. Personally, I don’t see it as her best ending (going back to Avernus and getting her heart repaired is her best ending for me) but I don’t see it as any worse than her ending where she chooses to burn up on the docks surrounded by her friends as a free woman. In both endings (burning up and Illithid transformation), Karlach dies.

But for her Illithid transformation, Karlach’s little tadpole stowaway takes over, consuming her body and her memories. With no Elder Brain influence (given she’s FIGHTING the Absolute) and only Karlach’s memories to build herself off of, the Tadpole decides to make herself a 1:1 copy of Karlach. She retains her name and maintains Karlach’s relationships and does what Karlach would have wanted (at least what she interprets as Karlach wanting, given she has access to all her memories).

I’ve seen people mad about this, how Mindflayer Karlach isn’t Karlach, Illithid transformation kills the host and this mindflayer is just pretending to be Karlach to manipulate us. And I don’t think that’s quite true. Cause without an Elder Brain to serve, what purpose would manipulating the party have? The tadpoles only memories are Karlach’s. Mindflayer Karlach isn’t a sort of devious trick and lie, it’s more of an “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery” situation.

My belief is that as Squidlach continues to live her life, absorbing the memories of the terminally ill she helps leave the world on their own terms, and having her own experiences as a mindflayer and an individual, she will come to view herself less as BEING Karlach and more as FROM Karlach. Viewing Karlach as a predecessor or even a mother. Thus “Karlach III” (she can’t be “Karlach Jr.” because OUR Karlach is already Karlach Jr. if you visit her parents grave in Baldur’s Gate, you see her mother was also named Karlach.)

My hopes and dreams for Karlach III is she gets to meet Omeluum and he can help her figure out what it is to be A Mindflayer but also they can live healthily with their own kind without an Elder Brain, free to pursue their own goals and be good people. And also he can teach her how to wear normal clothes so she can get out of the awful Illithid fleshy horror outfit the transformation left her in. She deserves to wear normal clothes. It’ll help her be less scary.

Maybe the two of them together can start a little colony of peaceful mindflayers together! Not as like, a couple (Omeluum is already clearly married. To Blurg) but like. Idk. Maybe they find a way to grow new mindflayers without being parasitic. Or they take in other runaways from other Elder Brains like Omeluum and the Emperor. Or maybe idk some people are like Karlach and want to choose to give rise to an Illithid for whatever reason. I just think it would be neat.

And even if they don’t, I think it would still be good for the two of them to be friends. It’ll really help Karlach III come into herself as her own person, as a successor to Karlach rather than a copy. It’ll be good for her.

[ash5monster01]

Getaway Camp : Eight

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x FemReader

Warnings: 18+, mentions of abuse, neglect, mentions of infertility, alcohol use, language, foreplay, sexual innuendos, physical attraction, illusions of smut.

Summary: After spending a day with Ezra, Charlie finds himself in an unlikely place with Valerie but it turns out to be one of the best nights of his life.

word count: 3.1k

Masterlist

Seven ←→ Nine

June 30th 1961

It’s a cool morning, colder than normal, more than likely considering the storm from the night before. Charlie didn’t even make it a step out his cabin before pulling on a sweatshirt. His rowers had gotten good enough he had started to join them and for the first time in his life he actually looked forward to sport than viewing it as a chore. Best part was he got to see Valerie on her lifeguard post every time he passed the dock. It was the best way to spend his mornings. Nothing could make his day better. Other than when he was actually with her.

“Gosh, you haven’t lost that dopey grin once since that girl kissed you” Ezra says from his easy chair. Since it was a chillier day, Charlie somehow found himself in the man’s cabin, helping build a puzzle to pass the time.

“Sorry Ezra, just been a long time since I was happy about something” Charlie tells him earnestly and the older man gives him a sad smile, feeling awful for the hectic life he already had lived. So young and so hurt by the world already.

"Well it's good at your age to be happy about a girl, it's healthy even. Sounds like you got a good one too" Ezra points out as he places another puzzle piece where it belongs. Charlie smiles and nods, already counting down the minutes until she finished her shift and he could snuggle up in his cabin with her. Especially on this cool and rainy day. Yet he wouldn't be surprised if she had some sort of party in mind, enough kisses from her pouty lips and big sad eyes, and he would cave.

"I did, actually surprised I got so lucky" Charlie says, a soft blush on his cheeks. Sixteen year old Charlie viewed woman as objects, something to obtain, and now it was so different. He appreciated Valerie, adored her even. If he ever dared disrespect her he's not sure he could live with himself.

“I’m not, good young men like you always deserve a kind young woman by their side” Ezra tells him with an earnest look, an honesty and strength behind his words.

“I’m not that good” Charlie mutters and Ezra snorts.

“Is anyone boy? We just do our best, it’s the ones who learn from their mistakes that make them good” he says with the point of his finger and Charlie thinks of his father. The man he should be free from and yet there was still that part of him that worked diligently to make him proud and still came up short.

Ezra sees the forlorn look on the boys face, the crease in his brow as he struggles with his emotions. He didn’t know much about the boy, just that he had a hard home life and had been kicked out of school. It wasn’t hard to tell he battled something so much deeper and that was a hard thing to do on your own. So he dared a change of topic. “You hear from your folks at all?”

Charlie flashes a look of surprise, not expecting the question. It takes a few moments for his brain to catch up with what he had just asked. “Just my Mom, I called the day I got here and a few more times after that. I figure I won’t ever hear from my Father again”

“You will, even if it’s something you don’t want to hear. He’s hard on you because he cares, you know that right?” Charlie feels immediately defensive, almost angry this man in front of him is defending his father’s actions. The man who had emotionally abused him his entire life, gave him a sense of worthlessness he still couldn’t shake.

“If he cared he’d call” Charlie sneers, slamming a puzzle piece into place and feeling an anger boil inside him that he hadn’t had in a long time.

“Look, I don’t know him personally, but if I had to guess he’s probably afraid to call in fear of rejection” Charlie scoffs at the notion, damn right amused by the suggestion. His father, king of stocks, afraid.

“Afraid of me, rejecting him? All he’s ever done is reject me. Ship me off to boarding schools, forget me on Holidays, refuse to comfort me when my best friend died. He don’t give a shit that he hasn’t heard from me” Ezra freezes at his words, not knowing all of this. Not knowing the boy probably lost the one person who loved him as he was.

“If I were to guess he probably didn’t know how to face all of that, face you. Angry fathers were once forgotten young men too” Charlie sighs with the shake of his head, dropping his eye line to salmon colored carpet in the living room.

“Yeah well, me and my Dad may never agree and I’ve accepted that. No use fighting for something I finally got to leave behind" Charlie mutters and Ezra takes his defiance as a suggestion to leave it alone for now. After all he never had a chance to be a father but he couldn't gurantee he wouldn't of screwed up just like Charlie's father did. Maybe not as bad and in a world where he did have kids, he hoped that didn't deem him a bad one.

"I just hope you don't come to regret that decision" Ezra says before taking a sip from his cup of coffee and picking up a fresh puzzle piece to hopefully find a place for. Much like Charlie just looking for somewhre to belong, a stray piece to a puzzle, hoping he might fit in the world. Charlie stays silent, reeling in his words and trying to fight the anger he feels. Especially the anger towards the older man who clearly just had good intentions. He wanted more control of his emotions especially since they were the very thing that turned his life upside down when Neil had died. The very thing that led him to hit Cameron with all his might.

“Hey what do you say to me meeting this girl sometime though, I’m sick and tired of watching you blush over her. Might as well make her dinner?” Ezra says after a while and Charlie can’t help the smile that cracks across his face.

“Yeah okay, I’ll see if she wants to do dinner” Charlie agrees and Ezra gives a wide smile, hand reaching to clap over his shoulder before focusing his attention back on the puzzle in front of him. This one much easier to figure out than Charlie.

When Charlie makes the trek back to staff camp the heavy clouds begin to drizzle rain. When he’s safe in his cabin it’s finally coming down, dampening the entire camp, and justifying the drop in temperature from the day. Andy is no where to be found, probably in Alice’s cabin and already drinking for the night. A party lifestyle Charlie never thought he’d struggle to keep up with. Either way he hoped Valerie wouldn’t drag him to some campfire he had to get soaked at.

“Ah that came from no where!” the girls squeals, barreling through his cabin door and dripping water. Charlie laughs from his bed, until he spots the denim dress on her form. She so beautiful he’s sure he’ll never get used to it.

“Oh Val, you don’t seriously want to hang out in the rain tonight do you?” he asks and she rolls her eyes, pushing the wet hair away from her face before sliding off her sandals.

“Not exactly” she says, sauntering towards him slowly and making sure he had a perfect view of the cleavage she had on display. It would come in her favor for what she was about to say next.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks as she plops beside him, leaning forward with a mischievous smile. Taking her time as she presses a soft and sweet kiss against his lips.

“What do you say to going to the Hideout tonight?” she asks and Charlie’s so lost in the taste of her it takes him a moment to process. When the question finally hits him his eyes widen, hands reaching to squeeze at her waist.

“And why would you want to do that? You said the Hideout was for lonely people looking for a dance and someone to take home” Charlie says and Valerie giggles, leaning against him.

“Yes but other campers can still go too. Besides I only want to dance with you tonight and take you home. Plus I’m all dolled up, would be a waste if I didn’t get to show it off” Charlie blushes at her suggestion, the image of keeping her in this cabin tonight entirely too taunting.

“Fine but you really should only be showing off for me” Charlie fake pouts and Valerie kisses it away, making the boy roll his eyes. He gives a soft squeeze to her waist, indicating for her to stand which she complies. On his way up he lands a soft smack to her butt before walking to the tall dresser in search of a different shirt.

“Wear that sexy black one again” Valerie coos, snaking her arms around his waist from behind as he digs through the drawer. Charlie snorts but finds the T-shirt anyway. Who would he be to say no to her?

“You gonna take it off this time?” Charlie asks, mostly teasing and Valerie breaks away from him, smirking as he changes the shirt.

“Guess you’ll have to wait and see Ace” she winks and the boy laughs before reaching for the liquor bottle on the desk. Andy must’ve taken the other one so Charlie settles for a long swig before passing it to the gorgeous girl.

“The only way I’ll survive this is with a buzz so drink up V” he tells her and Valerie furrows her eyebrows as she swigs the bottle anyway. Charlie’s tolerance had become much better since the first day of camp.

“Plan on forgetting it all?” she asks, hoping the boy actually looked forward to spending the night with her and not wiping it away with an excessive amount of alcohol and no recollection of her tomorrow.

“Absolutely not, any moment with you I want to remember forever. This is more for the sting of embarrassment I feel every time I see Nate trying to flirt with other women and Chrissy cry about it” Valerie snorts, loving him even more for this answer. How he had picked up on everything so quickly she didn’t understand but she appreciated having someone other than Levi to finally share this all with.

“Fair, now let’s go I want to dance!” she cheers, tucking the liquor bottle under her arm and hand reaching out for his own. Charlie just laughs as he takes it and allows the girl to drag him out of the cabin. The closer they get to the Hideout the easier it is to hear the loud music from inside. Flickers and pink and blue lights flash outside the gaps of the cabin. The outside itself was already intimidating enough but when Valerie has already started to shake her hips, and her hand squeezes his own, he follows her inside without question.

“No shit, Valerie in the Hideout” Nate greets them loudly over the music the second they come through the door. Valerie rolls her eyes and tugs Charlie a bit closer.

“I wanted to dance” she tells her friend, looking for any excuse because the last time she had been in the Hideout she made a decision she regretted immediately. The fact it all turned out okay would never not shock her. Now no mistakes could be made, she could dirty dance with her camp boyfriend and pretend the big question wasn’t looming overhead. The desire to know what would happen to them once camp was over.

“Isn’t that always the excuse?” Nate leans down and asks and based on the way Valerie’s jaw clenches Charlie knows Nate just struck a nerve. Suddenly her hand tightens against his own and starts to drag him towards the center of the dance floor.

“Bye Nate” she mutters, hazel eyes fading into a dark brown. Charlie glances between to two but decides it’s better not to ask. When they reach the center of the crowd Valerie is quick to weave her hand around Charlie’s neck and take another sip from the liquor bottle she had smuggled in.

“You okay?” Charlie asks and Valerie gives a curt nod, moving to set the bottle upon a table nearby before weaving her other hand around him.

“Yes now let’s dance, I wanna see what kind of moves you got Dalton” she says, that same teasing smile finally back on her face and Charlie laughs, his hands settling on her waist.

“I have to warn you, I’m not much of a dancer. Going to an all boys school didn’t provide many dancing opportunities” he tells her and Valerie giggles, the image of a younger Charlie having to dance with another boy amusing her to no end.

“Even if you had, it wouldn’t have been this kind of dancing” she says, head tipping to the crowd and Charlie finally glances around the room. Recognizing the faces of some staff and others not so much, huddled close to their partners, bodies flush together. Charlie can’t help the way his ears tint pink, suddenly feeling like he’s accidentally seen an intimate moment between two other people.

“You’re right, Nolan would’ve never let this fly” and even though Valerie doesn’t know who Nolan is she can only assume it’s someone from his school that had left a strong enough impression. One strict enough that it was his first thought.

“Well what do you say, few more drinks and some dancing?” and even if Charlie isn’t sure the kind of dancing she’s referring to is much like the dirty one he was seeing now, he agrees anyway just for the chance it might be.

As the night progresses and the drinks flow, Charlie comes to find that Valerie isn’t shy on the dance floor at all. He had to count to ten, and try to remember the Presidents in order, just to avoid a hard on at least six times so far. Yet her once wild and damp hair was now wild and curly, soft against his neck while her body was flush against his. She smelled like strawberries and was so warm, it was hard not to imagine her different ways. When she turns and presses her ass straight against his crotch, he’s sure he’s done for.

“You need to relax” Valerie tells him, guiding his hands to her stomach and rib cage. Charlie tries to loosen up, but now with him holding her steady she grinds herself softly back into him, and no amount of presidents or numbers could get him to calm down. Not even the image of Nolan in his underwear.

“I can’t, in fact you might have to walk in front of me on the way out of here” Charlie whispers into her ear and Valerie smiles wide, continuing her movements, knowing exactly what she was doing.

“I don’t mind” Valerie whispers back, voice heavy with lust, and Charlie knows she can feel exactly what’s happening to him right now. Yet instead of shying away Valerie grinds her ass against his length, enjoying to way he stiffens behind her. If there was a version of both heaven and hell, this would be it.

“I should’ve known” Charlie says, a soft growl into her neck and suddenly Valerie feels like a weak mess. Not expecting the possessiveness from him. The way his large hands grasp her body and pull her back into him, how he softly and slowly grinds his hard on against her. She can’t help how her thighs clench together, trying to hide how badly she needs him too. Trying to distract herself she settles into the music, finding a rhythm with his hips, hands lifting behind her and sliding into his hair as his lips find her neck in a hot kiss.

For the first time all night the pair are on the same page, drunk off of each other and the liquor flowing through their veins. There’s no worries about the future or the past. It’s just the two of them, falling in love, and coming to understand one another’s bodies. So when Valerie turns to face him, Charlie pulls her close, mostly to hide his situation, and press his lips against her own. Charlie shamelessly kisses the girl, tongue curling against her own, and memorizing the taste of her. She pulls gently at his hair and suddenly regrets even coming here tonight with the fire so strong between them. They should be alone.

“God where have you been all my life” Charlie breathlessly chuckles when her lips find his neck and she smiles against his skin, knowing she felt the exact same way.

“Waiting for the right moment” is the only response she gives and Charlie smiles, arms coiling around her waist and holding her close in a tight hug.

“What do you say to eating dinner some time with a favorite camper of mine, he’s dying to meet you?” Charlie finds the courage to ask and Valerie giggles, knowing this is quite possibly a version of Charlie wanting her to meet his parents. Show off the girl to someone special, make it more serious.

“I’d be happy too, just give me a day and time” she tells him and Charlie kisses her again, a happiness swelling in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. The old him climbing the surface and feeling safe again. Charlie couldn’t help but hope this would never change, that the bubble would never burst, and he could stay in this moment forever. Comfortable and happy with someone all over again. It was scary, undoubtedly, but it was also familiar. Like coming home after a long time and knowing that for one moment everything would be okay.

For Charlie he never really had a home and until this moment he never realized for him, home had always been the people he loved. He hadn’t been home ever since Neil died and he got kicked out school. Yet at this very moment, tucked in Valerie’s arms and dancing without a care in a world, he was home again and it didn’t feel as empty. This time, it felt like no matter what happened he would turn out okay. He wasn’t broken, at least not anymore.

Taglist: @eden-punk @octaviasdread @pursuedbyamemoryy @poetsinnyc @linmichea1

Comment if you want to be added to the taglist :))

[gotinterest]

EDITED 11/27/2023 TO ACCOUNT FOR MORE WATCHED SEASONS AND FURTHER INSIGHTS FROM REWATCHING. Current list of Kamen Rider Seasons I've either completed or mostly completed in order of how homoerotic I think they are:

Ryuki- It pains me to put Ryuki up this high because of this but two characters have honest to god real canonical evil gay sex in the Rider Time special and that's about as homoerotic as you can get despite how homophobic the scene feels (Tezuka deserved better). But even excluding the gay sex, Ryuki is still pretty homoerotic. Kitaoka and Goro's relationship reads extremely gay to the point where listing specific examples would feel like understating things when you could really just vaguely gesture to literally every interaction they have in the whole show. Tezuka is also lightly gay coded in his backstory. Ren can have a little yaoi break as a treat. Asakura is there (that's homoerotic enough).

OOO- Homoerotic to the point of being a couple sentences away from being canon. Both Ankh/Eiji and Date/Gotou are pretty homoerotic. The actors have really good chemistry with each other and made Some Decisions. There is a moment where Eiji is asked to think about his desire and it hard cuts to a shot of Ankh. Ankh and Eiji have a combined form that is literally rainbow themed in the movie.

Kuuga- Kuuga has gotten bumped up from my last ranking because I read the anniversary novel written from the perspective of Ichijo (by the lead writer of the show) which pretty much solidified my view that Ichijo was intentionally gay coded. They literally have another character bring up that he has gay rumors IN UNIVERSE and he spends the entire novel pining after Godai. This is on top of the homoeroticism in the series itself, such as sleeping on Godai's shoulder, cradling Godai in his arms, all the girlfriend comments, his unwavering loyalty to Godai, etc, etc.

Blade- Blade's reputation for homoeroticism is well earned. However, this is a show where the homoeroticism sneaks up on you. It's not terribly gay until it very much is (which happens well into the show). By the end of the show, Kenzaki and Hajime come across as star-crossed lovers. Their actors seem to agree with that assessment and commissioned couples rings themed around the two characters. Subsequent released story (such as the audio drama and the Zi-O special) further support a gay reading of their relationship.

Faiz/Build-On Build's end, Banjou is literally subjected to explicit homophobia like a couple episodes after a scene where they have a gag of Banjou wondering if Sento is asking him out. The tag line for the show is "A Heated Drama Between Men" which is uhhh. Banjou and Sento also get a gay little combined form. On Faiz's end, the homoeroticism feels very tied into the themes of societal exclusion and social isolation. Kiba and Takumi are "different" and they can sense that within each other, growing closer as they continue to remain closed off from one another about what is truly "different" about the two of them. Kiba indicates to Mari that he is in love with someone, but it is ambiguous as to who he is talking about. Their relationship with each other is continuously criticized by Kusaka in a tone and using language that calls to mind homophobic bigotry. Furthermore, for the ladies, there are moments of homoeroticism between Mari and Yuka where the two girls connect and you can briefly see a better version of the show where their relationship is focused on more instead of the love quadrangle bullshit that Inoue put in there. All this being said, there is no happy ending for homosexuality in this show and watching it will give you an everlasting grudge against Inoue.

Kabuto- Kabuto's homoeroticism is a bit more understated, but it does have just enough in there. Kagami and Tendou have a few moments together and then there is whatever the fuck is going on between those two hopper losers. I am docking Kabuto a few points because Daisuke is there and he is so heterosexual in the worst way possible that it cancels out some of the homoeroticism.

Agito- Haven't finished this one so my ranking may change. Not very homoerotic but there are certainly some moments in there. I wonder if the writers realized that part of the appeal of Ichijou from Kuuga was his homoerotic devotion to Godai, and decided to gradually make Hikawa more homoerotically devoted to Agito as the show progressed.

W- Double is not very homoerotic. If you see someone praising its homoeroticism chances are they are shipping a grown man with a literal 16 yr old. We do not interact with these people. There is some homoeroticism earlier on in the show between Shoutaro and Kirihiko but that's a relatively small part of the show. The focus is more on family bonds and brotherhood as part of its exploration into the theme of familial abuse (and escaping from familial abuse).

Den-O (THE SHOW)- I haven't finished Den-O so I haven't watched any of the movies besides the OOO crossover. So I am not taking Teddy and Kotaro into consideration here. You'd think that a show with this many male characters trapped on a train together would be more homoerotic, but it really isn't. You get more of a family vibe between these characters. Fortunately, Den-O does not need homoeroticism because Momotaros is there.

[teamdilf]

🌳 and 💙 for the snippet asks? :3c

💙share a snippet where a character falls out of love a little

From Practice Child:

“You need me more at the moment. Did you want to talk about what happened with Eleni?”

[Tarquin] tells the story; her parents’ prejudice, and their fear of turians that was so intense that Eleni refused to so much as introduce them. That he’d purchased a ring and was preparing to propose. “That’s how humans ask to bond - they use rings,” he explains.

“I think I knew that - Lora has talked to me about the ring she found to signify her and Garrus’ bonding,” Dad says.

“It’s a diamond. Traditional - I thought it looked boring but that’s what humans like so I found something nice that I could afford on my salary. Don’t know what I’ll do with it now. The thought of her parents’ disapproval got to be too much and she chose them over me. It makes sense, y’know; we’ve known each other for a year and she’s had her family for 25 years, so I was never going to win…”

“Your mother won,” Dad says, looking straight at him. “I chose her over my parents and never hesitated for a moment. The biggest hurdle was ensuring they did not prevent me from seeing Sabina, who was about 11 at the time. We’d been together close to two years at that point. If she cannot stand up to her family against their prejudice and make clear that you’re the one she wants a life with, then she is not worthy of being your partner.”

“But that’s so much to give up! Your family!”

“I’m of the belief that prejudiced family members are not family worth having, but I recognize that there are grey areas that I am unable to see, given my own circumstances. The fact remains that you deserve to join a family that loves and respects you. They are unlikely to, and she was unwilling to stand up for you. Therefore, she is unworthy. That does not mean your pain is invalid - it is hard to lose a future you’ve envisioned and a love you cherish, but there may come a time when you are grateful this has happened, even if that seems impossible right now.”

🌳 share a snippet featuring nature of any kind

From Father, Daughter, Rocket Launchers and a Side of Wrex:

Their campsite comes with a view of the mountains they’ll be hiking and climbing in. Once, you could take a winding mountain road up to the top of the mountain, but the Reapers destroyed it, though left behind a hiking trail and now this is a popular tourist spot for adventurers.

While still a clear day, the breeze smells of acrid smoke; as if someone had tossed an empty gas canister onto a fire. A different sort of burn than Cipritine, which smells more of charred metal and glass. City versus country, he assumes. A two minute walk from them is a creek with clear water and smooth, white stones - they brought bottled water with them, but can use this water to cook, so long as they boil it first.

They’re within walking distance of a lake, where the fishing is good, he’s told. Neither he or Aurelia are much good at fishing, but plan to spend an afternoon doing so from a dock. Worst case scenario, it’s time for the two of them to chat, snack and drink, which to him is the primary point of fishing. Tully would be aghast, but she has actual fishing talent.

[abysscronica]

Do you think One Piece is a political anime?

I guess it depends what you mean by "political"?

I've always thought there's a curious duality in OP: it definitely portrays a lot of politics, showing many different facets and crafting complex political and social dynamics among various states/ethnicities/races. AND YET it all happens around a main character that just wanna do his own thing and couldn't care less about labelling himself part of any group. Quite the opposite in fact, he wants to be the most free a person can be. His dream is to be a King that rules over nothing and answers to no one. I think it's very poetic.

Granted there's a part of Luffy's dream we don't know yet and Oda chose to keep a secret, so it's possible that may change this image a little bit. For example, if since he was a child Luffy uttered to Ace and Sabo something like "I want to tear down all the barriers of this world", or something to that effect, that would already give him a sort of ideology.

At least this is how I always perceived One Piece, keep in mind politics is not really my forte, so take it with a grain of salt. I'm sure you can find analyses around from people much more versed than me on the matter.

In the story itself, there's a recurring theme of revolution against a totalitarian power (the Revolutionary Army vs. World Government), and you can draw many parallelisms between situations in OP and the real world. The fascinating thing is that Oda presents this struggle from so many points of view! Even though most of the time it's pretty clear which one is the wrong side, the story as a whole doesn't buy into a simplistic vision of "all the good guys vs. all the bad guys".

Let's take Alabasta for example. When we dock there, it's a kingdom torn apart by a mounting revolution against the current monarchy. And yet in this case Oda doesn't really pick a side between the two, does he? Or better, he leaves the choice to the reader. He draws the struggles of the desperate population turned rebels, the passionate strong princess that tries to avoid the war, a king that (in his weakness) loves his people, the old man that stays behind and chooses to have faith. Sure, Oda gives us an actual bad guy, a culprit to blame, the mastermind that orchestrated the misunderstandings behind the crisis. But I don't think this takes away from the depth of the political overview we're met with in the Alabasta arc (on the contrary, it adds layers, as we're certainly not exempt from manipulation behind the scenes in our world).

And then, AND THEN! Oda goes on and offers Crocodile redemption?! Or, once again, putting it into better words: he leaves you free to choose. He goes like: hey, here's Crocodile again, kind of an interesting guy, I've got a lot of lore on him, maybe he's not all bad, in fact he's going to help Luffy now for a bit, oh but he still has his ambitious goals and schemes of course. What will you do? Do you like him now, despite what he did to Vivi and her people? Does this mean that you forgive him?

Oda does that a lot with former villains, in general. Hachi, Bellamy, Bon Clay, Buggy, Caesar Clown (?), etc... they all did horrible things to people. Katakuri killed his servants in cold blood as they begged for their life, just because they saw him eating, and he's one of the most beloved characters ever.

It seems that I'm straying from the topic, but here I circle back: Oda goes as far as offering a possibility for redemption to the most f*cked up character ever, a Celestial Dragon. I'm talking about Mjosgard, of course.

And Mjosgard only has a chance because of Queen Otohime. Through Otohime, Oda shows us a different ideology, a different path to change a broken society (incrementalism maybe?).

Does it work? Was it worth it? Does Mjosgard even deserve it? Will it serve to anything?

Again, you're free to choose your answer. And if that answer is no, then what about Hody Jones killing Otohime? Does the mean justify the ends?

I won't delve into Fishmen Island here because there is waaay too much to unpack, one could write a doctoral dissertation on all the layers, the different personalities, the background, how the past of individuals and societies shapes futures and ideologies. SO many aspects!

Also, also, the possibility for redemption that was given to Mjosgard was given to Orochi too, through Oden, with diametrically opposite results. Why? Was it the trauma? Did Orochi's past break him beyond redemption?

It's horribly sad if you think about it. This would suggest that it's the environment that shapes you. Mjosgard had a chance because he was privileged since birth, whereas Orochi had to live through extreme trauma in his childhood, so he had no chance.

But then Oda goes ahead and flips the cards again! Is it really just the environment? Does the individual account for nothing? Look at Doflamingo and Corazon then. Born nobles all the same, endured trauma all the same, turned out completely different. They were completely different since birth, Corazon even says Doflamingo was born evil (and yet he may be capable of love as it's suggested he truly cares about the closest members of his adopted family).

On another note, what about the Marines? They're the dogs of the WG, the antagonists of the story, many of them are depicted as horrible. But do you hate them all? Koby, Smoker, Tsuru, Garp? Can you hate the category and spare the individuals? Do you condemn all of their ideals?

I could go on and on, there's SO much more to this story. I didn't even mention slavery and human trafficking, another theme very much present in OP. I barely hinted at the fact that racism is also treated. But this post is already long so I'll stop for now.

I am really not suggesting any answer to the questions above here, you pick your own. After all, Luffy overthrows kings and protects princesses. He beats bullies up and then he forgives them. If Oda lets you free to choose, who am I to sway you?

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 6,188 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria, pre-Negan + flashbacks in other eras Warnings: language, fear and anxiety, mention of fear of heights Summary: Y/N and Daryl head out on the run for the requested medical supplies. Things are tense, but possibly about to get worse... This part is written in Daryl's POV!

Your name: submit What is this?

* * *

“I ain’t waitin’. I got a whiff of him and I gotta go before it disappears.”

“Daryl, are you sure about this?” Carol pressed him, creases from worry between her eyebrows. “Are you sure you’ve really thought this through?”

“What is there to think through? If he finds her again, he’ll kill her. And I ain’t waitin’ around for that to happen.” The archer was a blur of activity, gathering his gear and shoving it into his pack.

“I think you need to talk to her about this,” Carol insisted, relinquishing her hold on his poncho somewhat unwillingly as Daryl pulled it from her hands.

He shook his head. “Nah. Ya know she’ll want to be there and I can’t risk that…” he trailed off. “I can’t risk—can’t risk that.”

A thick silence stretched for a moment and Carol wrung her hands. “Well, what are you going to tell her?”

He paused, his hands on the clasp of his pack. “I ain’t tellin’ her anythin’. I’ll leave before its light tomorrow. By the time everyone is up, I’ll be gone.”

“What am I supposed to tell her then? When she inevitably asks?” Carol pressed him. “You want me to lie to her too?”

“I ain’t lyin’,” Daryl snapped. “‘M just not—not tellin’ her everythin’. ‘M ending this so she can move on.”

Carol’s jaw tensed. “It feels like a lie.”

“Just tell her I went north. To see what I could see. Lookin’ for supplies,” he drawled, setting his pack and crossbow on the ground beside his bed. “I don’t know.”

Carol sighed heavily and shook her head as he straightened up. “I don’t think this is—”

“Look, tell her whatever ya want. Just wait until ‘m gone. This is happenin’. It’ll be done. S’gonna be over with. For good.”

She shook her head and gave him a long look before crossing his cell and gently clasping his shoulder. “Be careful. I mean it,” she said, surrendering to the fact that there would be no changing his mind. He nodded, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth for a moment.

“I will.”

Carol gave him one last look full of anxiety and left him.

* * *

I hardly slept. Maybe caught 20 minutes here and 15 minutes there. Anxiety about the run—that’s all it was. At least, that’s what I kept tellin’ myself. Wanderin’ into a hospital was about the dumbest shit we could do. They always promised to be loaded with unexpected bullshit and floods of undead assholes. But lyin’ flat on my back in the dark, I knew deep down it had a helluva lot more to do with her than it had to do with the run. I was tryin’ to remember the last time I’d spent more than ten minutes alone with her and it left me with a feelin’ like somebody had dropped a damn lead weight onto my chest. I turned over in bed in an attempt to throw it off, but it still sat there on my lungs. I knew exactly when we’d last been alone for longer than a few minutes. Of course I fuckin’ knew. It was burned into my goddamn memory.

But it wasn’t doin’ me a lick of good to think on it so I pushed it away and waited for the clock beside me to read 5:15 before I climbed out of bed. My gear was all waitin’ ready, except for pickin’ up a gun on the way out. I half-expected to run into her in the armory, but it was dark and empty when I grabbed a handgun and some ammo. It felt like a lonely walk to Aaron’s, up the empty street, dew heavy on the grass, and my bootsteps echoing loudly off the dark rows’a houses. I never feel right in here… with the square little lawns and lights on by the front doors. It just felt fake, like somebody had built paper houses and was plannin’ to light ‘em up to burn any minute. I couldn’t feel settled. I just felt… lost. Outta place. Like I didn’t belong.

I’d gotten rid of that feelin’ once… My mind drifted back to her like it always did. It was like I didn’t have no damn control over my own mind. She’d been the one who’d made me feel like I belonged. But now? Fuck. I’m doin’ it again. Focus, dumbass.

She wasn’t waitin’ by my bike either, so I rode up to the gate. As the lookout platform came into view, I caught sight of her climbing down, followed by Gabriel. Her pack was slung on her back, a shotgun hanging at her side and her favorite pistol in a holster on her thigh. I found myself chewing the inside of my cheek. Nerves. Anxiety. This was gonna be a long fuckin’ day.

“I’ve got the gate,” Gabriel said, heading for the latch. She wandered over and I felt a jolt when she met my eyes. I nudged my nose up in a nod, but she just looked back at me with that same stony expression. Unreadable. It always seemed like I never saw her smile anymore. Maybe she did, just not around me. I got that blank look or a glare that I probably deserved…

“Were ya on watch?” I asked, curious why she wouldn’ta gotten rid of her shift in favor of sleep, knowing we’d be heading out on a run early.

“No,” she said simply. No extra info. Typical. Why waste more on me when one word would do? She didn’t owe me nothin’. And she knew it. I swallowed my other questions and leaned forward on my bike so she could climb on. I felt her settle in behind me and glanced over my shoulder at her. She caught my eyes for a brief moment before looking away, down toward the ground. That was typical too. It was like she just couldn’t look at me. Felt like somebody twisted a blade in my chest every time she dodged me like that. And yet I couldn’t get enough of her, even if she was purposely a giant pain in the ass most of the damn time… I still felt like she was a mirage in a desert. A mouthful of cool water in a drought. Food for a starvin’ man.

Gabriel was waiting with the gate open, so I revved the bike to life again. Her arms wrapped around my waist to hold on and for a second I thought I felt her cheek press against the back of my shoulder, but I knew I must have imagined it. My heart was racing as we pulled out. I was more anxious than I had been all night. The thoughts rushing through my head moved so fast I couldn’t even focus on any of them.

Gabriel yelled at us to be safe as we moved through, kickin’ dust up that left a glowing red cloud behind from the reflection of the taillights. The ride to the city was smooth. We made good time, luckily only passing lone walkers or small herds that were easy to avoid. Around the curves, for a brief moment, she’d hold tighter to me and lean into the turns like I’d taught her in what felt like another fuckin’ lifetime. Each corner I could feel every individual fingertip pressing into my waist or stomach. It was always followed by a sudden wash of heat like somebody had shoved me in a shower with the temperature all the way up. I couldn’t control it. Didn’t matter how hard I tried to ignore the feelin’ of being so damn close against each other…

I slowed down as we neared the hospital. Cars sat rusting in gridlocked traffic, tires long gone, frozen in time—same place they were when everythin’ shut the fuck down. I slowed my bike to roll over some debris and hit a chunk of concrete a little harder than I meant to. Her arms tightened around me reflexively at the jolt before loosening again the next second. My heart jolted at the same time. That feeling… of her clinging onto me for safety—but fuck. Let’s not make it out to be more than it is, dumbass. I turned toward my left shoulder. “Sorry,” I murmured. She didn’t say anything back, just shifted in her place behind me, puttin’ an inch more space back between us. The hospital came into view ahead, tall over everything else on the block.

She tapped my arm and I turned so I could hear her over the engine. “We should park. Sound of the bike,” she said. I knew what she was thinkin’. Any walkers or people anywhere around would hear us. I turned down a side street and parked in a loading dock bay. She climbed off about as damn fast as she could. Kicking the kickstand out and swinging my leg over, she was already walking back toward the corner of the building to look down the street.

“Hold up,” I called after her. I still had to get my gear off the back. She either didn’t hear me or didn’t give a shit and I found myself gritting my teeth. But when I rushed around the corner, I nearly collided with her. She did wait. She was leaned up against the brick, her shotgun in her hands, staring ahead at the looming building.

She straightened up as I stopped beside her and we started windin’ our way down the last couple blocks, keepin’ to the shadows of the buildings, stayin’ in cover as best we could. Even so, I couldn’t help glancin’ up at the endless windows, too many high points. All it would take is one asshole with a rifle and a scope... My hands started to sweat as I gripped my crossbow. I glanced at her, but she was as stony-faced as ever. “C’mon,” I said, quickening my stride. “I wanna get the hell off this street.”

I heard her let out a small scoff behind me. “Yeah, you’re the only one worried about being out here,” she murmured. My teeth clenched again but I did my best to ignore it. There was no point gettin’ riled up this early in the day. We still had a lot of fuckin’ work to do. We reached a set of double doors on the side of the hospital, but one glance inside showed they were well barricaded. I stood there rubbing a hand over the stubble on my face. “S’try the south door,” I drawled. To my surprise, she didn’t argue. But that side was a fuckin’ bust too. “Shit,” I spat out. There was a tall cabinet blocking the entrance.

“Good call,” she said sarcastically.

I shot her a glare. And this time when I bit my cheek, I tasted blood. “Ya got a better fuckin’ idea? Huh?” I challenged her.

She rolled her eyes, studying the door for a moment. There was a large glass pane above it that was broken out and I saw her eyes lock in on it. “Boost me up there,” she said, inclining her chin to indicate the window.

Did she want to go in alone? Well, that sure as shit wasn’t fuckin’ happenin’. “Like hell,” I growled back. She rolled her eyes again.

“Just boost me through and I’ll get the door open. I’ll let you in.”

Now it was my turn to scoff. “Ya gonna move that cabinet? By yerself?” I asked skeptically. The muscle in her jaw tensed.

“I don’t have to move it far. Just enough to let you squeeze in. And you can help from the outside.”

I pulled my bottom lip in between my teeth. I didn’t like the idea. I paced a tight circle, thinkin’, as she shifted impatiently beside me. “What if ya get in there and there are walkers? Huh? We can’t see shit down the hall.”

“I’ll be quiet. Come on. We haven’t got all fucking day and we’re sitting ducks out here. Unless you’ve come up with something better—”

I didn’t like it, but she was right. Shit. “Fine,” I interrupted. She leaned her shotgun up against the wall as I set my back against the door, fingers locked together and hands low at my bent knee. “C’mon. Gimme yer foot.”

She seemed to hesitate and I wondered if she was having second thoughts, but the next moment she stepped close in front of me and her hands came to my shoulders. “Ready?” I asked. Her face was maybe six inches from mine, her hands light. I started to feel warm again, a flush of heat across the back of my neck that started spillin’ into my chest. I could see every fleck of color in her eyes, the upturned curve of her eyelashes, that little scar on her chin... Fuck. Focus.

“Ready.” She planted her boot in my hands and I boosted her up so she could grab the window edge. The tinkling of glass dropping in was all I could hear for a moment, and then her weight disappeared from my hands. Spinning around, I watched her pull herself through onto the top of the cabinet. She stayed perched there for a moment, glancin’ behind her, scoutin’ the hallway, before she dropped to her feet lightly. She made it look easy. Graceful.

I couldn’t stand still, constantly shifting my weight. I watched her face tighten as she wedged her shoulder into the cabinet, using all her weight, and it started to move at an angle away from the door. I pushed in with my shoulder from the outside and we finally had enough space for me to slip through. I passed her shotgun through first before turnin’ sideways and slidin’ in. It was dark and completely silent except for the sound of our own breathin’. It felt stuffy inside, and I could vaguely smell somethin’ sharp like animal piss and a sickeningly sweet smell. Death. Decay. I paused to draw the string on my crossbow back, cocking it ready to fire, a bolt nestled in the flight groove.

She pulled her flashlight out from the side pocket of her pack and clicked it on, shining it partially up the hallway ahead. “Jesus…” Her boots crunched over broken glass. She adjusted the shoulder strap of her shotgun, her eyes fixed down the hall, following the moving beam of her light. “This place is a fucking wreck,” she whispered. In her distraction, her tone lacked the usual hostility or sarcasm.

“Somethin’ went down since we were last here,” I agreed. There was a lot more debris and furniture toppled over and strewn about. A lot of obstacles to a clean getaway if we had to make one. “Let’s just get this done and get the hell out.”

“What a unique idea…” she remarked over her shoulder. There it was. Damn sarcasm was back.

I couldn’t help rolling my eyes and movin’ past her so I was in the lead. I knew it would annoy her, but I secretly wanted to be the one in the line of fire if somethin’ was crooked. I headed for the stairwell, pullin’ my own flashlight out and shinin’ it inside before I tried the door. It looked clear. “Upper floors are more likely to have shit left. Let’s go.”

We moved in silence. I could feel her ghosting behind me the whole way, almost mimicking my movements. This was the first time the two of us had been alone on a run since… since I dun even know when. But despite it being so goddamn long, we weren’t out of step. Once we started movin’ it was like no damn time had passed. We fell right back into our old rhythm. I knew her and she knew me. We worked well together when she put aside her need to argue with everythin’ I said. It still felt like we each knew what the other was thinkin’. Not that I expected this run would magically make working together bearable again for good, or solve anything, but at least we could if we had to. I also now was realizin’ this whole thing was probably orchestrated by Rick. Did Denise really need the supplies? Sure. But did it have to be Y/N and I gettin’ ‘em? Alone? Fuck no. I dunno exactly what he was hopin’ for but I’m pretty sure he’ll be disappointed…

Moving steadily upwards, we had most of the supplies on the list, plus plenty of extra finds, but I was growing more and more uneasy as we went on. We hadn’t run into a single fucking walker yet, and to me that meant they were probably herded up in a massive hoard somewhere. It felt like a matter of time before we found them or they found us. I could sense Y/N’s tension risin’ again too. She was more fidgety, more careful about each step she took. I found myself frequently sweeping my eyes back behind us to make sure nothin’ was lurking just outta the flashlight beams. There were the usual signs of walkers nearby; smears of blood on the floor and walls, that fuckin’ smell ya could never get outta yer nose, even chunks of flesh from the rottin’ fuckers. But we still hadn’t seen one, and I was fuckin’ worried.

“Almost got everything,” Y/N whispered to me, shoving a couple more bottles into her pack. “We just need to find the CPAP machine,” she murmured, staring down at the list. “I don’t have a fucking clue what the hell that looks like.” She glanced over at me, one of her eyebrows quirked in a question and I realized she was waitin’ for some kinda response.

“What? Yer lookin’ at me? I ain’t got a goddamn clue what the hell that even is,” I said gruffly. Shit. I saw it. Just for a second, but one corner of her lips twitched up in a smile and I swear there was a spark in her eyes—like the ones I used to see in her all the time. My heart jumped and I tried my best to ignore it. She seemed to turn away, hidin’ her face right as I was puzzlin’ over it.

“Right… well, let’s try down the hall. There’s probably another supply closet at the other end,” she said, nudging her head toward the darkness ahead.

We made our way cautiously. I pushed into the lead again and was surprised when she didn’t argue. I tried every door handle but most of ‘em just led to empty or trashed patient rooms. I caught her frozen in the doorway of one that had a massive bloodstain on the floor and spatter partially up the walls. Her eyes were wide and vacant, and I wondered what she was reliving. “Hey,” I said, just over her shoulder. She seemed to pull out of it abruptly and she turned away, moving on like nothin’ had happened. I let her go ahead, mainly so I could keep an eye on her for a minute and make sure she still had her head in the game, but I didn’t need to worry. Not about that anyway. She’d always been tough. She wasn’t shaken by shit easily. I knew that. And yet I still had this drive to want to protect her, even though she didn’t need it from me. And she definitely didn’t want it from me.

“Here,” she said suddenly, slinging her gun back on her shoulder and more fully opening the door to a small supply closet. There was hardly enough room for her to stand inside, so I posted up just behind her and strained my eyes and ears for anythin’. “It’s all electronic stuff,” she whispered, entirely focused at the task at hand. Her hands floated from one device to the next, illuminated by her flashlight. She was looking for some label or model number or somethin’ to tell her what they were. She bent down and grabbed some scattered papers from among the boxes on the floor. Swearing under her breath she held one up to the flashlight. “Of course the cover and all the useful shit in the front is torn off,” she muttered. She was bending down to grab another handful when there was some sudden, deep noise on the floor above us.

My heart seemed to stall out for a moment and she straightened up and froze, her eyes lifted toward the ceiling, lips partially parted. The sound seemed to reverberate through the building. I could feel it beneath my feet. It resonated through the walls. After a moment, I was looking at her and she glanced over and met my eyes, her eyebrows a little furrowed with worry.

“What the fuck was that?” she asked in a harsh whisper. I only shook my head. She gulped and refocused, shakin’ it off, focusing back on the papers. She was flipping page after page, scanning them as fast as she could.

I started to hear some more noises above us and then eventually spilling toward the other end of the hall. My grip on my crossbow tightened. “We need to move,” I said, keeping my voice low.

She was still intensely focused on the manual in her hands. “Just gimme a minute…” she said vaguely.

I shifted, turning more toward the far end of the hallway, straining my hearing. There was more clattering above us. “We might not have another damn minute.”

“Just—hold on—”

Fuck. I stood frozen for a moment as a herd of walkers started to spill out from the stairwell at the other end of the hallway and start toward us. “We ain’t got a minute, Y/N!” I urged in a harsh whisper. She didn’t seem to hear me.

There were more walkers than I could count. They hadn’t spotted us yet but I had to move fast, so I did the only damn thing I could think of and pushed her forward into the closet, pressing in after her and shutting the door as quietly as I could. I instinctively clicked my flashlight off and hurried to grab hers and do the same, plunging the two of us into darkness in that small space.

“Daryl, what the hell?!” she snapped at me. She’d been so focused she was completely oblivious to the mass of dead wandering our way. The goddamn closet was so small I had no choice but to be pressed into her… My heart started to pound and I think it had more to do with her against me than the undead assholes outside. I was sure she’d be able to feel it and prayed she’d just think it was adrenaline or somethin’. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

I shoved my hand over her mouth, all my patience gone. Did she really think I’d shoved her in a closet for the hell of it? “For once in yer goddamn life just shut up!” I growled in a low voice. She seemed to tense against me but in the quiet the sounds of the walkers outside the door were now easily heard above our ragged breathin’ and they were growing louder every second. I still had one hand over her mouth and the other clenching my crossbow at my side. She shifted against me and pulled my hand away. I could hear and feel her breathin’ pick up pace. I planted my palm on the wall behind her, next to her head, very aware of the growin’ heat pooling between the two of us where we were pressed together. The air felt suffocatin’. I started to worry the walkers outside the door would be able to hear my breathin’ I was so nervous. I wanted to shift, move away from her like I’m sure she wanted… I wanted to change positions and get my bow up, but it was impossible.

She didn’t seem to know where to put her arms within the tight, dark space. I couldn’t blame her. I was leaned in against her, sorta over her even. I felt her hand accidentally brush my arm and my body jolted a little at the contact, like some reflex I didn’t know I had. My teeth ground together. After that she seemed to settle away from me, into the wall behind her.

We had to just stay there, fuckin’ frozen, hardly room to breathe while the hoard passed by. Every once and a while, a body would thump hard against the door and I’d feel her flinch. I could feel sweat dripping down my neck and beading up on my face, my hair sticking to it. We were so close I could feel her breath against my skin when she faced toward me. I felt the rhythm of her breathin’. And I couldn’t ignore the fact that in that tiny ass closet, the only thing I could smell was the faint scent of her shampoo. I tried hard not to notice, but I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t try to put some name to the smell. Lavender? Not quite. Maybe more like rose? I dunno. And despite the possible death lurking just outside, I found it hard to focus on anythin' other than the feeling of her against me.

It felt like it took hours for the hoard to pass, but it was probably only ten minutes. But after the sounds drifted away we were still left with a big fuckin’ problem. They had to go somewhere, and my best guess was that they were travelin’ down.

It was so dark in there I couldn’t even tell if my fuckin’ eyes were open or closed, and it seemed to be makin’ it hard to think… Or maybe the angle of her one hip pressed into me was—fuck. Get it together, man… I fumbled for and clicked on my flashlight, findin' the two of us both wincin' at the sudden glare, noses almost touchin'. She was lookin’ up at me, her lips softly parted, her expression only full of concern for once, that little worry line she always gets near her eyebrow.

We both stayed like for a second. I guess just struck by actually seein’ how close we were in the sudden light, until finally she tore her eyes away and turned her head.

I tried to clear my throat, worried my voice was gonna come out soundin' strained or somethin’. “Uhh… sounded like they were goin’—”

“—down. Yeah,” she finished.

My eyes traced the angle of her jawline as she kept her face turned away from me. I heard the paper manual crinkle in her hand and groped for the doorknob behind me. “Yeah,” I agreed quietly. “So, we got a problem about gettin’ out.” My hand finally landed on the doorknob and I turned it and slowly opened the door on the hall, checking both directions carefully but also feelin’ like if I didn’t put some damn space between the two of us again I was about to explode. It looked clear and I stepped out. Glancin’ back, she still seemed frozen, up against the wall, her face turned away toward her shoulder so I couldn’t really get a read on her. “Hey. What is it?” I prompted her.

“Hmm?” She seemed to snap back to herself. “N—nothing…” She went back to searching the manual in her hand, like nothin’ had fuckin’ happened. Just one goddamn time I’d like to know what the fuck is goin’ on inside her head… But I ain’t got no right to that. She’s made that pretty fuckin’ clear.

It wasn’t the right manual or the right machine. But she went through two more until she found it. “Got it,” she announced, waving the paper at me before shoving it into her already full duffel bag. She seized a small machine from the shelf and started trying to rearrange items to make it fit in her pack.

“I got room,” I said, still nervously checkin’ over my shoulder. I thought I could hear the hoard moving below us, maybe two floors down.

“It’s fine. I can make it fit,” she said, jostling more stuff in her bag.

I rolled my eyes and grabbed the damn thing from her, slinging my crossbow strap over my shoulder. “Ya’d really rather split yer pack at the seams than take any fuckin’ help from me,” I murmured. I didn’t wait for an answer. I didn’t need one…

She stepped out of the closet and I caught her wiping her forearm across her forehead. It left a smear of dirt near her hairline. I had to pull myself back to the present. “So, how are we getting out of here?” she asked, adjusting her pack and the duffel bag strap on her shoulder.

I glanced at her, knowing she wasn’t gonna like my idea.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, you’ve obviously got something. Just get on with it.”

“Fire escape,” I said.

I watched the muscle in her jaw twitch as he jaw clenched. “Fuckin’ great…”

“Unless ya got somethin’ else—”

“You know I don’t,” she snapped back at me. She wiped a hand across her forehead again, swiping away fresh drops of sweat. “It’s—” She cut herself off. “Let’s just go,” she sighed, defeated.

I looked at her for a second more, trying to gauge just how freaked out she was, but it didn’t seem to matter. We didn’t have any other options.

“Let’s go,” she snapped again. “Before I change my mind about being able to handle this.”

“It ain’t—”

She squeezed her eyes shut and I watched her body tense. “I swear to god, Dixon, if you say ‘It ain’t that bad’ or ‘It ain’t that high’ right now, I will lose my shit and attract every fucking walker in this goddamn building. I don’t even give a fuck.” Her jaw muscle twitched.

I couldn’t help letting out a sigh that was more of a growl than anything but then I turned and headed for the window a couple doors down that I’d noticed was busted out. Leaning through, I scanned the outside of the building for a fire escape. Nothing on that side.

“It’s probably around the other side. Let’s try the end of the hall,” she suggested. Her boots stayed rooted to the floor and I glanced at her again. She caught my eyes and must have read the concern on my face.

“I’m fine. You’re the last person I need worrying about me,” she growled.

Fuck. She could be infuriating… I found my hand clenching and unclenching a few times before I followed her back out of the room.

She was right. There was a fire escape down that side. I grabbed a piece of metal off the floor and straightened up. “Ya ready?” I asked one more time. “They might hear this glass break so we gotta fuckin’ move.” I thought her hands were a bit shaky.

“Just do it,” she said. And this time, I could hear the quiver in her voice.

I smashed the window and knocked out the glass before pullin' myself through. The metal grates rattled under my boots and she looked suddenly sick as she approached the window sill. I hesitated a second before reaching a hand out to help her through.

“I’m fine,” she said. She didn’t look fine, but she gripped the ledge and climbed out. “Oh, fuck. Fuck…” she muttered as her feet landed on the platform. She was keeping her eyes fixed straight out. Even just the metal grates at th prison used to freak her out, and that was one floor.

I wanted to comfort her but… I wasn’t dumb enough to think it’d help or that she wanted me to, so instead I just started down the stairs at a good pace. She followed stiffly behind me, gripping onto the railing with white knuckles and falling behind.

Every once and a while I’d glance back and she looked like she was about to be sick, but she was still following. We hit a snag as we reached the third-floor platform. A large part of it had rusted and fallen away, leaving a gaping hole we would have to edge around to reach the next set of stairs.

“Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” I heard her behind me and when I looked back her eyes were wide and round and she was clutching onto the railing like it was a lifeline.

“S’fine. I’ll cross first. Just keep over—”

“Oh, really, Daryl? I should keep over to the side? You mean I should stay away from the huge fucking hole in the goddamn floor?” It kept drawing her eyes and I’d see her rip them back up and away, reeling.

I knew that was mostly coming from the fact that she was fuckin’ terrified, but every harsh word from her still stung. “Fine. Clearly, yer good,” I spat back. “Ya don’t need me and ya don’t give a shit and yer fine. I fuckin’ got it.” So much for trying to calm her down. I edged past the hole in the metal grating and went down the next set of stairs. Finally, I just had to push down the ladder, climb down, and we’d be on solid ground again. But when I looked back up, she was still frozen where she had been, on the far side of the platform. I watched her for another minute, waiting to see if she’d move. I knew she wasn’t gonna ask for help, not from me, but she obviously needed it and tough shit, I’m the only damn person here. I rubbed a hand across the back of my neck, anxious to even try again, and climbed back up. I edged past the rusted-out hole and stopped next to her. “Just gimme yer hand.” She didn’t loosen her grip on the railing, and her eyes landed on my face. “S’fine. Just for two seconds, lemme fuckin’ help ya.”

Her chest was heaving with fearful breaths and I guess the idea of tryin’ to cross along that edge alone was worse than puttin’ her hand in mine. Part of me still thought she’d take the heights over me, but she didn’t… She pried her hand off the railing and placed it into mine. I—I can’t say my heart didn’t jump when my fingers closed around it. The motorcycle. The fuckin’ closet. Now this. We’d hardly been within six feet of each other for years and now all this in one day… I felt dizzy. It ain’t like Rick could have predicted these things would happen. He sure as shit couldn’t command a hoard to force us into each other in a tiny closet… but he must have been hopin’ for somethin’ by sendin’ us out here. Was it gonna work on her? I fuckin’ doubt it.

As we stepped along the edge of the edge of the platform, she held her breath. She always seemed like nothing in this fucked up world scared her anymore, nothing phased her. Half the time it almost seemed like she didn’t give a shit if she died. But this? Heights? This still scared her on some level she couldn't reason away.

But we made it across just fine. She was gripping onto me so tightly I thought she might have bruised the bones in my damn hand. And as we climbed down the next set of stairs, long past the danger, she was still holding onto me. But just as quickly as I realized it, she slipped her hand out and stiffened next to me again, fixing her eyes away toward the railing, which she grabbed onto again desperately.

We made it down the ladder, dropping onto the concrete and making a run back to my bike, slippin' from cover to cover, packs heavy and weighing us down. I was thinking how batshit crazy it was that we’d just done a hospital run and hadn’t had to kill a single walker AND managed to get all the damn supplies... when we rounded the last corner and a string of curses left her mouth.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. What the fuck?!” She knelt down next to my bike and as I looked, my stomach dropped.

“Son of a fuckin' bitch.” Both tires on my motorcycle were slashed. Ruined. Fuck.

We were stranded in the city without a runnin’ vehicle and somebody knew we were here.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Take Me, I’m Yours

(the highest voted options on the poll were ‘Geralt rescues Jaskier from trouble’ and ‘Jaskier riles the Captain up in public’ so I teamed up with the ever-marvelous, stupendously talented @limrx to bring you this Swashbuckling AU oneshot/art piece featuring a horribly jealous Geralt and a frisky, flirty Jaskier)

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

“Do you think he likes me back?” Jaskier asked. He leaned over the ship’s railing to look more closely at the dolphin following behind them. Lambert didn’t think he’d fall overboard but it would be kind of funny if he did. The strange young nobleman did have a way of always landing on his feet, though. 

“I know he does.”

“Well how come he hasn’t told me anything about it, then?” 

“You’ve met the Captain, right? About this tall, long white hair, weird yellow eyes, emotionally incompetant?” 

“You have a good point. Should I just confront him about it?”

“Yeah, sure.” Lambert rolled his eyes before shooting Jaskier a pointed look. “If you want to send your ransom note back to Lettenhove the following morning.”

“Fuck. I just want to kiss him, Lambert. Regularly. I want to know if he snores or not. I want to lay on the deck beneath the stars and talk to him like we’re friends and not just pirate and pseudo-pirate-captive. I really want to see what his ass looks like under those godsforsaken trousers, Lambert, it’s killing me not knowing.”

“You’re more insatiable than a siren during the rainy season,” the second mate teased. “But with fewer teeth.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you going ashore when we lay anchor?”

“Am I allowed?”

“I assume you’ll be allowed. You’re practically part of the crew. You’ve been aboard for nearly two weeks and you’ve pulled your fair share of the weight, if not moreso.”

“Why thank you, Lambert. I appreciate you noticing.”

“Of course, Jaskier. You may be an utter fool and a fop to boot, but at least you’re a hard worker.”

“Asshole.”

“Mhm.”

They both watched the dolphins for a minute in silence before Jaskier’s face split into the most heinous and dastardly grin. It filled Lambert with an unmistakable sense of fear and worry. “I have a brilliant idea. I know how to get Geralt to admit his feelings.”

“No, absolutely not. I am not getting roped into this, you horrible little minx. Don’t give me that look! I won’t help you this time!”

“But Lamby-bert,” Jaskier whined. “If he has someone to take all his frustrations out on in bed then I’m sure it’ll be easier to negotiate for higher shares next time we take a vessel.”

Lambert did not miss the fact that Jaskier said ‘we’ when referring to the crew. The second mate knew the little nobleman was here to stay; it had been clear that Jaskier would be sticking around from the moment Geralt first laid eyes (and hands) on him. The Captain hadn’t stopped looking out for the lad since. Lambert wasn’t even going to think about that singular flirty kiss atop the mainmast nearly a week and a half ago. Geralt had been pining after the acrobatic little idiot ever since and making absolutely no move to flirt back. It was driving the crew absolutely crazy. “Alright, you devilish siren. I’m in.”

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

Jaskier cleaned up nice.

And he deserved to clean up nice. He’d worked hard to put this outfit together. Billy had lent him a pair of dark blue breeches in return for Jaskier’s help with mending the mainsail. The shirt he was wearing was half a size too big, which was exactly big enough for the neckline to plunge even lower than he usually wore it. This way it revealed more of his toned (and rather hirsute) chest. He’d borrowed it from Starkey, who was the same height as him but who had much broader shoulders.

The Captain was going to absolutely die when he saw Jaskier.

He whistled a rather naughty shanty as he exited the bunk room and made his way towards the gangplank where Starkey, Lambert, and Eskel were waiting for him. He spun in a quick circle, arms out to show off his clothes. Lambert and Starkey whistled appreciatively and Eskel hid his face in the palm of his hand. “Ready, boys?”

“Absolutely not,” Starkey smiled. The first mate standing next to him tilted his head back to look at the sky, sighing deeply.

“Are you sure about this? What if the Captain tries to kill Lambert?”

“He won’t be killing anyone. Hopefully. If he does run his sword through anyone, it will most likely be me,” Jaskier joked. “Now, this is my first time drinking with real pirates. Anything I should know?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Eskel suggested. Lambert bit back a laugh and Starkey snorted.

“Impossible.”

“Well then, let’s go.”

The four men made their way down onto the docks and through the sparse crowd of sailors and merchants still mingling in the evening light. Starkey led them to a decent tavern and found a vacant corner table, which gave them an excellent view of the door.

Geralt and Starkey had spent the morning selling their stolen cargo to various merchants, shopkeepers, and artisans. The Captain had divided up the gold between his crew according to their various contracts and Jaskier, more as a jest than anything else, was given two crowns as well. “For not dying,” Geralt had intoned seriously. The men were amused but Jaskier’s face had gone bright red with embarrassment. The young noble had talked them out of trouble with the Skelligan patrols twice last week and Geralt was repaying him with public humiliation? Lambert knew that the Captain’s earlier actions were about to make this evening a lot more entertaining (if slightly uncomfortable) and he was ready to get this show on the road. He flung an arm around Jaskier’s waist and ordered them all a round of ales.

“So everyone knows what the general goal here is, right?” Jaskier clarified.

“Yes,” Eskel nodded. “You’re using Geralt’s jealous nature to make him act on his less than subtle feelings for you.”

“Correct. Wonderful.”

Lambert squeezed the noble’s hip through his borrowed pants and Jaskier huffed indignantly in reply. Starkey chuckled softly at their antics and winked at the barmaid when she brought them their drinks. “Can’t wait, really. It’s been so boring lately and the last two ships we took didn’t even fight back. This is drama. This is entertainment!”

“Shut up, Starkey,” Jaskier pouted. He leaned back into Lambert’s embrace and gulped down half his ale.

“Slow down, kid,” the first mate teased. “Or you will be drunk when he gets here and your plan won’t work.”

“I need to get the pink in my cheeks or I’ll look suspicious,” Jaskier argued. “One ale should do it without getting me tipsy. Maybe two if it’s weak.”

“Method actors,” Lambert rolled his eyes.

Jaskier was sipping slowly at his second ale and the other three pirates were on their fourth or fifth when Geralt finally came barreling through the tavern door. “There you are!” Eskel shouted, waving the Captain over. Nobody missed the barely-hidden glare Geralt aimed at Lambert’s arm where it rested against the nobleman’s lower back.

“Captain,” the second mate nodded.

“Lambert. Eskel. Starkey.” Geralt greeted them all in turn.

“Heyyyy,” Jaskier whined, leaning forward against the edge of the table and pouting. “What about me, sir?”

“You.”

“Rude,” the brunette huffed. Lambert ran a lazy hand up and down his spine and Jaskier watched as Geralt’s eyes narrowed into slits. He sighed sadly and melodramatically into his mug and nodded once in the second mate’s direction. “Thank you, darling. At least someone in this crew likes me.”

Starkey saw Geralt’s eyelid twitch and slid Eskel two crowns under the table to settle their bet. He thought the vein on their Captain’s throat would show up before the eyelid went, but it must have been the first mate’s lucky night this time around. “Hey Eskel, let’s see if any of the lovely ladies here want to dance with us, eh?”

“You coming, Captain?” Eskel asked. “Seems like Jaskier and Lambert are a bit busy.”

“Yes, Geralt,” Jaskier egged him on. The Captain had a white-knuckled grip on the handle of his mug. The noble took a long swig of ale and licked a bit of foam from his lip when he was finished, noting the way Geralt’s eyes locked onto his mouth. “Why not go dance with a pretty lady. Certainly nobody else has your attention.”

The pirate Captain finally snapped. He slammed his mug down and reached around the table to grab Jaskier around the waist. He hauled him out of the second mate’s grip and onto his feet. “Captain, what are yo-”

“Yer coming with me, siren,” Geralt snarled. Lambert relinquished the nobleman with very little fuss, winking at Jaskier as the pirate Captain swung him up and over his broad shoulder. The young man flashed all three of his co-conspirators a thumbs up as he was carried out of the tavern like a sack of potatoes.

“A little rude to Lambert, don’t you think, sir?” he asked, resting his elbow against Geralt’s shoulder blade and settling his chin onto his hand. He crossed his ankles to make it easier for the pirate to balance his weight comfortably. “But they’ll be happy to know that our little plan worked out.”

Geralt stopped in his tracks but did not set his captive down. “Your what?”

“Our plan,” Jaskier explained as if bored. “To get you to finally do something about all this sexual tension between us. I kissed you on the mouth for fuck’s sake.”

“I thought it was an accident.”

“Oh, and saving you from hanging at the hands of some Skelligan officers, was that an accident? Not sending a ransom note last time we stopped for water and not turning you in for the reward in Novigrad, were those accidents too? There is a hefty bounty on your head, White Wolf, and I could be living independently in a castle somewhere right now except that I happen to find you endlessly attractive and fascinating.”

“Hmm.” Geralt resumed walking. Jaskier noticed with a smirk that his pace had picked up quite a bit. As if he was suddenly in a hurry to be somewhere.

“Hum dismissively all you like, sir, but you’re still carrying me back to your cabin to ravish me senseless, are you not?”

“Ravish may be the wrong word for what I’d like to do to you, but you do look rather tempting.”

“Thank you. I put a lot of effort into this ensemble.”

“You’re a calculating little nymph, aren’t you?”

“No, of course not. I only managed to secure a bunk aboard the Kaer Morhen and wrap its infamous captain around my finger in less than a month. I am but a silly nobleman with excellent dexterity and a penchant for climbing.”

“Lambert was right to call you a minx.”

“He does love that nickname.”

“It’s not an endearment.”

“Whatever.” The ground shifted and Jaskier knew they were making their way up the gangplank and back onto the ship. This was the part he’d been waiting for! Geralt kicked in his cabin door and stepped inside, turning to close and lock it behind them. Jaskier wriggled impatiently. “Set me down!”

“Hmm, no. I rather like the view from here.”

“Excuse me?”

Geralt gave him a gentle smack on the ass, almost a pat really, and huffed out a laugh at Jaskier’s offended noise. “You’ve been an awful lot of trouble for a nobleman and a captive.”

“I’m barely a captive, Geralt. Give it up already.”

“You haven’t signed the book.” He set Jaskier back on his feet and looped his arms around the younger man’s waist to pull him close. “You’re still a captive until you swear on the book and sign your name next to the others. Then you’ll be part of my crew.”

“I have yet to negotiate for my shares,” the brunette stated. He tilted his chin back, baring his neck slightly and offering Geralt his ale-damp lips. “Ten crowns after every capture and I get to sleep in here with you. That sounds fair.”

“You’re a good worker. Seven crowns, you can sleep in here with me, and you can borrow my bandannas whenever you want.”

“Even the red one?”

“Especially the red one.”

Jaskier’s soft pink mouth brushed against the pirate’s as he murmured his answer: “Deal.”

Geralt’s lips crashed against Jaskier’s with the strength of a wave hitting the side of his ship in a maelstrom. The Captain’s mouth was so warm and his lips moved against the younger man’s with almost frightening determination. As if he was trying to prove himself. His arms were strong around the nobleman’s lower back and his white hair brushed deliciously against the skin of Jaskier’s neck.

“You’ve bewitched me, body and soul.”

“Oh, Geralt,” the younger man sighed, opening his mouth to let the other in. I never thought the word ‘plunder’ could apply to kissing but here I stand, corrected by experience yet again. The White Wolf of the Seven Seas pulled away, made breathless by a young and foolish nobleman in search of adventure.

“I’m not a siren, you know. Not even a little. My family’s estate is landlocked.”

Geralt’s fingers rose from his waist and brushed against his cheekbone reverently. Those amber eyes, so cold and focused when he shouted orders or intimidated a merchant captain, were looking down at Jaskier with such devoted tenderness. The ex-noble felt his heart fill anew and double in size. There wasn’t enough room in his body to hold all of this feeling.

“Kiss me again, Captain. Take me to bed.”

“You’re too good at tempting me. You must be evil.”

“I assure you,” Jaskier smirked, ripping Geralt’s shirt over his head in one smooth movement. “I am.”

[kaistarus]

The Only Exception

Pairing: NishinoyaXReader

Words: 2.2K

Summary: Nishinoya was genuinely happy with his life. He’d gotten used to being by himself and had accepted the fact that that was how it was supposed to be. Until you came along and threw everything he thought made sense out the window.

A/N: I really like this fic. It’s one of my favorites Nishinoya ones so far just because it’s his pov and timeskip and the amount of love feels makes me happy. i got a lot of serotonin while writing it :D

Masterlist

Nishinoya had never been someone’s first choice.

He knew that sounded dramatic, but it was just a fact of life. The sky was blue, Tanaka could chug three-fourths gallon of milk before vomiting, and Nishinoya was never anyone’s preferred option--which never bothered him so keep the pity to yourself.

He learned to accept this when he never got scouted for the All-Japan Youth Camp and after the only person Nishinoya ever even kind of loved ended up loving his best friend. It taught him to keep his expectations low and to focus on things he could control, which was what led him to solo-traveling Japan and then the world. He realized things might be better on his own, and with the constant itch that he was missing out on something bigger traveling alone just made sense.

But then you came and ruined everything.

Hold on. That came off way more aggressive than Nishinoya wanted. He meant there was a perfect vision for how his life would go-pyramids in Egypt, Hollywood sign in Los Angeles, deep sea fishing in Italy-until he toppled over you in the streets of Italy. He’d been sprinting toward the docks when you stepped out of a marketplace and he collided into you, knocking you flat on your butt and sending your groceries all over the sidewalk. Nishinoya fumbled through his best apology in broken Italian while shoving produce into your paper bag, but froze in surprise when you snorted rather than began an enraged lecture.

He swore his heart actually stopped when your eyes met. You were clearly amused by his flustered behavior and when his heart started back up it was abnormally fast. Not once had he understood what Tanaka meant when he explained the first time he’d seen Kiyoko, but the first time Nishinoya saw you everything Tanaka said clicked. If Nishinoya had been fifteen he probably would’ve proposed to you on the spot.

But he wasn’t, so instead he shakily handed you your groceries with furiously red cheeks.

“Come ti chiami?” You asked with a raised brow.

Nishinoya blinked several times. He racked his brain for what he’d been taught on his last fishing trip, but it was mostly curses and inappropriate sayings he should probably avoid using. He was pretty sure Duolingo mentioned ‘chiamo’ as name though.

“Nishinoya?” He answered like a question and felt relief wash over him when you nodded.

“What are you doing this weekend, Nishinoya?”

He stared blankly before pointing at you with wide eyes, “I understood that.”

“Well you obviously don’t know Italian,” you rolled your eyes and he pouted at the incredibly accurate jab, “so, are you free?”

He looked around the empty street before pointing to himself. “Are you still talking to me?”

“Is there another Nishinoya around here?”

“I mean, there could be.” He looked up thoughtfully. “The odds would be crazy though.”

You laughed lightly which made a warmth creep up his neck. “I’m talking to you. I’m trying to ask you on a date.”

He looked at you like you’d grown a second head. “Why?”

“You’re attractive and you seem nice,” you cocked your head to the side. “Is that not a good reason?”

He stared at the ground intensely. “I guess… It is?” Then his original reason for being there struck him and his eyes widened. “Oh shit. I have to go,” he started leaving before quickly coming back. “Wait, I, uh, yes. Yes to the date thing.”

You chuckled, pulling a cellphone from your pocket to let him hurriedly create his contact before continuing his sprint to the docks-with a teasing recommendation not to knock anyone else over. That literal run in was the moment his entire world view became out of whack.

It wasn’t that he thought he was immune to liking someone-high school Nishinoya fell for any breathing human that gave him attention-he just lost the ability to imagine someone liking him. Maybe he’d been by himself too long or maybe that was just another fact he’d grown used to. He didn’t know anymore.

He did know that when he showed up at the restaurant thirty minutes early-there’s only so much pacing someone can do before they go insane-he hadn’t expected to see you. Just sitting on a bench beside the main entrance, looking too perfect while bouncing a knee and nibbling on your thumb nail as if you were nervous to be there.

Except it was only him, so that wouldn’t make sense.

“Hey,” you said when you spotted him standing in the middle of the sidewalk like an idiot.

“You’re here,” he raised a brow. You took it as the time, but he meant it in a general sense. He truly hadn’t expected you to show up.

“Oh,” you chuckled awkwardly, twisting the material of your clothes. “Yeah, I was kind of nervous.”

He mulled that over for admittedly too long, but it just seemed like such a stupid thing to say. It wasn’t that you looked stupid, but that’s what made it so confusing.

“You’re also early.” You pointed out when the silence became awkwardly long.

“I was nervous.” He said like it should have been obvious.

“At least we’re starting on equal ground,” you said with a shaky breath.

Equal ground? He wasn’t sure his brain was cut out for this type of critical thinking. He’d even spent the past few days planning for every scenario-even you sneaking out the bathroom like in the movies-but he never pictured you being nervous.

“Uh, yeah,” he tapped against his leg while glancing through the window at the half-filled dining area, “we can probably go inside.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” you gave him a quick finger gun before whipping around with shoulders to your ears.

Nishinoya blinked several times before looking back down the street. A part of him thought about running, saving you both from the shitty date to come filled with awful conversation starters he’d pulled from an online article for high schoolers. However his fate was sealed the moment you sent a gentle smile over your shoulder and his feet began following you through the door without his permission.

Ever since that day he’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Ever since you giggled behind your hand instead of wincing at the terrible jokes he regretted the moment they left his mouth; ever since you weren’t burdened by the need to translate for him the whole night; and ever since you were amused rather than annoyed at his nervous rambling and awkward icebreakers.

It was just too good to be true.

Like the first time you came over and teased him for the cheesy dialogue in his favorite action movies. How his chest ached when your head rested in his lap and you gazed at him with overwhelming amounts of affection. He’d never dreamed he’d have this-couldn’t have if he tried. Sharing his favorite things with someone while they traced designs against his palm and occasionally sealing them with featherlight kisses. The fire it sent up his arm was too much and not enough and he hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted this.

It was a little scary how much Nishinoya didn’t want to lose it.

And that thought started keeping him up at night. Nishinoya was never really scared of anything-it was kind of what he was known for everywhere he traveled. If anyone needed something done they asked the foreigner with a death wish. So, the idea that you had that effect on him was, again, terrifying.

But what was Nishinoya supposed to do when you press your forehead against his in the middle of the night? Running your fingers through his hair and paying special attention to the blonde strands he’d always been secretly self-conscious of, whispering low how they were one of your favorite things in the world. How could he regret anything when you rubbed your nose lazily against his and kissed him softer than he ever deserved? He didn’t give a shit how scared he was if it meant he could stay like this, with you, for as long as you’d let him.

Because his heart raced a million miles a second when you mindlessly held his hand under a table or leaned against him just to be close. Because for some reason he was the first person you called when you were excited or when you needed comfort. Because when he rambled too long about spearfishing or an old friend’s volleyball game your eyes lit with genuine interest rather than annoyance. And because he was in love with you.

Which he both wasn’t prepared for and had known was inevitable. Falling for you had been like getting hit by a semi-truck he’d seen coming for miles.

It probably happened sooner than socially acceptable, but that didn’t surprise him given his all or nothing nature. This outcome was decided the moment Nishinoya knew he’d be fine with you breaking his heart a hundred times if it meant he could keep waking up next to you cascaded by the rising sun because he was still too lazy to invest in curtains. Just you cuddling closer to him for warmth in your sleep would make every ounce of pain worth it.

Once Nishinoya’d acknowledged his feelings it was nearly impossible keeping them down. With every breathtaking smile, or brush of your hand against his, or bubble of laughter that rang throughout his apartment it nearly spilled from his lips like a breath. It took all self-restraint he had to hold it back. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want you to know because you deserved this piece of him-every piece of him.

He just wasn’t sure you’d want it.

His resolve lasted nearly a month-a month longer than he thought he was capable-before the feeling was too intense for him to keep down. And it wasn’t anything drastic that made him break. No, it was something so absurdly casual that he was almost pissed at himself when the words flowed from his mouth.

It had been a completely average morning, nothing crazy, the weather was actually gross with rain pounding against the windows and the sky a depressing shade of grey. But then you stepped out of his bathroom while rubbing the sleep from your eyes, giving him a lopsided smile before slurring a soft request for breakfast. It was like time froze and he was in a stupid romcom except you were there so it was actually an oscar nominated masterpiece.

Your head lolled to the side, half-lidded eyes filling with concern at his silence. “We can cook together. I didn’t mean it like-”

“I love you.”

That seemed to wake you up. Your body straightened while your mouth hung open in stunned silence. Nishinoya had expected this kind of reaction, so he clenched his fists tight in preparation for the worst.

“Are you sure?” You asked, barely above a whisper. “That’s a pretty serious word, Noya.”

He knew that. Nishinoya had spent too many nights losing sleep over that.

“You scare me,” he confessed, deciding if he was going to dig his grave he might as well make it deep. “I’ve never really been the one someone chooses. More like deal or settle with.” He grimaced when his heart squeezed painfully in his chest, “but I love you more than I thought I could ever love anyone and that scares me. You make me feel wanted and I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Because I do want you.” You whispered and his stare locked on yours so quickly, meeting your loving gaze while his heart started racing. “And everyone you know must be really stupid because I feel lucky I got to choose you. I get to love you.”

He stared at you wide-eyed while his chest swelled with so much emotion he was surprised he hadn’t passed out.

“Sorry, that sounded really lame.” You placed a hand against your forehead and Nishinoya shook his head vigorously.

“I think that was the greatest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

You stepped closer and cradled his face, gently brushing your thumbs along his cheeks. If he wasn’t so manly and awesome he may have teared up, but he definitely didn’t. Which was why you obviously weren’t wiping any water off his cheeks before pulling his lips against yours.

Nishinoya set a languid pace that turned desperate when you tangled your fingers in his hair. He pulled you as close as he could, which was never enough, snaking an arm around your middle and sliding one to cradle the back of your head. 

When it got heated enough that he decided he’d very much like to move it to his bedroom Nishinoya’s stomach growled and you snorted against his lips. Nishinoya pouted, whining when you pulled away with a playful smirk.

“Later,” you said, pinching his cheeks and waving his head around. “Food first. We’re both hungry.”

He did love food.

He disrespectfully watched you leave him in favor of searching the fridge for food that could be thrown together for breakfast. A dopey smile covered his lips because he loved you. He was lucky enough to get to love you. And for some ridiculous fucking reason you were dumb enough to love him.

He would do whatever he could to keep it this way. For now, that was helping you cook breakfast. Tomorrow, who knows? But whatever it was you would be there, so it would be pretty god damn amazing.

[elizabeethan]

Overboard: 1/1

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

A Silver Hook AU for @the-darkdragonfly

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

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

Rated M

Read on Ao3

Read my other stuff

~~~~

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

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

“Are you making fun of my age?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Killian.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “She’s quite something.” 

 “Aye.” 

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

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

 Finally, he agrees, “aye.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “So she talks about that stuff with you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Dinner plans?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “A date?”

 “A date.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Love--”

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

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

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

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

 “You’re too old to fight.”

 “Aye, that’s right.”

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

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

 “Thank you, darling.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Hush.” 

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

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

 ~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Hey.” 

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

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

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

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

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

 “I am.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “I do,” she nods. “Very much.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 ~~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “I don't know, it felt like hours.” 

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

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

 “Aye.” 

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

 “What’s that?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Perhaps I'll simply make you beg.” 

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

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

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

 “Emma,” he laughs breathlessly. 

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

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

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

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

 “Fuck me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Aye.”

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

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

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

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

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

 “That we do.”

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

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

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

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

~~~~

~~~~

Tagging: @courtorderedcake​ @kmomof4​ @stahlop​ @klynn-stormz​ @laschatzi @emelizabeth88​ @lfh1226-linda​ @kday426​ @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story​ @captain-emmajones​ @gingerpolyglot​ @ebcaver​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @teamhook @superchocovian​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @tiganasummertree​ @gingerchangeling​ @jrob64​ @onceratheart18​ @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89​ @swampmedusa​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @dancingnancyy​ @love-with-you-i-have-everything​ @shireness-says​ @snowbellewells​​ @hollyethecurious @ouatpost​ @daxx04​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @donteattheappleshook​​ @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay​​ @xsajx @itsfridaysomewhere​​ @alexa-fangirl-forever​​ @jonesfandomfanatic​​ @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @rapunzelsghosts​​ @spaceconveyor

[norcumii]

...oh thanks, Tumblr, it wasn’t like I was trying to answer that ask or anything. -_-

OHKAY. Take two! For this trope mashup meme, @dogmatix asked:

Rex/Obi or pairing/characters of choice - Apocalyse AU / Mermaid/Siren AU / Aroused by their voice

This modern!AU got a liiiiiittle bit more absurdist than planned, but NO REGRETS. Assistance was provided by @dharmaavocado and @deadcatwithaflamethrower -- THANK YOU BOTH!

*****

There was a lovely breeze coming in across the ocean, the sky had just enough puffy white clouds to keep things interesting, and Rex was taking a maintenance day. The last family group of tourists to charter a day trip had included several children that were at least two parts sticky and three parts grime. His poor Vigilance needed a serious scrub down, and Rex was not looking forward to restocking. Small Grubby Fiend 1 had stumbled – supposedly due to a sudden swell, but more likely because Small Grubby Fiends 2 and 3 hadn’t stopped ‘not kicking’ each other for way too long. Not being an entire idiot, Rex has gone right for the band-aids with cartoon characters, but since it wasn’t a cartoon Small Grubby Fiend 1 liked, that meant another – until all three Small Grubby Fiends had been plastered with far more of his first aid kit than was good for anyone.

It had been a long day.

So there he was, untangling life-vests that hadn’t even been used, while singing along with whatever music was playing from the boat’s speakers. Rex wasn’t sure if the music was pop, rock, or some other unholy category he’d never heard of, but thankfully it didn’t matter. He liked it, and could figure out which of Tup’s mix tapes it was on, which was the important thing.

Tup always made hilarious offended noises when Rex called them mix tapes, which was a significant reason why he did so. They were music folders, sensibly labeled by mood, because his little brother had realized at some point that was the only way to keep Rex up to date on anything past the 90’s grunge music.

Tup’s accusation, not his. Rex damn well knew how to use a radio – several kinds of radio, thank you very much.

He was several songs into mind-numbing chores when he spotted a flash of red streaking under the dock, and Rex ducked his head to hide a grin. He’d started spotting movement like that a couple of weeks ago, around the time the neighbors descended on their beach house. There were several ginger teenagers, so he figured one of them was a hell of a water rat who had damn odd taste in music.

To be fair, so did he.

It’d been weird at first, realizing he had an audience that disappeared the moment he acknowledged their existence. But the most he heard or saw out of them beyond the momentary glimpse was a bit of percussion, someone drumming in time against the water – and once, the dock itself – so Rex had shrugged and accepted their presence. It was kinda nice, actually, just to have someone around. He lived a ways off the end of a long, sparsely populated road, and while he didn’t mind the solitude, sometimes you just wanted another–

Rex’s train of thought went off the rails with a loud yelp as he discovered something slimy stuck to the back of a life-vest. It might have been edible once – it was a shade of radioactive green he didn’t associate with anything other than candy or video games, at least, so that was his best guess. Much as he wanted to blame the Small Grubby Fiends, he hadn’t done more than a spot check of these vests for awhile – could’ve been anyone.

Ugh. At least unlike some clients he could name, Rex’s eavesdropper wasn’t vandalizing anything. Wasn’t about to begrudge that.

Rex had managed to get most of the neon green grossness cleared when the rumble of an approaching car caught his attention. He wasn’t expecting visitors, not that that had ever stopped any of his brothers. Lost delivery drivers usually turned around before hitting up the driveway, which was long enough and had enough private property signs to keep out idiots looking for easy water access.

“Who the hell is this?” he muttered, setting the vest aside. He didn’t recognize the little black car, or the burly guy stepping out of the passenger’s side, but the guy waved and casually started towards Rex as if he knew who the hell he was.

Not reassuring, especially since the stranger rapped the car’s roof, and it headed back up the driveway.

“You seem lost,” Rex said, standing up and trying to look just the right level of intimidating.

“Nope,” the guy said back, still heading towards him. “Need your boat.”

“That’s work related – you need to wait till I’m back at the marina tomorrow. I’m at home, it’s my day off.”

Burly guy finally stopped, planting his hands on his hips – a move which just happened to part the jacket of his cheap suit enough that Rex could see the gun he carried. “I don’t think you understand, Mr. Fett. I don't want any trouble – I just want you to head inside, and take that day off while I borrow your boat.”

Oh, FUCK. Nobody really talked about how the mob owned most of the marinas in Tatooine Bay, but you didn’t need to declare water was wet to get drenched in the rain. It just wasn’t something that ever happened to someone you knew, just friends of friends or something.

“And if I don’t agree?” he couldn’t keep from asking.

Burly Guy had a surprisingly expressive shrug. “Most people don’t enjoy pushing their luck that far.”

To his credit, it was a remarkably polite threat. “I’m surprised anyone ever does.”

“Eh, every now and then there’s some freaky masochist looking for cheap thrills, but it ain’t my kink. Don’t think it’s yours, either, so if you’d just head inside, that’d be appreciated.”

The smart move was probably to comply. Rex wasn’t inclined to cooperate anyways. He was saved from making either bad decision by...sound.

It didn’t register as singing – there was something too off about it, a combination that wasn’t quite autotune, or that polyphonic singing Echo had gotten into when Fives got obsessed with the guitar. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t right in a way that was madly distracting.

The...singing? – pulled both Rex and the goon around towards the end of the dock, and if Rex hadn’t been so muzzy-headed from that sound he would have been gaping much more blatantly.

There was someone slipping out from under the dock, and it was most definitely not one of the neighbors.

It was a trim, shirtless figure in the water – ginger indeed, short red hair just dry enough to be messy spikes. Pale skin was freckled in scales of shimmering reds, protective lines over what would be vulnerable areas on a human. It swam close enough to the surface that Rex could see the sleek fins and tail, and part of his brain kept screaming ‘mermaid!’ while the rest took in the long, sharp claws on webbed hands and whispered ‘predator.’ Its singing showed sharply pointed teeth, and it should not have been nearly that gorgeous.

The mermaid glanced over at him, eyes a deep blue-on-blue that could never masquerade as human, flicking a look up and down him that could have been flattering or terrifying – it all depended on if that was measuring him for a meal euphemistically or not.

The singing changed as the creature turned its attention back to the goon, and the magnetic pull on Rex lessened. He staggered back a step, not too surprised to find he was halfway down the dock without noticing. The hazy feeling in his brain stopped, or at least dropped down to levels that were close enough to normal, so he got a clear view as the goon started walking into the water, oblivious to everything except the mer-siren-thing he was shambling towards.

The siren moved when the goon was almost waist deep in the water, flowing forward to delicately place a hand at the goon’s throat. The singing continued, but now there was a new undertone, soft and somehow questioning. Rex couldn’t tell if there were words to it or not – maybe a whole other language for all he knew – but the goon responded, voice soft enough that he couldn’t make out what was said.

Whatever he said, it didn’t please the siren. It kept singing, but it snarled, showing more of those pointed teeth, then it twisted and dove, hauling the unresisting goon under the water.

A terrifying few moments more, and the last hums of the song seemed to stop vibrating through the water.

“What the absolute fuck?” Rex said numbly. Thank everything, no one answered.

A smart man would’ve hidden inside, or driven off to a movie theater or something – inland and away. Rex wasn’t sure why he stayed: curiosity – morbid or otherwise – shock, or a healthy disbelief in the whole debacle. He was maybe a bit too numb to not have some kind of shock, but –

He felt like he maybe deserved it. “Yeah, I can have a bit of shock,” Rex muttered to himself. “As a treat.”

Okay, he might have more than a bit. But by the time the siren poked his head out of the water again – politely out of arms’ reach – Rex had calmed down a decent degree. They just looked at each other for a bit, then the siren gave him a polite nod.

“Hello there,” he said in a pleasant, deep voice with a hell of an accent.

Rex held up a hand, needing a moment. Of fucking course the British even colonized under the goddamned sea. “Hi. You speak English.” It wasn’t quite the most inane thing he could’ve said, but his brain hadn’t managed to catch up yet.

He was talking to a goddamned mermaid who had just kidnapped and possibly eaten some mob thug who’d been trying to take Rex’s boat. It had been a day.

“You’re not the first land-dweller I’ve made the acquaintance of.”

Rex absolutely refused to make any kind of a crack about being charmed. There was too much hysteria lurking in there. “Speaking of acquaintances, you didn’t, ah, kill that guy, did you?”

The siren’s lips pulled back from his teeth a little. “I still haven’t decided what to do with him, so right now he’s out of the way.” He must’ve seen something impressive in Rex’s expression, because the angry disdain smoothed over to something more neutral. “He’s stashed in a cave I know. Enough air to breathe, but the only entrance is underwater and too far for most humans to swim without assistance.”

That was...a lot. “Thanks for the help.”

The siren smiled, an oddly sweet, bashful expression. “I’d be a very poor guest if I didn’t assist.” He cleared his throat, his expression going awkward. “Though I...suppose ‘guest’ is a bit presumptive.”

Rex grinned. “No, I spotted you a couple weeks ago – ah, I mean, sort of.” Before he could make more a hash of that, he cleared his throat. “The name’s Rex.”

The siren folded his hands together and did a little bow thing. “Obi-Wan. Pleasure to meet you.”

He wasn’t blushing. He absolutely was not blushing. “So...you in town for long?” Ok, now he was blushing, that was worst subject change ever meeting worst fishing attempt – meeting worst and wildly inappropriate pun.

Obi-Wan’s expression fell, sorrow way too visible in those non-human eyes. “I suppose you could say that. I...no longer have a home to return to.”

Definitely not a topic to change to. Right. Rex cleared his throat and shifted. “Well. You’re welcome anytime, for what that’s worth.”

The slow-growing smile didn’t remove that sorrow, but it did kindle something warm inside. This was at least three different kinds of trouble, but Rex didn’t think he’d regret any of it.

~end

[high-dragon-bait]

Oh who is Eshana’s stepdad!?

OKAY tbh I don't know too much about him yet, but here's what I have:

His name is Lucian Hale, but he likes to be called Lucy. He's a human, a sailor/dockworker guy and I have no idea where he's from but I imagine him with a Scottish accent cause Why Not

He's got an excellent sense of humor, I feel like that's a requirement for Fenris honestly, he dosn't hide the fact that he's caring behind the humor. He's just very... raw. Honest. He is who he is and doesn't apologize for it.

He also likes to call Fenris "m'lord" cause it annoys him.

Eshana's story is centered around her running away and the adventure she goes on as a result, it's solely from her point of view and so Fenris is only present at the very beginning and the very end. However, because I'm me, I do have an "alternate" story from Fenris' point of view during the time she was gone, and she's gone for awhile, a year. Obviously... Fenris was not doing too hot during that time.

Lucian was one of the first dockworkers he talked to when he realized there's a good chance Eshana tried to board a ship. Fenris was frantic, terrified and angry, the other dock workers were too uncomfortable/afraid of him to approach. It was Lucian who actually took the time to listen to what was wrong, and because of that was able to spread the word about a missing girl to the other workers quickly.

Still that one encounter doesn't really... establish much. After that Lucy goes back to sea and comes back a month or so later and decides to see if that girl is okay, and asks around, when he finds out that they still haven't found her- that's when he gets more involved. I have this idea in my head for him going to check on Fenris and Fenris who has not slept this entire time very much does not remember him. It's delightfully awkward but does at least establish Lucy in Fenris' mind as someone who cares enough to check in on that raving stranger he met once on the docks. That means something

From then on Lucy makes a habit out of it, and it's at first something Fenris goes from being too tired to resist to actually looking forward to until it's something he relies on. He does not see him as a romantic interest yet though, just a nice man, and then a friend.

It's not until Eshana finally comes back (lets herself be found really) that their relationship grows. Fenris takes Eshana home with the mindset that he is going to use this as a clean slate. He will not forget what the past year taught him. He's going to make up for his mistakes and mend his relationship with his daughter. He can finally, finally breathe again.

And then that night he wakes up at like 3am and just thinks "Fuck... I'm in love."

Eshana absolutely ADORES Lucian by the way. She thinks he's the best. Fenris would ask Lucy if he'd like to stay for dinner and Eshana would be distantly yelling "WOULD YOU LIKE TO STAY FOREVER?"

I also have one scene concept in my head of Lucian visiting Avis Hawke's memorial and asking for her blessing to marry Fenris. Promising to love him for her, with her, for the rest of his life. When he gets to the end of it he sees a hawk fly above him and takes that as the blessing. It's a very cliche scene but I think it's sweet leave me ALONE

Anyway, I think I've talked enough about this random Dragon Age OC for now. I just want Fenris to be happy dammit. I put him through so much he deserves to be happy in the end