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wake-me-up-inside-imagines · 3 months

Note

May I request a magic yandere lady X non binary reader (fem presenting)? If that’s! Not in the cards it’s alright!

Sure thing! Magic is kind of a vague subject, so I decided to make the Yandere lady (her name is Ivy btw) a witch, I hope that’s ok! I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: kidnapping, spell induced drugging, mind control, typical yandere behavior

Nonbinary! reader

Banner/divider credit goes to @strangergraphics

Witch! Ivy who's so used to being alone. She's something of a recluse, having lived solely by herself ever since her mentor died. Her cottage is in the middle of the woods, far, far away from society's prying eyes, which unfortunately also means it's far, far away from most people. The only real company she has is her cat lavender (she's gray instead of black, despite what you may think), and the wildlife that lives around her home. Great companions, but not so great when you crave human contact. But hey, at least she has all the herbs and plants she needs for her spells!

Witch! Ivy who 's shyness was her downfall. She had never been fond of interacting with people, even as a child, so when her mentor took her in, the lack of human connection didn't bother her much. Even when her mentor died, she didn't feel as if she was missing out on anything, as sad as she was to lose her. She was just... too used to not seeing people.

Witch! Ivy's who's surprised when she finds you, unconscious in the woods, probably from dehydration, malnutrition, and exhaustion. After some deliberation, she carries you (well, uses a spell to carry you, she's not that strong) back to her cottage, placing you in the now vacant room adjacent to hers. It's nerve-wracking for her to have a stranger in her home, especially considering society isn't so kind to witches, but she couldn't just leave you there! Who knows what would have happened? There's a lot of wild animals out in the forest, and she's not so sure you'd be able to fight them off, assuming you regained consciousness, that is.

Witch! Ivy who nearly shoots out of her skin with fright when she hears you scream from upstairs. She sneaks down the hallway toward the room you're currently occupying, nervously gazing through the wooden doorway to the sight of you shivering in fear under the bed covers, having no clue how you got there. Your fear only grows when you notice her peeking around the corner, and a pang of guilt swamps her at the fact that she scared you more.

Witch! Ivy who rushes into the room, hurriedly explaining how she found you before you start screaming again. Thankfully, her words seem to calm you, understanding dawning on your face. Your fear turns to gratefulness, and you thank her repeatedly for saving you and bringing you into her home, despite the fact that you're a complete stranger.

Witch! Ivy who blushes at your thankfulness, unused to such praises. She quickly excuses herself, using the food she's been making for you as an excuse to leave the room before you can see how flustered she is. She flees down the stairs, spending the next few minutes tending to the soup she's created for you while she tries to calm herself down. She busies herself with the food in front of her, lacing it with a spell that will help you heal up quicker once you consume it. Due to how poor your condition was, it'll take a while for you to fully regain your strength, even with the spell, but after a couple of weeks, you should be back to normal.

Witch! Ivy Who brings you your food, silently gesturing for you to lie back when you make a move to get up. She sits silently beside you while you eat, mostly to make sure you're strong enough to keep the food down, and you use this opportunity to explain to her how you got in the position she found you in. Turns out you had been hiking, and decided to go off the trail. A bad idea in hindsight, but you thought it would be fun, and besides, you weren't that far from civilization anyway. But then the hours rolled by, and you hadn't gotten out of the wilderness, and then hours turned to days, and you were still lost, the only landmarks around you being trees and rocks and more trees. You had packed enough food and water for a day or two, but you had quickly run out, leading to the predicament Ivy found you in.

Witch! Ivy who assures you that you're safe now, and you're welcome to stay as long as you need to to recover. She's more than nervous at the idea of someone she doesn't really know staying in her house for weeks on end, but she can't just throw you back outside! She warns you that it'll take a while for you to regain your full strength, but you remain positive, thanking her for providing you shelter while you recover.

Witch! Ivy who spends the first week of your stay hiding away from you, only approaching your room when she's bringing you something to eat and drink. It honestly hurts your feelings a little bit. Did you do something to offend her? Is she scared of you? Why is she avoiding you like the plague? You're still too weak to get up and explore the house on your own, so for now, your stuck trying to figure out how to keep her with you for longer from your bed. You try to strike up a conversation every time she visits, but she always keeps her sentences brief, answering your questions enough so that you aren't ignored, but nothing more. It begins to frustrate you, until one day, you decide to do something about it.

Witch! Ivy who's surprised to see a sad, sullen look on your face the next time she visits. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but before she could, your voice, smaller than normal, rings out. "Why are you so scared of me?"

It's a simple question, but it throws Ivy of balance for a second. She nervously asks what makes you think she is, and you sigh before explaining how her reserved and skittish nature made you worry you had done something to scare or offend her.

Witch! Ivy who stands there silent for a moment before gaining the courage to speak. She reluctantly opens up, explaining that she's not really used to interacting with people, and in fact, is kind of scared of them in general. You can tell how nervous she is by the way she's fidgeting with the sleeve of her shirt, but she reassures you that you've done nothing wrong, she's just... not good with people.

Witch! Ivy who notices how much gentler you are when she enters the room, now that you know why she's so shy. You speak to her in a softer voice, still trying to engage her in conversation, but not as pushy as before. You start asking questions about her life and how she lives on her own, and she takes the bait, allowing herself to open up more and more with each conversation the two of you have. It impresses her how you've managed to draw her out of her shell, engaging her attention until you're all she can think about. There's just something about you that's so... captivating!

Witch! Ivy who thinks your the most beautiful person she's ever seen. Or, well, could ever see. Now that you're not on the brink of dying from malnutrition and dehydration, your natural features are much more prominent, and she thinks you look absolutely stunning. She lends you her dresses and blouses while you stay, and her long, flowy clothes only aid in bringing out your beauty. You've caught her staring at you on more than one occasion much to your amusement. Sometimes, she'll even work up the courage to ask if she can mess with your hair.

Witch! Ivy who starts to cling to you more and more, until almost all her time is spent with you. It's a complete 180 from how she was acting before, but now that she's gotten more used to you, she can't get enough. It's like all the years of isolation have finally come crashing down on her all at once, forcing her to seek out your company in order to squash the heavy feeling of loneliness that crashes down on her as soon as she's left alone. She spends most of her time in your room, only leaving when she needs to get on with her daily chores. It doesn't bother you, you're glad for the company, and besides, you've found that past all her shyness is a really sweet, lonely woman.

Witch! Ivy who gets so nervous when you're strong enough to get up and roam around the house, following you around as you wander like a lost puppy. Not because she doubts you've strength, but because she didn't really hide any of her witchy stuff beforehand, which means you're more than likely to discover what she actually is. She doesn't want to lose the only friend she's ever had, she can't lose you're companionship-

Witch! Ivy who nearly faints from fright when you discover her cauldron and begin questioning her, asking her why she has so many herbs and spellbooks strewn around the black pot. She doesn't answer, although she can tell by your expression that you're already figured out the answer to your own question, and she prepares to flee the cottage as soon as you inevitably begin screaming in fear once again.

Witch! Ivy who's astounded when instead of calling her a monster, you start asking her all sorts of questions about witchcraft, carefully observing all of her things with keen interest. The whiplash she gets from her own emotions is insane, she goes from terrified to overjoyed within seconds. You're not scared of her! And you think she's cool! Ivy doesn't hesitate to show you everything she can, explaining what all her tools are for, what her herbs can do when used correctly, and even demonstrating a couple of minor spells for your entertainment. You're head will be spinning by the end of it, but it's worth it to see the massive grin on Ivy's face.

Witch! Ivy who shyly asks you why you aren't afraid of her. You mention that you get what it's like to be an deemed as an outcast by some, and when she asks you what you mean, you explain how your identity isn't the most welcomed by certain groups of people, especially when your more feminine appearance makes some question your validity. Because of how removed she is from society, Ivy doesn't really understand why your identity is such a big deal to some people, especially when it doesn't affect anyone but you, but she appreciates that you can empathize with her, even if it's not the exact same.

Witch! Ivy who spends as much time as you'll let her teaching you everything she can about witchcraft. It's almost like she's taking you in as her apprentice, and in the back of her mind, she secretly thinks of you as such. the idea of you leaving no longer thrills her, in fact, she dreads the idea of such a thing ever happening. She hopes with all her heart that you'll stay here with her, learning and growing alongside her for the rest of your lives. Maybe if she shows you the powers you could unlock, you'll forget about your old life and stay with her. She'll never have to be alone again!

Witch! Ivy who grows increasingly nervous as the stronger you get, the more you start speaking of the life you've been living before this. She tries to distract you with spells and potions, even bringing you along to help with chores, but it's just not enough to keep you from wanting your old life back. Once, she implied that you should stay with her, if only for a little while longer, but you gently turned her down, explaining how much you missed your friends and family back home. She said she understood, but she really didn't. Why did you want to leave her so bad? Was she not enough for you? She could give you everything you could possibly want, why do you want to leave? Especially when the world was so cruel to you for no reason, why would you ever want to go back?

Witch! Ivy who freaks out when one day, you tell her that come morning, you'll be heading back home, using the map she has hung up on her wall. You promise her that you'll be safe and careful, but she still frets, begging you to reconsider. You remain adamant in your decision, and eventually she calms down, apologizing for her anxieties about you traveling alone. You offer to take her with you, but she refuses, citing that society would never accept her, and that she was happier here, in nature.

Witch! Ivy who watches you climb the stairs to your room, bidding you goodnight. Internally, she's freaking out, trying to figure out how to make you stay with her. She can't let you leave, she can't be alone again! You've shown her what it's like to have companionship, and now that she has it, she won't lose it. The possibilities run through her mind: She could use a spell to weaken you, but she doesn't want to risk your health, and besides, you would know she had done something if you were to get ill right before you were meant to leave. She could send you into a long, interrupted sleep, but that would be no different from you leaving: You're true presence would be absent. She could cast a forcefield spell around the property, but then you would hate her for keeping you here against your will. There was only one option left.

Witch! Ivy who insists on making you breakfast before you leave in the morning, and you agree, seeing no harm in it. She may have magical abilities, but you would never expect her to use them against you, right?

...Right?

...Why is she looking at you like that?

Witch! Ivy whose eyes meet yours, sadness and a hint of regret shining in them. Uneasiness begins to rise in you as she tells you she's sorry it's come to this, but before you can question her, she says something in a language you don't understand, and suddenly your body feels heavy, like it's being weighed down by an unseen force. You can't move anything except your eyes, you can't even speak, you just remain sitting there, your empty plate laying in front of you, mocking you.

Witch! Ivy who tells you to stand up, and you do, completely against your own will. Her soft voice commands you to walk back up the stairs and enter your room, and your body obeys, completely oblivious to what you want it to do. You aren't in charge of it anymore. You're body marches up the stairs, almost robotic in its movements, and Ivy follows close behind you, guilt radiating off of her.

Witch! Ivy who starts rambling, explaining how sorry she is to do this, how terrible of a person she must be, but that she can't lose the only companionship she's had since the death of her mentor. She tells you how you've opened her eyes to what she's been missing out on, but that she can't enter society as a whole because of how dangerous it would be for her. This is the only solution she could think of. She assures you that she'll give you anything you could possibly want, how you'll always be comfortable as long as you stay with her, and how the spell isn't permanent, it's just there until you become more comfortable with the idea of living with her. She lifts it enough that you can control your body freely, but if she needs to, she can regain control once again. Ivy promises not to use it unless you try to leave, but she can see the mistrust in your eyes, even after all her words. How could she do this to you? She had been so kind, so why? Why was she adamant you stay here?

Witch! Ivy who can see the hurt in your eyes, so she leaves the room. She's fairly confident you won't try to leave, and besides, she has a detector spell set up around the house, so no one can get in or out without her knowing. She understands why you're upset, and she truly does feel bad, but she can't lose you! She wouldn't survive the loneliness returning, she needs you by her side. All she can do now is hope that one day you'll understand, and you'll stay by her side willingly.

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donteattheappleshook · 4 months

Text

Not Broken At All Chapter 16/?

Summary:

A season 1 Neverland AU. Emma is still trying to adjust to her new life as Sheriff of Storybrooke and mom to Henry, who still believes everyone in town is a fairytale creature. When she finds a badly beaten, one handed man while patrolling, she’s convinced he’s crazy. He is, after all, rambling about fairies and shadows and crocodiles. But when Henry is suddenly taken out the window of a house everyone believes is haunted, the madman in the hospital might be her only hope of getting her son back. Whether he likes it or not.

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Oh hey, remember me? Remember this story I haven't updated in a year…… Please don't hate me lol Sorry for how long this took - this chapter was just impossible to write and time just kept passing. I'm hoping there won't be such a long break again but I know better than to make promises.

Hopefully some of you are still reading this and enjoy this new chapter!

Note that I made a small change to the last chapter (which fixed this one). You don't have to read it, just know that the lost boys who died on the beach are still out there.

Anyway… here you go! Sorry!

Thank you as always to @the-darkdragonfly for letting me just throw ideas at you about this story all the time and putting up with all the changes! 💕💕 And thank you @kmomof4 for looking this over and helping me decide on the ending 💕 (You can blame her! I kid... mostly)

Small content/trigger warning: This chapter includes more of the aftermath of the hunt. There are no children actively hurt in this chapter but there are bodies and burials and grief.

*******

Part 16

“Mom?”

The thundering of her heart rips her from sleep, hollow and echoing with the blood rushing in her ears, painful in her chest. But there’s only darkness in the small room of the ship, eyes wide and unfocused, the remnants of a dream she can’t remember still making shapes in the dark. She could have sworn she heard it, like it was there in the room with her. But there's no one here - only Killian still in the bed next to her, the arm that had held her close before now outstretched beneath her as he sleeps. A dream. Neverland playing tricks on her - or one of the lost boys above deck calling out to the dark for their mother.

“Momma?” That one’s real, quieter. One of the children must have found a way down, wandering the halls looking for someone he’ll never find. “Mummy…” That one is heartbreaking. She rises from the bed, Killian not stirring as she slips from the sheets and makes her way quietly across and out of the room. The boys were told not to come down here - better she find whoever it is than one of the pirates. “Mom?” There’s no one there to accompany the sound in the dim light of the lantern outside the cabin and she hesitates, looking towards where the disembodied voice came from. Whoever they are, it sounds like they’re making their way back to the deck on their own… “Mom?”

The word cuts through her, paralyzes her, heart so tight in her chest she can’t breathe. Henry. She knows his voice - already so deeply ingrained in every part of her being after such a short time that hearing it now is like a piece of herself lost and calling out to be found.

“Emma?” Softer, getting further away from her - losing him all over again. Her bare feet make no sound as she runs past the crew’s quarters, past the bosun’s room and the galley towards the deck. The door creaks wearily as she climbs the steps and opens it to the night air. The lost boys are asleep - all of them - every single one exhausted from the horrors of the day and she pads carefully through the bodies - sleeping and dead - searching. Henry’s not among them. The ship holds that eerie Neverland silence she can’t get used to, no crashing of waves or rustle of wind, the faint discordant song of the Lorelei the only hiss of sound as it floats in and out on the sea.

“Mom?”

Her eyes snap to the back of the Jolly. “Henry?” she hisses.

“Mom!” Emma nearly stumbles over a sleeping child as she tries to catch up to him before he’s lost to her again. He found her. Of course he did, just like before. She should have known he would. She rounds the helm, heart pounding so violently it reaches the stern before she does. But there’s no one there, again, just an empty deck where a child should be, where her son should be.

“Where are you?” There’s nowhere else to search, only the sea that surrounds them.

“Emma?” Wendy is standing in front of her, head cocked. “What are you doing up here?”

She looks towards where her son should be, where the voice no longer calls out to her. There’s nothing there, no one, just the sleeping boys, just Will.

“Did you see him?”

“See who?”

“Henry. Did you see him? Did you see where he went?”

“Henry? There’s no one else up here. It’s just me and the new recruits. You must have been dreaming.”

“I know what I heard. I know my son.” The other woman’s expression turns pitying and Emma’s shoulders tense. “I heard him.”

Wendy’s frown deepens and when she speaks her voice has the same tone that hers had when she’d been trying to calm Hook in the hospital, the one you use to console a crazy person. “I’m sure you did.”

“It wasn’t a dream.” But even as she says it she starts to doubt her own words. There’s no sign of him, no sign that he was ever here. Wendy wouldn’t lie about that.

She sighs. “I believe you.” She does, but she also doesn’t believe Henry’s on the ship either. Emma goes to the ship’s edge, careful not to trip over any sprawled limbs, and squints out at the beach against the sun that’s just starting to rise. Maybe he’s not on the Jolly. Maybe he’s somewhere out there. There’s no sign of him on the blood soaked sand and relief settles like a stone in her throat even as the fear of not knowing where he is rises up again. “Neverland plays tricks, Emma.” Wendy joins her at the bow, leaning against the rail, back straight and alert as she looks out at the carnage before them. “You can’t trust anything you hear. The shadows’ll do anything to lure you out.”

“The shadows?”

A nod. “They see into your dreams, see what it is you want most and use it against you. It’s how so many of the boys end up here in the first place.” Wendy’s shoulders sag a little, looking out at the bodies on the beach. It’s the closest Emma’s seen her come to breaking the hard mask she’s worn so well since the hunt started - the real person behind the cold captain. “And now they’ll never leave.”

“What happens to the bodies?” she asks, looking back at the dead, carefully wrapped in sheets on the deck.

“We bury the ones who made it here at sea. Neverland takes back the rest.”

Emma frowns, eyes darting to the shore. “What do you mean it takes them back?”

“They become the shadows that live in Dark Hollow, whispering to Pan, finding children, his way of keeping an eye on the outside world. He’ll come at sundown to collect them.”

“They become the shadows?” she swallows, cold dread tasting bitter at the thought of all those kids having to become Pan’s creatures, forced to do his bidding forever. “The boys?”

Wendy nods and her stomach drops.

“What about the ones who died here? Will they be shadows too?”

She shakes his head. “Neverland magic can’t touch this ship. Whatever enchantment’s on it is powerful enough to keep even the darkness away.” Neverland can’t find you here.

Emma hears her sigh when she looks back out at that beach. “Don’t even think about it.” She’s thinking about it. “He gets to keep his winnings. Those are the rules of the game. Those rules keep us alive.”

She doesn’t answer, only gives the captain a small nod, thoughts still spinning with the cruelty of it all, that even in death these children can’t escape Pan. Wendy puts a hand on her shoulder, the gesture surprisingly consoling, the mask slipping again. “You’re not the only one who wishes it could be different.”

Emma nods, grim and defeated, and Wendy pats her shoulder with a tight-lipped smile before turning towards where some of the children have started to stir.

She wishes she could say she thought about it longer, or at all, really. But all she can think of is every single kid she knew growing up, all the ones who fell through the cracks, the ones who were given up on or abandoned, all the adults who threw up their hands and said there was nothing they could do - that was just how the system worked, that rules had to be followed. Fuck that.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Wendy’s shout echoes above her, cut off by the water when she plunges into it. It takes her deeper than she expected it to, the fall further than she thought, but she kicks wildly, eyes burning against the salt until she breaks the surface. And then she’s swimming, boots and vest heavy against the waves, hat lost somewhere between the ship and the surface, but she keeps going. She can make this swim, she’s made it before - and she has a purpose now.

She stumbles as she climbs onto the beach, the tide pulling at her knees and then her ankles like it’s trying to draw her back to where it’s safe. Emma fights it, running and slipping across the sand once it’s hot and dry beneath her feet and collapsing beside the first boy she finds. He’s tall and wiry, limbs stretched out, calf-like, not yet grown into his elbows and knees. And now he never will.

She kneels beside him, stroking his cheek before closing his eyes. Salt water drips onto his skin, turning dried blood fresh again as she tells him she’s sorry - that this happened, that she couldn't do anything to stop it, that Pan gets to keep living. She doesn’t know how long she just sits there with him, looking out at all the other kids who won’t ever go home.

“Swan…” No. She’s not going back - not leaving them here. She slides her arms under the boy’s shoulders, heaving his limp, heavy frame onto her chest, not sure how she plans to get him back to the ship, just that she will. “Swan.” She ignores it, digging her heels into the sand, trying to plant them under her enough that she can get to her feet. But it slips away beneath her boots and she falls on her ass again and again. She’s not leaving him here. She’s not leaving any of them here.

“Swan.”

“What!” she snaps, barely looking up at him, wet hair plastered to his face, coat left behind, shirt soaked in water and salt. She can’t get her legs steady enough beneath her, can’t lift the kid any higher into her arms, so she starts to drag him back across the beach, holding tight to his chest as she makes it inch by inch, blonde head rolling limply against her shoulder.

“Emma,” Killian says softly when she stumbles, she and the boy fall back against the sand. If he says her name one more goddamn time… His hand is gentle on her arm, stopping her as she moves to stand again and she looks up, ready for a fight, whatever she has to, but she’s taking this kid back to his stupid, magical ship where he can rest in fucking peace.

But his gaze isn’t scolding, not a warning or even pity and he reaches for the boy in her arms, taking his weight from her and hoisting him over his shoulder. He fixes her carefully with a solemn, resolved stare when she stands to meet his gaze. “There’ll be consequences.”

She looks back towards the shoreline where Will and Wendy are standing by the dinghy. “Do you care?” she asks him, turning to the others, “Do any of you care?” There are more coming out of the water now, pirates and lost boys marching onto the beach.

The residual anger fades from Wendy’s eyes, hardening into something different, and then she kneels beside a small body, this one looking too young to have been on this side of the hunt. “John didn’t make it off the beach,” is all she says before lifting him from the sand and meeting Emma’s eyes with equal determination.

Will shrugs. “Pan already wants me dead,” he says, bending to pick up another child, cradling the boy to his chest. “Might as well be for a good reason.”

Slowly, the others begin doing the same, gathering the fallen, some searching for brothers, friends, others finding any they can carry. Emma follows Killian’s gaze to where two older kids come to the aid of a young boy trying to pick up a bigger body that bears him a painful resemblance - a brother no doubt. She doesn’t miss the way Killian watches them carry him across the beach, the younger boy not letting go of his brother’s sleeve. He’d lost his brother here as well, to Pan’s cruelty. She wonders how long ago it was, wonders if any amount of time matters.

Emma follows Killian as he brings the tall boy’s body to the dinghy and sets him down gently.

“So what now, Swan?” he says, turning to look at the Lost Boys gathering their fallen friends, “You’ve declared war on Pan. And these boys will follow you to the end now. Where will you lead them?”

Emma spares another glance at the beach, at the pirates that were Lost Boys and the Lost Boys that will be pirates, all of them stolen from their lives and their families for Pan’s enjoyment. “Home. When this is over, and Pan is dead, we’re taking them home. All of them.”

“Aye,” he says, with an edge of something she can’t place in his voice, his gaze holding hers just a moment too long before he moves to collect another body, damp skin and drying shirt becoming stained with someone else’s blood. He hesitates, casting a glance back at her. “They aren’t the only ones who’ll follow you,” he tells her before turning and walking back towards the shore.

***

There are twice as many bodies on the deck as there had been last night, a sea of white cloth laid out on the bow of the Jolly like snowfall, twice as many ghosts wrapped in sheets waiting to be buried at sea. There are twice as many lost boys too, half of them no longer cowering by the edge of the ship’s rail, gazing longingly out at the island they’d just escaped. Instead they stand in rows, backs straight and heads bowed, already falling in line, already soldiers as they wait for their captain to speak.

They’d sailed further from land than Emma’s been since they first arrived, the water deeper here, where no light can reach the depths even with the sun burning high and bright above them, and no shadows can be cast. “They’re weakest when the sun is at its peak, where the light can’t cast them further,” Wendy had explained. “At night though… at night the whole world is shadow.”

Killian stands tense before them, Wendy and Will at his side, the two captains and their first mates. There’s something off in the line of his shoulders, in the way his thumb keeps sliding over the rings he wears. She’d seen him in the aftermath of the hunt, surrounded by the bodies, used to death and slaughter and cruelty. He’d held back then, composed and calm as always around the boys and young men that had survived. But as he looks at the sea of white, the cannonballs tied to their ankles that will drag them all down into the darkness where the shadows can’t reach them, she can see him losing that tenuous grip on his cool indifference. So can Wendy, if the hint of sympathy barely cracking through her own harsh disguise is anything to go on.

When she thinks that he might not manage it, that his first mate might have to step in and take over, he lets out a bitter sigh. “Best not to draw it out.” Will steps forward, he and Killian lifting the closest body onto a plank balanced on the rail, held steady by two of the older crewmen - both barely out of their teens - preparing to tilt the body into the sea.

Before he can raise his hand to signal the order, a small boy appears at his side, and Killian freezes. Emma hadn’t seen him break rank, hadn’t seen him make his way across the deck - no more than seven or eight years old. She recognizes him, the one who’d been trying to carry his brother on the beach. She wonders what he could have possibly done for Pan to decide he’d had his fill of time in Neverland.

The boy’s coat is tattered and dirty from however long he’d been in the jungle, and her reaches into it to pull something out, and then stretches as far as he can to reach across the body that’s nearly at eye level with him. And there, in the center of white sheet, he sets a baseball card down on the fallen boy’s chest.

Emma doesn’t breath, the men holding the plank staring at the card, everyone on deck silent and frozen. The child moves to Killian’s side then, tugging at the thick leather of his sleeve until the captain leans down and gives the boy his attention. “Jack.”

A strange sort of uncertainty falls over the crowd at the sound of the lost boy’s name. This is clearly not how things are done. Even the newest recruits shift uncomfortably - waiting. She watches the understanding settle in the line of Killian’s shoulders as he nods at the newest member of his crew. After a moment, one of the men who’d been holding the plank reaches out and tucks the card into the folds of the sail and then looks to his captain. Killian turns to the boy before nodding again.

“Jack,” he repeats, loud enough for everyone to hear.

There’s barely a splash as the body disappears beneath the surface, hardly a sound in that chilling stillness that Neverland possessed, but it resonates across the deck and Emma feels something shift. Wendy moves to help lift the next body onto the plank as Killian waits. A name is called from somewhere near the back, too quiet to place among the rows of former lost boys, but Killian repeats it as he had first one and there’s a moment of solemnness before another splash echoes across the deck.

He names each of them -they all do - friends and brothers calling out to identify the fallen, to remember them before they’re laid to rest where Pan will never find them, where he’ll never hurt them again.

***

“What do you think he’ll do?”

Killian looks up at her standing in his doorway, shirt slipping over his head, catching on his hook. “Pan?” He sets to working the fabric free, hair windswept and sticking up at strange angles, skin still marked with the blood of the children he’d carried.

Emma nods. He’d said there’d be consequences and she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since they’d gotten the last boy off the beach and onto the ship, his body wrapped in a sheet and sent to the depths with the others.

“I don’t know, but he won’t be happy.”

She worries her lip between her teeth, casting a glance down the hall to the steps where overhead the boys are being introduced to their new life of piracy. “Darling makes ‘em spend days scrubbing the ship clean when they first come aboard. Says it ‘builds character’,” Will had explained. “Let it go already - it’s been nine years.”

“Not having second thoughts, are you?”

She shakes her head. She knows she did the right thing, that the children that died yesterday deserved some amount of dignity, of care, even in death, that those who lived deserved to see that they mattered, that they would be missed, that they wouldn’t be cast aside or forgotten. And that they wouldn’t be forced to be a tool in Pan’s neverending need for more playthings.

“No, but I guess… I guess I didn’t consider that the consequences might not just be mine.” He could come for any of them. As far as Pan knows, she doesn’t exist. But Killian and Wendy, Will and everyone else on this ship could fall victim to Pan’s anger because of her.

“Every person out there made a choice today, Swan. Something they haven’t been able to do in a very long time.” He finally gets the shirt free of his brace and lifts his gaze to hers. “Whatever consequences befall us now, the burden will be all of ours to bear. Not just yours.” He waits until she nods in agreement, then moves to dip his hand and hook into a basin, Emma watching as the water turns a murky red. “I will say though, Swan, I pity Pan for when he finally finds himself on the wrong side of your wrath. You’ve turned all of Neverland against him, even his own.”

“I think he did that himself when he tried to kill them.”

Killian shakes his head, grabbing a dampened cloth with his hook and scrubbing at the blood and sand dried to his hand. “The fact that they’d defy Pan and choose their fallen friends… the fact that half of them didn’t run for the treeline to beg him to take them back… You’ve changed something, love. You’ve done more for the creatures of this island in a week than any of us have managed in centuries.”

“I couldn’t just do nothing,” she mutters, crossing her arms and shrugging awkwardly.

Killian gives a short, humourless laugh, avoiding her gaze, scrubbing harder as the cloth continues to slip from his hook. “Believe me, Swan, it’s very easy to do nothing.”

Emma takes a step into the room. “You didn’t do nothing.”

“I didn’t do nearly as much as I could have.”

“Stop it,” she scolds, crossing the space between them and taking the rag from him. He startles as she grabs his wrist, running the cloth over the blood caked into his palm. She knows her hair and clothes probably look just as bad - everyone out on the deck today carrying the stain of Pan’s cruelty on their skin. “You did what you could while staying alive. You can’t protect people if you’re dead. You can’t protect your crew, and you can’t protect the kids Pan sends your way if you’re dead.” He doesn’t have an answer to that. Good.

They stand in silence as she finishes her task. When she can’t pretend to be cleaning the now non-existent blood anymore - the most stubborn bit finally wiped clean - when she can’t avoid saying what she came to say anymore, she sighs. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“I know you could have just as easily made me leave them there on the beach - that it probably would have been the safer choice.”

She rests the cloth in his open hand, focusing on it instead of him. She’s not great at this ‘thank you’ thing, at people understanding her the way he had on the shore today.

“I don’t think anyone could make you do anything easily, Swan,” he teases and she shrugs, matching his hesitant smirk. “And it may have been the safe thing to do, but it wouldn’t have been the right thing.” His fingers curl around hers, keeping her there and drawing her attention back to him. “I should thank you as well.”

“For what?” she echoes, frowning. She’s pretty sure she’s done nothing but cause problems for him since she got here.

“For reminding me that I can still choose to do the right thing. I’d started to believe I’d forgotten how.”

Her frown deepens. “Killian, you’ve done the right thing since -'' always, she wants to say, since she met him and made him bring her back here. He’s done right by her and her son and everyone else here from the beginning.

“Since you chained me to that bloody sick bed,” he finishes, smirking again even as he shakes his head in disbelief, thumb is stroking across her knuckles - she doesn’t think he means to be doing it. “I don’t seem to have the option where you’re concerned. It’s exhausting, really.” Emma does her best not to laugh, not when he takes a step closer, fingers curling more purposefully around hers, the metal of his ring cool against her skin as he drops the cloth, eyes focused on hers like he’s trying to find an answer in them. Voice soft, the teasing gone now he breathes, “you’re a bloody marvel, Swan,” and he’s so damn close now that she can feel his words warm against her cheek, can smell the salt and leather and rum that clings to his skin even after a day like today.

He doesn’t move and she can’t decide if she wants him to, if the pounding of her heart stems from a desire to have him close the distance between them or from fear of what it would mean if he did. He’s watching her like he’s trying to decide the same and the words come out before she can stop them.

“Are you going to kiss me again?”

His brow quirks up in amusement, before it shifts into that smug arch that’s become so familiar. “I believe you’re the one who’s initiated all of our previous dalliances, love,” he points out and she can feel her face going hot because he’s not wrong - she’s been throwing herself at him every chance she gets since that first kiss that was meant to distract him. “But aye,” he continues before the embarrassment gives her time to second guess herself. His hand lifts to her cheek, thumb tracing over her lip. “If you’ve no objections…”

She should have some objections - like that making out with the really hot, annoyingly heroic pirate that makes her feel all kinds of confusing things she doesn’t want to be feeling is a really bad idea. But her head shakes without her permission and then he’s leaning in, carefully and agonizingly slowly until his lips only barely brush hers, the taste and heat of his mouth leaving her aching for the promise of more. She’d accuse him of teasing, only it doesn’t feel like a tease, more like a question as his lips catch hers gently, chaste and slow before pulling away and hesitating a moment longer.

Emma’s fingers reach to tangle in his hair as she resists the urge to pull him to her like she has in the past. He lets out a small sigh at her touch and she can almost taste it before his mouth is on hers again, kiss slow and deep, swallowing the small sound she lets out when his brace slides low across her back to draw her closer. He kisses her like they’ve never done this before, every brush of his lips and stroke of his tongue and exploration and she’ll never get over how strongly her body reacts to him and the all-consuming way his mouth claims hers.

She breathes his name and he lets out a low growl, hand tightening in her hair, pulling her closer, teeth dragging over her lip like he can catch the sound before soothing it with his tongue. He walks them back across the room to the door, pushing it shut, cradling her head against the impact as he presses her into the wood, mouth not leaving hers. She’s taken aback for a moment by the gentleness of his touch, but then his lips leave hers to trail the length of her neck and the shuddering heat that burns her everywhere his tongue meets her skin has her arching into him, need pooling low in her stomach.

Emma lets out a small whimper when he follows the line of her shirt to the swell of her breasts and Killian groans, pulling away, forehead resting against hers as they both pant into the space between them. “I don’t have the energy to do everything I want to do to you tonight,” he sighs.

“How about just some of it?” she asks and he laughs, hand tracing the same path his mouth had, stopping at the center of her chest, over her heart, and sounding as frustrated as she feels - but also just as exhausted. Today had been a trying day, even by Neverland standards, and they’re both weary and still covered in blood and dirt and sweat from the exertion.

“I know,” she agrees with a sigh, even if she doesn’t like it. Her hands slide from where they’d woven themselves into his hair to settle on his chest, his skin warm and soft against the coarse hair, heart beating hard under her palm. “Can I…” He waits, gaze focused on her even as she looks at the floor. She hates feeling vulnerable, but with everything that’s happened, with what Wendy told her about the shadows, and the now growing threat of an angry, vindictive Pan she just… “Can I stay?”

They hadn’t talked about it in the morning, about Emma coming to his room the night before, the ship so loud with the cries of those broken children thrust into adulthood too young, into piracy against their will. She’d been gone before he woke, chasing phantoms across the deck and jumping off ships and they’d pretended as though it had never happened. And she’d been grateful for that. It made her feel brave enough to ask now, to admit that she needed this.

He seems surprised by her question before an expression of gentle understanding softens his features. “Aye, love,” he nods, reaching to brush her probably wild and matted hair from her eyes. “I’d like that.” The hitch of her heart calms when she realizes that maybe he also doesn’t want to be alone tonight, that maybe he needs the comfort and safety of another person after all the tragedy they’ve seen these last few days.

He kisses her again, soft and gentle and easing some of the dread that’s made a home in her chest since she left Storybrooke. She thinks he meant it to be chaste, but neither of them seem in any hurry to give up the press of his mouth against hers, the reassuring comfort of his heartbeat, beneath her palm, or the warmth of his calloused fingers against her cheek, the metal of his hook, cool and grounding on her hip.

She lets it go on longer than she should for a kiss like this, one that isn’t building to anything else, that isn’t meant to excite or seduce but just to feel and savour something good for once, something easy. It’s the way she’d kissed him by the water on Solstice. It had been dangerous then and it was dangerous now.

Still, Killian is the one to pull away first, Emma chasing his lips without meaning to before he clears his throat, cheeks flushed and an expression she can’t place in his eyes as they meet hers, like the one he’d worn in the brig - perhaps I would - and suddenly it’s all so much more than it was supposed to be, than it can or should be. He must sense it too because he takes a step back, fog still not fully cleared from his gaze as he straightens.

“I should go ensure the crew are prepared for the night - that there’s a watch planned.” She peels herself off the door so that he can get by. “There’s hot water in the pitcher if you want to wash the day off,” he adds, waiting for her nod, returning it, and then darting out of the room.

Emma sags back against the closed door. What the hell are you doing? She can’t be doing… this. Whatever this is. Not here, certainly not now when she should be focused on her mission, on her son, not when the last time she came close to this was… Her fingers brush over the boot laces tied around her wrist. Look how well that had ended. Look how well it always ends.

By the time Killian returns she’s washed her hair and the worst of the grime from her skin before slipping under the covers in a stolen, clean shirt. She feigns sleep when she hears him move almost silently around the room, there’s the splash of water and the rustle of clothing as she forces her eyes to remain shut. It’s not until she knows he’s standing by the bed, hesitating, like he’s not sure he should still join her now that she’s ‘asleep’ - as though she didn’t ask him if she could spend another night in his bed- that she breaks her pretense.

“Just get in, Killian.” There’s a pause, a stillness in the air before she feels the sheets move and the bed sag beside her as he slides in, settling on his side next to her but leaving enough room that there’s no risk of them touching. And it’s a palpable distance. “Do you… do you want to sleep alone?” she asks quietly, anxious now that this isn’t one of his frustrating gentleman streaks but that he’s changed his mind, that she’s imposing, asking too much of him.

“No,” his voice is just as low as hers and she holds back a small sigh of relief.

“Please don’t make me ask…” Emma feels him calm beside her, the awkward tension leaving him as he inches closer. His fingers ghost over her shoulder for a moment before he slides his arm around her waist and pulls her back against him.

“I’m here, Swan. You don’t have to ask.” The promise is breathed into her hair, lips pressing to the crown of her head as they had the night before and Emma shuts her eyes against the tears that burn at the edges of them. “You’re safe,” he tells her again, like he knows she needs to hear it, and she nods. She knows. Even as the cries of the lost boys drift into the room from above deck and the jungle beyond, she knows.

She turns in his arms, tucking her hands beneath her cheek so she can see him, follow the outline of his jaw and neck in the moonlight that steals through the drawn curtains. Even his silhouette is beautiful, the light playing over the edges of his skin, turning it almost iridescent, and making her want to reach out and trace the curve of his bare shoulder and arm where the shadows suggest shapes in the dark.

“You are too, you know.” Killian might be one of the bravest people she’s ever met, but she knows that Pan terrifies him. And today he pissed him off - because she asked him to. “If Pan wants any of you he’s gonna have to go through me first.” Bold words as they hide beneath the covers like children hoping they won’t be found.

She doesn’t have to see his eyebrow tick up to know that it is. “Aye?”

“I’m scarier than I look.” He bites down on a laugh or a teasing comment. Her fingers found their way to his elbow at some point - she hadn’t meant to. They follow the line of his bicep, his shoulder. “I can keep you all safe.” Her voice nearly breaks on the last word - because she has to. Henry, Killian, Wendy, Will, she needs all of them to survive this. She’s lost everyone she’s cared about. She won’t add them to the list.

His finger is gentle beneath her chin as hers dance across his collarbone and she lifts her gaze to the pale blue that shines even in the dim light. “We’ll keep each other safe then,” he offers like a compromise and she nods. She can do that.

She doesn’t have to ask if he’s going to kiss her this time, and she doesn’t care enough to be conflicted by the fact that she wants him to - not here in the dark where her doubts can’t find her. His hand slides over her cheek, fingers tracing the shell of her ear to curl around the nape of her neck, like he’s mapping his way to her by touch. When he draws her in she goes willingly, mouth meeting his like muscle memory, the heat and feel and taste of him a familiar temptation that she could find blind.

He hums low in the back of his throat when her lips part beneath his in invitation, taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss, tongue hot and slow against hers, using his hooked arm to pull her close, legs tangling beneath the sheets. She’s on goddamn fire as he continues to touch her with nothing but his hand in her hair, lips not straying from hers, and it’s not fucking fair because nobody should be able to push all of her buttons and make her want them so badly without even trying. And he’s not trying. This is just… how he is with her, how they are together and it’s maddening and intoxicating and she wonders if it’s always like this when you care.

Fuck. The thought stops her. Fuck, she cares. She cares if he lives or dies - if something were to happen to him… If it happened because of her, she doesn’t -

“Are you alright, love?” The words are spoken against her lips. No, she’s absolutely not. But she’s not dealing with that right now. She doesn’t want to deal with how or why or when she ended up caring so fucking much, what it could do to her, like it’s done so many times before. She shakes her head, ignoring his question, both her arms wrapping around his neck to pull him back to her, mouth slanting over his in a silent sort of plea. He returns it, though his kiss is gentler than hers, softer and less urgent than it had been a moment ago and her heart and mind grow a bit less frantic.

He changes the pace, slowing her, calming her, Emma sinking into the purposeful slide of his mouth and tongue and the tug of his fingers in her hair. He pulls away, their breath shallow and he finds her eyes in the dark again. The shadows don’t let her read his expression, but he must see something in hers because his hand slips from her hair, following the strands down her back to her waist where it flattens against her hip, slipping beneath the fabric of her stolen shirt. He moves so slowly, like he expects her to stop him, or he’s just giving her the chance to, but the heat of his palm trailing up her side is the most agonizing kind of torment and she bites hard on her lip to keep from begging as he inches across her skin.

When his hand finds her breast she lets him swallow the gasp that escapes her and the small curse she lets out when his thumb rolls over her nipple. She breathes his name when he continues to touch her, her nails digging into the back of his shoulders when he moves to nip and lick at the pulse point of her neck. He releases her only long enough to work the few buttons of her shirt open and then his mouth is on her breast and the room fills with her poorly silenced gasps and pleas as he teases her with teeth and tongue.

She’s grateful when he kisses her again, just as his fingers trail over her stomach and dip between her legs, muffling the sound that would have alerted anyone still awake to exactly what was taking place in the dark of the cabin. His touch is fucking perfect, like he’d watched her in that fairy field where he talked her over the edge because ever stroke and curl and thrust is exactly what she likes, exactly what she needs and she knows it won’t take long.

Killian falters when she reaches for him, fingers sliding into the soft, slippery fabric of his pants and finding him hard and straining in her hand. He bites out her name like a curse when she strokes him and he tries and fails to regain his composure. When her mouth claims his he groans into the kiss, his fingers matching the pace she sets with her hand on him and the roll of her hips. His thumb finds her clit and she bites his lip at the meticulousness of his touch, determined and fervid and she thinks he must be close too if he’s trying to send her over the edge so urgently.

Her free hand is vice-like in his hair, holding him to her as they whisper hushed gasps and curses into each other’s mouths and Emma has to turn her head into his shoulder, teeth sinking into his skin as she feels her climax building, hips rocking frantically as he brings her higher and higher. Her grip on his cock tightens, her strokes faster as she nears that edge. His words fall out in a choked mix of encouragement and pleasure, beard rough against her skin, breath hot on her neck, until she feels him tense against her. He groans a muffled ‘fuck, please, Swan,’ against her throat, fingers curling and urging and then she’s coming, back arching and her cry cut off by his mouth on hers before she feels him spill himself in her hand.

“Fuck,” Killian curses, low and breathless in the stillness of the Neverland night. She doesn’t have any words, heart still racing and eyes still shut tight, her body feeling like it’s going to float away despite the heaviness in her limbs. She tugs his mouth back to hers with the grip she still has on his hair and the groan he lets out almost makes her feel bad, exhaustion and desperation and desire wrapped into one, low sound.

He kisses her again, lips moving to her neck, her shoulder, her breast, and she’s about to warn him not to start something he can’t finish as the low hum of warmth settles over her skin, but then his fingers tug the edges of her shirt closed gently, pressing one last kiss to her mouth before standing and retrieving a cloth.

“Was that one of the things you had in mind?” she teases when she hands it back to him and he discards it. Her voice is still breathless and strained as he climbs back into the bed, sliding beneath the covers and taking her hand in his. She watches as he raises it to his lips, placing a kiss to the center of her palm and then weaving his fingers through hers. She tries not to let her heart grow frantic with the mix of fear and longing that surges when he lets their entwined hands rest in the bare space between them.

“That was… wholly unexpected,” he rasps, thick with sleep and sex. She thinks his eyes are drifting shut, the strain of the day finally taking him even as his thumb strokes carefully over the back of hers, slower and slower as he’s pulled under.

She watches him for a moment longer, making out the line of his brow and cheek in the dark, the steady rise and fall of his chest, more relaxed than she’s ever seen him. And as she pulls his hand to her mouth, lips settling against the cool metal of his rings, she knows exactly what he means.

***

Emma wakes to a hand pressed firmly over her mouth, her eyes darting open in panic, muscles tensed, braced for a fight. But where she expects an intruder she finds only Killian, face close to hers, finger held to his lips, and she’d fucking deck him for scaring the shit out of her like this if it weren’t for the seriousness of his expression, the fear he just barely hides beneath the command. She knows that fear can only mean one thing, even before he whispers it into the darkness, eyes darting towards the ceiling, to the deck above them.

Pan.

******

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