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deanwinchesterswitch · 1 year

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When the Walls Come Down

Summary: Memories and longing chip away at the walls they built to protect their hearts, but as their defenses begin to crumble, shame and regret seep through the cracks threatening to leave love buried beneath the rubble.

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Angst; A tiny bit of fluff; Dean being Dean; Language; Implication of sex work; Canon divergence; Descriptions of high emotional distress; Possible triggers

Betas: @princessmisery666 and @wayward-and-worn

Word Count: 7,532

Part Two

Jody was kind enough to inform them of the other’s impending arrival. Jody didn’t tell them that Dean had texted the day before the get-together to say that Sam would be coming alone and that Y/N had called not ten minutes later with a lame excuse of her own for not attending.

With Baby parked in the old barn to keep her safe from the elements, Dean picks the lock on the back door and sighs, remembering their conversations about the home he would build for them. Dropping his duffel just inside the door, he sets the cooler next to it and scrubs a hand down his face. After a quick look around, he heads out to check the perimeter and gather firewood.

Staring out the windshield of her truck, Y/N scans the area for movement. With no harbinger of untoward beings, supernatural or otherwise, she pulls her sketchbook and leather pencil case from her bag and slips out of the cab. The place appears to be a little more rundown since the last time she was here, and she takes a moment to assess the new damage.

Settling on the truck’s hood, she begins sketching the cabin's exterior, adding a wrap-around porch, a large updated chimney, and landscaping. It’s unconscious at first, but as the graphite scratches over the paper, images taking shape on the blank pages, she soon realizes that she is drawing all the amenities Dean and she had discussed for their dream home.

It’s getting late, but he’s finally finished checking the warding around the property's perimeter. There seemed to be a few more than he remembered. Dean reflects on his decision to come here as he quickly gathers firewood on his way back to the cabin.

He’d had every intention of going to Jody’s, hoping for a chance to talk, wanting to end the pattern of avoidance, even if that, ultimately, meant moving on without her. He’d prefer to see her safe and happy than to be completely removed from her life.

Yesterday, he’d awoken with an uneasiness churning in his gut and decided to take a drive to settle his nerves. When he unexpectedly found himself at the Kansas-Nebraska state line, he made another decision. As Baby’s engine loudly idled at a crossroads, he quickly texted Sam, then put the car in drive and headed Northwest.

At a stop to get fuel for Baby and himself, he texted Jody that he wouldn’t be able to make it after all and was going to use the lull in cases to check on the safe house in Montana.

A tear smudges the edge of the illustration just completed, a vignette of side-by-side rocking chairs. Swiping the back of her hand across her cheek, she flips the book closed, tucking it beneath her arm, and slides off the hood. The sun is getting low in the sky, and she needs to check the perimeter and collect firewood. Sliding her duffel from the bench seat, she slips the pencil case back inside, pulls a key from her pocket, and carefully makes her way across the decrepit porch to the front door.

Closing the door behind him as he enters the house, Dean stops in his tracks, hearing the creak of wood coming from the front porch. Setting the armful of logs on the floor, he pulls out his gun and quietly makes his way down the two steps to the main living area.

The door handle rattles and his senses go on high alert, but his heart plummets to his stomach when a key is slipped into the lock. He hadn’t considered that someone may have taken over the property after all these years.

The gun wavers in his hand at the sight of the person standing before him when the door swings open. “What the hell?” The purple flannel she stole from him hangs loosely on her frame, billowing in the breeze, the sleeves unevenly rolled, one hiding half of her hand, the other skimming above her wrist.

Hearing the muttered curse, the items she’s carrying hit the floor with a thud, the sketchpad falling open when it skitters to a stop between them as she quickly reaches for her gun.

“Hey, whoa. It’s me.” Dean’s hands are in the air, gun pointed at the ceiling as she stares him down over the barrel of her engraved Remington Rand, a gift from him for her thirtieth birthday.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she shouts. “You’re supposed to be at Jody’s.”

“So are you,” he challenges, brow cocked. He lifts his chin toward the gun still pointed at him, when she doesn’t respond. “Do you mind?”

The silence stretches between them, each steeling themselves against the onslaught of emotions at seeing the other. When she finally lowers the weapon, re-engaging the safety before tucking it into the back of her jeans, he does the same. She bends to lift her duffel, and he steps forward, picking up the sketchbook. Fingers hovering as they follow the charcoal-colored lines, he grins at the images, “These are-”

“None of your business.”

His fingers narrowly miss being smashed between the pages as the book is roughly snapped shut and pulled from his hand.

She has one foot across the threshold before he can even say sorry. He needs to act quickly. It’s not what he planned, but it’s an opportunity he needs to take advantage of. “Wait. Don’t leave… please.”

The waver in his voice stops her mid-step. The words, reminiscent of her plea to his retreating steps almost a year ago, blindside her.

“You were here first.” She addresses the space in front of her, not daring to look at him for fear of turning into a weeping puddle of goo.

“The sun’s setting. You won’t be able to make it down the mountain before it gets dark.”

Few things genuinely scare her but driving down a narrow, overgrown mountain trail in the dark is high on the short-list. Dean experienced her anxiety firsthand while driving through the Appalachians en route to a hunt.

Though unprepared for the unexpected encounter, she knows it’s a chance for them to talk without prying eyes and ears around. Maybe an opportunity for her to finally come to terms with everything and let him go. Eyes closed, nails digging into her palm around the worn canvas strap, she inhales deeply, slowly expelling the air before turning to face him. “Fine. I’ll leave at first light.”

Making a wide arc around him, she drops her things next to the couch. Noticing the pile of firewood on the floor, she asks, “I’m guessing you’ve checked all the warding?”

Dean nods, “Yeah, there’s a lot more than-“

Turning her back on him, she shrugs out of the flannel. Flinging it onto the nearest chair, she walks out the back door without another word. Simultaneously relieved and disappointed when he doesn’t try to stop her. Happy to see him but woefully unsure of what to say to him.

Deciding it might be best to give her a few minutes, he begins a search of the kitchen area, which reveals a set of matching dishes, silverware, pans, kitchen towels, and a stock of cleaning supplies. It all appears to be relatively new. A more thorough perusal of the cabin reveals additional changes. Cataloging the modifications, he wonders who was here last and how long ago.

During his brief initial inspection, he’d noticed that the furniture had been covered against dust but had pushed it down his list as he needed to check the area outside before it became too dark. Dean’s curiosity is thrown into overdrive as he connects the dots with the fact that Y/N has a key. He figured that she knew of the safe house from Bobby but wasn’t aware that she had ever been here.

Dean sets about cleaning the dishware and uncovered surfaces and plugs the refrigerator back in, mulling over this newfound information and what it might mean. He glances out the window while wiping down the last countertop and catches sight of her wrapping her arms around herself. The sky is a watercolor background—a blaze of orange and fading pink, seeping into a twilight purple haze—to her silhouette that brings forth a memory he turns to when the nightmares threaten to overwhelm him.

She shivers against the cold as a gust of wind buffets the thin fabric of her shirt and chastises herself for removing the flannel she’d been wearing. It was a foolish, futile attempt to save face. The shirt is a crutch, a piece of him, something she turns to for comfort. He doesn’t need to know that, though.

Rubbing her hands over her arms, as another burst of wind swirls around her, she decides to head back inside when she’s unexpectedly surrounded by warmth. It’s still surprising to her how someone so large can move so soundlessly. The plaid draped over her shoulders carries his scent, and emotions threaten to drown her.

Inhaling sharply, her jaw clenches, and her eyes squeeze shut against the tears that immediately spring forth. How many times had he done this for her? A small gesture followed by a kiss to the forehead or a quick embrace. One of his many ways of showing how much he cared about her… loved her—reduced to nothing more than a courtesy as he immediately moves away.

“I’m sorry.” Misinterpreting her reaction, Dean quickly steps back. She had tossed his other flannel aside like it meant nothing, apparently no longer giving her the comfort he knew it once had. Why would she accept this gesture? It hurts, but he understands that the small intimacies they once shared no longer hold the same meaning, but habit had made him act before thinking, the desire to ensure she was comfortable and cared for still ingrained in his psyche. “I couldn’t stand to watch you shiver one more time.”

A moment of stilted silence passes, and then a hesitant, hushed question. “You were watching me?”

“Not as creepily as that sounded,” he chuckles.

“Hmmm.” She gives him a faint smile, “Thanks,” grips the plackets, and then quickly looks away.

There’s so much he wants to say, but he’s uncertain where to start. Taking it as a good sign that she didn’t throw the shirt back in his face, he presses on. “I saw you through the window.”

No shit, dumbass. Real smooth.

“You, uh, looked so beautiful framed by the sunset. It reminded me of that rest stop in the mountains. After that shit show in Oregon. You remember? You wanted to stretch your legs while Sammy and I sat at the picnic table chillin’ with a couple of brews.”

She remains guarded, and he grows nervous, rubbing his palms over the denim covering his thighs. The urge to turn and walk away is strong, and the thought of how easy it would be to blow this opportunity makes his mouth go dry and his heart thrash against his ribs, so he wills himself to stay put. Letting the memory and the fact that she hasn’t walked away bolster him.

Remember?

She longs to tell him that she remembers every moment they’ve spent together, that she lets them play out in her head like a movie marathon, that those memories are what sustained her the first few months of missing him, fortified her, and kept her breathing. Yet, she remains silent, not ready to share and wanting to know why he’s dredging up memories that will surely break her heart all over again.

“I, uh… When the sun started to set, I looked around to find you sitting on an outcropping, that beat-up tin of art supplies you carried everywhere right next to you, sketchbook in your lap, coloring away with those little paint stick thingies-”

She timidly laughs, and his heart swells at the sound. It’s an unexpected glimmer of hope that has his heart thudding for an entirely different reason and the corners of his mouth lifting in response.

Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpses his cautious smile. It warms her, gives her a sense of optimism, and she senses he’s hoping for more. She can hear the nervousness in his voice, spies how he shifts his weight from one leg to the other, and realizes that she needs to engage so he doesn’t close himself off or misinterpret her silence. “Pastels,” she supplies, turning to lean back against the railing, eyes downcast as she slips her arms into the sleeves of the plaid, cuffs hanging well past her fingertips.

“Yes!” Snapping his fingers, his smile grows. “Pastels. Your fingers always looked like a muddy rainbow after using them, and you’d always wind up with a couple of streaks on your face that I’d have to clean off.”

Just as she thought, the recounting of his memories spurs a surge of grief for the loss of his gentle touch, warm smile, and playful teasing as he would wipe the traces of color from her skin. Shifting on her feet, she closes in on herself. Crossing an arm over her chest, her hand grips tight around her bicep, fingers of her free hand fiddling with the hem of the flannel.

Dean’s smile fades a little at her reaction, wondering if she’s thinking about those shared moments and dislikes being reminded of them or misses them as much as he does. Hopeful it’s the latter, he clears his throat and continues, “Uhm, anyway… you were sitting on that rock, framed by the glow of the setting sun. Just like now.” He tilts his head and runs a hand over the side of his neck. “It was one of the most beautiful sights I’d ever seen.” He nervously chuckles, “Just like, well… now.”

Her smile widens as she bobs her head in acknowledgment and peeks at him from the corner of her eye. “Be still my heart. Did you turn this into a chick flick moment, Mr. Winchester?”

Ears tipped pink and hands stuffed into his pockets, Dean rocks back on his heels, twisting his mouth with a grunt. “Phffft. No. But pretty sure you did with that whole,” he waves a hand between them, “be still my heart, Mr. Winchester bullshit.”

His tentative smile is disarming, and a heated flush spreads over her skin. The toe of her boot kicks along the faded deck boards as she haphazardly rolls up the shirt’s sleeves in frustration. She looks out over the side yard and says, “We should probably talk.” It’s hushed, barely over a whisper, and with no immediate response, she wonders if he even heard her, and then in usual form...

A chuckle. “I thought we were.” His attempted joke falls flat. Pulse skittering with fear at the purse of her lips, he quickly tries to recover. “Shit, I’m sorry I-.” Voice strained and hushed, he moves closer, “I’d like that.”

As his hand lightly closes around hers, she flinches in surprise, fingers trembling as he raises it between them, and he inwardly sighs in relief when she doesn’t pull away. Gliding his fingers over her palm, he instructs, “Leave it up.” Teasing, “You never did learn how to do this properly,” as he rolls the right cuff.

“That’s because I liked the way you did it,” she murmurs, eyes glistening and intently fixed on his chest even as he wills her to look up at him.

Her statement confirms what Dean had often wondered, that she enjoyed the connection too, a random little moment of closeness that the two of them shared. To keep her from retreating into herself again, he goes for a neutral topic, “You know, I always thought you could make a living with your art,” as he moves on to the left sleeve.

The gentleness in his grip and tender brush of his fingers startles her, only to be followed by what feels like a settling of her soul, the relief of finally being home after a long journey. Lip trembling, she blinks back tears as he smoothes the fabric in place on the second sleeve, his comment drowned out by her thudding heart and the rush of blood in her ears as she silently pleads, don’t, don’t do it, please don’t do it, knowing that what’s coming will most certainly break her.

The tear that breaks free of the waterline at her lashes and her anguished expression give him pause—momentarily stopping him from completing the task the way he’d always done. It doesn’t feel right not to, though, so he bows his head.

A tender kiss on her wrist—a simple gesture executed in a single heartbeat.

Dean inhales deeply as his lips brush supple skin. She still wears the same perfume he bought her for their first anniversary. She rarely had an opportunity to use it, though. Only being able to wear it on a few occasions—the night he gave it to her, a couple of date nights, a dinner at Jody’s. She could wear it now whenever she wanted without fear of giving away her location to whatever monster they were hunting. It frays his edges a bit more, thinking she’s wearing it for someone else.

The brush of his supple lips against her skin causes her heart to cease functioning, and the air in her lungs crystallizes as nerve endings flare. She imagines this is what it feels like to be sucked into a void, a split second of complete and utter inertia before her entire being twists and shatters. There’s no holding back the choked sob.

Lips lingering on her pulse, fearful eyes meet hers, and then he steps forward, tugging her arm until she’s secured against his chest, sheltered in his hold.

Hands fisting in the back of his Henley, arms crushing her body against his, her tears dampening the front of his shirt while his seep into her hair. The potent relief of once again being in the familiar embrace of the other forestalls further conversation.

The tears begin to wane, and confusion creeps in. She thought he had moved on, but his actions—the emotion swirling in his eyes, the gravitas behind his words as he recounted the memory, and the way he held her—spoke to something different. Emotions surge and crash, threatening to drown her as they fight for dominance or release. Wanting nothing more than to stay in the safety of his embrace, she resists the urge to cling to him. She releases the grip on his shirt and pushes back against his hold. So much needs to be said, so much guilt that needs to be addressed. A large, stiff drink is what she needs first, though.

Dean reluctantly drops his arms to his sides when he feels her body shift and tense beneath his hands before she steps back out of his reach, wiping her face with the hem of the plaid. He hadn’t meant to make her cry. Truthfully, he’s a bit confused by her reaction. If she’s let him go and found someone else, is happy, why is she so upset? They need to talk. A hefty shot might help that along a bit.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he jokes, “I don’t think I’ve ever made a girl cry with a kiss before,” and receives a weak smile in return before an awkward silence falls between them as the sun sinks past the horizon.

“We should-“ They say simultaneously, followed by matching nervous chuckles. He opens the door and gestures for her to enter. Dean remains standing near the door after locking it while she moves to the middle of the room, neither sure what to do nor say, wondering what the display of emotions might portend. Each yearning for the connection once shared, the comfort of the other’s embrace, yet the fear of rejection blinds them to the regret and longing etched into the countenance of the other lovingly staring at them.

She startles when he claps his hands together. “Are you hungry?” he points to the cooler by the back door, “I can make some sandwiches.”

“Yeah. That… sounds good.” She nods, avoiding eye contact. “I, uh, have a cooler of food in the truck if you want to use anything from it. Just give me, uh…,” she gestures to her face, “then I’ll go get it.”

“Take your time. I can get it.” Dean practically sprints out the front door as she makes a beeline to the bathroom, firmly closing the door behind her.

Exiting the bathroom several minutes later, she finds her sleeping bag and spare blanket on the floor next to the fireplace, alongside the blankets from the Impala.

“Figured you might want to sleep on those instead.” She turns to find Dean eyeing her as he sets two plates of food on the table and discerns that she spent more time in the bathroom shoring up her emotional walls than she thought. “No tellin’ what might have crawled up into those mattresses after all this time.”

“Thanks,” she replies, walking over to the bunks closest to her, “but I replaced them all a few months ago. Left the plastic on to protect them,” and lifts the tarp to show him.

Dean’s shoulders slump slightly in disappointment, a brow arching in surprise. He’d hoped to have her lying beside him in front of the fireplace, even if it wasn’t how they’d imagined. “Were you staying here?” he asks, confused, his earlier musings coming back to him. “Hey, why do you have a key?”

“Bobby gave me a key after Rufus was k- died.”

Brow furrowed, he tilts his head in question, and she shrugs her reply.

“My lock-picking skills weren’t so great back then.”

“Huh. I never got a key,” he pouts.

Reminded of how expressive his face can be, she swallows the chuckle. The confusion and tinge of jealousy in his tone spur her curiosity about how he’ll react to her next declaration. “When I switched my mailing address to Jody’s, some paperwork finally caught up with me. Apparently, Rufus left it to Bobby, and then Bobby left it to me.”

“You own the cabin now?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, still having difficulty believing it herself. Dropping the sheet back onto the mattress, she adds, “And, well, the surrounding forty acres, which include a lake.”

“F- forty acres? And a lake?” Expression highlighted with shock, he chuckles, “Well, damn, who knew Rufus was such a real estate mogul.”

“I know, right? Anyway, I, uh, I was going to mention this place the next time we talked… dreamt about getting out. I thought we could check into buying it. By the time I found out I already owned it, well…” His pained expression of understanding is too much to bear; she tucks her chin and runs her fingers along the bed frame.

“Me too,” he mutters. “I- I mean, I was going to suggest we check into this place. Thought it would be perfect for what we, uh, talked about. Didn’t realize we’d be looking at a mountain retreat.” She shrugs, lips pressed together in a tight smile.

Damn, none of his attempts at humor are hitting right.

She used to always laugh at his jokes, no matter how lame. The air around them becomes thick, almost stifling. Dean takes a step toward her, then stops, watching as she chews at her bottom lip, head bent, fingers nervously dancing over the metal bar. Every molecule of his body screams for him to pull her into his arms and never let her go again. Instead, he asks, “Beer?”

“Yes, thank you.” Seizing the change in subject with welcome relief, she offers him a soft smile. Her steps are controlled, willfully constrained to prevent herself from throwing herself at him, begging him never to leave her again and promising to do the same. Instead, she takes the seat opposite him at the table.

Several minutes pass as they eat in silence, furtive glances cast between bites of food and sips of alcohol. When she can no longer bear the thick tension weighing on them, she asks, “So what did you tell Jody about why you weren’t going to be there?”

“Told her I was gonna check on the cabin since it had been so long.”

Nearly choking on the bite she just swallowed, the sandwich slips from her fingers, landing half off the plate. “So she knew you were coming here?”

“Yeah, why?”

“When did you tell her?”

Understanding takes a few seconds to sink in, and then he purses his lips. “Early yesterday. I take it you told her you were coming here too?”

“Yep, called her yesterday morning. She already knew one of us was coming here when she talked to the other.”

They share a chuckle over Jody’s sneaky but well-intentioned omission of information before falling silent again.

Shoving the last bit of sandwich into his mouth, Dean stands, plate in hand. “Are you done?”

Pushing the unfinished half of the grilled ham and cheese she dropped earlier back onto the plate, she nods.

“You sure? There’s no rush.” His hand hovers next to hers, another inch closer, and he’d be able to feel soft, smooth skin beneath the rough pads of his fingers, watch goosebumps rise on her skin as he skims them over the back of her hand and up her arm.

The heat he emanates warms the air around her. If she turned her hand, just so, she could caress the tender skin of his wrist, trace the vein, feel his pulse. Wondering if it’s as feverish and intense as hers, she pulls her hand into her lap and breathes, “Yeah. I’m done.”

Dean places her plate on top of his and picks up her empty beer bottle. When she tilts her head to smile at him, “Thank you. It was good,” she absently licks her lips, and his breath hitches. Surprised that the neck of the bottle doesn’t snap in his grip, he quickly turns toward the kitchen. Setting the dishes on the counter, he takes a moment to calm his breathing.

He pushed her away for a reason, and that hasn’t changed, but this is his chance to clear the air with her. Maybe, eventually, even become friends again. Fantasizing about kissing her, having her laid out beneath him, her hands roaming his heated flesh, is just that—a fantasy. It would only serve as a quick release followed by more anger and heartache. He can’t do that to her. Honestly, he’s not sure he can do it himself.

Even though he is the one that forced this upon them, he can’t deny the agony he felt when he came back in the pre-dawn to find her gone, that she never reached out to him in the aftermath, or that she hadn’t seemed to care about what was happening in his life.

He knows how messed up that sounds; what a double standard it is. He lost count of the times his thumb hovered over her name in his contacts, but like now, he had no idea what to say to her, so he’d never called. No matter how much he longs for her to come home, to hold her as he falls asleep and wake to the warmth of her beside him, he knows she deserves better.

She sighs, watching the muscles in his back flex and tense seconds before his shoulders slump as he stares out the window. She knows exactly what he’s doing, what he’s thinking, but if there’s anyone to blame for this limbo they find themselves in, it’s her. There’s only one way to change it, and that is through. They will just have to deal with whatever is on the other side when they get there.

“Whiskey?” she asks with forced cheerfulness. “I brought the good stuff.”

Dropping his head, Dean laughs, “Your timing is impeccable as always.” Tossing the empty bottles in the garbage, he turns to face her, a large smile plastered on his face. A smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. She accepts the gesture for what it is… a tentative olive branch. “Wanna grab some glasses?” She tips her chin toward the cupboard behind his right shoulder, heading toward her duffel.

The soft clunk of the tumblers being set on the table emphasizes the silence that again surrounds them. Though they didn’t always need words, they’d never had this much trouble talking to each other. She huffs out a breath as she again takes the seat opposite him. “So… I heard you killed a shifter with that additive the Leviathans created?”

“Yeah, Vamptonite,” he gushes, happy dimples making a rare appearance.

“Let me guess… you named it.”

“Of course,” eyes rolling like he can’t believe she could think otherwise. “It works on werewolves and ghouls too.”

“Good to know,” she hums.

They fact-check a couple of more stories between them. The single malt Macallan eases tensions and fortifies courage as walls begin to crumble.

“I heard you ran into a Chupacabra?”

She shakes her head, laughing. “Nah, just a rumor. Turned out to be a rabid dog. I stopped hunting after that. Guess you were right. I wasn’t cut out to be a hunter after all.” She didn’t mean to say it. She doesn’t want to start a fight. The words slipped from her lips before she even realized they’d formed. Dean shifts in his seat, and a lowly hissed ‘Shit’ has her scrambling to change the subject, her frazzled brain landing on something far worse, “Heard you were picking up waitresses again,” she attempts to tease. Regret is swift and severe.

“Son of a bitch.”

This time the expletive is harshly ground out between clenched teeth, and his hard, fixed features send her heart plummeting with the thought it must be true if he’s so angry about her knowing. Biting into her lip, she struggles not to tell him she takes it back, that she doesn’t care, doesn’t need to know.

“You know that’s a rumor, right?” He knows his tone is clipped, anger seeping into the fear around the silent plea for her not to believe what she’s heard.

Hand shaking as she pours him a healthy shot, the neck of the bottle clinks against the glass. “Is it?” Again, remorse is swift.

What happened to not needing to know?

Hearing the quiver of her voice, the uncertainty in those two simple words, he berates himself for not setting the record straight before it got back to her. It infuriates him to think about the twisted embellishments that were most likely added, another regret steamrolling over his chest at imagining how she must have felt hearing the gossip.

Concerned that the tumbler he’s holding might shatter in his grasp, he loosens his hold and gently but deliberately pushes it to the side. Flexing his fingers, he leans forward, frustration setting in when she leans back, muscles tensing at his movement. “It is,” he huffs, trying to keep his voice steady. “I wouldn’t, couldn’t, do that.”

He scrutinizes her face, silently willing her to look at him, but her eyes remain focused on the drink she’s pouring for herself, filling the glass nearly to the brim. He watches in awe when she lifts it to her lips and swallows every drop in one go with not even a flinch before setting the cut crystal back on the table. Her thumb swipes the corner of her mouth to catch a wayward drop. Licking it clean, she declares, “I couldn’t blame you if you did.”

Exasperation and outrage at her words quickly suppress the desire that swirls in his gut over the sexiness of the gesture. How can she possibly believe he would replace her so easily in his life, his bed? The realization that she doesn’t have any proof to the contrary hits like a gut punch. They’ve known each other for a long time. She knows his weaknesses and saw how he dealt with the tragedies and craziness of his life before her. Well… how he hid behind the vices of booze and sometimes women.

Man, this is fucked up.

The part of him that protects the tiny scrap of hope he keeps buried deep thought that even though he’d shunned her, she at least understood why he’d done it.

Frustration swiftly turns to fear at the implication behind her words. Eyes narrowed, he scrutinizes her features. She’s gauging his reactions, either building her defenses back up to lessen her pain or testing the waters because there’s something she’s afraid to tell him—like maybe she has moved on. Maybe the teary-eyed outbursts are a final goodbye to the life they had, the loss of the dreams once shared.

That’s what he wanted. He’d pushed her out of his life so she could have one. So why does it feel like his heart has just been ripped from his chest by a wolf? The urge to grab her, hold her against him, lay his soul bare, and share his vulnerability with her again, is tempered only by the need to know where her feelings lie. So, even though he’s terrified of her response, he remarks, “I heard you moved in with some douche named Coop.”

A laugh bubbles at his play on words but is quickly quashed. “His name is Cooper,” she guardedly replies. Hurt still encases hope, but she’s eager to finally be able to tell him—the only person she ever wanted to share it with—what’s been happening in her life. “You should see the place. It’s huge. Oh, and the pay is phenomenal.” Pulling her phone from her pocket, she misses his change in expression.

“Wh- What?”

“He even introduced me to some of his friends.” Rising excitement as she searches for the pictures she wants to show him obscures the edge in his tone. “The places I’ve been to, the things I’ve gotten to do… amazing, but so ridiculously over the top. You would have loved the working horse ranch. Straight out of the wild west.”

She spares him a quick smile before going back to scrolling. “And don’t even get me started on the bar and restaurant VIP perks. We could eat for an entire month on what they spend in a night. I had to get used to the fancy clothes. It’s been years since I’ve worn a cocktail dress and heels. I never thought I could get paid for something I love doing. Well, I knew I could get paid for doing it. Although, I never thought I could garner such high fees or that my services would be in such demand. Ah, here we go.”

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” The words explode from him, filling the entire cabin with his rage.

Inhaling a sharp breath, she slowly raises her head. The tense stillness, cold, set features and harsh tone evoke the night her heart went up in flames, and the gleam of elation and hope are reduced to cinder. “W-what?”

Anger writhes in his gut, slithering through vein and muscle, coiling around bone. She can’t be doing what he thinks she’s doing. Can she? Shit, this is his fault. He shut her out, left her on her own, and made her feel worthless.

Confusion is evident in her features as she cuts off his spiraling thoughts. “Wait. What do you think I’m doing?”

He can’t bring himself to actually say the words, so he glares at her, brow rising and face contorted in a ‘you know exactly what I’m thinking’ expression.

Narrowing her eyes, she rapidly tries to decipher their conversation, and shock ripples through her as he raps his knuckles on the table, solidifying her comprehension. “No, th-”

Guilt and the need to alleviate his concerns momentarily rise, but his implied accusation fans the smoldering embers of the pain and grief she thought had been snuffed out. Flames of anger spark and flicker, igniting the ashes of her heart, blindly driving her to dig at his vulnerability.

“For whatever they request,” she calmly replies, raising a brow of her own.

Dean’s eyes narrow, his top lip twitching with rage. She knows nothing good will come of it, but the damned up emotions break through the levee.

“I don’t want for anything—private beaches, yachts, spa treatments, luxury suites. No more crappy diner food,” she flicks a hand toward the bottle between them, “or rot-gut alcohol. No more slumming in shitty motel rooms.” Though the words belie her true feelings, she’s no longer in control of how they spill out of her and derides, “or living out of a car,” pulse rate jumping with the intake of his breath.

Never once did he imagine his actions would lead to this outcome. Guilt, shame, and fury slither and twist to skewer his heart and snarl in his brain. It’s his fault, he doesn’t blame her, but he’s angry with her. Angry at himself, the world, and the life he’s stuck in. The thought of her with another guy was one thing, but this… He sees red at the thought of how many…

Wood cracks beneath the slam of his fist, and a glass shatters against a wooden cabinet after being viciously swiped from the table. “Well, it sounds like I did you a favor by kicking you out. Gave you a chance to make yourself a happy little life. Livin’ high on the hog without a care in the world.”

The clench of his jaw and the sadness in his eyes fleetingly register, but her rage is blistering, ablaze beneath her skin. Slamming her fists on the table, she sneers. “You know, for someone so smart, you can be an utter dumbass sometimes.” Dean blinks at her, confusion knocking his anger back a bit. “FUCK YOU!” she shouts, knocking her chair over as she stands. His confusion morphs into offense, mouth agape in shock. She would have laughed, under different circumstances, but there’s no solid ground where her feelings can safely land. Before he can formulate any words, she unleashes the teeming tsunami of emotions she’s floundering in.

“You think you did me a favor? That I didn’t struggle? That there was no PAIN? You didn’t GIVE me ANYTHING! YOU TOOK FROM ME!” Chest heaving, nails digging into her palms, she huffs out a breath, a wasted attempt to try and rein in some of the more volatile feelings.

“How did you picture everything going? You didn’t think about the aftermath, did you? DID YOU?” she accuses. “Your only thought was that I would be better off without you. That somehow I would be happier… safer… no longer have a target on my back. What you failed to realize is that none of those things could ever possibly happen. We made promises to each other, you and I. We promised to trust, love one another unconditionally, and keep each other safe. To always have each other’s back.”

She paces, no longer able to keep her vibrating limbs still. “Do you honestly think I was safer without you around? I didn’t feel safer when Crowley showed up with Juliette in tow at the summer camp where I was teaching a drawing class. Not when those yahoos, Walt and Roy, initially mistook me for the shifter I discovered on that ranch in Colorado. And certainly not when I had to take out a wraith on my own in Chicago because no one could get there soon enough to help. YOU DIDN’T HAVE MY BACK FOR ANY OF THAT!”

Lips flinching like a fish out of water, he blinks, dumbstruck. There are no words to describe how badly he’s fucked things up. He rubs his hands over his thighs before clenching them into fists as his focus briefly drifts to Walt and Roy. He should have beaten the shit out of both of them when he had the chance. They won’t get off so easy the next time he sees them.

The heavy scrape of wood on wood draws his attention back to her as she rights the chair. Struggling to comprehend how quickly they went from the tentative but encouraging inroads they were making to… this, he closes his eyes, sharply inhaling as she continues.

“Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but I’m not doing what you think I am.” Tears form in her eyes as she stares him down and quietly states, “And I certainly wasn’t happier without you.”

No amount of torture would ever match the pain he currently feels. All he’d wanted was for her to have what he couldn’t give her. Instead, he released her into a world of danger and uncertainty, offered her up on a silver platter to any supernatural being gunning for him. If she had been injured… or worse… The blame would lie entirely on his shoulders. Standing, he quickly slips around the table, “Y/N, I-” faltering when he reaches for her, and she steps back.

“No.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “I don’t want an apology. I don’t want to hear your reasons why. I know what they are. I excused the pain caused, tempering it with that knowledge and my own guilt. And here we are!”

With a shaky breath, she states. “Get out.”

Dean scrubs a hand down his face, unsure what to do. He’s screwed up royally. If he leaves, he might not get another chance to fix it, and that scares him. He holds out his hand one more time, “I don’t-” and she roughly slaps it away.

“You don’t even see it. You’re so blinded by all the crap you carry around. The labels and responsibilities that were forced upon you. You sacrificed your life and continue to do so every day but refuse to acknowledge that others would do the same for you. They love you. I love you. Every one of us would sacrifice for you because your life matters too, but you can’t accept that. THE Dean Winchester doesn’t need anyone because ‘Everyone’s going to die or leave me.’ So, you push people away. You pushed me away.”

Anger incites the words, though pain—heartache—is the driving force. “Yeah, and you left.”

“I didn’t want to leave! I didn’t want a life without you in it! I still don’t,” she throws her hands up in frustration. Panting, she stares at the ceiling, hands on her hips, rocking on her feet.

As with the night that laid the foundation of all their suffering, she doesn’t want to fight with him. Lashing out serves no purpose. Unlike that night, she can’t ignore the sadness and frustration, the resentment and regret that have built like a steam train picking up speed initiated by his actions. She simply wants to make the stubborn jackass understand why it has culminated in… this.

“You did this to us.” Voice quivering, she wraps her arms around her waist to hide the shaking in her hands. “Get out of my house.” There’s a finality to the words that surprises both of them.

She doesn’t want him to leave, not really, but she can’t think straight. Mind, heart, and soul are all cleaved cleanly in two. Warring, yet scrambling to stitch themselves back together. Despising the desire to feel the comfort of his arms, yet craving his touch… his warmth… his love. She needs a moment. Just a moment.

“NOW!”

“I am sorry,” he whispers, turning to leave.

His feet drag across the floor, hoping she’ll call after him to stay. The epiphany that this is how she must have felt when he destroyed everything good they had together rolls over him like a freight train of devastation. The jagged edges of his heart beg to be mended, smoothed over, and sealed together.

Had he learned nothing over the years? When had keeping those he cared most about at arm’s length ever worked out? Hadn’t it only ever made him miserable and left them vulnerable and sometimes on the verge of death? What made him think this time would be any different? How did he convince himself that his actions would have no negative consequences for her? Why hadn’t he stopped himself when he knew it was wrong?

Knowing the answers is no consolation. As much as he tries to control it, the anger is always simmering, so ready to punch through, eager to take control and keep the suffering masked, making it easier to let go than try and hold on. He hates himself for giving in to that compulsion. He deserves this, not her forgiveness or love, but her ire.

Despite the bitterness of loss, there is a palpable sense of happiness. She survived. She’s free from hunting and living a good life, even if it’s not in the way he imagined.

But why the hell hadn’t anyone told him what she was doing or about the danger she’d been in?

Thoughts conflicted, a violent collision of anguish and acceptance, he tries to process it all. He needs time. Just a bit of time.

The front door clicks shut.

Part Four

Love Me Some Pie

@123passwort // @akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deans-baby-momma // @deaneverafter // @deans-spinster-witch // @deanwanddamons // @flamencodiva // @globetrotter28 // @iamsapphine // @idreamofplaid // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justagirlinafandomworld // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @ladysparkles78 // @lyarr24 // @michellethetvaddict // @mimaria420 // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @mvdeanw // @princessmisery666 // @shawnie74 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix

#when the walls come down #rumors part three #dean winchester x fem!reader #dw's witch writes #032423

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vonev · 8 months

Text

The Executioner (and the judge) III

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader

Chapter 3: because wherever you go, I'll follow; even through hell, I'll find you

Part I Part II Part III

Words: 3.6k Summary: This…KorTac guy is kinda weird, but you finally meet Ghost, so yay, right?

a/n: i may or may not have lost a braincell or two but the grind dont stop baby

Warnings: VERY suggestive themes in this one, be warned!

Bzz-bzz-bzz—

—you awake with a headache deep in your noggin, hand feeling around the side of your head scrambling for your phone, only to feel the unpleasant buzz against your thigh.

Right.

Amidst your slumber, you forgot you don’t live in that poor excuse for a bunker anymore; as nice as it had been during an emergency, you have come to appreciate the soft linen below you that hugs your body in all the right ways. That’s not to say you’ll have the privilege to continue indulging in said comfort; because the sun shining through your tinted windows said otherwise.

With a soft grumble you sit up from your face-down position, your hand instinctively reaches up to rub away the sleepiness off your eyes, yawning, you take a brief glance at your phone.

7:39 a.m. Thursday.

To be honest, you could head back to bed and relax, who’s to say you can’t?

Right then, a solid knock sounds from your door, and with that, you push yourself off the bed with an irritated groan; your body functions on auto-pilot, hand extending out to twist the doorknob before you could fully process your surroundings. You flinch at the harsh coldness of the doorknob as you groggily crack the door open.

Your eyes meet the midsection of the person, a man’s, because you’ve only ever met men that wear shirts too tight for them just to show off. Tilting your head backwards, you slowly lift your gaze up to see that it’s the same man you spoke about with Kate the day before—König—he’s infinitely taller in person, yet you don’t feel threatened by his presence; which is odd, but a welcome change.

Neither of you speak up, only ever stare at each other; the cold morning air breeze past your body, you shiver, your arm trailing up the other to rub some warmth into your body.

“...yes?”

Upon hearing your voice, the man blinks once, then twice; you can’t tell if he’s silently judging you—or just lost.

“Kate wants to see you,” his voice is surprisingly…light, for a man of his stature; you’d have expected a deep bass, maybe even grain in his voice. But he speaks softly, like the small raise of his voice would scare you off. He’s gentle, you think, and respectful, because he doesn’t try to stare you down as though you’re inferior. Maybe you judged him too harsh earlier.

You nod, “I’ll…get changed, I’ll meet her in about,” you glance down and check your empty wrist as though you wore a watch. “…15 minutes?”

König only nods in response then stepping aside, presumably walking back to wherever he came from.

Sighing, you gently close your door, the hinge doesn’t scream this time—providing some much needed quietness in your morning. You drag yourself over to the sink and pull out the cabinet, amenities sitting in its creamy insides. Your eyes scans and falls onto the period products tucked away to the side; you make a mental note of thanking Kate later. Grabbing some products you then strip yourself off of your sweat-coated clothes, you don’t look in the mirror as you approach the bathroom.

Jumping in the shower you wince as the sudden sputters of cold water hit your back, you let out a much needed breath of relief, your body soon adjusts to the brutal temperature of the flood sliding down the curves of your exhausted figure. You haven’t had a proper shower in a while, either, relying on damp cloth gets old after a while; so this change of routine puts a small smile on your face, lifting some weight off your tired shoulders.

It doesn’t take long for you to get ready; a couple of minutes to dry up, slipping on undergarments and a casual shirt and jeans, you run the hairbrush through your damp hair for the final time before heading out.

The noise of birds chirping outside pierce through the thin walls, a pleasant sound that swells within your heart, your steps halts as you stare out of the window next to you; the beautiful sight of nature going about catches your attention. Trees sway along with the autumn wind, leaves fall into the already bundled piles on the ground, the sky a gorgeous hue of orange, blue, pink and white—like the display of painter’s hard work, of their blood, sweat and tears all pouring onto the sky outside as clouds resembles blotches of white paint.

The soft breeze outside pushes past the tiny crack of the window, leaving gentle kisses across your skin as it passes.

It all blends so well together, harmonizing with minimal effort; if any at all.

You took leisure for granted, after being cooped up with only yourself and the smell of death outside as your company, you missed the small things in life: the glorious nature, the gracious flow of things as they came and went, the casual habits of the world around you.

The people.

“…are you okay?”

Holy mother of Jesus.

Turning over to the voice, you catch König’s curious eyes boring into the back of your skull. Being built like 5 tons of trucks didn’t stop this man from being a master in stealth, it seems, because you don’t get sneaked up on a lot—a necessary habit of the war; indented into your DNA. Only one other person catches you off-guard, the same person that has you sweat under your thin shirt even with the cool breeze.

A brief projection of a skull printed mask enters the back of your mind before you quickly suppress it.

“I’m alright, thank you,” your eyes flicker toward the scenery outside once more, imprinting it into your mind. For some reason, it makes you feel better about yourself.

“Aren’t you supposed to be with Kate already?” looking back, and up, at him with your head tilted, you don’t miss the way his eyes widen.

“Yes, yes I am.”

With that, he turns on his heels and paces back down the quiet hallway; his boots emit a soft thump with every step he takes. You follow behind, keeping a respectful distance, both of your steps creating their own rhythm that echoes in the empty concrete hallway walls.

Along the way, you zone out, your mind running off to another realm while your body carries itself in a routinely manner toward the hall where the meeting room sits.

You zone out too much, because you walk straight into a wall—er, König’s back.

“Ow—fuck.”

“You okay, little maus?”

“Yeah I’m fine—little what?” your eyes snap to his, confusion smothers your face.

“I’m—sorry, it’s nothing,” he doesn’t elaborate, his shoulders slumps and twists the other way to open the door.

He stands there to the side, hand on the doorknob and peering back at you. You cock an eyebrow, crossing your arms and shifting your weight to one of your legs. A soft Ding! rings in your head, your lips part, and a grumbled Thanks slips out of you as you enter the dimly lit room.

What a gentleman.

You see the woman before she sees you; and when she does, a small smile spreads out on her lips, nodding to you in regard. You hear the door click quietly behind you as you sit down on a seat chair; König sits right across you, his head facing Kate’s way.

Kate starts off simple, straight to the point—you’ll both be dropped in one of the designated safe houses near the Russians’ territory, and you’ll start off slow, steady.

Okay. You think, I can do it slow and steady.

If someone were to ask you your specialty; you’d come up with no answers. To simply put: you’re good at killing, and dragging information out of the victims in your grasps.

But you can’t say, Oh, I’m very good with knives. Or, I can drop heads like flies.

You just manage, and it was enough—because it landed you in one of the best task forces known to the people in the know.

Adaptable, Perhaps? You’re unsure, nor do you have anyone around to question such things casually, especially during a serious briefing.

“From then on, we’ll move on the fly, I know you both are extremely capable at handling yourselves.” Kate’s eyes dart to your face momentarily before turning to König. “So I’m gonna need you to keep me updated.”

You decided; if it means you’re not good with a certain thing—you’re good with everything.

“Remember, this is a secret mission for now until we send out the team—absolutely no words about this should slip out of this room today, or tomorrow, and the day after.”

“Yes ma’am,” König pats his palm over his heart, his version of commitment to the cause.

Kate nods at him, appreciative, then looks over to you in anticipation.

You shrug.

“I’ve nothing to lose.”

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

This is it, you think.

With a blanket draped over both your shoulders, you find yourself seated at the bench right outside your room; thoroughly enjoying the cold yet inviting breeze that carries strands of your hair into the air.

This is what life is about: the moments of serenity that can’t be bought, when the weather is just right. Not too in your face, yet present.

It calls out to you, a gentle touch manifested into the form of the winds blowing past your slightly shivering frame. The moonlight illuminates your surroundings, shadows fall into their respective places, and where the darkness is the most prominent, the light shines brighter.

Yin and Yang, like nights and days. They contrast, they fight.

Like you and him—back in the good ol’ days, back when you both latched at each other’s throat with no remorse, a spit here, another spit there. The both of you would clash; where you’d want something, he’d want it entirely differently.

For example: when you all had been deployed to bumfuck nowhere in Alaska, your belongings naturally came with as well. In the kitchen, everyone shared the same lackluster cabinets. You’d store your snacks all in one side of the cabinet, and you would wake up the next morning to utter confusion when said snacks couldn’t be found anywhere—

—anywhere except Simon’s side of the cabinet, of course.

For some odd reason it started an all-out cold war, you’d both purposefully misplace things: towels atop the toilet seat, storage boxes not being in the storage shelves, badges in-between sofa cushions. You and him would manage to find every single one of them; to your frustration. And seeks out to correct them.

The cold war only ended because you hadn't been able to find the gauze to stop his actively bleeding wound one stormy night.

It served as a lesson: don’t fuck with each other’s things.

And especially don’t fuck each other.

Of course, you’d have gone and messed that up.

Ghost sits with his back against the window, a propped leg on the still supporting the weight of his arm.

His dark eyes follow your every move as you skillfully maneuver around the kitchen, a pun-based apron tied loosely around your waist, your hands busying themselves chopping up some onions and red pepper to go with the steak sizzling in the heated pan next to you.

You count in your head, 1, 2, 3, repeat, all to steady your breathing and not mess up dinner; you wouldn’t want to suffer through a fucked up steak then cry yourself to sleep. That wasn’t your plan, no. But you’re incredibly sleep deprived, the only support system being the thoughts that circulate your head. Or maybe it’s the deep wound you still carry on the side of your stomach? You don’t quite know, nor do you care—you’re starving, all you can think about is eat, eat, eat—

Amidst your haziness, the knife slips from your buttery finger, and cuts through the thin barrier of your fingertip.

“Ouch—fuck me.”

“Let me look at that.”

Jumpy, you feel your heart leap out of your throat at Ghost’s sudden appearance behind you. Cautiously you hold your finger to your chest, and it takes Ghost’s hand prying at it to get you to release them.

Blood seeps out the curve of the knife wound; it’s rather deep, but not enough to warrant any emergency care, give it a day or two and it’ll disappear as soon as it was there. Ghost stares at your fingertip, his eyes emotionless, darting from between your face and the blood that continues to flow out of your skin.

Then the unexpected happens—he hooks his free thumb under his mask and lifts. Your mouth left agape as you tried to process the commotion happening in front of your very eyes.

His scarred lips come into view, he slowly brings your hand closer; your fingertip now grazing his bottom lip. A shudder rippled through your entire body; you remain motionless, uncertain and absolutely bedazzled.

“It’s…it’s fine, really—“

You almost let out the loudest yelp that would’ve woken everyone else up from their evening naps. Because as the words get caught in your throat, Ghost pushes out his tongue and licks the tip of your finger.

Your heart steadily pumps in your eardrums, fast yet too slow, and his eyes didn’t help soothe the concerning pace, either—with how sultry his gaze screams as he peers up at you from this angle, you could feel a familiar pool of wetness rub against the fabric of your underwear. You try to hide it by squishing your thighs together for some friction, hoping, praying, that it’d evaporate.

Ghost notices, because he always does.

His free hand glides up the exposed skin of your thigh; and of course you had to be wearing shorts that convenient night. His gentle touches send bolts of electricity through your nerves, igniting the suppressed part inside of you hidden away for so long; the part of you that you’d always deny—because you can’t have him, not when he hates your guts, right?

…Right…?

His eyes say otherwise—God, those eyes, how you’d kill to stare into them day and night.

He drops your injured hand, and instead, reaches up to brush the pad of his thumb over your flushed cheek, then gradually over your plump lips as he slots his finger right into your mouth. All the while he held your eyes with his, never once diverting his attention to anywhere else but you. His thumb crudely explores every nook and cranny of your mouth, settling to rest above the soft pad of your tongue.

“Tell me no,” he breathes out, exasperated; the actions had affected him as much as it did to you. “Tell me no and I’ll stop, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

You hesitate, the desperate longing for his skin on yours too much to bear—

—with a gentle shake of your head, his eyes lit up; the fire that once burns quietly behind his orbs now cackles into life.

The situation soon escalates from Look, I’m touching you in all the right places to I’m touching you in all the right spots inside, with my cock.

You had woken up very sore the next day; though incredibly satisfied. You swore he smirked at you when you both passed by each other that morning in the kitchen, drowned in the loud noises of your teammates’ banters.

The hunger you’d push away before now comes back tenfold whenever you’d see him sauntering over to you at night, in the quiet of your bedroom, only filled by his rough grunts and your muffled moans.

It was how you’d spend the rest of the months, always sneaky and unsuspicious, both of you had an unspoken oath to keep things private; not daring to put a label on the sticky situation you found yourselves in.

You sigh, your breath visible under the cold autumn weather.

Just as you were about to get up from the bench, something moved from the corner of your eye.

You freeze up, your body left hanging in an awkward position in the air with your arm supporting your weight on the armrest, your eyes dotting around the scene in front of you, unmoving.

Everyday, you live by fear that something would eventually catch up to you; the efforts of your runaway gone to ash. Were you ever not restless? With the ghost of your past constantly etching your back in scars that would haunt even your worst nightmares—skittish, that’s what you are. Forever molded into the remnants of your history, not moving on, letting yourself melt into the shape of a new you; yet just as empty if not more. It makes you doubt yourself. Question your life choices during somber times; what led you here? What compelled you to do the things you did?

For love, you think. Everything you did up until this point had been for someone else. What about yourself?

You never had the pleasure to sit down and self-reflect, even as you were contained within a small bunker for years, the memories never once left you the way everything else did. Rusty; as your grip tightens on the armrest, you feel the practiced measure of the way you used to hold a gun slip out of you—it doesn’t actually, but it sure feels like it.

The wind sings out to you, and in this small area where you exist, you could feel the presence of something else: something more. Larger than you, perhaps. Maybe even commanding with how the leaves seem to have stopped swaying, though the gust keeps on moving.

Something moves, something undetermined.

But you can tell; pinpointing its position based on the fraction of second their figure was exposed to you.

Right behind the large tree trunk that loomed over seemingly everything else, the person is shrouded by the shadows, you figured.

“I know you’re there,” you sigh. “Come out.” It wasn’t a request but rather a demand—because whoever this person is, they’re starting to graze your thin nerves.

And they do.

Leaves crunches underneath their heavy steps, muffling the noise; but you know they’re there, and they’re right beside you.

You turn your head—and suddenly, it’s as though you experienced an icy whiplash over your entire body; your blood runs cold, your fingers numb.

He’s there.

Towering over you, his presence is as domineering as you last remembered it; and for just a second, you’re pulled back to that winter, one where you could’ve taken your last breath in the stormy blizzard, should’ve.

He crinkles his nose slightly; it’s not noticeable enough, but with you, you always notice, you always know.

Know how his hand once felt in yours, the twinkle in his eyes and the sly curve of his lips behind that mask as he’d stare at you like you were the best thing in his life. That autumn, when his knees touch yours in a way that has you choking on your hot drink, spilling the beverage all over yourself—and he’d stare, he stared because he found it amusing; found you absolutely breathtaking with the way the light from the fireplace had hit you just right. How he liked it.

Right now, as you sheepishly peer into his eyes for a void, you’re not sure if you’re looking at the same person you used to know; the Simon that had you wrapped around his pretty little finger. Maybe he’s Ghost, in an ironic way. How he’d fleet away just as easy as he slots in, still the same man that haunts your every dream, every nightmare. Everywhere you go it’s him; him that now looks past you—and God does it hurt.

He’s never been a man of many words, only a little where it matters the most; or none, yet you know he’s consumed by the thoughts running around in his head, clouding his conscience, unreadable, unreachable.

And certainly not present; his mind is always far away yet grounded—you could never understand that part of him, but everything else? You do. You do because in the back of your mind, you reserve a very special place for him: the crows feet whenever he’d break a smile, the specific spot of his mole no one else knows about (except for Johnny), the musical notes of his laughter, the rough calluses on his hands.

“...hey,” you lift a hand up to wave at him, timid, sweat starts breaking through the skin of your palm.

He doesn’t respond, only listens. That’s what he does all the time—so why does it make you extra nervous now? You supposed the meeting would’ve gone way smoother, you know, if he hadn’t believed you were dead for years.

His eyes seem so far away, like he’d up and go to another realm you couldn’t follow with. And it worries you to no end. Unsure; you take a huge leap in chance, your other hand extends out to brush his sleeves. Except, he retracts himself away from you; his body twists slightly further back to avoid your touch.

Have you ever learnt the true meaning of a heartbreak? You swore the deep cracks in your heart only worsens; all with just one swift move of his body, and you’re a mess.

“Simon—”

There it is; the look.

“...don’t call me that.”

An excruciating chill runs down your spine; you stay as still as your arm that still sticks in the air, you don’t move when he starts to turn his back to you, walking the same direction he came from, waltzing back into his own world—you used to live there, not anymore, though. Clearly, the few words he said pierce deep into your heart, and it bleeds; it bleeds until the streams run dry–-until you can’t breathe anymore.

You taste some saltiness on your tongue, when you reach up with your fingers, you realize you’d been crying for a good minute. Your tears flowing like a river—it flows because your heart can’t do the same anymore, it stops beating, and your world comes crashing down on you.

#angst #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #kate laswell #konig call of duty #konig #ghost x you #ghost cod #john soap mactavish #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod mwii #call of duty #i love torturing myself #with angst

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intheholler · 2 months

Note

I'm finding myself having less and less patience with people who make fun of Southerners and Appalachians (and rural people in general, though I do find it interesting how they always use our accents to mock all rural Americans...)

I follow a few Appalachian creators on tiktok who post recipes and the comments on their videos are always full of people making fun of their accents. "Um, where can I find 'oll'? I went to the store and all they had was oil 😂" or "'Worsh' must be some new technique I've never heard of!" Or even just basic insinuation that the creator isn't smart and that the food looks gross. It's annoying. I always wanna shake these people and make them remember that making fun of someone's culture is shitty! Just because they've been taught not to respect our culture doesn't mean it's not one.

I do also see lots of comments from the other side, though! Things like "You sound like my mamaw! 🥰" or "As soon as I heard you say 'cast iron' like that I knew the recipe was gonna be good' or "Ooh, nobody can make cabbage taste good like someone from the holler!"

I love seeing the kind of pride that comes from leftists like me who grew up there. I love living outside of Appalachia and making the people around me hear my accent and eating my recipes. I love thinking about the gifts that our home has given to people all over the world: foods, technology, music, inventions.

Basically, thanks for your blog. I love the perspective you bring to Tumblr

"as soon as i heard you say 'cast iron' like that i knew the recipe was gonna be good" YES that's what we wanna see when it comes to comments on our accent 🤩

speaking of, i maintain that the best way to change minds is doin exactly what you yourself are doin--sharing the food, culture & the overall beauty of appalachia complete with its inherently leftist ideals... in a thick ol fuckin accent.

dizzy em with cognitive dissonance until they have no choice but to accept they may actually be wrong! back when my accent was virtually undetectable, i used to love dropping the "oh btw, im from the south" bomb on em after they got to know me and respect me

but unfortunately, yeah, it's too easy for those kinds to just keep being ugly. takes far less effort to crack stale jokes, speak ill of us and call us stupid at every opportunity than, idk, confronting bias and growing as a person. i wonder if we'll ever stop being the butt of their jokes. probably not. fuck em.

anyway, amen to all you said. i have exactly zero patience for it now honestly, especially after getting to know yall and having this little community that has cropped up around my humble lil blog. i feel more protective of our home than ever before and i been gettin loud about it

thanks for sharing your thoughts and for being here <33

#asks #appalachia #appalachian culture #appalachian food #appalachian dialect

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lazypanartist · 2 years

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hello !! i was wondering if you could do any rise headcannons for a (platonic) transmasc reader who hates their voice and has a lot of dysphoria bc of it? thank you so much in advance ^-^

Amen 😔 Went thru this last year. If that's how ur feeling, I hope that you can find peace within yourself (and know that vocal training works wonders!)

You didn't specify characters, so I went with some fan favs. If you want more/a continuation, just let me know ^-^

Dysphoric Voice

Trans masc reader

-----

Raph

Can tell when something's wrong

He's heard about dysphoria in passing, but this is the first time he's seen you so out of it

Kinda just. Picks you up n holds you

Lets you cry if you need

Best person to vent to, 100%

Zero judgement; everyone has their demons

Leo

Starts cracking jokes as soon as he hears that you're upset

No joke (except for his)

Remember episode 1, when he said it's how he copes?

Yeah

Anyways

His method of attack: making you laugh so much/hard that you forget what you were worried about

And he will NOT stop until he's getting results

Donnie

May have a slight emotional disconnect, but he actually knows what to do

In theory, ofc

Recommends Testosterone, vocal training, offers to do even more research and become your vocal coach himself

Kinda deflates if you say that you've tried (the coaching, at least)

Not great with comfort, but he'll try

Mikey

As soon as he learns that there's something going on,

He'll do pretty much whatever he can to help you feel better

Even if he can't help with the issue itself, he'll try and help by distracting you

Has you watch movies, paint, cook with him, whatever

He just wants to make sure you can smile

April

She loves you

Know that, first and formost

So whatever crazy ideas she has all come from the heart

Sure, she lets you vent, or offers a shoulder to cry on

But she's a woman of ACTION

If no other plans of attack?

Will go with you to your doctor for recommendations, esp if you have anxiety

Casey Jr.

Has NO IDEA what the term 'trans' means if you started transitioning before he met you

As soon as you told him what was up, he was devastated

I mean

Sure, he had more pressing things to worry about growing up,

But your voice being the cause of mental anguish?

He's heartbroken

Doesn't know how to help, so he lets you vent to him whenever you need

Baron Draxum

Another one who has no idea what you mean unless you spell it out

Doesn't really seem like there's anything like that in the Hidden City

Unless..

Goes through all of his mystic magical stuff

Gives you a glowy choker to put on

Magically changes your voice 💕

Since if appearances can be changed so drastically, why not sounds?

Only one who can actually do anything about it 🙃

(Don't ask how he got the choker.. probably stole it tho)

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jdgo51 · 1 year

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DAILY DEVOTIONAL FOR JANUARY 12, 2023

Trusting God

By Festus Muinde (Nairobi, Kenya)

READ LUKE 1:26-45

"Nothing will be impossible with God."

LUKE 1:37 (NRSV)

"'A brilliant shock of lightning flashed across the pitch-dark sky. A deafening thunderclap followed. I trembled, feeling exposed and vulnerable as the light flashed through the cracks of the grass-thatched mud house where we slept.

I wedged myself into a corner to evade the raindrops of the heavy downpour. I momentarily forgot about my hunger, even though I had eaten only porridge for dinner. Sleeping with an empty stomach was common in our family. I was overwhelmed by a feeling of hopelessness.

“Musee,” my prayerful grandmother mumbled, “don’t worry about our current state; trust God who created you, for nothing is impossible with God. You will own a decent shelter and eat to your fill.” Our devout grandmother Kiima advised us to work hard and to trust in God. She said God would deliver us. “But how? When?” I asked. Nonetheless, I believed her; I trusted God, and I worked hard.

God has been faithful. Despite hardships, I passed my school examinations. I enrolled in a renowned university and graduated with a first-class honors degree. Our family now lives decently, and I am writing a thesis for my master’s degree in communication studies. What a testament to God’s power! Even when life seems hopeless, we can have faith that nothing is impossible with God."' God works miracles in all things. Times may get tough, but the future picture can be amazing and hopeful. Just put your trust in God and follow His guidance. Nothing is impossible with God, Amen!

TODAY'S PRAYER

"O God, help us to believe in your saving power." Amen.

Luke 1:25-45

New International Version

"'25 “The Lord has done this for me,” she said. “In these days he has shown his favor and taken away my disgrace among the people.”

The Birth of Jesus Foretold 26 In the sixth month of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a town in Galilee, 27 to a virgin pledged to be married to a man named Joseph, a descendant of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. 28 The angel went to her and said, “Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.”

29 Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. 30 But the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. 31 You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. 32 He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, 33 and he will reign over Jacob’s descendants forever; his kingdom will never end.”

34 “How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?”

35 The angel answered, “The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called[a] the Son of God. 36 Even Elizabeth your relative is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be unable to conceive is in her sixth month. 37 For no word from God will ever fail.”

38 “I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May your word to me be fulfilled.” Then the angel left her.

Mary Visits Elizabeth

39 At that time Mary got ready and hurried to a town in the hill country of Judea, 40 where she entered Zechariah’s home and greeted Elizabeth. 41 When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the baby leaped in her womb, and Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit. 42 In a loud voice she exclaimed: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear! 43 But why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? 44 As soon as the sound of your greeting reached my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy. 45 Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her!”' The birth of Jesus was a spectacular and life changing event for people in that time and for all of us today. It has given us the possibility to spend eternity of Jesus in Heaven. Regardless of one's beliefs, this has made it possible for everyone to have the hope of a great after life just because of Jesus. I am blessed! Joe

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borisarmitage · 2 years

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The Benefits Associated With Luxury Real Estate As An Investment Decision

Upscale properties aren’t determined by their asking price alone. Like a luxury real estate property investor, it’s worth noting that VIP clients expect exclusivity. Wealthy people are happy to pay reasonably limited for superior properties that exceed their expectations. For just one, they like to reside a location that fits their luxury lifestyle (including proximity to fine dining, arts, theatre, etc.). Additionally they desire million-dollar views with the mountains, rivers, and much more. High-net-worth buyers are like “standard” homebuyers in terms that they would also like the usual amenities, nonetheless they desire them on a bigger scale. They desire everything to be elevated, through the kind of materials found in construction for the architecture itself. Which are the benefits of real estate investing? Before committing to luxury real estate, be aware that this type of residence is more costly to operate. There’s simply more to handle, from your wine cellars to the spacious suites. However, since luxury property is dear, you can expect to flip it at a good price or let in a good rate. We’ve put together the advantages of luxury property just as one investment: While your tenant or buyer pool will likely be narrow, you’ll be managing wealthy folks who are able to purchase or rent your upscale property. Wealthy tenants and homeowners will also be more open to paying limited price for luxury amenities, in order to be prepared to always make money. It tends to appreciate at a quicker rate Luxury investments in high-end neighborhoods who have good schools, transportation, along with other amenities boast better property values. Since these properties include must-have features that you simply can’t get in typical locations, they already have an impressive value as soon as you get them. When it comes to location, they’re the cream from the crop, to help you expect their value to consistently increase over time.

It needs less maintenance High-end properties are built with premium materials. Which means you won’t need to bother about depreciation for the very long time. The paint won’t peel, the tiles won’t crack, and the pipes won’t leak. Since you won’t be expending cash on maintenance and repairs, you may make the most out of your revenue (and even perhaps add another property on your portfolio!). As well as your property is less at risk of wear and tear, you can reap the benefits of its good resale value, in the event you sell your property as time goes on. How may you invest in luxury real-estate? With regards to purchasing luxury real estate property, you are able to explore many different options. You don’t always have to get extra property that already exists then rent that out. It's also possible to elect to flip an upscale property to get a profit or construct one over completely from scratch. Examples of the paths it is possible to take as being a luxury real estate property investor include: Buy a luxury property Want to possess a luxury property now? Buy a luxury property containing the possible to be removed in a profit or rented out. Because luxury properties are usually more well-maintained than other homes, you won’t must hurt your wallet to make them market-ready. With all the low repairs, it is possible to reap the benefits of an amazing return (ROI) regardless of whether you intend to rent or sell. Luxury properties aren’t typically posted online, so you’ll ought to partner which has a luxury property management firm to find one. They have got use of exclusive websites that specifically list luxury properties. Obtain a luxury condominium If luxury estates aren’t your thing, you can buy an extra condominium. The main advantage of luxury condominiums is always that they’re near transportation, offices, etc., making them more inviting to tenants (particularly younger tenants) who're always out and about. Luxury condominiums also have sought-after amenities like indoor pools, improved security, along with other services. Turn a luxury property in to a short-term rental Do you have a luxury property that you simply rarely use, particularly one inch a touristy location? Why not improve your investment and turn it into a short-term rental? This sort of rental is in demand as increasing numbers of people like the comfort and convenience of accommodations over other accommodations. Luxury vacation properties also provide all of them with more privacy. While you’re away, you can enlist the help of a company which offers luxury estate management to deal with things such as tenant communication, rent collection, plus much more. They can also provide concierge services to generate your upscale property stand out from ordinary ones. If you return, you’re totally free it as your own personal property. For details about aqua city novaland web portal: click for info.

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newhorizons-paleozoo · 2 years

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Education

How do we do it?

New Horizons is part of the Global De-Extinction Group (GDEG), the group of international scientists that cracked the secret to de-extinction. This is typically done through two methods, cloning and engineering.

Cloning:

Cloning occurs when there are enough living cells present to recreate them with the DNA of a closely related species. Using the zygote created, we insert the dividing cells back into the mother organism, and it grows inside until it is ready to be born into the target species. However, with such little DNA of prehistoric animals left, this method is only utilized for extant and recently extinct creatures, such as the Dodo Bird and Pyrenean Ibex.

Engineering:

This is the far more common method of bringing back extinct life. Since DNA does not often survive past a few hundred years, the ability to use fractures of a genome and specially created RNA to edit and build new ones. While we cannot legally disclose this method, we would like to share the fact that most of our animals are in fact not engineered, but actually progeny of other paleozoological locations!

Our Work

Research:

Our secondary goal here at New Horizons is that of research. We study these animals in as close to a natural habitat as they can get, and watch their ways of life and biology. We hope that as we learn more about these amazing creatures that we can better understand them and the world around us, and share that information for everyone.

Conservation:

In addition to housing previously extinct species, we also assist in conservation efforts. Many wildlife preserves are assisted with funding from us, and endangered animal species can be cloned here as well to help keep their population from falling while we fight for their protection. In addition to this, we educate the public as much as we can, and encourage the usage of renewable and sustainable resources and recycling.

Animal Care:

The primary directive of New Horizons is the protection and care of our animals, accomplished with the help of research from all over the world. We give our animals state of the art medical care, enrichment, and carefully constructed diets to keep each species thriving.

Schools & Camps

Field Trips:

Schools in the North Carolina, Virginia, and South Carolina states are welcome for large group trips here at New Horizons. We are more than willing to accommodate (a limited number of) school groups for a day or two of fun and education! Amenities such as our restaurants are free for students and chaperones, and we offer many educational programs for visiting school groups. Contact us at our email for more information!

Camps:

Camps are fun programs that allow groups of up to 10 people to spend up to a week in New Horizons. In addition to being able to tour the park for the full time of your stay, there is also access to other events and programs outside of the park, such as the Cameron Art Museum and Jungle Rapids Family Fun Park. Contact us at our email for more information!

Animal Ambassadors

Here at New Horizons we are dedicated to teaching the public about our wondrous animals. We strive to accomplish this with our Animal Ambassadors! These are select animals that participate in our outreach and interaction events. In the many courtyards and pavilions around the park, you may come across our Ambassadors and get the chance to personally interact with them!

Our Ambassadors (Individual Profiles Coming Soon!):

Archeopteryx

Drepanosaurus

Moros

Psittacosaurus

Thylacine

Sinosauropteryx

Velociraptor

Alternate Encounter Opportunities:

We have a multitude of other opportunities to interact with our animals! The Primordial Aquarium has a touch tank available for a chance to touch our Cambrian animals; the Triassic House has feeding opportunities for our Phytosaurs; and our Zhenyuanlong enclosure has a tug-of-war opportunity enabled by the animals themselves.

#park #paleozoo #prehistoric planet #artists on tumblr #digital art #digital illustration #dinosaurs #geology #natural history #new horizons paleozoological sanctuary #realistic dinosaur zoo #dinosaur #paleo zoo #paleontology #paleoart #prehistoric #prehistoric animals #fossils #dinos

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elizabeethan · 3 years

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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

#cs au #captain swan au #captain swan modern au #Overboard #Cs smut #cs angst #mildly I guess #silver fox Killian #older Killian #cs ff #overboard ff

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beyondspaceandstars · 3 years

Text

While You Sleep

Chapter 13

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: sad. this chapter is sad. Summary: Soulmate!AU - Throughout life, you’re given glimpses of your soulmate through dreams. As you sleep, memories flash in your mind showing you the life your soulmate has lived. Everyone around you raves about how their soulmate reads great books or volunteers in their spare time. But you can’t relate as your dreams end up being more like nightmares. Through initial images of death and violence, you come to learn your soulmate is the Winter Soldier.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

You were sitting at a stool in the compound’s kitchen when a familiar face walked in. Bucky had eventually explained to you that this was a sort of “headquarters” for the team. You felt a bit foolish having realized you never kept up much with these mighty heroes but you were eager to learn now. So far, you hadn’t encountered anyone you didn’t personally know on this famed team. Even now your eyes landed on the welcoming yet worried face of Steve.

“Morning,” you said, waving your fork before stabbing some of your scrambled eggs. Bucky had insisted on cooking for you despite your assurance you were fine but his cooking skills were....subpar. Still, nothing was inedible and you needed your strength back.

Steve reciprocated the greeting, saying your name with much excitement. “How are you feeling?” He added while making his way to the coffee pot. You chewed your eggs borderline viciously as you debated on an answer.

“I’m okay.” You gave a shrug, staring down at your plate. Part of you wanted to let more out but you ignored it.

Steve came back around to the counter, standing on the other side across from you. He held his coffee cup firmly, nervously almost. You could feel him watching you. That excitement he had said your name with felt like it was evaporating from the room slowly.

“That’s… good,” Steve said. “If you need someone to talk to we have plenty of resources and - and I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

You peaked a glance at him, confused. You placed your fork on the counter. “Sorry? Why are you sorry?”

“I worry I led them right to you,” he explained, “like you two were separated for a reason.”

You frowned. You hadn’t thought about this - heck, you hadn’t thought about blaming anyone other than the disgusted men with such joyous evil looks in their eyes.

“Steve, I don’t think there was any way anyone could’ve prevented this.” You pushed your plate of food away. “They had their sights set. They had a plan, an optimism. It may have just been the soulmate experience in this case,” you sighed. Steve mumbled your name, shaking his head, but you continued, “And that’s fine. Love doesn’t come easy, right?”

“Being kidnapped is not part of being in love.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have an ex-assassin for a soulmate.”

Steve’s jaw went slack. You were staring him down now, practically begging him to say one more thing.

“It’s going to be okay,” Steve finally settled on. Ever the cool, calm, and collected star-spangled man. “You will recover and it’ll never happen again, we can promise you that.” His voice was serious as if every word ended with a period. You felt tears starting to well in your eyes. You wanted to say something, maybe ask for a hug or just… you didn’t know what, so you just sat there, slumped in your chair like a defeated puppy.

“Everything okay here?” A sudden voice made you jump. You and Steve turned towards the kitchen doorway where Bucky was standing, arms crossed, worry etched all over his face. It seemed to become his permanent expression now. Even when it was just you two, he always appeared on edge.

You nodded, turning back to collect your plate and take it to the sink. “We were just chatting.” You didn’t see the look you just knew Steve and Bucky were sharing.

When you turned back around to face the pair, Bucky had crossed the room, almost close enough to now be hovering over you. You flinched when he went to put a comforting hand on your shoulder. You didn’t know why as you clearly didn’t think he was a threat but hadn’t you seen how threatening he could be? You lowered your head, fighting off the thoughts. He wasn’t like that to you and he had proven it time and time again. Why was it suddenly different?

Before either of the men could comment on your sudden hesitation, you said, “I’m going to go take a shower.” They just nodded, letting you exit.

***

When you got out of the shower and back into the room the team had lent you and Bucky for the time being, Bucky was waiting patiently on the bed. You lingered around the space, picking out some pajamas to wear, acting as normal as you could. You took in the space, still amazed by it. It was fairly large with top-notch amenities, including a luscious bed, spacious dresser, and television from technology you weren’t sure existed for the general public. It even had access to your own grand bathroom, saving you some war flashbacks of the communal restrooms at college.

You dipped back into the bathroom and got changed. While your intimacy with Bucky hadn’t been on the shy side, you weren’t in that kind of mood right now. Rightfully so, you would say.

Emerging once more, you noticed Bucky had made a sort of resting area for you on the bed. Your side was surrounded by blankets upon blankets and soft pillows. He even had a movie queued up for you two to watch. He laid waiting, his eyes practically begging you to come to him. After giving your hair a final wring, you gave in and crawled into the soft bed, letting all of you just melt into it.

“How are y-,”

“Bucky,” you sighed, turning towards him. He was laying on his side, staring down at your curled-up form. “Please don’t ask how I am.”

He nodded. “I get it, doll. I’m just worried about you. You seemed alright yesterday but today…” Yeah. You’d taken a dive. Your whole mood had shifted. Heck, your views on the world had shifted. As dramatic as it seemed, you were having a hard time snapping back. You weren’t even gone for over two days and yet the smallest thing...

“I think it’s just all settling in,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe it was just shock yesterday or something but realizing what all happened… Gosh, this probably seems so foolish to you.”

Bucky began shaking his head profusely. As gently as he could, he took your hand in his. You welcomed the action as you shifted under the makeshift mountain of blankets. “Don’t do that, honey. Don’t try to dismiss it or think what you’re feeling is foolish. You went through something so terrifying. You’re allowed to react to it.” He took a deep breath. “When we talked yesterday, I think I thought maybe they hadn’t gotten to you. That nothing had happened that would leave you torn up but you saw… a lot.”

You knew he wasn’t talking about just being exposed to Hydra and their twisted selves. “I did,” you hesitantly agreed. “And I fear it’s going to take a lot to recover.” Your words felt like you were delivering punch after punch to Bucky but where were you going to get if you weren’t honest?

“Anything you need, sweetheart,” he mumbled, his thumb drawing soft patterns on the back of your hand, sending shivers through you. “I’ll do anything to make it better.”

You nodded, averting your gaze to where your hands were connected. Your hand was so tense but you hadn’t even realized you were squeezing his. You relaxed it slightly and Bucky’s motions stopped.

“Bucky,” you mumbled, “can I ask you something?”

He hummed in response.

“What do I offer you?”

You could feel Bucky’s eyes staring you down. No doubt a concerned frown was playing on his lips. “What are you getting at here, honey?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “When I was… you know… the - the older man said that he didn’t understand why we would be paired together. They were determined to figure out what I offer you. What makes me so special.” A beat. “I really don’t know the answer.”

Bucky sighed, shaking his head. You glanced up at him again, his eyes now holding a different kind of anger. You felt bad for doubting yourself but the insecurity from the words of some random guy settled into your brain.

After a thoughtful moment, Bucky spoke, “I don’t think you’ll ever fully understand what you give, not just to me, honey, but the world. You’re so fearless. You’re incredibly understanding. Not to mention how compassionate and bright you are…” His voice cracked slightly, breaking your heart a little. “You force me to remember that I’m not alone and I don’t have to be. And I just really hope I do the same for you.”

You could feel your own tears forming as you shifted just a bit closer to your soulmate. You weren’t quite touching but you could still feel his presence. It was as comfortable as you could get right now and Bucky seemed to respect that.

“I hope I’ll be okay,” you confessed. “Eventually.”

It quite amazed you how fast stuff could change within yourself. You woke up from being rescued with the more extravagant hopes and overwhelming relief of just making it out alive. But then you remembered the price of you making it out alive. What you had to witness to get there. And then the thoughts of actually being back in that position rushed over you. Needless to say, it was weird. Simply weird. Unlike anything you had encountered before.

Bucky soon nodded, encouragingly. You hated putting anything else on him but he had become part of the memories now. It was one thing to see him in dreams and another to watch it just feet away from you.

With a choking sob, he said, “Me too, doll.”

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lokigayforhela · 3 years

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Heya. May I request an Hela x female reader where Hela falls in love with the reader whom is Loki's friend and decides to kidnapp the reader and reader being scared and angry at her at first, only getting along with Fenrir but reader falling in love with her as well after a while and Hela asking the reader to marry her?

WC: 2695

TW: this can kinda come off as Stockholm Syndrome-y I think? So tread lightly if that upsets you.

A/N: This is… a long one. Settle in with a snack. I wrote it in two sittings, so hopefully it flows. Enjoy!

You woke groggy and confused, unable to remember when youhad fallen asleep or why you were so cold and uncomfortable, and it took yousitting up to realize just how much of a predicament you were in.

You had shackles around your wrists, and while you weren’trestrained in any other way on the bed you had been laid on, it was still arather unsettling way to wake up.Trying desperately not to panic, you tried to take note of your surroundings,trying to figure out where you might be or who might have you, and you had justswung your legs over the edge of the bed to try to stand up when you heard acool, collected voice speak from somewhere in the shadows on the other side ofthe room, and you could just make out the figure of someone sitting in a chair.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You’re still too groggy.”

Your brow furrowed, and you squinted, trying to get aglimpse of who was speaking. “…who are you? What have you done with me?” Apause, as a bit more of your memory came back to you. “Where’s Loki?”

The voice laughed, and a few moments later, the figure stoodand crossed into the light, and you were more than a little surprised to seethat it was a woman who was holding you captive. Even if she did look extremelyintimidating. “I am Hela. And you’re-”

“Wait, Hela like Thor and Loki’s sister Hela?”

Hela hesitated, clearly a bit miffed that you hadinterrupted her, but eventually, she cleared her throat. “…yes. The very same.And I’ve brought you to somewhere they’ll never find you. You don’t need toworry about them anymore.”

Well, that didn’t sound threatening at all.

“…Why have you brought me here?”

“I intend to court you.”

Of all the thingsyou could have expected her to say, this wasn’t even on the list, and all youcould do was stare blankly at her in shock.

“I’ve been watching you for some time, and I think that wewould make a good match.”

Finally, you snapped out of it, and bit out a forced huff ofa laugh. “…so you kidnapped me, put me in shackles, and just think thateverything’s going to be peachy-keen? What, did you watch Beauty and the Beast one too many times as a kid?”

“….I don’t know what that is, but I only put the shackles onyou so you wouldn’t hurt yourself if you woke up.”

You scowled, still entirely unsure what to think about thisentire scenario. “…Loki will find me. As soon as they realized that you tookme, they’ll come with the rest of the Avengers, and whatever… this is will fall through.”

Hela looked at you, like she was trying to understand whyyou didn’t quite seem as onboard with the idea as she was, and after a longmoment of silence, she spoke again. “…you’ll come to like it here, in time.You’ll see. In the meantime, I’ll have your supper brought in soon. You must bestarving after sleeping all day.”

You couldn’t think of anything to say to that, too besideyourself in pure anger and confusion at Hela’s sheer audacity, and you onlyscowled, curling back up in the bed and glaring out of the small window by yourbed.

“…Fenris, keep watch over her. Good girl.” You heardmovement on the other side of the room, followed shortly afterward by the soundof a door closing and, having assumed Hela was leaving, you turned your headback in her direction, only to be greeted with the largest dog you had everseen towering over you, looking at you curiously.

“…..you must be Fenris.”

Fenris chuffed out a quiet little snort, and bowed her headslightly, and you watched in silence, still so unsure of what to think of yoursituation.

“…I don’t suppose you’ll help me get out of here?”

Fenris snorted, and in response laid her entire head on yourlap, effectively keeping you sitting right where you were, and you groaned inpure frustration. “….great. Just what I needed. A giant dog to keep me trappedin here, on top of some strange woman who thinks the best way to court someoneis to kidnap them.”

You heaved a sigh and looked back out the window.

“What fucking luck.”

——————–

You weren’t sure how long Hela had kept you wherever it wasthat she was keeping you.

The most you had gotten out of her was that you were on someplanet that wasn’t Midgard or Asgard,which had been destroyed, as Loki had told you before. You didn’t evenrecognize the planets you could see from the window, so you didn’t hold muchhope for being anywhere near Earth, but to your surprise, you were finding itless and less possible to care about it as much as you once had.

Hela somehow managed to spend both more and less time withyou than you thought she would, when she’d mentioned she was interested incourting you. She spent the mornings in the room with you, trying to get you totalk about yourself, but afternoons you had to yourself after Hela haddelivered your lunch, and the only company you had until dinner was yourselfand Fenris, who never left your side longer than it took for her to go outsidewhen she needed to.

In fact, Fenris, you reasoned, was the most, if only,bearable thing about being held captive for the foreseeable future until you,presumably, fell in love with Hela or were found by Loki and the rest of theAvengers. For all her towering height and scary, very large and sharp teeth,she was a sweetheart, and the more she hung around with you, the more fond youbecame of her. You would sneak her scraps from your meals, and scratch herbelly when she sprawled out on the floor.

Once, Hela had walked in and found you both asleep on thefloor, Fenris curled up in a ball, and you nestled against her side, and thesight had endeared her so much that she sat on the floor and watched you untilyou woke up, something that you couldn’t quite decide whether or not was endearingor a little unsettling.

Perhaps it was a little bit of both.

Hela herself was a puzzle that you couldn’t solve, for allyour trying.

She had kidnapped you, taken you from Loki and your otherfriends, and your home, but she was treating you the nicest anyone had evertreated you. Aside from keeping you shackled twenty-four/seven and refusing tolet you out of the room without supervision, and even that was only so youcould use the bathroom when you needed.

If you took away the fact that she’d literally committed acrime, and a creepy one at that, Hela just seemed like a girl in love, who didn’tquite know how to properly show it. Which was flattering, you supposed, andwould, in any other setting, be almost endearing.

Maybe she just didn’t know any better.

Thor and Loki hadn’t told you much about Hela, but that wasonly because they didn’t know thatmuch about her, but from what you’d understood, Hela had had a rougherchildhood than you could imagine, and had been locked up simply for being whatshe was trained to be. You couldn’t imagine what that would do to a person’spsyche.

Perhaps you had reacted too harshly.

One morning, you finally decided to at least try to talk to Hela. Maybe you couldhelp her understand that what she was doing was wrong and that there were muchbetter ways to go about courting someone.

So when you heard the keys Hela carried jingling, you satup, facing the door so that you were the first thing Hela saw when she came in.

“…you’re awake.” Hela seemed genuinely shocked to see youlooking at her, and when you smiled a little, she only seemed all the moresurprised. “…I brought you something different today. I know you must begetting tired of eating the same stuff every single day, and… there was amarket in the city nearby, so… I brought you some pastries.”

Hela’s nerves had seemingly gotten the better of her as shehanded you your plate, you figured you must have really thrown her for a loopby being so amenable today. You thanked her quietly, and when she moved to sitdown in her chair by the door, you caught her wrist without really thinkingabout it, and the both of you froze for a second, neither of you daring tomove.

“…sit down with me. We’ll share.”

Hela hesitated for a moment, even after you’d loosened yourgrip on her, and after a long moment she sat down on the very edge of the bed,and still at a distance from you. You picked out a pastry for yourself and heldthe plate out for her, but she shook her head.

“…I don’t need to eat. Not really.”

Your brow furrowed a bit as you looked at her. “…that’s notan Asgardian thing. Thor and Loki eat.”

Hela huffed out a tense laugh. “Thor and Loki weren’tbanished to Hel for centuries.”

You didn’t say anything to that; what were you supposed to say to something like that?But when it became clear Hela was still expecting you to say something, youcleared your throat a bit.

“…you could still eat, if you wanted to. I mean, I won’tmake you. But… you could. I don’t mind.”

Hela smiled, more of a grimace than anything else, but yousmiled a little in response, as well, and for a moment, you sat in silence,chewing on your breakfast in silence.

“…You can take the shackles off, you know. I’m not gonna goanywhere.” You laughed a bit. “I can’t. You don’t even let me out of the room.”

“…your door hasn’t been locked since you got here.”

That confused youto no end, and as you looked at her, absolutely bewildered, Hela actuallycracked a bit of a smile.

“I just jingle the keys so you think the door’s locked. You’ve always had free reign of the house.Did you really not even try the door?”

You were a little too embarrassed to admit that you hadn’t, so you just took another bite ofyour breakfast, hoping your flushed cheeks didn’t give you away.

“…you can look around today, if you want. I don’t mind. AndI’ll take the shackles off, too.”

“….I’d like that.” You looked back over at Hela, findingthat she was already looking at you with an expression far softer than youthought someone like her capable of making, it only made you blush all the moreas you smiled weakly.

Hela returned the smile much moregenuinely, and when she reached over to take one of the pastries from yourplate, you couldn’t help but to wonder if this might be a turning point in therelationship between you.

——————–

Days faded into weeks faded into months, and the longer youspent with Hela, the more you found yourself enjoying Hela’s company.

You would read together in the humble little library she hadmade for herself in the corner of the living room, you would play fetch withFenris together, and sometimes Hela would even let you go down with her to thevillage to go the market and run errands.

It was nice.

Much nicer than you had ever expected things to turn out.

Sometimes you felt a little guilty that you had just… stopped wondering if or when Loki andthe others would come, but then you would think about how much you were actually kind of enjoying being withHela and Fenris, and eventually you stopped wondering about it at altogether.

It was late one evening that you found yourself standingnext to Hela in the kitchen, drying dishes with a clean rag as Hela handed themto you, and you were overwhelmed with the pure domesticity of it all, and youstopped, tilting your head as you got lost in your thoughts.

“…Y/N…? Is everything alright?” Hela’s quiet voice broughtyou out of your silent revelry, and you turned to look at her, smiling a bit.

“…just thinking.” You shrugged a bit as you set down aplate.

“About?”

“…this, I guess. Us. Being here, together.”

You weren’t looking at Hela, but you heard her take a long,slow breath, anticipating what you were about to say next.

“…I’ve never connected with anyone like this before.” You glancedover at Hela then, and you saw that she had relaxed, but only just. “…it’snice.”

Hela nodded slowly, and finally turned her head to look atyou, expression unreadable. “…It is?”

“…it is.”

You weren’t entirely sure when the two of you had moved soclose, or which of you was the one to make the first move, but one moment youwere looking at Hela, and the next you were kissingher, and it was nice and warm and right, and by the time Hela pulled back, you were smiling softly.

“….I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” Hela started to apologize,but you shook your head.

“Don’t. It’s okay. Really.”

“…it is?”

You could only laugh softly as you nodded, smiling a littlemore. “In fact, I… I’d really like to do that again, if… if you don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind.” Hela answered alittle too quickly, like she could hardly contain her eagerness, and it was soadorable and unlike her that you laughed, even as you leaned forward to kissher again, dishes completely forgotten on the counter.

——————–

“Y/N?”

You looked up from where you were sitting curled next toHela, book in hand and Fenris’ nose on your lap as you scratched herabsentmindedly. “Yes, darling?”

“…I’ve been thinking.”

Despite knowing that nothing was wrong, you couldn’t helpbut to feel your heart sink in preparation for hearing something that you mightnot want to, but you tried to smile and nod, hoping Hela didn’t catch the quiet“…oh no…” you muttered under your breath.

“…You’ve been here for quite some time now.”

It was true; you wagered it must have been close to a yearby now that you and Hela had been living in your secluded little cottage on theoutskirts of the village, and life there together with her just felt perfect, in a way that you’d neverexperienced before, and you nodded along as Hela continued to speak.

“And I like to think that we’re, that this… I mean, I canonly speak for myself, but… I’m just going to say it. It… It works.”

You laughed a bit, feeling relief when you realized Hela wasjust nervous and unsure how to say what she was saying. “It works. It does.”

Hela nodded again, looking at you for a long moment. “…marryme?”

You were so at a loss for words that you could do nothingbut stare blankly at her, trying to wrap your brain around what she’d said.

“I don’t… have any rings, like they do on Midgard, and we don’thave anyone to perform the magic rites that they did on Asgard, but… We canjust say that we’re married. And we’llknow. And that’s enough for me, if… if that’s enough for you.”

You laughed a bit, nodding as you reached for Hela’s hand,holding it tightly in your own. “Yeah. I think that would be enough for me.”

Hela smiled, and immediately leaned forward to kiss you, andit was easy to tell just how head over heels she was for you, and it even more amazingto know that you loved her exactly the same. Perhaps it wasn’t how you had everimagined falling in love would be like, but it was love and it was imperfect.

You’d never known you could be so happy.

#Hela x reader #Hela Odinsdottir x reader #Hela #Hela Odinsdottir #Marvel #purplewings12 #ask #answered #oneshot #drabble #feat Loki #but not Really #this got so Long im so Sorry #fluff #Tiny bit of angst

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