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lets-get-kraken-boys · 4 years

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FatGum (Taishiro Toyomitsu) X Chubby! Confectioner/Baker! Reader: Sweets and Treats~

(Description: Woo, I’m so excited for my first story on this account! This inspiration came to me after thinking about our one and only, favorite chubby pro hero and me wanting to see some puppy love for you two. Also, the title says Confectioner/Baker, I want to clarify that Reader isn’t truly a baker but I feel like “Confectioner” wouldn’t reach as large of a crowd as “Baker” would, not a big deal but just FYI. I hope my first fic is enjoyed by those who choose to read, thank you for the support.)

Fanfiction Lingo

(Y/N) - Your Name

(H/C) - Hair Color

(E/C) - Eye Color

(F/C) - Favorite Color

“Normal speech.”

‘Inner thoughts.’

Requester: No One!

Reader Gender: Female (She/Her)

Style of Story: Oneshot // Entirely fluff, a pinning love on both ends, and a happy end to boot! There is one little heartbreak moment, but it’s over in a second.

Word Count: 4.5K Words

WARNING(s): None, unless you see adorable, tooth-rotting fluff as a crime!

“Morning, Tammy! Lovely day, isn’t it?” you greeted your employee with a bright smile as she stumbled through the door into your bakery.

She huffed, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes, “Sure, but I’ve hardly been up long enough to notice it. How are you always so peppy this early?” She pointed to the mechanical clock ticking from the left wall that read ‘4:04 AM’. You glanced outside and saw hardly anyone walking through the streets, except the occasional drunkard or lonely soul.

You bashfully shrugged your shoulders, “Well, after years of suffering waking up at three in the morning, you kinda get used to the torment! But, hey, so happy we got the shop far away from the center of the city, you can actually see the sunrise from here!” you tried to help her look on the bright side as you handed her one a cup of one of your homemade coffee brews. She took a sip of the drink and let out a content sigh through her nose, a small, but thankful smile on her face.

“You know, for being a confectioner, you make some pretty solid coffee. What is that?” her eyebrows furrowed as she asked, taking another swig to figure out the secret intense flavor.

You giggled, “That’s probably the nutmeg I added. Is it good?”

“More like fantastic, (Y/N). Trying out new recipes again?” she asked over her shoulder, hanging up her light jacket that protected her from the early morning breeze while grabbing her apron. Though, it being July in Japan, she probably wouldn’t need it again for a while.

“Yeah, I think this one will really please the early risers. It gives a special sort of kick to the taste, don’t you think?” you asked while gently sliding open the glass case that held all of the beautifully decorated pastries, grabbing a pair of tongs and a small floral ceramic plate, carefully placing a fresh Apple Strudel onto the plate, and setting it down on the counter.

“Totally. Hey, can I have a--,” Tammy stopped mid-sentence as she turned around to see the delectable treat already waiting for her.

“Your breakfast awaits, m’lady~,” you slurred out in a fake British accent with a cheesy smirk and a dramatic bow.

She scoffed, “You dork. Am I really that predictable?” she asked, scarfing down the pastry in a matter of seconds as she leaned on the counter.

“Yeah, you kinda are,” you joked as she playfully shoved your plush side.

“You know,” she continued, looking down at the gooey food, “It’s a shame you aren’t more popular with the people. You have a great location, an amazing personality and work staff, if I do say so myself, and don’t even get me started on the incredible stuff you make,” she praised.

“Oh, stop it, Tammy. You’re gonna make me blush,” you flushed from her sincere words, “Besides, I’ve only been open for two weeks, it’s going to be slow for awhile. It’ll ramp up eventually.”

“Yeah, I guess, but you can’t deny that your baked goods are better than most of the others in the country! One day, when people get their heads out of their asses, these little gifts of magic are going to make you RICH!” she threw her lanky airs up into the air and around your shoulders. She spun your smaller frame in a circle while the two of you laughed.

“Ha! Yeah yeah, I know! Now, stop your messing around and come help me fill the rest of these Cream Horns.” you concluded while you pat her taller shoulder. She groaned at the request but gave you a tiny nod. Tammy turned around while tying her short, brown hair into a messy bun, readying herself for the busy day ahead. You smiled while she retreated to the kitchen but before you went to follow her you decided to look out the window again.

Shuffling your legs over to the windows, you got a clear view of the rising sun and all its glory, the hints of yellow, orange, pink, red, and even blue from the night's previous dark veil still clung onto the brightening sky. Somehow you had this weird feeling that today something life changing was going to happen. You didn’t know if you should be excited or worried, but you decided to push those thoughts aside and continue on to the back of the shop where you could already hear the clutter and clang of falling pans, no doubt Tammy’s handy work.

Oh, if you only knew how right your hunch was…

~ Timeskip to a little later in the day and a P.O.V change to FatGum ~

“How much longer do I have for patrol?” I asked myself, pulling out my phone to check the time. The time read ‘9:12 AM’ and I huffed, still a couple more hours to go. Putting the device back in my pocket with a grimace but quickly faked a smile as I continued down the bustling street. The active community, excited civilians, and eager children usually never fails to put a smile on my face, but today everything just felt like a drag. I was sluggish, unfocused, and I couldn’t understand why. I shook my head, get your head in the game, Taishiro. You don’t have time to let your mind wander on duty.

After what seemed like hours, but was more than likely only 15 minutes, I felt my stomach let out a rumbling growl which made me groan. I stopped walking on the sidewalk and took a second to consider the situation, wandering the city for a couple of hours with nothing too exciting to do really works up an appetite, and I do need to keep up my strength. I’m a hero after all, and denying myself is like ignoring my civic duty to protecting the people! At this point, I’ll take any excuse to get out of this pointless shambling. But the REAL question is, what to get? I glanced around the street and noticed a few shops further down the block that looked to be food related. I smirked, perfect.

I wove through the few people occupying the area, past a few excited teenagers who asked for autographs, and eventually made it to the shops. Looking around I saw some insurance shops, an enticing Pad Thai sit down, and few others, but the one that caught my eye was a cutesy, (F/C)-painted bakery named, “Queen of Tarts”. Chuckling at the interesting name choice, I looked inside the establishment through the plexiglass windows.

The inside carried a light, fluffy atmosphere, pastel colored walls combining with the checkered tile floor caused a small smile out of me. A few small tables with delicate iron chairs here and there, but the real prize were the copious amounts of sweets that were displayed in the glass cases. Each were different colors, sizes, but they all looked delicious. Feeling my stomach grumble, I grabbed the door handle, flung it open, and walked into the scrumptious smelling shop. After walking in, the tiny jingle of bells alerting the workers of my presence, I finally saw the most stunning sweet of all.

“Hi, welcome to the Queen of Tarts, how may I help you today?” the gorgeous woman at the counter asked but it didn’t register in my brain because I was already lost in thought. Her adorable (H/C) hair framed her face to show her soft, chubby cheeks, her eyes glistened in the sunlight, and her smile, oh, it completely lit the room with its radiance. Curves in all the right places, I felt my cheeks heat up as I let out a nervous laugh, cursing my inner self for not holding it together. Seriously, I can face the nastiest of villains but throw one pretty lady in front of me and I fall apart? Fantastic. Realizing I wasn’t answering, I quickly stepped forward and cleared my throat.

“Uh, yeah. Hi,” ‘Wow, so smooth, Taishiro,’ I criticized in my head, “I...haven’t seen this store here before, you new?” I offered a smile, which she returned tenfold, making me even more flustered.

“Yes, actually! I set up shop here only a few weeks ago, finally settling in with the hustle and bustle of city life.” she finished, leaning in closer against the marble counter with her arms crossed.

“City life? You didn’t grow up here?” I asked.

“Yeah,” she shrugged, “Grew up on more of the countryside style of life. I love the city though, do you?”

“Yeah, you gotta get used to it when you spend all your time protecting it.” I let a hint of boasting attitude out, hoping she’d realize who I am.

“Ha, I hear ya! I do my own share of ‘protecting’ around here too. Well, if you count making goodies, that is.” she giggled, standing up and walking over to the glass containers. I deflated a little, guess that wasn’t going to work this time. I shuffled over to where she was standing and looked down at the treats they offered.

“So, kind stranger, what is it you’ll be having?” she asked after a minute of me inspecting the pastries. The problem with not being picky about what you eat, means there are tons of more options than that of others, and when all the items look equally as delectable, you get a little overwhelmed. Plus, the fact that a beautiful woman whom I would very much like to not embarrass myself in front of is waiting for my answer doesn’t help.

I gulped, “I don’t know, they all look amazing. What’s your favorite?” I asked, hoping to know a little more about her.

“Oh, gosh, let me think…” she pouted, resting her head on the palm of her hand while looking deep in thought at the treats. The adorable crease of her eyebrows scrunched together, the tip of her tongue poking out in concentration, her lovely, curvalicious body...that’s it, I’m so screwed.

“I think I’d go for the Chocolate Cream Puff,” her answer drawing both me and her out of our distracted states, “My dad taught me years ago this amazing chocolate ganache recipe and I drizzle that all over the tops of homemade pastry puffs and the whipped filling, ugh! It’s to die for, seriously!” she finished, a sparkle in her (E/C) eyes that fueled the fire in my gut. She spoke about food just as passionately as I did! She’s perfect.

Without thinking, I quickly said, “I’ll take ten.”

~ (Y/N) P.O.V ~

“Alright, there you go, 10 Chocolate Cream Puffs. Have a wonderful day, sir!” I said with a bright smile.

“Please, call me Taishiro. And you are..?” he asked.

I flushed, I’m such a klutz, “(Y/N), pleasure to meet you, Taishiro. I hope you enjoy them and come back to visit m...us! Come visit us again!” I hastily fixed my wording.

As he smiled and waved goodbye, I rolled the tension out of my shoulders and breathed a sigh of relief. It’s okay, he was nice...and cute...and...really handsome. Wow, I am I sweating?

“HOLY CRAP!” I jumped as I heard Tammy squeal out behind me, I spun around to look at her standing in the doorway to the back, watching the leaving guest with an awestruck face.

“What?! Where’s the fire?!” I shouted running up to her, grabbing the edge of my apron.

“(Y/N), look at me,” she grabbed my shoulders and forced me to stare into her hazel eyes, “Do you know who that was?”

I shrugged my shoulders as best as I could under her vice grip, “A customer, right?”

“A custom--ugh, curse you for not keeping up with the media,” she yelled while flinging her arms to the sky in exasperation before shoving them back on my shoulders, “(Y/N), that wasn’t just any old customer! That was the FatGum!”

I blinked, “Uh, who?”

“Aarrghh! The rank 58 Pro Hero in Japan! What did you say to him?!” I paled as her words sunk in. My legs felt like jelly and I wanted to lie on the floor and die of embarrassment as she raved on about my ignorance.

‘Oh, so I’ve fallen for a Pro Hero. Awesome.’

~ Timeskip to a few weeks later, same P.O.V ~

Who knew meeting a Pro Hero and potentially having a crush on him could be so amazing? After Taishiro, who is apparently a hero named FatGum, left the store, he personally posted on his main platform of media about the shop and how incredible the desserts were! Of course, to get a compliment from a hero who's Quirk is literally based around food, who’s eaten hundreds of thousands of different dishes, for him to specifically point out your’s brought the media swarming. Business went from nearly dead to tons of people coming in at all open hours! It was fantastic, and the handsome gentleman kept his promise of continually coming in and buying heaps of pastries.

You sighed, leaning against the marble counter after helping a few beautiful ladies buy some tarts, watching their desirable, attractive forms leave the shop and walk past the window. Looking around the busy lounge area, all of the customers were stunning, unique, and most of all thin. You glanced down at yourself, insecurities filling your mind about your appearance and unsurprisingly flickering back to the man plaguing your thoughts. You poked the chub, would he? No. He probably already has someone and even if he didn’t, why would he go for you? You’re a no one to him, someone who just sells him baked goods to fuel his Quirk, nothing more.

“Hey, boss man, what’s up?” Asher, a friend and employee of yours, asked while spinning you away from the counter to face him, drawing Tammy’s attention from her place on the stool behind the counter.

“Oh, it’s nothing, Asher. Just distracted is all, I’m fine!” you sighed and faked a smile.

Asher pulled a skeptical look and without looking at Tammy he said, “She’s thinking about him again, isn’t she?”

Tammy, like it was her sixth sense to pick up on gossip, flung herself to Asher’s side with the same skeptical look, “Yep, it’s so obvious.”

“I-It is?!” you yelped, pulling your hands up to your cheeks to hide your growing blush.

“What are we gonna do about them, Tam?” he asked, still not looking at her but instead grabbing your chin and tiling your head from side to side to inspect you.

“I don’t know what else to do, Ash. He so likes her back but both are too scared to make the first move. Truly a dilemma.” she said, twirling a lock of your (H/C) hair.

“Wait, he does?! How do you know?” you pleaded but they weren’t paying any attention to you anymore, making you puff out your pudgy cheeks in frustration. Opting to ignore them, you listened to the aimless chatter of the seating area. The ambiance of the confectionery made you smile because it was exactly how you’d pictured it as a little girl, the sweet smells, the laughter, it finally felt like home after all these years in the making. All your hard work was paying off in the end. Suddenly, the ringing bells of the door opening drew your attention. Glancing back, you caught a glimpse of a familiar yellow and orange clad figure whose head almost touched the ceiling. You gasped and shoved your friends off of you and to the backroom, spun around, and greeted your favorite customer with a bashful smile.

“Taishiro! How lovely to see you again,” but you quickly noticed it wasn’t just him. Two teenage boys, one with striking red hair and a warm smile and the other trembling and hiding inside of his cloak’s hood, were by FatGum’s side, which made you ask, “And who is this with you?”

“(Y/N), this is Eijirou Kirishima and Tamaki Amajiki, they are training under me for hero internships. I wanted to bring them here so they could try your wicked sweets!” he finished, making you blush even harder.

“Aw, that’s so sweet of you, FatGum! It’s a pleasure to meet you, boys.” you finished, holding out your hand for them to shake.

The red-headed boy, Kirishima, shook your hand with a gentle, but strong grip, “Same here! I’ve heard all about this place because of the news, sorry I couldn’t come sooner!”

“Oh, that’s alright, and it’s wonderful to meet you, Tamaki.” you held out your hand, but all you got from him was a curt nod as he shrunk further into his suit.

“You’ll have to forgive, Amajiki, he’s sort of shy.” Taishiro chuckled, rubbing his hand behind his head.

You pulled your hand back with an understanding smile, “No problem, I totally get social anxiety. Happens to the best of us, I’m afraid.”

“No way,” you suddenly heard Tammy mumble behind you, no doubt to Asher, “He brought his kids to see her. Did not expect that. I respect the flex.”

“Isn’t that a little far for first base material?” Asher whispered back to her. You proceeded to shoot them a terrifying glare and subtly kick both of them in the shins, a symbol for them to scram. They gulped and hobbled off to the back to avoid your wrath while you huffed and whipped your hair out of your face with a smile.

“Anyways, since the three of you are here, what would you boys like? It’s on the house!” you confidently boasted.

Taishiro gasped, “(Y/N), no. I can’t do that to you, we’ll pay.”

“Ah, ah, ah, Taishiro. You are by far the most paying of customers and since you’re my favorite of all I want to give this to you. Call it, uh, thank you present for all the publicity you’ve given my store! I couldn’t have made it this far without you.” you grinned.

He sighed and, though it could have been your imagination, blushed a little, “At least let me pay for my portion. I get considerably more than them.”

“Nope, it’s already been decided! Kirishima, what would you like?” you changed the topic before Taishiro could argue with you again. He rolled his eyes, clear girl.

“Hmm,” Kirishima thought, “Do you have anything with strawberries?”

“I got just the thing for you. How about a Strawberry Turnover?” you directed him over to the case with the pastry. He took one glance and excitedly nodded his head and you smiled, grabbed the sweet with a clean pair of tongs, placed it on a napkin, and handed it over to the young man. He grinned and shoveled the pastry into his mouth without hesitation.

“Thanks so much, Miss (Y/N)! It’s delicious!” he praised through a mouth full of food, making you giggle at his silliness. Walking back over to the registrar, you saw Tamaki looking at you. When he was caught, he gasped, quickly spun around, and hid himself away from you by pressing into FatGum’s body.

“What would you like, Tamaki?” you patiently asked. Taishiro looked at you with doubt and started saying something but you quickly shushed him and continued to wait for the teen’s answer.

Knowing that you weren’t going to give up, Tamaki quietly mumbled out, “D-D-Do you...have anything with...b-black raspberry? I-If you don’t that’s fine too, I-I didn’t mean to sound too rude or--”

“I believe I do,” you quickly interrupted so he didn’t go into a spiraling haze of self doubt, “Would a Black Raspberry Lychee Cake suffice, Tamaki?”

“Y-Yes, Miss (Y/N)...” he sighed in relief, glancing at you with tears in his eyes. You gave him a reassuring smile and grabbed the treat for him, handing it to FatGum so he could hold on to it for Tamaki.

“And now, what’ll you have, kind stranger?” you grinned as he chuckled.

“I’ll take my usual then, 10 Chocolate Cream Puffs, please.” he concluded while giving a sweet grin.

You snarked, “You always get the same thing every time, Taishiro. Don’t you wanna try anything else? I promise they’re poisoned.” you smirked.

He quirked an eyebrow at you, “Are you sure about that?” he joked.

“Taishiro! What kind of business would I be if I poisoned all my guests?” you laughed at him.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try something different, ma’am. Do you have anything with pineapple?” he asked with curiosity.

“You betcha. How does a Pineapple Poke Cake sound, sir?” you interrogated. You saw stars glisten in his eyes and you giggled at his excitement.

“How many?” you joked.

“I’ll take 12!” he concluded, blissfully staring off into space.

You packaged up his request in a cutesy (F/C) box with your confectionery’s logo and, biting your lip in apprehension, decided that if he wasn’t going to make his move then you would. You quickly wrote down your phone number on top of the box in Sharpie and signed off your name with a small black heart. As you finished the lettering you stared at the box and thought about your previous insecurities. There was still time, still time to take out the pastries, put them in a new box, and forget the whole number thing ever happened.

“Hey, don’t you dare take out those treats and put them in a new box, you hear me, girl?!” you heard a tiny male voice whisper above you. Startled, you looked up to see Tammy and Asher peeking through the window that let the customers see into the back of the bakery to watch the baking happen. You glared at the two, so they had been watching you try and confess your feelings to the fluffy hero in a discreet way.

“What am I supposed to do? What if he doesn’t like me and all the signs I’ve been getting from him are me making up a love story that is never going to happen between us?! What if by doing this I ruin our relationship and he makes sure the business tanks?! This is my life's work and I’m putting it on the line for a stupid chance at love!” you whisper yelled at them, the familiar feeling of fear and pain coursing through your system from previous failed love confessions.

“You really think a sweet man like that is going to make your life’s dream completely fall to pieces?” Tammy questioned and you exhaled, shaking your head ‘no’.

“Then go out there and get yo mans! You have to at least try and snatch that, I have to see my OTP become canon!” she sent a determined glare at you, grabbed the box, shoved it in your hands, spun you around, and pushed your forward. You stumbled and almost tripped onto the floor but caught yourself on the marble counter. Standing up tall, you took a deep breath in and urged your legs to move forward. Getting to the registrar, you smiled at Taishiro and the boys and handed over the box to FatGum after giving a subtle cough.

“Thank you for everything, Taishiro, you’ve helped me in ways you could never imagine. Now, I hope you boys come back sometime!” you spoke to the teens, Kirishima grinning at you with his shark-like teeth.

“Will do, Miss (Y/N)! I couldn’t stay away from this place even if I tried, your desserts are the BOMB!” he laughed, punching his fists together in excitement.

“...Thank you, Miss (Y/N).” Tamaki shyly whispered, giving you half a grin before cowering away once more.

“Don’t mention it, loves! Now, Taishiro, remember that I said this is on the--whoa! Are you okay?” you asked the man. His face was almost as red as his student’s hair, his eyes wide and unfocused as he stared at the top of the box, where your number neatly sat. You gulped, maybe it was the wrong decision after all.

Waving a nervous hand in front of Taishiro’s face, it seemed to break him from his spellbound state as he glanced at your eyes, “Are you...feeling okay, Taishiro?”

He looked at you with a shaken gaze as he laughed off his nerves while saying, “Y-Yeah! Just, um...yeah...you...let’s go, boys! Gotta get back to the patrol! Bye, (Y/N)!” he said while ushering the confused boys away from the counter and to the door. You felt your heart shatter into dozens of pieces as you turned your head down to conceal your sorrowed expression from the rest of the lounge area. You felt your eyes wet with tears but you used the sleeve of your white button down you dry them, you have to stay strong. At least you got it off your chest. Sniffling, you turned your head back up only to see FatGum’s face, only he was suddenly a lot more chiseled in the face and body and wow, did it just get hot in here?

“I forgot one thing.” he said with a flustered smile. You, less heartbroken then before just more confused, shrugged your shoulders in question. He then grasped your shoulders, tilted his head to the side, and planted a loving and firm kiss on your right cheek. You felt your face melt into a puddle of red as he held the kiss for a few seconds longer than anticipated but eventually released your cheek, staring back at you with the same expression as you.

“Did you really think I was going to leave without paying you back, cream puff?” he chuckled with a grin.

“I-I, um…” no longer sorrowed, your brain couldn’t catch up with the fact that he most definitely liked you back.

“Heh, you’re cute when you’re flustered for me. I’ll text you later, okay? Keep on the look out for me!” he said, backing up from the counter, only to grow immensely in size as he returned to the state you had met the hero in. He waved goodbye as he walked back to Kirishima who was practically bouncing off the walls in his excitement.

“Congratulations on the relationship, Miss (Y/N)!” the teen sang out as the three of them left the store to patrol the streets for their hero duties once again.

The entire restaurant was silent as they watched your chubby form turn into a puddle of emotions and ditzy giggles, the only thing that was heard was a loud, “YES! IT’S CANON, BABY!”

~ The End ~

#mha #bnha #mha oneshot #fluff #fanfiction #oneshot #taishiro toyomitsu #fatgum #x reader #taishiro toyomitsu x reader #fatgum x reader #kirishima #eijirou kirishima #tamaki #tamaki amajiki #chubby #chubby reader #x chubby reader #x baker reader

743 notes · View notes

tarredion · 3 years

Text

2020 fic roundup

hiii! i was going to do this earlier but,, um,, i posted three fics in the final two hours of 2020 year (for me) so :D here is finally my fic roundup - in order from newest to oldest

i’ll be using the original summaries, wordcounts n ratings etc, some of the tags, link to the tumblr post and the ao3 link, and maybe add a note or two if i feel that’s not enough

this’ll be a long post so read below the cut

(or go directly to my ao3 here especially in case you don’t want spoilers)

Fireworks up above

g, 341

NYE, established relationship, husbands, tooth-rotting fluff, kissing

Husbands Dan and Phil and their placeholder-apartment share a final NYE moment (aka 2020 NYE)

ao3 // tumblr

Quiet morning

g, 304

tooth-rotting fluff, lazy mornings, sleepy cuddles, established relationship, husbands, forever home

Dan wakes up in the forever home, Phil breathing softly next to him…

ao3 // tumblr

Shadows / nocturne / parting clouds

g, 2.7k

hurt/comfort, migraine, arguing, angst with a fluffy ending, established relationship, ii tour fic, alternating and outsider pov

Phil wakes up with a migraine, causing him to snap at Dan. Throughout the day, while visiting a city for the ii tour, Cornelia observes the tension, and eventually, the two of them console

ao3 // tumblr

A tub fit for two

t, 853

dnp, forever home, established relationship, husbands, fluff, bathing/washing, and more

there are certain perks that come with building your own (forever) house

ao3 // tumblr

Signals

m, 1.6k

texting, established relationship, food, domestic fluff, very light angst, sexual content

excerpts of dan and phil’s texts throughout the years

ao3 // tumblr

At the turn of a page

g, 1.2k

liveshow, 2020-ish, fluff, established relationship, forever home

Phil’s had his reasons for not continuing liveshows during lockdown, but they’re ready for a comeback—a domestic one, at that

ao3 // tumblr

Prickle on the skin, ache in the heart

t, 1.4k

2014, closeted relationship, bbc party, alcohol, vomiting, self confidence issues, jealousy, angst then fluff, happy ending

phil smiles wider, brighter. every day. every day, dan falls in love again. he can’t help but be a little jealous, not being able to say

ao3 // tumblr

It’s home

t, 2.2k

au ice-cream parlor, established relationship, pure fluff, slice of life

A day in the life of Dan and his smitten ice-cream vendor boyfriend Phil, living on the coast of Connemara, Ireland

ao3 // tumblr

Whisper of the heart

g, 976

established relationship, headaches & migraines, hurt/comfort, fluff, piano

Phil has a headache. Dan plays the piano and comforts him.

ao3 // tumblr

Slice of cake

e, 2.7k

established relationship, bday sex, 2016, face-sitting, rimming

Dan’s promised to celebrate Phil with nothing but the best this year.

Naturally, he buys himself a new skirt - but it’s not just to wear.

ao3 // tumblr

Supple thirty-two

this is a chaptered wip !! it’ll continue in 2021 (the update note is currently inaccurate)

3/32

t, 4k so far

slow burn, friends to lovers, love letters, secret admirer, fluff and angst, internalized homophobia, outing, coming out, queer themes, happy ending

A secret admirer sends flowers and letters to Dan over the years

ao3 // tumblr

Tenderhearted

g, 1k

2009, comfort/angst, sad but sweet, sleepy cuddles, separation anxiety

Phil doesn’t want Dan to go home. Dan agrees. Quite strongly, actually.

Feeling properly loved for the first time causes serious separation anxiety.

ao3 // tumblr

I’d marry you (with paper rings)

m, 4k

established relationship, fluff, domestic, proposal, sexual content

Maybe learning calligraphy was of greater importance to Phil, and them, than Dan first thought

ao3 // tumblr

Blue can be kind, too

this is my favourite fic of the ones i’ve written !! so far. it’s from the pov of kid dan so very tender and mostly very childish / undeveloped in the language, as if actually told from his brain (even though it’s third person)

g, 4k

kid!fic, dan and phil are kids, kindergarten, developing friendship, past violence and bullying, referenced homophobia, fluff and angst, sad and happy, happy ending

A tale of being scared, starting fresh, and making your first ever friends after experiencing violent bullying.

Or rather, four-year-old Dan’s first day at his new kindergarten.

ao3 // tumblr

Ablaze

e, 4k

established relationship, spanking, daddy kink, oral, aftercare

Phil’s trying to work; Dan’s being a brat. Things get heated, but not in a bad way.

ao3 // tumblr

The brightest shade of sun (I had ever seen)

g, 3.9k

friends to lovers, getting together, only one bed

one dawn on the isle of man can be enough to unite two craving hearts, even if a lot of heartbreaking thoughts are revealed along the way

ao3 // tumblr

Tracing constellations

t, 1.3k

established relationship, sleepy cuddles, fluff, banter, kissing

Two 6-foot men cuddling in a single armchair doesn’t sound like a good idea.

It isn’t, but dan and phil do almost anything for intimacy…

ao3 // tumblr

Between the seams

g, 999

established relationship, cuddling, fluff, fear, hurt/comfort

Bone-tired lovers meet thundering downpour, rediscovering the best way to confront fear in the meantime

ao3 // tumblr

Fjäll med stjärnor

this one is also a chaptered wip !! it’ll also be continuing in 2021, and probably beyond bcs it might be even longer than that

2/?

g, 9k so far

fantasy, magic, kinda historical fantasy, dan’s a dragon, and Phil’s human (at first), strangers to friends to lovers (eventually), fluff and angst, lots of descriptions

a human’s and a dragon’s paths crossing is unusual, but in this case it was in alignment with the stars and a decision as old as time itself

ao3 // tumblr

It’s not a date?

chaptered wip to continue into 2021 too

2/4

t, 4.6k so far

there’s only one bed, bodyswap, didn’t know they were dating, friends to lovers, getting together, idiots in love, tatinof

On one hand, it should all go flawlessly. When Phil goes on tour with his boyfriend of six years, Dan, he books them rooms with only one bed. He’s not deterred by their quiet and nonsexual (monogamous) lovelife. They do things ‘normal’ couples do, just maybe not as often or intimately. He supposes Dan’s just taking it slow, trying to come to terms with his sexuality and so on. It’s okay.

On the other… Dan doesn’t know they are dating. He has a longtime crush on Phil that he thinks is unrequited, despite their mutual rather romantic and domestic behavior.

ao3 // tumblr

Fur-ever

g, 3.5k

tooth-rotting fluff, dog owners/dads, dog wedding, established relationship, alternate universe - different first meeting, howells and lesters

Dog dads Dan and Phil marry their dogs, in preparation for their own big day

ao3 // tumblr

The maestro and his muse

chaptered but completed!

4/4

e, 5.5k

friends to lovers, mutual pining, body painting, teasing, sexual content

Phil is a professional artist. He’s always wanted to try body painting, and now he gets to, for a naked photoshoot. Unfortunately, his good friend, muse, and crush Dan Howell is his model of choice. What could go wrong?

ao3 // tumblr

Lightyear groovin’

t, 4.6k

star wars setting, dj Phil, waiter Dan, mutual pining, friends to lovers

In a galaxy far, far away, there’s an abundance of 70s clubs. On Krithoo, local party freak Dan Howell works as a waiter at an often overcrowded cantina, Virgo Volans. And maybe, just maybe, he has an infatuation with the extraterrestrial dj frequenting their stage…

ao3 // tumblr

A theism in evolution

g, 5.9k

gods au, enemies to friends to lovers, getting together, fluff and angst, emotional h/c, written entirely in letters, 1st person pov

The sungod, Phil, sends letters to Mother Gaia. He puts all his worries into words… even when he himself can’t see right through them

ao3 // tumblr

Little comfort card

g, 932

separation anxiety, established relationship, business trip, vidcon, fluff and angst, homesickness, comfort, post-coming out videos

Phil goes to VidCon alone. Cue separation anxiety, something Dan seems to have accounted for..

"The whole room felt too airy, and lacked that simple, aesthetic Dan-touch. It wasn’t quite home, so to speak."

ao3

Your hoodies (come wrapped around me)

g, 869

york hoodie, clothes sharing, fluff, moving, house cleaning

Unpacking for their move into bigger quarters, Dan finds an ancient treasure in the back of their conjoined closet.

ao3 // tumblr

Awestruck

g, 996

barista dan, youtuber phil, fanboy dan, crushes, getting together, strangers to lovers

Dan might meet his best customer at the end of his worst day, and get a little more

ao3 // tumblr

Rainbow, proud

g, 513

post-coming out videos, established relationship, domestic boyfriends, fluff, shopping

Phil really wants the corgi shirt, but Dan thinks he has enough already

ao3 // tumblr

A prickly considerate gift

it’s the piranha plant bouquet !!

g, 1k

2014, established relationship, Valentines day fluff, gift giving, flowers and language of flowers, brief depression mention, domestic fluff, nerdiness

Phil finds a substitute for real Valentine’s day flowers

ao3 // tumblr

Cherish the smile

g, 783

husbands, honeymoon, established relationship, fluff

Phil wakes on the first morning of their honeymoon; a new day to cherish Dan’s gorgeous, excited, smile

ao3 // tumblr

“Seriously?”

t, 3k

strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers sort of, getting together, angst with a happy ending, co-workers, non-youtuber au, and lots of other tags lmao

Prompt: Dan and Phil meet while candle shopping and one of them can't help but comment on how obnoxious/boring/etc the scents the other one is picking out are the time Phil met a totally-not-handsome stranger and only sort-of wished they'd never meet again. Tough luck?

ao3

The lovers (VI)

chaptered, completed !

14/14

m, 31k

friends to lovers, magical realism au, lots of angst but also fluff, happy ending (more important tags on ao3)

Dan, guardian of the forest, feels inadequate to love and of love. His best friend Phil loves him despite that.. but doesn’t know quite what to do when Dan becomes a hypocrite- playing with both their feelings

ao3 // tumblr

Colour me rosé

another chaptered wip !! though this one may not be finished in 2021, because i have so much on my plate then - enjoy what’s here though !

9/?

m, 13k so far

sugar daddy Phil, sugar baby Dan, phil is rich, eventually domestic, strangers to lovers, developing relationship and friendship, sexual content, fluff, a little angst, and like a lot lot more tags

nineteen-year-old Dan Howell is looking for a sugar daddy to help him achieve the dream of luxury and romantic affirmations. Phil Lester, newly 24 and very rich, is searching for a romantic and sexual relationship. When stumbling upon the other on the internet, similar interests and all, have they found their match?

ao3 // tumblr

Archaic Allure (sonnet)

so as it turns out, writing a fic idea can really help you out with your grade (and yes, this is actually a sonnet)

g, 104

poetry, reminiscing, fluff, Dan’s pov

Dan reminisces his love for Phil - sonnet version

ao3 // tumblr

Something in your name

t, 3.2k

implied sexual content, fanfic about fanfic, emotional hurt/comfort, separation anxiety, established relationship; and more

phil reads a y/n fic ; guess who wrote it

ao3 // tumblr

Ellie enchanted

g, 986

fluff and angst, happy ending, parent!phan, new child, adoption, established relationship, self-doubt, implied homophobia

Dan and Phil pick up their adopted child

ao3 // tumblr

Chocolate swirls

g, 3.3k

parent!phan, snapshots, bday surprises, baking, fluff and angst, cake

Dan tries to surprise Phil for his 33rd. He fails, as humans do, but ten years later he has luckily got two adorable little helpers at his side. And maybe that makes everything just a little better.

ao3 // tumblr

Dan or Da?

on ao3 this fic is just called Da, so beware of that

t, 9k

parent!phan, friends to lovers, pretend relationship (not what you think), misunderstanding, getting together, implied sexual content, marriage, canon divergence, pov alternating

One day can change your life forever. For Phil, his daughter Mel, and Dan, who’d have guessed that day would be one when all they’ve planned is doing ordinary shopping together.

ao3 // tumblr

and that’s it!! thank you for reading this sweetums, and be sure to check out any of the fics

#my fic #my fics #me #mine #phanfic #phanfiction #phandom #phan #dnp #d&p #dan and phil #masterlist #masterpost #2020 #2020 roundup #fic roundup

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catscraftsandcommentary · 4 years

Text

thoughts on tiny!Steve/werewolf!Bucky shrunkyclunky AU

Because I’m too fucking lazy to actually type it into a proper fic and edit it and do all the fancy-ness that it would take to, y’know, make it a properly written story.

Vaguely fantasy/colonial setting, somewhere with lots of forests. Steve lives in a small town called - of course - Brooklyn, with best friend Peggy (local beauty and hell on heels.) Also with various non-friends Rumlow (sheriff), Rumlow’s minions, Alexander Pierce (mayor/governor of the area), and various townsfolk. Who often don’t like Steve because he’s constantly poor, constantly sick, constantly fighting and/or preaching about how their normal behavior is terrible.

Peggy thinks he’s great. Rumlow, who wants Peggy, despises him.

So at some point, Steve does something to piss Rumlow off more than usual. For a while, I thought about “stopping Rumlow when he won’t take ‘no’ from a girl at the local tavern and Steve reads him the riot act/starts a fight with him (these are pretty much the same thing, lbr.) BUT, sudden better idea, Rumlow comes up with some new, ridiculous plot to get Peggy to change her mind about him (never gonna happen, bro), but Steve ruins it somehow.

Like Rumlow commissions something for Peggy (clothing? art? jewelry?), but then extorts the artist to get out of paying, and Steve, who is PISSED, tells Peggy, who refuses the gift very publicly AND calls Rumlow a thief, extortionist, etc.

Hell. On. Heels.

So Rumlow immediately blames all his problems on Steve, and sentences him to banishment, permanent, on penalty of death. If he’s not out of town by sunrise, Rumlow will be glad to skip the wait.

Except oh yeah, Rumlow and the bros are going hunting tomorrow, leaving at dawn, so they’ll have to check in that Steve’s gone - and that Peggy isn’t hiding him - before dawn, so, y’know, he might want to get moving.

Cutscene to Peggy’s house, where she’s trying to talk Steve out of a suicidal second confrontation with Rumlow, or a more political confrontation through Pierce (who did, after all, appoint the bastard), or whatever other dumbass, noble idea he comes up with. She makes him pack a bag (or more likely, packs one for him), and tells him to go straight into the spooky old-growth forest a ways from town. Not the nice, civilized woods where Rumlow et al usually hunt, or along one of the roads to one of the other towns, but

“You head straight into the heart of that forest, Steve, because so help me, that is the only way you’ll be safe from him. And if you see any wolves - hell, if you hear any wolves - you say that Margaret Elizabeth sent you with a message for Natalia of the White Wolf’s pack. And that message is pay your debt.”

And no, she does not explain any of that to Steve before she bundles him out of her house and on the path to the forest road.

Oh, did I mention that, according to general knowledge in this AU, magic isn’t real, except for maybe small good luck charms and similar. Which plenty of people still scoff at. So telling Steve to talk to wolves is...suspicious.

Second aside, a while back, Peggy saved Natalia from an angry mob, took her family’s home, let her recover in her own bed, and then accidentally fell in love with her. Oops. Before, of course, Natalia had to return to her own pack. Now they have a secret on-again, off-again romance. (I haven’t thought about WHY Peggy didn’t just run away with Natalia immediately, other than it wouldn’t work for my story. Shh.) And of course, Natalia promised to someday do the same for Peggy.

Cutscene to forest, next morning!

Bucky and his wolf buddies are out cruising the forest, as you do, when they sense a Disturbance In the Forest *cough force cough* and decide to check it out. Upon smelling some humans they’ve collectively termed “those fuckers,” they decide to fulfill the threat they issued at their last meeting and be done with the problem.

Namely, they gave Rumlow and his crew the same ultimatum that he’d given Steve, except that Rumlow had a history of terrorizing and killing everything (and everyone) in the forest, whereas Steve just wanted to protect people.

They herd the horses and hunting dogs to the edge of the forest near the town, leave the bodies in a pile, and are ready to continue on, except...there’s still one human somewhere in the forest. And these shitty scumbags had been following their trail. Time to figure out what’s up.

They reach the edge of a clearing, and all the wolves sort of melt out of the undergrowth at the edges, while Bucky, in his big fucking white wolf form walks out to the edge, transforms, and then stalks out in his best Murder Strut (TM).

And yes, this is “built like a brick shithouse” Bucky from Civil War, and yes, he is entirely naked, and still covered in blood, so Steve’s brain goes immediately offline.

Steve backs up until his back hits a large tree, waving a large knife at this seriously threatening (but hot) impossible fucking being, because werewolves do not exist. Right?

Right?!?

Bucky just casually pins Steve’s arms over his head, disarms Steve and tosses the knife away (without even looking where he tosses it, which Steve finds inexplicably really hot), and leans in to smell him.

Now, when Bucky reached the clearing, he recognized from the scent that this was a potential mate for him - and possibly a very strong mate too. Mates, in their world, are more “you are compatible with this person” than “this is the only person you can ever love EVER” and the strength of the potential bond can vary as well. (Just like some relationships are stronger than others.) But basically, Bucky realizes that whoever’s in the clearing, they could be good together. They could be goddamn AMAZING. And yeah, he wants to smell some more of that.

Steve is...more than a little overwhelmed by suddenly having a giant wolf turn into the hottest man he’s ever seen, who’s now pinning him to a tree and huffing him, but he does manage “Natalia.”

At which Bucky choke-grunts. The fuck?

“I have a message for Natalia. In the white wolf’s pack. From Peg-from Margaret Elizabeth.”

Vaguely grumpy at not getting to nose up his mate, but also very curious as to where this is going, (because how does this tiny gorgeous human know his second or her mate? Yes, Natalia is Bucky’s second-in-command), Bucky finally lifts his head. “I am the White Wolf, and I speak for Natalia. What is her message?”

Steve stares up the man towering over him and snarls, “Pay. Your. Debt.”

Bucky grins, slow and wicked. “Gladly. But not here.” He steps back, lowing Steve’s arms, and then...somehow, suddenly, Steve’s arms are around his shoulders, his legs are lifted around his waist, and Bucky is cradling Steve to his chest while telling his pack “bring his things.”

And then everyone is racing through the forest, faster than Steve has ever seen anyone move before and what the fuck did Peggy get him into?

After an hour or two of running (being carried) through the forest, Steve finally puts his head down on White Wolf’s shoulder, tucks his face into his neck, and tries to rest. He didn’t get any sleep, he spent the whole night hiking through dark, unfamiliar forest, he’s pretty sure he can stop worrying about Rumlow hunting him down - in the most literal sense, yikes - he’s tired.

Also, being carried is kind of soothing. There’s a rhythm to it. And wolfman smells nice. Mm...

Bucky is perfectly happy to have his newly-found mate fall asleep in his arms, and he’s very loathe to put him down once the pack reaches their den. (I still can’t decide what I want the den complex to look like. A castle? A big house? A fort? Maybe it’s a cave system that has been smoothed out and built into like hobbit holes. Or the Holds and Weyrs from Pern.)

But he finally decides to lay Steve down, feather-soft, into his own bed and tuck him in warmly. After all, Natalia vowed to repay Margaret in kind for what she’d done to help her, and part of that had been sharing her bed. There are guest rooms, but they’re so far away. This is closer. Warmer. More convenient. Better for his mate. And he’ll explain everything as soon as he wakes.

Steve does wake up and demand all the details EVER, as well as actually meeting Natalia and hearing how she knows Peggy (to make sure that this “white wolf” isn’t making shit up). Bucky gladly complies. Natalia is more salty about it, but she deals.

Then Bucky commences doting on his new mate. While trying not to come on too strong. Mostly failing. He...may have left out the bit about being able to smell that they’re mates. So he’s just trying to keep Steve interested enough in werewolf life/forest life to stay there and not, say, ask to go back to the human world (or back to his town even) since Rumlow and his men are dead.

Steve finds everything fascinating, and since Bucky always responds immediately to his cues - verbal and nonverbal! - he doesn’t have a problem being wooed. He might even, actually, like to be wooed a bit faster. Or more carnally. Not that he knows how to hint that.

Peggy eventually shows up sometime and is cute with Natalia, aka Natasha.

Steve slowly settles into life as the Kept Human Boy of the most badass werewolf alpha ever, who loves his tiny feral little mate and WILL tear your throat out if you even look at him funny.

#stucky #steve/bucky #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #shrinkyclinks #my writing #original post #fanfic #catscraftsandcommentary writes

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rockhoochie · 4 years

Text

Title: Anything and Everything

Link: On AO3

Square Filled: Tongue Fucking

Pairing: Dean Winchester/YN

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Fingering, Oral Sex (M/F), Tongue Fucking, Squirting, Unprotected Sex (seriously, just be safe), Marijuana, mention of prescription narcotic.

WC: 8,290

Created For @spnkinkbingo

A/N: Well...this escalated quickly! The story is told in alternating POV between Dean and Reader - Reader’s is regular text, Dean’s is italicized. I debated on splitting this into parts due to the word length, but...well, I’m impatient, and I’m really excited to share this with all of you! Plus, I think it flows better if it’s read all in one sitting 😉

This fic is dedicated to @fangirlxwritesx67 - remember that drabble prompt you sent me like, two months ago, that was Dean and reader laying on a comfortable floor, listening to music, and he starts playing with her hair, and they have a first kiss? Well, here’s your drabble 😄 Thank you for the inspiration!

And thank you everyone for reading! Drop me a line, let me know what you think - I love hearing from you ❤ ~Sarah

(’Lay Lady Lay’ music and lyrics © Bob Dylan, 1969)

I set a kettle on the stove to boil.

Thank god Donna has this place, and thank god that we were so close. We’ve been here for days now, nursing our wounds: Sam had a bruised rib and a nasty gash on his torso. Dean had a concussion and a dislocated shoulder. I'd been flung against a wall - I don’t remember much because I'd been knocked out hard, unconscious for hours - but by some miracle managed to come out of it with only a few ugly bruises and a migraine. Not our worst injuries by a longshot, but we’d figured since we had a home base, we may as well take advantage of it. We’d packed up yesterday, planning on heading out this morning, but an incoming snowstorm kept us from venturing out - it was half a day's drive, and even Dean couldn’t deny that the Impala doesn’t handle best on icy roads.

I like it here. It’s so quiet. And dark. No sirens or traffic, no various and questionable motel noises. No glare of city lights marring the night sky. The only light outside is coming from the moon, the only sounds are the ones I make. I look out the window, wondering when the storm will move in - the moon is full, its brightness gleaming off acres of driven snow that glints and glimmers against an indigo sky. Normally, a stillness like this is a warning, a silence this pure a screaming harbinger - but I don’t feel any threat here. No forebodings, no gut-nettling intuitions.

It’s peaceful. I’m peaceful. If I ever leave this life behind me, if I’m lucky enough to dodge all the bullets and claws and teeth and blades, I’ll settle somewhere up here, find a small house on a lake that’s tucked away from the rest of the world. He’d love that. And we could just be, live out our days and years together, work stupid pedestrian jobs to pay stupid everyday bills. I’ll plant a garden and he can restore classic cars while we raise a family and just...live...

The kettle sings and hisses, and outside, snow begins to fall in fat, feathery clusters. I pour the boiling water into a handmade, slightly lopsided clay mug that proudly proclaims “I Love Auntie Donna” in a childish script, dip and drown my tea bag, and shuffle back to my spot in the living room - my little nest in a gorgeous, hand-crafted rocking chair next to the fireplace. Donna told me her grandfather had made it, and every time I look at it, it astounds me that another human being created something so beautiful with his bare hands. Every nitch, nock, and spindle carefully considered and meticulously carved. Some of the stain has faded, and patches of lacquer have dulled, but that only adds to its beauty - you can tell this chair was loved.

The fire I’d built earlier is down to embers. I sit and stare into the blazing coals, sipping chamomile and scrying for answers to questions I don’t know. The room is warm, but I need something over my shoulders, need the weight of something wrapped around me. There’s a flannel draped over the back of the rocking chair...one of Dean’s flannels. And it’s my favorite of his, the dark red one that brings out his freckles and the deep jade of his eyes. I take it and slip my arms through the sleeves. It smells like him...like whiskey and wintergreen, leather and cotton, copper and cordite...

I catch myself before I start to fall too far. I need to pack up these thoughts and put them away where they belong before they start making me hopeful again.

I used to let myself get lost in them, let myself wander through giddy daydreams and float among sultry fantasies...I’d close my eyes at night and pretend Dean was by my side, just an arms reach away. I’d imagine it was his fingers pumping inside of me instead of mine, hear his voice in my head as I made myself come. Or I’d simply think about spending a day with him - walking through a park in autumn, stargazing on a summer night, cuddling and kissing on a rainy spring day. But after a while, when I’d accidentally found myself in love with him, I’d put all those dreams on the shelf; I'd only take them down when I was at my lowest and loneliest, grasping for a reason to keep going. There were a few times I’d thought about telling him, making a move...but Dean Winchester doesn’t need another complication. None of us do.

~*~

The shitty thing about being used to four hours of sleep is that when I actually get the chance for more, my brain doesn’t get on board. I came up here a couple of hours ago and I can’t seem to keep my eyes closed. Just keep staring at the ceiling and thinking about things I shouldn’t...

I love this place. It’s cold outside and the wind’s howlin’, but it’s damn cozy in here. If Hell ever gets a blast of Minnesota weather - and I can pack it in, leave the life - I’m getting a place like this. Hell, I’d build it myself, make it just the way we want it. We could move out here, where it’s almost backcountry, leave all the bad times behind us. It’s gonna be on a lake though - I’ll get a boat and go fishing all the time, teach our kids all the tricks to hooking the big ones...

Jesus, knock it off, Winchester. Like she’d let you screw up her life more than you already have.

YN's moving around downstairs. I should see what she’s up to, see if she’s feelin’ okay or wants any company...nah, I should just leave her alone. She got her bell rung bad the other day and it scared the shit outta me...I kinda lost it and yelled at her like a total asshole. I don’t get why I do that. Gun to my head, I guess it’s cause it seems simpler that way - rather piss her off and keep her from getting too close, instead of admitting out loud how I feel about her and watch her run for the hills.

She was in and out of it for almost two days, and I’d stayed with her as much as I could, at least till Sam would bark at me to eat or sleep. She’d used herself as bait - again- and I fucking hate it when she puts herself in the line of fire like that. I can’t stand it when she gets hurt, and this last time was...pretty bad. But she’s stubborn as hell, can’t be talked out of anything she’s already set her mind to. Actually thought she was gonna punch me when I got in her face, but I escaped with only a “fuck off, Dean”.

And I suppose those are some of the reasons my dumb ass went and fell ass over tea kettle for her - her grit and her style, the way she can dish it as good she takes it, how she handles either a gun or a blade with this almost unnatural grace... one day, I watched her make salt rounds for an hour and it was one of the most spectacular things I’d ever seen - she was in this total zone, her forehead creased in concentration, and lips mouthing the words to a song I can't hear, growling out the cutest “fuck” or “son of a bitch” if she messed up.

She’s the best part of my day - whether it’s seein’ her all cranky and bleary-eyed in the morning, passed out over a pile of books in the library, or bent over a pool table while she hustles townies - I can’t think of a better sight. And her laugh is goddamn music to ears. Her eyes, her smile...her anything and everything keeps me going. I can be two seconds away from checkin’ out, but one look at her reminds me that it's all worth it, worth every drop of blood, sweat, and tears.

Christ, just thinking about her like this is making my dick twitch. Doesn’t help that she laid in this bed the last few days because I can still smell her. Her perfume or soap or whatever she uses is fucking delicious, a mix of spice and spring flowers and brown sugar that sticks to her skin and practically makes my mouth water, makes me wanna taste her…

Fuck, now I’m hard. I think about jerking off for a minute, but instead I think about that time Cas showed up in my car naked and covered with bees and swing my legs off the bed. No sense in just layin’ here, thinkin’ about things that’ll never happen. I grab my duffel and pull out my flask (not much left in there, maybe two or three shots) and some clothes. Gonna check out the room down the hall that’s got one of those old school record players. Maybe some good tunes will calm me down, get my mind off things. Off of her. I turn to leave but then I remember- there’s a little something in my bag I’ve been hangin' on to. I dig through all my crap and find it in the inside pocket. Awesome. Screw consciousness, I’m gettin’ high.

~*~

I hear footfalls against the ceiling - one of them’s awake. It could be Sam, but I know it’s Dean - I know his stride, his tread. And I also know Sam conceded to the pain and downed an extra dose of Percocet, so he’s all but dead to the world for the next six hours.

We all have problems sleeping, each have our lion’s share of blood-and- gore-laden nightmares, but Dean’s always seem worse. They take a bigger toll on him. He wakes up screaming more often, drenched in a cold sweat with his sheets flung from the bed. Sometimes I hear him shouting in the middle of the night and it breaks my fucking heart.

Maybe I’ll go see if he’s alright, if there’s anything I can do for him... I hope he’s not still pissed at me for what happened on the hunt. Sam told me it was just because I’d scared him, because he cares about me, that it’s just easier for Dean to blow up instead of break down. But dammit I wish he’d open up, just a little. There were a couple of nights he and I had spent just hanging out together, nights where whiskey was flowing and secrets were shared...but right when it seemed like he was going to let me in on what was really going on in his head, he’d stopped himself, drained his glass, and said goodnight.

I know what he’s been through. Or rather, I know of what he's been through. It would be sacrilege for me to even try to begin to empathize. I know about things he’s done, his devils and deeds that are unforgivable in most circles but necessary in ours.

Dean is a good man. Everything he’s done has been a labor of love, a sacrifice. I know he doubts himself constantly and I know he hurts, vehemently and deeply. But if he’d just let me in, if I could love him the way he deserves, I’d do anything and everything I could to take all that pain and somehow dull it. Sometimes I can actually get a smile out of him and it’s one of the most marvelous things I’ve ever seen - when the corners of his green eyes crinkle and his teeth peek out from behind those ridiculously perfect lips...god, it’s beautiful. He is beautiful, inside and out and I wish he could see that.

Now I’m wide awake. My tea’s gone cold, and I’ve spent too much time wallowing in these thoughts that shouldn’t be wallowed in, and I’m not quite sure what to do with myself. I glance out a window and watch the now steadily falling snow, listen to the wind whip and whistle through the frigid night air. Sitting here in the dark alone with all of these thoughts has become too lonely. There’s a room upstairs, a little den with a couple of chairs and one of those huge console record players...I’ll grab that book I’ve been meaning to read and hang out in there, let some music fill the quiet and the story busy my brain.

I take my mug to the kitchen, place it in the sink, and pull Dean’s flannel around me tighter. Hopefully, he won’t mind if I borrow it for the night. This way, I can be close to him without ruining things.

Music echoes down the staircase and I recognize the tune as I get closer to its source. Bob Dylan. Nashville Skyline, I think. Dim, golden light beckons me to follow and leads me to a doorway. I look down and find him lying on the floor, with his ankles crossed, and one arm bent behind his head, blowing a plume of smoke toward the ceiling.

“Hey,” I whisper, and he turns his face toward me, looking up at me with mellow eyes and an easygoing smile.

“Hey yourself. Can’t sleep?”

I shake my head. “Thought I’d come in here and check out Donna’s music collection. But I see you had the same idea, so -”

“So? Come on in, stay awhile.” He pats the floor beside him, then holds up the joint fastened between his fingers. “It’d be a lot cooler if you did.”

I should really go, leave him to his own devices, avoid torturing myself. But before reason has any chance to intervene, I find myself lying next to him. He’s more of a drug to me than the smoke I’m sucking through my lips. I want to stay away, I should stay away, but I can’t fucking help myself. So like a good little junkie I give in, tell myself this is no big deal, that I can go back to not thinking about him tomorrow.

~*~

I’m so glad she decided to stay.

I don’t know if it’s the weed or the cold, dark night or what it is, but when I saw her standing there, all I wanted was to just have her near me. Even if all I get to do is hear her voice or just feel her presence next to me...well, I’ll take it. It’s not like this anything new, we’ve hung out like this plenty of times...though it’s times like this when I get so comfortable around her, that I really gotta reign it in and make sure I keep my damn mouth shut. And it never seems to get easier - like right now. She’s humming along to the music, making up her own words here and there and playing air guitar and it’s friggin’ adorable. She really is one in a million and if things were different, I’d hold on to her and never let go.

Somethin’ Sam said a while back pops into my head - somethin’ about finding someone who knows the life - and for a second I think maybe things don’t need to be different. Maybe we could make it work. But then I remember I’m toxic. Even for a hunter I drink too much, have too many fucked up thoughts, done way too many fucked up things. No, she deserves someone good, someone better than me. I can’t even believe she’s stuck around for this long. Sometimes I just look at her and wanna scream, “run”, before she gets hurt. I’ve accepted that I’ll never get the happily ever after but she shouldn’t. She can still get out, have a real life, meet someone who’ll give her everything and make her happy. Never in my life will I be able to give that to anyone - it just ain’t in the cards for me.

Then she looks at me, passes me the joint with this sweet smile, and all those thoughts just fade away. And I wonder - like I wonder almost every night - how her lips would feel against mine.

Sam keeps tellin’ me that I’m an idiot, that she really likes me, that I should go for it. And for a minute, I actually think about it, cause the way she’s lookin’ at me right now is downright incredible - she actually looks happy to be here, with me.

Is she?

Truth is I'm selfish. And a bit of a coward. I'm too afraid to love anyone because I'm too afraid to lose them. Everyone I've ever lost took a piece of me with them and I ain't got much left. If anything ever happened to YN, I’d be done. She’d take the last of me.

I’m feelin’ a little goofy. Not stoned or anything, but definitely running out of fucks to give. Then I glance at her and notice she’s wiggling out of her button-down.. .my button-down. She rolls it up, tucks it beneath her head, and stretches back out on the floor. Her tank top is creeping up over her stomach a little bit, and it’s stretched tight over her tits and she’s got nothin’ on underneath…

I swallow hard and bite down on my lip cause I’m this close to just flat-out telling her I love her.

~*~

Part of me wants to tell Donna she desperately needs to redecorate this room...but the other, the part of me that's stretched out on the floor, listening to classic 33s and getting high with Dean, is perfectly content with the old-school kitsch. The shag carpeting we’re laying on is surprisingly comfortable; The color (what is this, ocher? Chartreuse?) - shouldn’t be allowed to exist, but the long polyester threads sprawling beneath us are soothing in a way. The light is low, flickering from two vintage oil lamps that stand on each end of the console, and casts shadows beneath its warm glow.

Dean looks like he’s about to say something, but the last song has ended and skipped into a static scratch. He hoists himself up to flip the record, and I perch on my elbows and just...admire him. He’s different here. I’ve seen him lounge around the bunker during downtime but tonight he actually seems powered-down, carefree. There's something almost magical about what the calm does to him, how it lifts the weight he carries. His shoulders are relaxed, his movements languid, unhurried and uncalculated, eyes bright and serene. And he looks so fucking good, wearing a well-worn and well-fitting Zeppelin t-shirt that he must've had since before he’d built up his muscle. Softened and faded jeans cover his bowed legs and hang low on his hips, and I don’t think he’s got anything on underneath because I get a glimpse at the cut of his abs and...

I wish I could tell him how amazing he is, how much he makes me smile, how much I love him; I wish I could show him, hold him, kiss him and just love him with everything I have...

The music starts back up and oh my god… he’s dancing. It’s really more of a slow-motion Elvis maneuver, but it’s the closest thing to dancing I’ve ever seen Dean do. Every tick of his hips pulls the fabric of his jeans perfectly across his ass, and I shouldn't be thinking about him this way but he’s just so mesmerizing…

And then he turns and faces me with his best impression of his best Bob Dylan.

Lay lady lay,

Lay across my big brass bed

Lay lady lay,

Lay across my big brass bed...

I throw my head back and laugh, not because he’s being ridiculous, but because he’s being so goddamn perfect. And the joy I thought I’d lost the day I cocked my first shotgun is bubbling up and making me giddy. Or it’s him. Or it could just be the pot. This is a side of him that no one gets to see, not even his brother. I can give him this, a place to let go of it all and just be Dean Winchester for a little while. He’s easy here, content, and he actually seems happy that I decided to stay.

Is he?

He claims his spot beside me again, settling in just a little closer. He's still singing to me and I'm still giggling…

Whatever colors you have in your mind

I show them to you and you see them shine

Lay lady lay

Lay across my big brass bed

Somehow his hand found mine, and he's tracing my knuckles with one calloused fingertip. I take it in mine and glance down at the connection, marveling at how small my hand is in his but how perfectly it fits. His hand is so gentle, warm and solid...it’s hard to believe how often his palm has bled, how many triggers his fingers have pulled, how many bones his fist has shattered.

He shifts, rolls to his side, and gazes down at me while he keeps up his serenade.

Stay lady stay

Stay with your man a while

Until the break of day

Let me see you make him smile

I grin as he brushes my hair from my face, tucks a few strands behind my ear, winds a section around his fingers. Then I see something in his face that’s never been there before - a shade of color reflecting from his eyes that's deep and rich and vibrant…

His clothes are dirty but his, his hands are clean

And you are the best thing that he's ever seen

Stay lady stay

Stay with your man a while

The way he's muttering the lyrics...it’s so sincere, like he means every single word. The warmth of his body is just out of my reach, and the low timbre of his voice begins to resonate through my veins, nestling into a locked corner of my soul.

Why wait any longer for the world to begin

You can have your cake and eat it too

Why wait any longer for the one you love

When he's standing in front of you

He’s still playing with my hair, pushing any stray strands from my face…my eyes flutter closed and his touch becomes something warmer, softer. Delicate, intentional kisses pepper my cheekbones, my temples, my forehead...

Lay lady lay

Lay across my big brass bed

Stay lady stay

Stay while the night is still ahead

I feel his thumb and forefinger catch and tilt my chin, and I open my eyes. He’s so close now, close enough that if I rolled on my side I’d roll into him, that if I lifted my head just an inch...

I long to see you in the morning light

I long to reach for you in the night

Stay lady stay

Stay while the night is still ahead

The silent formation of the last few lyrics are the first thing I feel and then his lips are fully on mine, barely grasped between his and I've never felt something so tender and genuine carry itself with so much force. He's cradling my cheek and his kiss feels tentative, uncertain - but at the same time teeming with need, as though he’s waiting for my approval while praying with everything he’s got that I’ll grant it. So I lean into him, slide my fingers along the short hairs on the back of his neck, and pull him closer.

~*~

Maybe it was the weed, the music, the way the light reflected off her… whatever it was, it just took over. She looked too soft and too damn perfect, layin’ there and smiling that smile. And I thought about the other day when she was lying unconscious on that blood-stained, concrete floor, and the way my guts twisted at the thought of losing her…

I just couldn’t do it anymore.

I couldn't go one more night without telling her exactly how much she means to me. And it was a cheesy way to do it, singing to her like that, but Bob knew all the right things to say.

I actually can't even believe she's kissing me right now, that she pulled me close and wrapped her arms around me. Part of me thinks she's nuts - she's gotta know I got nothing to offer her, that she deserves so much better- better than me, better than this life. I can’t promise her anything - can’t promise a future or comfort... but if she lets me, I can promise to love her, to kiss her with everything I’ve got every chance I get, to hold her close and protect her... even if it’s just for tonight.

She makes a little sound and arches her body into mine. I don’t know how far this is gonna go, but I’ll take my time getting there. This may just be a fluke, a one-time thing. Or maybe it’s not, maybe I’m the luckiest bastard on the fucking planet...either way, I want to savor every second.

I keep the kisses slow, open-mouthed and gentle. But then I feel her tongue slide along my lower lip and I can’t help but slip mine against hers. This feels so good, just kissing her like this, tasting her and feeling her beneath me. She’s running her fingers through my hair, rolling her hips every now and then, sliding her hand down my side and across my back. I kiss her harder, deeper. She’s moving more, breathing faster, making these quiet little whimpers. I break away and look at her, smoothing some of her hair away from her beautiful face. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are half-closed and right at this moment she could ask me to shoot the moon and I’d kill it dead.

Her hand brushes my cheek and she pushes into me, silently begging me to keep going.

“You sure?” I whisper in her ear, kissing the space just behind it.

She nods and mutters “please,” and I move my lips down her neck. Her body trembles when I land on the spot where her neck curves into her shoulder - I give her skin there a little nip and she gasps... fuck, I need to hear that sound over and over. I’m gonna map her entire body, figure out just the right way to touch her. Run my hands over every point, plane and curve, find every spot that makes her moan and quiver and sigh. I wanna drown, lose myself in her. I want her to know that I know how special she is, that I get how lucky I am to be with her tonight, that I understand what she’s giving me. I kneel between her legs, take hold of her wrists, and slowly push her arms above her head.

I need to see and feel and taste every single inch of her and I’m not gonna be quick about it.

~*~

First kisses are usually awkward. Heads bump, teeth collide, hands float and fumble while they try to find a comfortable place to land.

So I don’t know if it’s dumb luck, or just that I’ve practiced this so many times in my mind, but we find a rhythm instantly and we fit, like we’ve known all along exactly how to kiss each other. It’s so perfect that I almost laugh out loud, dumbfounded that I ever thought that we shouldn’t do this. Our kiss is absolute, passionate and all-consuming, and sending every neuron in my brain firing into a tailspin.

I never want to stop kissing him.

My arms are above my head and he's teasing me, softly kneading my breasts over my top, flicking at the stiff peaks of my nipples. I lower my hands to pull at our shirts, to let him know I need to feel his touch on my bare skin, but he gently curls his fingers around my wrists again and guides them back up.

"Let me," he murmurs, sliding his palm down my breastbone, over my stomach and finally beneath my top. “Just... let me…”

Right as he cups my breast and traps my nipple between his fingers he’s kissing me again, swallowing every sound he’s pulling from me. I melt into him, into his kiss, into his touch. He pushes my tank top over my head and then his lips are on my neck, my collarbone, my shoulders. My forearms and fingers are dotted with kisses, along with my hips and navel, and then he’s peeling off my leggings, never once taking his eyes off of me. I’m completely bare beneath him and he’s biting his lower lip, running his hands from each of my ankles to my calves, my knees, my thighs...he looks as though he can’t decide if he wants to ravish me or revere me.

He settles for a smooth, easy assault, touching and kissing me everywhere, lingering whenever I cry out or sigh. I’ve never felt like this, never felt so...worshipped. His fingers and lips glide along my body as though I’m a delicate thing - carefully, thoroughly, and completely. My skin feels taut, chilled and tingling, but my blood is pumping hot and fast beneath. And when his tongue swirls around my nipple, and he takes it between his teeth, I swear to god I’d come right now if he told me to.

I know I’m wet, I can feel it, hot and dripping and my cunt is clenching, clit throbbing with a deep, insistent ache that almost hurts. Dean is everywhere, exploring and marking and claiming, until I hear myself begging, pleading...I need to feel him inside of me. I need him to unravel me, to make me come undone.

~*~

The way she looks right now is so goddamn glorious, she doesn’t seem real. She’s ruddy and glowing, twisting beneath me, chanting my name and begging with kiss-swollen lips. I let my hand slide between her legs, run a finger between her folds and christ - she is so fucking wet. She lifts her knees and spreads wide open for me and I dip just the tip of one finger inside. She ruts forward and I push two fingers all the way into her tight, hot pussy and fucking hell, she feels smoother than silk. I keep it slow, steady, loving the way her eyes roll back when I flick my thumb over her clit, and the way her tongue darts between her parted lips as I twist my fingers inside her cunt, searching for that spot...

Her eyes go wide when I find it, and her neck arches back and her hands fist the carpet. She’s quietly moaning and cursing and pushing herself down, fucking herself on my fingers. I catch her scent and some animal urge takes over me; I pull my fingers from her, bring them to my mouth and suck them clean. She's like fucking nectar and I’ve never tasted anything so good and all I want is more…

I pull my shirt over my head, push my jeans off, press her thighs as far open as she can spread them - god, her pussy is perfect, so pink and slick - and take a long, slow taste. She moans, low and long, breathing out a desperate “fuck, yes…” as she cards her fingers through my hair. And I growl, I fucking growl like a goddamn dog, and drive my tongue into her dripping hole. She hooks one leg over my shoulder and tilts her hips and I grab on to her ass and hold her up. I lick her deep, thrusting and flicking and swirling my tongue, filling my mouth with the flavor of her, then I peer up at her and...My. Fucking. God, she’s a vision. She’s shaking, twitching and gasping when my nose bumps her clit...

I slip my tongue from her cunt, ease her down and spread her open with my fingers, lapping at her folds, her entrance, her clit. Then I take that sensitive little bud between my lips and suck and holy shit, the fucking sound she makes...I gotta make her come. I need to see it, feel it, hear it.

But first I drag my mouth up her body, stopping to nip at her neck before landing on her lips. She licks into my mouth instantly, sucks at my lower lip, pushes her tongue against mine and I can tell she’s about to lose her mind.

~*~

I'd been in more than one motel room next to Dean's. And I'd always rolled my eyes, convinced that whatever girl he'd brought back with him was just putting on a show, playing porn star with their over-the-top wailing.

They weren't screaming loud enough.

“Can you taste yourself, baby?” he purrs between kisses, "You taste how fuckin' delectable your pussy is? So hot and sweet...” and I moan into his mouth. He slips his fingers back inside and curls them, nudging my sweet spot. “Want you come, YN…wanna make you fall apart..."

I'm biting my lip to keep from crying out too loudly, stifling the urge to scream because the pleasure he's giving me is so complete and consuming. I swear he knows my body better than I do. He's found places on me and inside of me that feel like they've never been touched until tonight. I'd thought maybe I was hypersensitive, so eager and thrilled that this was finally happening, but no - everything he does is deliberate. He finds a spot and knows whether to bite or kiss, push or pull, grind or slide, when to do it all at once or not at all. Every touch, every stroke sparks my nerves and ignites my cells and I'm down to my last fragments of control. I am utterly at his mercy, reduced to a writhing, wanton mess as his fingers slide inside of me, hitting my g-spot with incredible marksmanship. Then his lips land on my clit again, and...oh God. Oh my fucking god…

It starts in my belly, a molten heat simmering in my core, wavering a scant wavelength away from a fever pitch. It’s hot and thrumming and growing in speed and intensity until it can't be contained anymore. It bolts through me, hot and hard like an electric current and I go rigid as I come, the torrents of bliss saturating every molecule of my body. And then Dean is up on his knees, three fingers deep in my sodden cunt, his other hand laying flat on my lower stomach and muttering "Come on baby,...let go…let go for me…" Either I'm still coming or I'm coming again, hard and completely, and a quiet pull snaps from someplace deep inside... I completely shatter, so stunned with the sensation that I open my mouth in a silent scream as my cum splashes against his hand.

~*~

I tuck back down between her legs and softly lap at the stray drops sticking to her thighs. I’m about to go crazy - I’m hungry, starving for her, and I don’t think I’ve ever been this fucking hard in my life.

I lay beside her, trace shapes on her collarbone, and watch her as she comes down - the way her tits rise and fall with every breath, the way her throat flexes when she swallows, the way the lamplight dances off her sweat-sheened skin. Her eyes are closed, mouth slightly opened, and her tongue sneaks out every now and then across her lips. Of all the ways I’ve ever seen YN, this has to be the absolute, bar-none best. She’s like a living statue or a painting, some kind of work of art. A goddamn masterpiece.

I don’t want to stop touching her. Right now, I don’t even think I could. She shudders and opens her eyes when I gently trace a wet finger along her cheek. Then she grabs my wrist, pulls my hand to her mouth, and wraps her lips around the fingers I used to fuck her. She sucks and licks, and all I can do is groan as my fingers slide along her tongue. I gotta distract myself or I’m gonna shoot off right now like a teenager…

I take my fingers back and move to hover over her, and catch her lips in mine again. Kissing her is so...it just feels right. Like hers are the only lips I ever need to kiss again. If this is all we do for the rest of the night - hell, for the rest of our lives, I’d be one hundred percent happy. But as we kiss, she starts to whimper, moan...and then I feel her fingertips skitter down my torso and brush against my cock. And I can’t help it, I grunt out a “fuck, YN” and chase her touch. She drags her thumb, then her palm against the tip of my dick, smears precome around my shaft then wraps me in her fingers. I bite my lip and rock into her fist while she strokes me, trying like hell not to lose it any time she gives the slightest squeeze. I can feel her breath on my face and I’m starting to fall into the rhythm, getting lost in her touch and the heat of her body beneath me…

Then in the flash of a second, she hooks a leg around my waist, shifts her weight and turns, and has me on my back. She's straddling me, and I watch her slick pussy drag along my cock while my hands slide up her thighs and grip her hips. My eyes wander, slowly, up her body, marveling at her shape and color and just the mere sight of her swaying over me. My eyes meet hers and then...I'm trapped. Hypnotized. Being here with this woman is like nothing I've ever seen or felt before, and there's some part of me that knows I'll never feel this way about anyone ever again.

~*~

My gaze meets his and I'm struck...with exactly what, I don't know. It's thrilling and terrifying at the same time but most of all it's certain; This is exactly where I'm meant to be, astride this beautiful man who’s lying beneath me, stripped of all his layers, and I can feel the moment he surrenders. His mind and his body, his control and his chaos, his pleasure and his pain, all together unfettered and unfurled.

Potent and fervent primal desire sets in and overtakes me; I want to claim him, feel his skin between my teeth, taste the salt of his sweat.

I shift to my knees, slot myself between his open legs and lean forward, pressing myself against the solid heat of his bare chest, and catch his lips in a quick but ravenous kiss. He tries to chase it but I pull away, letting one hand slide up his sternum, splaying my fingers over his throat. I fist his hard, dripping cock in my free hand and stroke. He breathes out my name with a curse and his head hits the floor as my mouth latches on to his neck.

Releasing my hold on him, my lips move from his neck to his collarbone, down and across his chest, following the blueprint of bruises, scratches, and scars until my nose brushes against the thatch of dark hair between his legs.

I flatten my tongue and lick his thick cock from base to tip, then take just the crown between my lips and gently suck. The taste of his precome fills my mouth and he moans and trembles, exhaling a long, deeply held breath as he laces his fingers in my hair. I take him all the way then, as far as I can, until I feel him hit the back of my throat. I hold him there and swallow, let him feel the soft flex around his shaft. I slide up and down slowly, stroking the inches that can’t slide down my throat with one hand, and cup his balls in the other. He whimpers, high-pitched and desperate, and the mere sound of that sends drops of arousal trickling down my thighs while my cunt clenches and quivers. His grip on my head tightens and I keep steady, caressing and taking him deep, and let the tip of one finger press against his perineum.

His body tenses and I peer up at him - the muscles of his abs are twitching, his neck is arched back, the tendons there strained and taut, jaw clenched, and teeth bared...he’s holding back, trying not to come. He hisses out a breath and gently tugs my hair, urging me to let him slip from my mouth. “Fuck, YN”, he breathes, and I walk my hands alongside of him, gliding my body against his and brush his lips with a gossamer kiss.

We both breathe hard, panting, fingers tangling in each other’s hair, hips rolling, hearts racing. His hard, thick length is sliding against the soaked lips of my pussy, the head of his cock nudging my throbbing clit. I look into the dark forest of his eyes, he places his hand on my cheek and suddenly there’s a surge - a swift and commanding energy that surrounds us, tangible and unconditional.

Our gaze locks as I raise my hips. He grips his cock, lines up at my entrance, and I sink down slowly, relishing every inch that stretches me open, my moan echoing his until I’m completely filled with him.

~*~

It’s almost too much.

She’s so warm, so wet, and so fucking tight...I swear I blackout for a second. It’s taking everything I got to hold on, and every ounce of control I can muster when she starts to move.

She’s groaning and sighing, and the way she’s breathing my name is like a siren’s song. I let her set the pace, tilt my hips to push into her as she rides me, find her hand and lace my fingers through hers. She fucks me slow, lets her head fall back and lays her free hand on my chest. Reaching up, I slide my hand between her tits, pinch and tug one nipple between my thumb and forefinger, and she lets out the most beautiful cry I’ve ever heard. And that sound wakes up the damn animal in me and I thrust into her, as deep as I can. I want her to fucking explode, feel her cunt throbbing tight around my dick and soaking me with her cum.

She pulls her hand from mine and moves it between her legs. I pinch her nipple again and she gasps as her body trembles, and I know she’s getting close. “Gonna come for me, YN?” I snarl, and she stills - her head falls back again and her fingers work faster, and I’m so caught up in her that I just start babbling. “Fuck yeah, YN, fucking come all over my cock…that’s my girl...” I pound into her faster as she gets tighter and wetter and then I feel it, her walls clenching and her cum dripping, her body finally going rigid as her orgasm tears through her.

I slow down and ease her through it, trace my fingertips over the curves of her glowing body and take in how absolutely stunning she is right now - her hair all mussed and tangled, her skin flushed pink, her lips bright red and swollen. Her eyes open and she grins down at me, the lazy roll of her hips picking up speed and I just...fucking...can't anymore.

I throw my arms around her and pull her against me, kissing her sweet lips as I roll us over. She arches into me, takes my face in her hands and purrs "...want it all inside me...I wanna feel your cum dripping from my cunt…" and holy goddamn shit, I'm gonna give her everything she wants.

She raises her knees and hooks her legs around mine, digs her heels into the back of my thighs, squeezes the walls of her pussy around me and I’m gone - all I feel is her silky wet heat, and all I can smell and taste is her sex and I drive in, fast and steady until I can’t hang on anymore. I let go and my world stops, every living fiber of my being at a standstill as I come with a shout. I thrust hard and deep and spill every drop inside of her, pumping her full as she fingers herself to another climax.

I rest my forehead against hers as we both catch our breath. She curls one hand around my waist and the other around the back of my shoulder, raking her fingernails gently along the base of my scalp. I kiss her, soft and quick, and pull out of her, rolling on to my back while I gather her in my arms.

I glance out the window. The snow’s still falling and the sun’ll start rising soon. The record is long over and skipping, and YN grips me tighter and shivers. “Hey, sweetheart...let me up,” I say, kissing her forehead. She groans but lets me go and I sit up, lean down to kiss her again and hop to my feet. I lift the needle off the record and find a quilt that’s tossed over one of the chairs. YN's curled on her side, and I can hardly wait to get back to her. I cover us both, pull her close, and I stare at her until I just can't keep my eyes open anymore. We drift off in each other’s arms and the last thought I think is a little prayer - that this is how I’ll fall asleep every night for the rest of my life.

~*~

I can’t remember who said it first. All I know is that it was suddenly there, as though it always had been, free falling from our lips as we moved and moaned and came together.

We’d awoken several times, one of us roused by a kiss or touch from the other, neither of us willing nor able to let it end without making love one more time.

The storm has finally passed. Sunshine beams across an azure sky and reflects with blinding brilliance off acres of freshly fallen snow. I peek out the kitchen window and catch a glimpse of Sam standing near the garage, up to his knees in icy white powder.

I set a kettle on the stove to boil.

“Look like we ain’t goin' anywhere any time soon,” Dean says, coming up behind me and circling his arms around me. He moves my hair away from my neck and nips at the exposed skin.

I lean against him and cover his clasped hands with mine. “Can’t say I’m all that disappointed.”

He hums and kisses my cheek, then moves his hands to rest on the swell of my belly.

“Your old man's gonna teach you how to make the best snowballs, kid. Knock your Uncle Sammy right off his ass.”

I giggle and spin around, draping my arms over Dean’s shoulders. “Big talk coming from the man who got a black eye during last year’s snowball fight.”

“That was a fluke. She had an unfair advantage.”

"She's less than half your size!”

“Exactly.”

The door opens and Sam trudges in, shaking and stomping the snow from his legs, laughing as he's nearly knocked over by a whirling, bright pink dervish of weatherproof polyester.

Our daughter runs over to us, cheeks rosy and nose runny from the cold, her apple-green eyes as big as sledding saucers.

“Mommy, Daddy, guess what?! We had a snowball fight and I won!”

“Ho ho! That’s my awesome little girl!” Dean cheers, scooping her up in his arms and swinging her through the air. He rests her on his hip, and they trade an Eskimo kiss. “Let’s go tell your Auntie Eileen and your baby cousin all about how you kicked your Uncle Sammy’s a - uh, butt.”

He sets her down and helps her unlace her boots while she tosses her hat and mittens to the floor. “Yeah, I kicked his ass!” she beams, and the three supposed adults in the room have to bite back their laughter.

“Yep,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Definitely a Winchester. No two ways...”

Once she's out of her boots and winter overall, she runs to Sam, grabs his thumb with her small hand and pulls him through the kitchen. Her tiny footsteps pelt up the stairs, layered with gleeful giggles. Then, with all the vivacity of her five years, she shrieks in triumph, “I beat you again, Uncle Sammy! I win again!”

Dean grins wide, pulls me back into his arms, and catches my lips in a kiss that teems with the same intense passion as the first one he ever gave me. And in seconds I’m melting, into his kiss, into him... into memories of a snowstorm and shag carpeting, the smoke of purple kush and the flicker of oil lamp flames, the pedal steel guitar riff of Lay Lady Lay and Dean’s hip-swaying serenade...

He breaks away, brushes a section of my hair away from my brow and tucks it behind my ear. Then he looks into my eyes with unwavering conviction and repeats the promise he’s made me every day since he took my hand in his - a promise that's as simple as it is complex, selfish yet altruistic, sometimes dubious but always definite, and anything and everything in between:

“I love you, YN.”

~Fin

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franeridart · 6 years

Note

dude your recent demon & angel kiribaku art reminds me a little bit of aziraphale and crowley from good omens!! like aziraphale would be angrier as baku obvs but still i thought of it and it made me happy lol

A lot of people have mentioned that in the tags/under the post and that makes me!!! super happy!!!! Good Omens is one of my fav books and Crowley one of my fav characters, so the comment feels nice! I wasn’t specifically thinking about them when drawing it, but possibly a bit I was influenced anyway!! I wonder if what made everyone think about them was Kiri’s sunglasses? It’s not noticeable but I did give him glowing eyes too after all haha

Anon said:Have you ever thought about how op a TodoBakuDeku fusion would be? (if they could stay together that is lol!)

Never thought of it tbh, but at this point I’m pretty sure with a lot of work on Baku’s part they’d be able to stick together long enough! He wouldn’t find it comfortable but they’d def be one of the strongest three-people-fusions in the class - not the strongest, tho, since they all have the same sort of straightforward offensive power when it comes to their quirks, I think I could find three people who’d make a stronger fusion... Baku Kiri and Momo, for example, would be even more impressive imho! Since all their quirks cover a different field, and their minds/personalities mesh well enough to have the right amount of planning and instinctive reaction/self-preservation and safety of others/pride and self-doubt/lawfulness and chaotic acting and so on. Even just as a team, without counting them as a fusion, I think they’d make one of the most balanced ones! Compared to that putting Todo Deku and Baku in the same place is just a recipe for disaster more often than not haha

Anon said:no, i move slow, I wanna stop time, I'll sit here til I find the,, inspiration to draw,,,,,,

LMAO it’s a song about art block after all, I feel every word in it a whole damn lot hahaha

Anon said:Art block or no art block, I love everything you come up with 💜

AW HECK ANON you’re so sweet!!! Thank you so much!!!!! ;O;

Anon said:Mixing thei hero names? So uuuh King Riot?

We still don’t know Baku’s hero name, so anything might be, really! It’s why I didn’t outright have Kiri mention any idea, I got no clue myself where he was going with it haha it’d be cool if his hero name were Ground Zero, because it’d mix well with Red Riot imho (Red Zero or Ground Riot or Red Ground, they all sound nice!) but what if Baku’s hero name ends up just being Katsuki, after all? How do you mix that with Red Riot? (the answer is Red Victory, or Akatsu!! from akai (red) + katsu !! ngl I’ve thought about this a lot lmao) anyway so many possibilities so little known facts!

Anon said:I love the details on Kiri and Baku's skin. Great job!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!

Anon said:!!!!!!!!!! fran oh my god your zine piece is so beautiful!!!!!!!

Sob thank youuu!!!! I’m glad you liked it!!!! ;O;

Anon said:i just got my zine and the art and writing was so lovely, i loved your comic at the end. an amazing way to end the zine♡

THANK YOU!!!! I’m jelly, I still haven’t gotten mine ;O; I hope the comic was easy to read even in printed form, I’ve been worried about that for months hahaha rip at least there’s the pdf

Anon said: i’m in love with your kiri bday art!!!! with the colorless art like that, are we allowed to color it? of course no posting it, but just for fun.

If you promise not to post it, I’m cool with it! Thank you for liking it enough to want to do that!!! Seriously tho don’t post it if you do

Anon said:Can you draw more kamisero? g u d q u a l i t y s h i p ma' dude.

Maybe? Currently it really isn’t between my top priorities but who knows

Anon said:FRANNNNN!!!! Your comic for the Take My Hand zine!!!! I'm gonna cry! It's so beautiful and the boys are so perfect! Your art is so amazing, I was so thrilled to see your piece. Not to mention the detail you put in. Their hands killed me! With Bakugou's palms and Kiri's arms! Ugh, I just can't, I love it so much.

I’M SO GLAD YOU LIKED THE HANDS it’s weird bc that one panel is probably my fav in the comic and I was so sure no one was gonna really notice it but!! So many people did!!!!! It makes me so happy oh man ;O;

Anon said:Hey coulda maybe make a traitor Kaminari comic?

Nope! No traitor arts here, sorry! SInce I don’t believe any of the theories to the point of finding them outright laughable, any art I could ever make about it would just come out looking either fake or ridiculous and no one wants to see that lmao

Anon said:your take my hand comic!!! it's so good!! thank you for doing the boys so well ;;;

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THANK YOUUUU!!!!!!!!

Anon said:I don't know if you remember, but a couple months ago I asked if it'd be okay for me to write something based on a few of your art pieces. Would that still be alright? Your art is gorgeous and makes my brain think and brings joy to me all the time ^^ would absolutely link to the art and credit you. that's not even a question :)

That still depends on which art you’re specifically talking about! And thank you so much for the compliment!!

Anon said:I don’t know if you read fan fiction, but I have one to suggest to you! It’s called, “It’s Obvious When You Lie”. Only three chapters are out so far, but it’s really good!

I’ll add it to my marked for later list then!! Thank you so much for the rec, I don’t easily try out ongoing fics so this was very nice of u!!!

Anon said:In the body switch AU Todoroki sees how fucked up Midoriya feels around Bakugou('s body?) and realizes wow fuck this guy has traumatized my bf. I wonder what I can do to fuck w/ him so the day before they switch back (So Bakugou can't do much in retaliation) he takes Bakugou's body and does the stupidest bullshit ever as revenge

HECK anon sorry but nothing like this would happen ever as long as I’m the one writing the AU! For three main reasons! One, I don’t think Deku is traumatized at all! His relationship with Baku at the moment is actually pretty damn neat and on equal footing, you go you two, growing so much!! Two, Baku and Todo are friends!!! And Todo would never be a dick to Baku instead of just talking to him, if he had a problem with him!! Three, even if one and two weren’t true, Deku has no need for knights in shining armor fighting his battles for him!! He’s a strong independent boy and if he hasn’t fought Baku over this it’s probs cause he doesn’t want anyone to fight him over it!!! Also in this specific AU Todo and Deku aren’t dating, so the scenario doesn’t work for me! Sorry!

Anon said:Have you ever thought about krbk wedding?

I have! And I’ve talked about it on here a few times too! Lately I’ve been thinking about it again tho, from a designs point of view, because!! There’s that very neat post going around tumblr about that wedding photos in which one of the two grooms has a white tux with a cape, and I’ve been thinking about a variation of it for Kirishima’s wedding suit :0 something red instead of white, but generally similar! It’s a lot of effort to draw it so I still haven’t, but yeh!!

Anon said:Hello! I read this fic about your cat comics and the author said to send you some love in their end notes so here is some well-deserved love: your art is beautiful! It's why I became interested in BakuShima and I would not have loved these characters as much if it weren't for you. You also seem to be a very nice person, your mind is beautiful and I am glad you exist

G O DS this is such a nice ask!!!! thank you so so much!!!! ;O;

Anon said:Non chiedo una risposta a questo messaggio, anzi. Volevo solo dirti che trovo la tua arte FANTASTICA, e non sai quanto i tuoi comic e tutto il tuo lavoro mi ha strappato più di un sorriso in brutti momenti. Sapere che sei italiana mi ha fatto totalmente impazzire. Continua così, hai del talento vero. E grazie!

NUHHHH GRAZIE A TE PER ESSERE COSI’ GENTILE OMFG !!!!!!!!!! ;A;

Anon said:Okay okay okay! I adore your art! Could you maybe... draw some KiriBaku fantasy? If it’s not too much to ask! It can be as simple as can be! Your art is just really cute!

Yes I can and yes I will!!! Definitely and in the near future, did you know one of the app games JUST revealed a fantasy wolf Baku as a special halloween chara?? It’s just fantasy Baku with wolf ears and tail, but he’s adorable and I’ve been wanting to draw him since I saw him this morning ;O; so cute!

Anon said:Pssst. Singer Baku, Guitarist Kami, and Drummer Kiri. A good hc if I do say so myself.

It IS a great thought!! Drummer Kiri and Singer Baku have always been a weakness of mine too, so heck!! What a good image! If we put Jirou on bass and vocals too and sero on keyboard and mina on guitar, you make my fav band right then and there hahaha

Anon said:I'm not in the BNHA fandom at the moment but your art still continues to give me the warm fuzzies

GODS ISN’T THIS A NICE ASK!! I’m happy I can make you enjoy even characters you’re not specifically into! Thank you so much for sticking around!!!! ;O;

Anon said:i just got into bnha and fell in love with your art, started going through your sketch tag, and then realize that youre the person who made a bunch of haikyuu comics i loved a while ago so im! very glad to rediscover your stuff!!

HOLY GODS THAT’S NEAT!!! Welcome back!!!! ;O;

Anon said:I love it when you draw kiri with his hair down 💕💕💕 so good, so pure 💕💕💕💕

Oh boy thank you!! ;O; he’s so much easier to draw with his hair spiked for me, knowing people like the way I draw his hair when down means a whole damn lot!!

Anon said:Hello! First I love your account and artwork! Second will you ever be drawing Mako and Taiyou again? They are so adorable! Also Bakugou and Kirishima seems like amazing dad's!

Thank you!!! And yes I will! I have another ask around here asking about them, so maybe soon! Just gotta find the right idea to draw, I got a bunch but they’re all way too long for my curret attenton span level sadly hahaha rip

Anon said:lmaaaaooo my boi kaminari be having an emotional awakening

Kaminari is like, he’s always somewhere subconsciously known that Baku’s objectively pretty, but since he knows him so well and he’s always around him and most of the times they’re bickering and making fun of each other he’s never actually realized, so now he’s like oh, NOW I see it hahaha

Anon said:hi u probably get this enough but I wanted to give u all my appreciation for ur art thank u for sharing it with us I love everything u post ♡♡♡

THANK YOU!!!! It might be greedy of me but this sorta asks are never enough for me, so seriously thank you for taking your time to drop by and be so nice!!!

Anon said:Could you please draw more of the body swap au? Or what if a different pair of students were to switch?

I’m not gonna draw any other switch with other students, because before settling on Baku and Todo I went through a lot of possibilities and came to the conclusion that nothing would be as funny as Baku and Todo switched are (or at least nothing Horikoshi hasn’t already done himself lmao) so there’s that. I might draw more of them switched, but to be honest with you the only idea with that concept I have right now is Bakugou forgetting he’s suddenly taller and continuously walking into things around the dorms, so there’s that as well hahaha

#fran answers #a lot of !!!! in this one #today i'm feeling !!!#it's a nice feeling #hahaha #anonymous

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eirenical · 6 years

Note

F, I and N, I love h/c and I'm looking for some new writing ideas so I might try out something that you want ❤️💛💚💙💜

F: Care to share a favorite hurt/comfort fic?

OK, so this is becoming harder than I expected, so instead of a comprehensive list, I will just pull out a few favorites. I know I’m leaving things out, but my brain is not quite up to the monumental task of listing all my favorite hurt/comfort fic tonight. O_o;;;

then burn the ashes by @kvothes

Maybe they differ the most in their dispositions, in the way they react to injustice. Where Feuilly bruises, Enjolras bleeds.(Enjolras x Feuilly)

The writing and characterizations on this are just flat out gorgeous. Enjolras texts Feuilly to ask him to look after his plant for the night. Feuilly does so and finds himself still there when Enjolras returns in the morning, a bit shook up and bruised, but still somehow relieved to find Feuilly there. Comfort and adorableness ensues. ^_^

OK, I could probably just add: EVERYTHING EVER BY @takethewatch to this list and not be lying. ;D But a couple of specifics…

Carry On and the ensuing “fix-its/follow-ups”

Feuilly moves to a new city to start over. He plans to keep his head down this time, to work an 8 to 5 job and keep to himself and settle for getting by. His hopes are modest, reasonable: He hopes to keep up on his loan payments, to get along with his coworkers, to get through another Christmas alone.

He doesn’t plan on getting sucked into a group of literacy activists who care way too much, on getting involved in trying to fix the world again, on stumbling into people who actually seem to care about him. He doesn’t plan on being happy.

I really, really need to do a re-read of this series. It’s one of my favorite Feuilly stories EVER and a part of why is because of all the glorious hurt/comfort. ^_^ But seriously, this is my favorite ever Amis Origin Story. *_*

the best medicine

Five times Joly took care of his friends, and one time they took care of him.

I am weak, ABSOLUTELY WEAK for competent!joly fic. And here we have him taking care of everyone and then getting taken care of and just GOSH I LOVE JOLY. *_*

A Passion for the Absoluteby @amarguerite

Courfeyrac gets severely injured and turns to Enjolras, high priest of the ideal that he is, for a little illumination. Courfeyrac enlightens Enjolras in return. Featuring terrible puns, romantic and Romantic excesses, and the Battle of Hernani.

Holy, oh my goodness, THIS FIC. *falls over* This is possibly my favorite ever canon era fic. I don’t even have WORDS for how much flail I’m still in over this fic, even years later. This is the fic that made me utterly and completely fall in love with Enjolras and Courfeyrac, as friends, as lovers, as EVERYTHING. And there’s just SO. MUCH. BEAUTIFUL. HURT/COMFORT. TT^TT I LOVE IT SO.

The Peace of Wild Thingsby @ariadneslostthread

Series of vignettes featuring the Chief, the Guide and the Centre. And an obscene amount of h/c.

1. “Good.” Enjolras says with finality. “Now, if you will all excuse me, I’m going to lock myself in a darkened room for a few hours.”

2. Combeferre sighs as he looks from Courfeyrac to Enjolras and back, “I don’t feel entirely myself tonight, to be honest.” He smiles weakly.

3. It is a quiet, reserved sort of concern and love which entirely suits Enjolras so he is happy to share the sofa and pile of blankets with Courfeyrac, their legs tangled together like some sort of two headed, phlegm-ridden blanket monster, coughing and sniffling to his heart’s content without feeling self-conscious.

4. Courfeyrac. It isn’t until he’s retrieved his toothbrush from inside the bathroom cabinet that he catches sight of himself in the mirror, and lets out a horrified scream.

This is honestly one of my most self-indulgent favorite h/c fic. It’s one of the ones I come back to over and over and over, especially if I’m in need of comfort, myself. I just love these three so much and I love how deeply they care for each other in this fic and just EVERYTHING. *_*

All I Have Known by @whimsical-in-the-brainpan

Grantaire’s motto has always been “it only hurts if you care.” Of course, Éponine knows that secretly he’s always cared. But it’s just easier for him to play the strawman than to actually let himself believe. It’s safer.

This is an epically long series of slow-burn e/R that focuses on Eponine and Grantaire’s amazingly co-dependent friendship and JFC, it’s still one of my favorites even though I’m not really on the e/R bandwagon anymore. It just packs SUCH an emotional punch throughout the entire thing and I love it SO MUCH. I really need to re-read it, too. ;D (Side note: I especially love the characterization of Cosette in this fic. It’s one of my favorites, to this day. ^_^)

I Know How to Love Only When You’re Holding Meby @kingesstropolis

Courfeyrac and Enjolras grew up next door to each other, with their families so close they might as well be related at this point. So when Enjolras’s older sister gets engaged, Courfeyrac knows he’ll be attending the wedding–which isn’t a problem until it becomes clear he’s supposed to bring a significant other to the wedding. Not having dated anyone in the years since his last disastrous relationship and unable to tell his mother why he’s given up on romance, Courfeyrac does the only logical thing–he brings along his new fake boyfriend, Combeferre.

OK, so this one may not TECHNICALLY be h/c, but it involves a lot of angst and emotional h/c, so I SAY IT COUNTS. Featuring an ace!Courfeyrac who has put himself through hell and back to get to that conclusion and faces an even steeper uphill battle to accept that he’s still worthy of love and that someone could love him. And it’s just so lovely and painful and ^__________^.

@thecoffeetragedy always writes really good hurt/comfort, mostly on tumblr, like this really lovely little Combeferre & Courfeyrac ficlet she wrote for me, but you can find a bunch of them here on AO3, too.

I also have a ton of other h/c recs, like I’m sure I’m going to think of a million more that just HAVE TO BE on this list as soon as I post this, but THIS IS A GOOD START, HOPEFULLY, Y/Y? I also have a ton of others in other fandoms, but I think you are Love, Simon AU nonny, so hopefully these were all relevant to your interests. ^_^

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

I don’t really believe in guilty pleasures. I thoroughly enjoy all my pleasures, no shame attached. ^_~ I absolutely love H/C and sick!fic of every flavor and variety, but I feel absolutely no guilt or shame about that whatsoever. BRING IT ON. *_*

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

And I just answered this one in the last ask, so a little c/p wouldn’t hurt…

Pfft. There’s a part of me that really wishes someone would finish FYFM for me at this point, but not too seriously. I’m too much of a control freak for that. -.-;;;

As for stories I wish someone would WRITE for me? *evil grin* Anything in any of these tags:

dear yuletide author

dear miserable holidays author

dear not for primetime author

dear pr femslash ficathon writer

dear rare pair fest writer

dear trick or treat writer

HAVE AT. SERIOUSLY. *chinhands* ^___________^

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, NONNY. Hopefully you see this. ^_^

(Anyone else want to send some? ^_^)

#long post #fic recs #other people's fic #ask meme answers #Anonymous #conversations through replies

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pocket-anon · 7 years

Text

The Long Way Home (7/10)

I am so, so sorry this chapter is coming out this late in the day, guys. Real life has been very hectic this week between work and lecture slide prep and doctor's appointments and car issues and mommyhood. I'm pretty physically and mentally exhausted right now, so I hope my last-minute editing choices for this chapter aren't terrible, LOL. We'll see. Anyway, thank you all for your wonderful feedback and your serial reblogs and your flailing tags. I really hope you continue to enjoy! Please remember the nautical terms glossary linked below - it's newly updated for the events of this chapter! Happy reading.

As always, thanks to my beta, @captainstudmuffin, and to @lifeinahole27, @clockadile, and @ladyciaramiggles for their additional feedback. Additional thanks to my wonderful CSBB artists, @waiting-for-autumn and @giraffes-ride-swordfishes for providing some gorgeous artwork to accompany this fic! Links to their illustrations of certain scenes (*) will be in the text - go show them some love!

Find it on AO3. Nautical term glossary here.

Missed a chapter? Get caught up here.

Summary: After an unnaturally long life fraught with personal tragedy, Killian Jones has become known throughout the realms as the infamous Captain Hook, an opportunistic ne’er-do-well and one of the most formidable pirates to ride the waves. When he crosses paths with a mysterious young woman with no memory of who she is or how she arrived there, he recognizes the chance to claim a monetary reward that will constitute his biggest score yet. But a journey across the world to get her home leads to a series of adventures that reveal that her value lies in far more than gold and jewels. A Captain Swan Anastasia AU - sort of. (Captain Swan Enchanted Forest AU. Romance, Adventure, & Eventual Smut. Rated E.)

Warning: Brief but graphic depictions of violence, peripheral character death, and smut.

The Jolly alters course to make for the nearest port large enough to have a surgeon in residence. Swan begins to devote a couple hours a day to reading to Alec, and Hook even allows her to assume some of the waylaid sailor’s responsibilities, including his shifts as lookout high up on the fore-mast.

Despite the seriousness of the circumstances, she has to admit she enjoys being useful and trusted aboard ship, and though Hook continues to insist she wear the tether, she doesn’t miss the proud light in his eye each time he watches her scamper up the rigging.

“To your post, Swan,” he says with a smile one morning as he reaches out in passing and gives the knot on her harness a playful tug.

She flashes him a grin over her shoulder and swings up onto the shroud. “Aye aye, Captain.”

Her hours spent perched upon the top and staring out at the horizon from between the sails are largely uneventful, but they afford her more time to enjoy the view and to be alone with her thoughts. She’s disconcerted to find, however, that most of those thoughts seem to center around Hook, and the more she tries to focus on other subjects, the more annoyed she is each time her brain finds a way to wander back to him.

There’s something different about him since their encounter with the slavers. He’s quieter, slower to anger. When Thomas collides with him and nearly spills a can of paint, the way Hook simply receives the young man’s effusive apology with a patient nod and moves on leaves Thomas’ jaw on the deck. It’s as though he’s found a small measure of peace somewhere, and every time Swan spies that contented, introspective look on his face, it tempts her to believe that perhaps even a man as tortured as Captain Hook can find his good heart again.

She should be pleased for him, she thinks. And she is. But if it was hard not to find him irresistible before, it’s nigh impossible now.

He’s a charming bastard, isn’t he? You certainly aren’t the first to pine after him.

She won’t be the last either, she knows. She’s just one in a long string of starry-eyed wenches, smitten harlots, bored wives, and who knows who else. But unlike those women, she’s stuck in close quarters with him, and the burden of being forced to spend so much time with a man she shouldn’t want but does wears on her more acutely as the days march on.

Is that what you’re hoping for? A life of unfulfilled pining?

It isn’t, Swan thinks bitterly. But it’s looking more and more likely all the same.

She’s ruminating on this for the hundredth time and staring glumly at the endless waves on her third afternoon on duty when a sudden disruption in the distance causes her to squint. She frowns, wondering if her eyes are playing tricks, and reaches for the lookout’s spyglass, her curious gaze fixed on the water as she extends the scope and raises it to her eye. The area in question jumps into clear view, and she searches the churning waters for a few moments before she sees it again – a short spurt of mist that shoots upward out of the sea. She glances below to where the Captain and a few of the men are sparring. “Hook?”

The clanging of steel stops. “Swan?”

She raises the glass to her eye again and tries to relocate the disturbance. “There’s something in the water,” she calls. “I can’t tell what it is.”

She hears Hook sheath his cutlass. “Where, love?”

“Um…” She peers through the lens and points. “There. Off the starboard bow.”

The rigging shakes as he scrambles up to join her. He’s halfway to the top when she spies another spray of water.

“There!” she says excitedly. “Did you see that?” Her heart pounds as she catches sight of a dark form that breaks the surface briefly and disappears beneath the waves. Another similar form bobs into view seconds later.

Hook pauses to pull out his own spyglass and search the horizon for a glimpse of what she sees. At last he chuckles. “Whales!” he yells to the rest of the men on deck. “Two points off the starboard bow and approaching. Helmsman!”

“Aye?”

“Maintain our heading but move us a bit to port! Let’s give the beasts some room!” He stows his glass and climbs the rest of the way, pulling himself up onto the top with a boyish grin.

Swan scoots over a bit to make room on the small platform. “Whales?” she asks with fascination.

“Quite,” he says, settling next to her, his knee grazing hers. “It’s just a small pod. I take it you’ve never seen their kind.” She shakes her head, and he nods in return. “They’re generally peaceful creatures, but they’re large and powerful. Best to give them a wide berth unless you’re trying to hunt one.”

She looks through her glass again and spies the distinct shape of a broad, lunate tail arcing out of the water, her mouth curving into an awed smile.

“There’s a young one among them,” he observes. “In the middle. Do you see it? The tail that’s smaller than the others?”

A moment later her eyes widen. “Oh! Yes!” The miniature fins flap above the waves as if waving hello, and she coos. “It’s a happy little family.”

“Indeed.”

She falls silent for a few breaths, watching the whales as they draw closer to the Jolly. “I wish I could remember my family,” she says at last, her expression growing wistful.

“You’ll be with them again soon enough, Princess,” he assures her quietly.

Swan casts a sideways glance as she considers him. “You’re still confident.”

He chuffs. “Of course I am,” he quips, straightening a little. “It’s my business to be.”

“Right. Dashing rapscallion.” Swan smirks.

He flashes a winning grin on cue and leans toward her a bit, his low chuckle generating a shiver deep between her shoulder blades. “Always knew you were a fast learner.”

She hates herself for the way her face grows hot and her heart accelerates, and she feels the sudden impulse to flee and try to regain her faculties somewhere where this stupidly handsome man isn’t being so stupidly handsome. Remembering she’s technically on duty as lookout and unable to flee anywhere, however, she settles for forcing her gaze away, raising the spyglass with both hands and making a show of trying to find the whales once again.

One of the creatures abruptly launches out of the water, a hulking dark shape that somehow manages a graceful twirl in the air like a dancer in slow motion before crashing back down to the waves. Swan lets out a cry of surprise, and she reaches out blindly to give Hook’s arm an excited shake. “Did you see that?”

The rich sound of his laugh greets her ears. “Aye. They do that sometimes,” he says. He dares to lean in further. “Keep watching. We might see it again.”

The warmth of his breath on her skin makes Swan turn from her spyglass to find his nose inches from hers, and her stomach swoops as they stare at one another for what feels like a protracted moment in time. Hook searches her face, the mischief in his eyes fading into something almost earnest, and he swallows, the movement of his throat drawing her eyes down. Her gaze alights on his mouth before she realizes what she’s doing, and her pulse stutters.

A sudden shout from one of the men startles her, and her head whips around in time to see another huge whale leaping out of the water, this one only a few hundred feet off the starboard bow. It returns to the ocean with a great whump and a huge white cloud of spray, and Emma chuckles nervously, praying that her cheeks are not as pink as she thinks they are and willing her heart to stop thundering in her ears.

She turns to offer Hook a weak smile, but he isn’t looking at her, instead distracted by something between them. She follows his eyes down to see her hand still resting on his brace. “Oh!” She pulls away, now fairly sure she’s blushing up to the roots of her hair. “I’m sorry.”

She’s not prepared for the way he colors in turn. “It’s quite alright, love,” he murmurs, looking both touched and a bit sad. He bumps his knee into hers half-heartedly. “No need to stand on ceremony.” He clears his throat and tips his head toward the pod. “I’m glad you’re here to see this. We sailors are accustomed to seeing whales now and then, but I imagine there are few others who get the chance.” He smiles. “Perhaps our friends have come to pay their respects to a certain alleged princess.”

They watch in silence as the pod nears the Jolly and begins to pass down along her starboard side. Swan sets her spyglass down and turns, rising up on her knees to be able to see over Hook’s head. She gingerly steadies herself with a soft hand on his shoulder as she watches the dark bodies slipping above and below the waterline. “They’re so beautiful,” she breathes, peering down at the enormous silhouettes just beneath the surface.

He nods wordlessly.

Swan looks down at her hand on his shoulder. She bites her lip before gathering up the courage to give him a squeeze. “Hook?”

He turns his head to blink up at her soberly.

“I’m glad I’m here, too.”

A slow, warm smile spreads across his face. She drops her free hand onto his other shoulder, and he reaches up to cover her fingers gently with his, breaking her heart just a little bit further as they watch the whales drift away.

* * *

The next few days are cooler and colorless, with showers covering everything and everyone in a constant state of damp. Hook offers to excuse Emma from her shifts as lookout so she can remain below deck, but she stubbornly refuses, merely choosing to wear her blue cloak to try to keep dry. Her mood seems to reflect the weather; she grows increasingly distant, more preoccupied, and not as inclined to smile or engage him in their usual banter. She spends less and less time with him outside of their meals together, busying herself with her duties and reading to Alec during the day and finding excuses to return to her cabin in the evenings instead of lingering over the dinner table with him. Hook notes these changes in her with concern. Whatever is troubling Emma, she seems determined to keep it to herself, and though he catches her looking sad on more than one occasion, she does her best to perk up a little whenever she’s aware of an audience.

He watches her hooded figure as she sits up on the top one afternoon, his brow almost painfully furrowed and raindrops smattering his face as he longs for the power to see what invisible weight is sitting on those slender shoulders. He wonders if she’s worried about Alec’s worsening condition or if, like the rest of the men, she’s simply tired of the rain, and he sighs, trying to think of a way to lift her spirits a little. Perhaps he can grant extra rum rations for morale and coax her into an evening of cards or dice with the crew. Or perhaps he can find something she’ll like when they arrive at port later this week – a new book or a spyglass of her own or something pretty to brighten her day. She’d once mentioned her fondness for the color yellow. He wonders if it would be difficult to find yellow flowers at this time of year. He’d pay a king’s ransom for them and let her put them all over her cabin and his if she liked – anything to make her smile, really. He glowers at the overhead clouds and grumbles at no one in particular. If the bloody skies would clear, that might also be a good a start.

The waters grow choppier around sundown, and the Jolly rises and falls like a rearing horse as she crests over the increasingly tall waves. Hook keeps a watchful eye on Emma when she climbs down from the mast, and he comes to meet her at the bottom of the shroud, glad he’s continued to insist on her rope tether as he notes the extra time it takes her to navigate the rigging with the ship lurching beneath them.

“What are you still doing out here?” she asks, gritting her teeth and waiting for the deck to level before carefully hopping down.

He pushes his wet hair out of his eyes and does his best not to look cold and miserable. “Can’t a gentleman escort a lady to dinner?”

The corner of her mouth twitches, and it’s the closest thing to a smile he’s seen all day, but there’s no time to savor it before they pitch over another swell and Emma stumbles forward with a little yelp. He catches her against him, wrapping his arm around her waist and snagging the shroud with his hook in order to keep them both upright. They struggle for a moment to right themselves, eventually managing to regain some semblance of balance while still tangled up together. Hook stares into her pensive eyes, his heart refusing to slow as he registers the desperate way one of her gloved hands is gripping the collar of his coat while the other is buried in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Emma’s face grows red, a spot of bright color in their drably-lit surroundings, and she bites her lip. “Um, thanks.”

She recoils adorably when a huge raindrop hits her square in the forehead, and Hook suddenly notices that her hood has come off. With a sigh and a resigned smile, he releases her and reaches out to lift it back onto her head. “Let’s get below and dry out a bit, yeah?” he says, delicately smoothing one side of the hood down with his hook. He gestures toward the nearest hatch, and they make for it, the ship still rocking beneath them. “After dinner, I thought perhaps we could enjoy some extra rum and cards with the crew in the mess. What do you think?”

His heart falls at the reticent sound she makes, her face hidden as she keeps her eyes on the boards. “You go ahead. I think I’m going to go to bed early tonight.”

He stops mid-step, frustration rising in his gut. “Are you avoiding me, Swan?”

Emma freezes, the guilty stiffening of her shoulders answer enough. “I… No, of course not,” she says, shaking her head and giving him a small, unconvincing smile as she leads them down the ladder. “I… I’m just tired this week.”

Hook frowns at her obvious attempt to deflect him. “I can reassign your duties if you need more rest,” he suggests, pulling the hatch closed behind them.

“No!” She winces at how loud her voice now sounds out of the wind and in the quiet of the shadowy passageway. “No. I can do it. I don’t mind. I just want to turn in a little earlier tonight.” She walks briskly past him toward his quarters. “Come on. Dinner.”

Hook grants the crew the extra rum but elects to spend the evening alone, retiring to his berth with The Odyssey in order to take his mind off of Emma’s notable absence. After nearly fifteen minutes of staring, unseeing, at the same paragraph however, he closes the book and petulantly tosses it aside. His mind races as he dims the lamp and flops down on the mattress.

Has he done something to upset her? Or is she simply trying to avoid interrogation about whatever is on her mind? He gives his pillow a few vehement punches and resettles his head. Before these rainy days, things had seemed to be going well between them, and he’d started contemplating how he should go about confessing his feelings for her. But now… now he doesn’t know where he stands, and it irritates the bloody hell out of him.

He rumbles and rolls over, his eyes scanning the beams above his head as he exhales heavily. Emma might be trying to shut him out, but he’s always claimed to love a challenge. He’ll confront her tomorrow, he thinks, coax her secret out. They’ve always been open with one another before.

That’s what friends do, isn’t it? Emma’s voice echoes in his memory.

He snorts. Friends. If only that were enough.

Sleep comes to him fitfully, and when Hook is aroused from bed at first light by a very panicky Smee shouting down the hatch for him, he sits up in a foul temper. “What the blazes is it?” he demands, rubbing a hand over his face. Within a moment of opening his eyes, however, the cause of Smee’s distress becomes clear. His quarters are cast in strange hues, and Hook’s eyes snap to the windows to note the ominous red-orange glow of the clouds to the east and the relative darkness to the west. He swears an oath and leaps out of bed, dressing at record speed before flying up the ladder.

The sight that meets him above makes his stomach drop. To the southwest lies a solid wall of enormous storm clouds that appears to have coalesced under the cloak of night. It stretches as far as the eye can see, and when the wind begins to pick up and the first rumbles of thunder come rolling across the water toward them, alarm spreads across the Jolly like wildfire.

“It’s a hurricane!” Roberts hollers, hurrying to clang the ship’s bell.

Cold fear trickles down Hook’s back as he stares at the telltale skies. He’s survived many dire straits in his long life, but few things drive terror into the heart of a sailor more than being faced with a hurricane at sea. Vivid memories of the massive storm that destroyed the ship Hispaniola back when he and Liam were young men flash before his eyes. That storm had sent their last master, the hardy Captain Silver, and the rest of his experienced crew down to their watery graves. The idea of the Jolly, of his men, of Emma meeting the same fate makes him feel sick, and not knowing whether he can do anything to prevent it makes him feel sicker.

“All hands!” he commands at the top of his lungs. “Get everything you can below deck and lash the rest down! Pump the bilges and batten down all but the main hatch!” He takes the wheel from the helmsman and grits his teeth as he wrenches it starboard. “We’re going to try to outrun it.”

“Not even the Jolly’s that fast!” Smee protests at his side. “That thing’ll be on us in ten minutes!”

Hook seizes the front of his first mate’s shirt and yanks him forward. “If you have a better idea, Smee, now would be the time,” he snaps. “Otherwise, get below and tell the Lady to stay down in the crew quarters with Alec until someone comes.”

The next several minutes are a bedlam of activity and a torturous march toward the inevitable as the storm, moving at twice the ship’s speed, swallows her up like a great monster. The seas grow more turbulent, the rain begins to pour, and the gusts howl around them like the voice of a great foe heralding its wrath.

“We’ll have to heave-to – see if we can ride out the storm!” Hook yells frantically, handing over the wheel and charging toward the main deck. “Helmsman, come about to beam reach! Roberts, Thomas, clew up the mainsail! Everyone else to the main-mast to brace the yards square! Back ‘em winward!”

With the men on his heels, he scrambles across the swaying, rain-slogged deck. They position themselves in teams around the mast and prepare to haul lines to rotate the yards overhead. Hook cranes his head upward to watch Roberts and Thomas, the most nimble members of his crew (save Alec), scale the ropes as fast as they can to tie up the mainsail.

Emma is suddenly at his side, soaked to the skin like the rest of them with her wet ponytail limp over one shoulder. She reaches toward the rigging and wraps both hands around the line in front of him.

The sight of her disobeying his orders and risking her neck yet again fills him with rage. Bloody. Impossible. Woman. “What the devil are you doing?” he bellows. “You were supposed to stay below!”

“We’re not having this argument again!” she hollers back indignantly, squinting up at him in the face of the rain. “You’re a man down, and you need more hands! Let me help!”

His growl is lost on the wind, but he hasn’t the time to argue. Hook grits his teeth and positions his hand between hers on the line. Smee joins them, and Martin assumes position behind them to keep the line taut as they pull.

Hook glances around at his crew. “Alright, men!” he calls, using his hook to untie the line and pass the end off to Martin, “Heave! Heave!” The others join with him, chanting in rhythmic unison as they tug on their lines and the yards above their heads begin to rotate about the mast.

They nearly have the sails backed to the wind when an enormous wave hits the ship, sending water sloshing across the deck and causing her to list violently. The men stumble sideways, clinging to the lines for dear life, and Emma shrieks as her footing falters.

“Swan!” Hook throws his left arm around her waist and drags her back to his side with a deep grunt. The muscles in his right shoulder burn as the line begins to pull away without their collective strength to help anchor it. “Tie it off!” he barks over his shoulder at Martin, and the cooper’s large hands are a blur as he throws the knot back in place.

Seconds later, another wave strikes, and a scream rings out from above. Hook looks up to see Thomas thrown from the yard arm, his body flung clear of the ship and out toward the waves.

“No!” Emma yelps and twists in his grasp, one of her hands stretching into the sky in Thomas’ direction.

And like that, Thomas’ body disappears in a swirl of white smoke.

A moment later, a second swirl of smoke leaves the lad lying face-down on the deck at their feet, coughing and gasping for breath.

“Swan?” Hook gapes and looks down at Emma, who retracts her arm and stares at her upturned palm in disbelief.

“What?” She trembles. “What just…?”

“Magic,” he breathes. He’d heard rumors that the Princess of Misthaven was secretly a sorceress, but he’d always taken the reports with a grain of salt, aware they might be the exaggerations of adoring subjects or lies spread by denied suitors.

“Look out!” Martin booms behind them.

A shadow looms overhead, and they turn and gasp at the sight of the most massive wave Hook has ever seen cresting overhead, the roar of the water like impending doom as it rushes down upon them. A profound fear like he’s never known seizes his heart, and he draws Emma closer to him, letting go of the line just long enough to wind it around his forearm.

“Hook?” she cries, terrified.

“Hold on to me!”

Her arms wind around him beneath his coat, and as she buries her face in his shoulder, he clutches her tighter and prays to whatever gods will listen for her salvation. “Stay with me,” he whispers, his cheek pressed to her temple.

White smoke suddenly clouds his vision, obscuring the wave from sight, and the thunderous rush of the the water and the drone of the winds vanishes so quickly, he’d have thought himself struck deaf if not for the ongoing yelling around him.

Then the smoke dissipates, the darkness fades, and the Jolly heaves beneath their feet, surprised shouts ringing out from the crew as she drops a short distance and hits the water with an enormous boom.

And then all falls still.

Hook lifts his head, still clutching Emma’s shaking form and his fingers stinging with rope burn as they continue to clench the line. The early morning sky is the palest blue, and a strong but manageable wind whispers across their bow port to starboard. He straightens slowly, baffled, and there’s only a moment to notice the dark storm clouds retreating to the east before Emma begins to shiver uncontrollably and buckles in his embrace.

“Swan?” He lowers her gently to the deck, his brow bent with concern. “Are you alright? Swan!”

She gazes up at him with bleary eyes, and her face is white as a fresh sail as she pants, exhausted. “Hook?” she mumbles. Her lids grow heavy, and she faints dead away.

* * *

He can feel it – the surge of energy in the distance. He can feel it all over the Earth – the push-pull of magic – like a spider sitting atop a great web with his legs poised on the strands to sense the vibrations that register even from far, far away. Not every shift registers with him, of course, but this, oh there’s no way to miss this. Someone somewhere far from here has just done something significant, martialing a great amount of energy in the process, and he can sense the echoes of it, feel them like small waves generated by a remote tsunami.

He pauses his current task, setting the flasks in his hands down and turning his head to try to focus on the disturbance. It smells like light magic, he thinks. Fairies? His mouth twists in a distasteful sneer. He only knows of one other being powerful enough to generate light magic on that scale, and she’s indisposed.

Isn’t she?

Dismay lines his distinctive features as he turns to go consult his crystal.

* * *

The muted sound of another person moving about the room is the first thing to creep into Swan’s consciousness.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Cap’n, but I thought you might want some dinner. You’ve hardly had anything to eat the last few days,” Thomas murmurs. There’s the sound of a tray sliding onto the table.

At her shoulder, Hook gives a low rumble of assent.

“Any change, sir?”

Familiar, calloused fingers slide over the back of her hand, and a heavy sigh is the Captain’s only response.

Thomas’ footsteps retreat, and the cabin door latches gently behind him.

Swan feels the comforting rise and fall of the ship and notes the softness of the Captain’s pillow beneath her head. His bed. She’s in his bed. How did she get here? She gives a soft grunt and cracks an eye open. The last rays of the setting sun supplement the lamplight that glows around the cabin, and a wind rustles through an open pane above her head, the warm air wafting across her skin like a caress.

“Swan?” Hook’s voice rings with quiet disbelief. His hand folds around hers, and his blurry silhouette sits forward in the chair he’s pulled up next to the bed.

She moves to squeeze his fingers back only to find her palm resting atop something smooth and hard. It takes her a few moments to recognize her sand dollar, and she turns her head toward him with a quiet moan as the muscles in her neck protest what seems to be their first movement in a while. Forcing her eyes further open, she blinks away the cobwebs, her forehead wrinkling as his haggard appearance comes gradually into focus. He’s wearing only his shirt and trousers, gray circles line his eyes, his hair is a hand-raked mess, and he’s allowed his usual scruff to darken into a beard. “Hook?” she croaks. Her mouth feels impossibly dry, and she recoils and tries to swallow. “What happened to you?”

His brow twitches. “What do you mean?”

“You… look…” she searches for the right words, and her lips form a wry grin, “less dashing than usual.”

The smile that curves his mouth transforms him back into the man she knows. “You must still have some sleep in your eyes, darling,” he croons. “I’m fairly certain I’m as handsome as ever.”

He is. Bastard. Swan chuffs and rolls her eyes, savoring his chuckle. She holds up the sand dollar and raises her brows in question.

His eyes grow oddly emotional, but he merely shrugs. “What can I say, love? A seafaring man doesn’t take superstitions lightly.”

She hums. “I thought you said I make my own luck.”

“Aye, that you do,” he acquiesces with an affectionate grin, “but no harm in stacking the deck in your favor.”

Swan smirks. “Pirate.” She motions for him to take it so she can push herself up to a sit with a groan, noting that she’s still in her shirt and trousers, her jerkin and gloves draped neatly over the back of a chair at the table and her hair down over her shoulder.

Hook sets the sand dollar out of the way and leaps to his feet. “Easy now.” He leans down and wraps her in a hug, gently hauling her upward in the bed. The warmth of his strong arms feels like sunshine after a rain, and her fingers curl into the wrinkled fabric of his shirt of their own accord. He pulls back much sooner than she wants, but the tenderness in his expression is enough to make her breath hitch, and her heart skips a beat as he gingerly reaches forward to loop a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. Then he colors and hastily redirects his attention to building a mound of pillows for her to lean back on. She collapses against them with a grateful sigh, and he clears his throat, turning toward his dinner tray and splashing a little wine into the goblet. “What do you remember?” he asks, setting it in her hand.

Swan contemplates his question as she drinks, the liquid heavenly on her parched tongue. The corner of her nose wrinkles as she swallows away the rank taste of prolonged sleep. “We were in the storm, and Thomas…” Her eyes narrow with uncertainty over the top of the glass. “Did I save him?”

Hook resumes his seat, scooting around a bit to face her. “You saved us all,” he corrects. “Swan, you have magic.”

She blinks up at him anxiously, taking a small degree of comfort from the encouragement in his eyes before looking down at the palm of her free hand as though she’s never seen it before. “I remember the wave,” she says haltingly, “And I thought… I thought we…” She bites her lip and tries to shake off the memory of that overwhelming fear. Her hand falls on her belly, and she heaves a sigh, giving a shake of her head. “And all I wanted was for the ship to be clear of the storm, and there was this…” her face scrunches up, “this rush and… and then we were there.” She glances back at him for confirmation.

He nods. “That’s when you passed out.”

She hums, taking some more wine. “How long was I asleep?”

“Nearly three days.”

Her mouth falls open. “Three days?” she echoes. Her eyes flit down to his jawline, a crease forming on her forehead. “That explains your beard. What’s happened? Is the ship alright?”

“The ship is fine, Swan,” he assures her with a gentle grin. “Waterlogged and in a bit of disarray, but you got us out in one piece. We’ve had calm seas since.”

Her shoulders relax a fraction, but she cocks her head. “So why do you look as if you haven’t slept?”

Hook scratches behind his ear and looks away. “You aren’t the only one who’s allowed to worry.”

Understanding finally dawns, and her throat tightens, her brows peaking on her forehead. “You’ve been here with me… for three days?” She darts a glance at his chair.

He raises his weary eyes to hers, his face solemn. “Aye.”

The intensity of his stare puts Swan’s heart in her throat, and she tears her gaze away from his, her lashes grazing her cheeks as she preoccupies herself with her hands. “Careful, Captain,” she says with a shaky smile. “Your men are going to start to think you have feelings for me.”

There’s a moment of silence. “And what if I do?” he asks quietly.

She looks back up, startled, and tries to process the raw honesty in the shadows that dance across his face.

Hook rises, gently taking her cup and setting it aside. She swallows hard and shifts over in the berth to make room as he seats himself on the edge of the mattress, gathering her hand in his and pausing, as though trying to decide what to say. “Do you remember that first night we danced?” he asks at length.

Swan folds her lips, emotions welling up in her chest, and manages a small nod.

His gaze grows distant. “That was the first time I’d danced in over a hundred years,” he admits. “The first time I’d felt like dancing since I lost Milah.” He gives a rueful shake of his head. “The truth is, I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of her, never believed I could find someone else...” He raises his eyes back up to hers, looking sad. “That is, until I met you.”

She’s barely breathing, the extremes of happiness, apprehension, and surprise simultaneously washing over her as she listens desperately for the lie. But it’s all truth. She can feel it coming off of him in waves. “Hook,” she murmurs weakly, “you don’t even know who I am.” She bites her lip. “Or what I am.”

His crow’s feet crinkle in that way she adores. “Yes, I do,” he replies, the timbre of his words sending a shiver down her spine and his thumb drifting affectionately over her knuckles. “You’re Emma, Princess of Misthaven. Your powers are only further proof of that. There have long been rumors that Snow White’s daughter was born with magic.” He uses the curve of his hook to gently tip her chin upward so she meets his gaze. “But you could be an orphaned beggar without any powers for all I care. I know your heart, Swan,” he says, his blue eyes burning with conviction, “and I intend to win it.”

Swan blinks rapidly in the face of his stare, her emotions rising in her chest. “You…” she breathes, “you mean that.”

He nods.

The warmth of tears rushes upon her, and she looks away, her eyes falling to their joined hands and her brow wrinkling. A sniffle escapes her. “I didn’t think… I mean, I don’t…” She shakes her head again, the fingers of her free hand tracing the contours of his rings as she struggles to keep from dissolving into a blubbering mess. When she glances back up, her heart melts at the wounded uncertainty that hints on his features, and she reaches out to palm the angle of his jaw, her thumb alighting fondly on his newest scar and her mouth curving into a tremulous smile. “I don’t know if a princess is allowed to kiss a pirate.”

Even without her memories, there’s no doubt that the way his face illuminates with awe is one of the most wonderful things she’s ever seen. “I think,” he murmurs, swallowing hard, “when it comes to this pirate, Your Highness can do as she bloody well pleases.”

Swan bursts into nervous laughter and nods, winding her fingers into the collar of his shirt and hauling him forward, her lashes falling closed and a happy tear sliding down her cheek as she presses her lips softly to his.(*)

Suddenly she feels so many things at once she can scarcely process it all. The glorious sensation of his mouth moving against hers becomes amplified by a rush that surges through her – the same kind of powerful, emotional rush she felt when she moved the Jolly. It overwhelms her senses, and then the memories come, cascading upon her like a tidal wave, her mind so instantly saturated by images and thoughts and feelings that she gasps and blanches, her face contorting into a pained mask.

“Swan?” Hook pulls back in alarm, his hand coming up to wrap around her shoulder. “What is it?”

The mental onslaught ends as abruptly as it started, and her eyes spring wide. She gapes at him in wonder, chest heaving. “I remember,” she whispers.

His jaw drops. “You remember?”

“I remember!” Her voice cracks somewhere between a hysterical laugh and a relieved sob.

He cups her cheek, glowing with excitement. “Emma,” he tries, searching her face.

“Yes.” She chuckles and nods vigorously. “Emma.”

He crows with triumph and pulls her to him for another kiss, slanting his mouth across hers and stealing her breath with abandon this time while she sniffles, her body suffused with pure joy. The enthusiastic press of his lips, the dive of his fingertips into her tangled tresses, the snake of his left arm around her waist – it’s as if he can’t get her close enough, and she mewls, completely content to let him possess her in whatever way he desires.

After what seems like an eternity (and not nearly long enough), they come up for air, their combined breaths hot and insistent. Emma sucks one kiss-swollen lip between her teeth, feeling ridiculously giddy at the satisfied hum that emanates from his chest as he brushes his nose against hers and moves in to kiss her again.

Someone pounds on the door. “Captain!”

They break apart and freeze, swapping a chagrined look as the knocking persists. Hook gives an impatient growl that makes Emma giggle before shooting an icy glare in the direction of the disturbance. He huffs. “Hold that thought,” he mutters, bumping his forehead softly against hers and stealing another quick kiss before he straightens, rotating to face the door and swiping his thumb at the corner of his mouth. “Smee?”

The door bangs open, and the first mate lunges in. “Did you see it?” he pants. He skids to a halt when his enormous eyes fall on them. “Milady!” His face brightens. “You’re awake!”

Emma smiles and gives a small nod.

“Yes, she’s on the mend at last,” Hook concurs. “Now what are you talking about? What did you see?”

Smee seems to remember himself. “The—the…” Smee gestures nondescriptly behind him, “The wind. The light? Like a rainbow?” He looks back and forth between their blank expressions incredulously. “It looked like magic, sir. Went out in all directions from the Jolly.” He glances at Emma anxiously. “We thought perhaps Milady had something to do with it.”

Rainbow light. Hook opens his mouth to protest, but Emma interjects, trying to keep her voice from wavering even while her heart starts to race. “It’s alright, Mr. Smee,” she says. “I… I think it was me. But I’m fine now.”

His shoulders relax. “Are you sure, ma’am?” he asks, sounding concerned. “Is there anything you need?”

She flashes an appreciative smile. “Not right now. But thank you.”

“Privacy tonight, Smee,” Hook orders. “The Lady has been through an ordeal. I’ll call if she requires anything.”

Smee nods. “Shall we continue on course?”

“Aye. Thank you.”

Smee gawks at the Captain’s expression of gratitude. “You’re—you’re welcome, sir. Ma’am,” he stammers, looking pleasantly confused as he slips out the door and pulls it shut behind him.

As soon as the latch clicks, Hook turns back toward her. “What the devil was he talking about, Swan?”

“Rainbow light,” Emma murmurs, her gaze far away. “I’ve heard about something like that.” She raises her eyes to him nervously. “The dwarves say that’s what they saw when my father woke my mother with True Love’s Kiss.”

Hook’s handsome face goes slack. “Bloody hell.” He stares at her, dumbfounded, and gathers her hand back up in his. “So this…? You…?” His voice threatens to crack, and he searches her with shining eyes. “Do you actually…?”

Emma breaks out in a watery smile and nods, leaning forward to bury herself back in his arms with a contented sigh. “I think so. I mean, you were right. I’ve never been in love,” she concedes, her voice muffled against his shoulder. “But this… I was so miserable thinking you’d never feel the same.” She smiles as he reaches up to smoothe his hand over her hair. “Plus, I guess it’s kind of hard to argue with a broken curse, huh?” she chuckles.

He rumbles against her. “What happened, Swan? Who cursed you?”

Emma chuffs and pulls back a little, looking up at him sheepishly. “I did.”

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