#and Mod Can Speak Words Well loved it so much she insisted it go on here

[forbidding-souda]

Hey!! can i get korekiyo, shuichi, and nagito reacting to y/n confessing and kissing them out of pure frustration?? (i hope this makes sense and i’m sorry if it’s a weird request )

Shinguuji Korekiyo, Shuichi Saihara, and Nagito Komaeda reacting to Y/N confessing and kissing them out of fustration

This request is swagg. I tried capturing Nagito’s personality, sorry if It was OOC. Korekiyo’s sister is not mentioned in our Love Triangle.

-Mod Korekiyo

Korekiyo

Korekiyo looked carefully at the note you had given him.

His bandage fingers held it tightly in his grasp.

The note had said “Meet me at my dorm room at 6pm, please. By, Y/N”.

He was interested about what you were going to say, or rather do.

It was about 4pm, which meant he had to wait for 2 hours.

He had a thought that it was a confession, but brushed off the thought.

After about 2 hours, it was finally time for him to make his appearance.

His bandaged hands rolled into a fist and knocked into your dorm door.

“Hello? Y/N?” a voice called out saying your name.

You got off your bed and crept towards your door.

Your stomach started to ache with butterflies seeming to be inside of it.

You slowly opened the door to see the tall figure standing outside of your door.

Korekiyo Shinguji.

“Ah- Hi Korekiyo!” you spoke.

“Hello Y/N,I got your note. You asked me to come here, yes?” he said, his voice making your stomach churn even more.

“Mhm! Come in!” you said, carefully taking his hand and looking up at him for permission if you could.

He nodded at your gesture.

You brought him to your bed to sit down.

As you sat down Korekiyo began to speak.

“Kukuku… So, what would you like to tell me?” he asked.

His laugh was kind of cute, it was like the sound of throwing a rock onto water and hearing the ripples gained from it.

“A-ah… I-” for some reason your words weren’t coming out as planned.

Confessing to someone in the movies seemed so much easier.

Korekiyo just stared at you while you tried speaking, but stuttering out words instead.

“I-”

“I-I love you Korekiyo!” you said, quite loudly.

Out of frustration, you put your hand on his cheek and with your free hand pulled down his mask and kissed him.

Korekiyo's eyes were full of shock, but that was only for a second.

He soon accepted your embrace and made the kiss even deeper.

Even with his mask, his lips were surprisingly warm and mild.

You both broke away from the kiss, panting.

Korekiyo quickly pulled up his mask as you tilted your head.

“I love you too S/O”.

Shuichi Saihara

You and Shuichi were at an amusement park hanging out and being carefree.

You had asked the timid intellect if he wanted to go and he said yes.

You had liked the detective for a while now, everytime you were near him your heart seemed to beat like crazy.

Seemingly having your heart in your hand; you decided that you were going to confess today.

“Shuichi! Shuichi!” you called out.

Shuichi turned to you after he was done watching the rollercoasters.

“Ah, yes Y/N?” he replied.

“Could we get those cotton candies over there?” you exclaimed, pointing to the cotton candy stand that wasn’t too far.

“Y-yeah, of course Y/N!” the detective replied.

“Alright!!” you said smiling at him.

You grabbed his hand and his eyes widened up as you dragged him towards the stand.

“Why he;;o there! What would you kids like?” the stand owner asked.

“Hmm… I’ll get the blueberry one- Oh! How about you Y/N, what would you like?” Shuichi asked.

“Hmm… Maybe [CottonCandy Flavor].. Yea, that one!” you replied with an enthusiastic tone of voice.

“Here, I’ll pay-”

“No no Y/N, I’ll pay” he insisted.

“How much?” he asked the stand owner.

“Maybe a discount, since you guys look so cute together!” the stand owner said in awe.

“W-WHA?? I-I.. We’re just friends” Shuichi said, his face painted red all over.

You were kind of disappointed when he said that we guys were just “friends”. 

You wanted to be more than friends.

Shuichi’s expression changed into seemingly the same disappointment as yours for some reason.

“Oh! I’m so so sorry! Anyways it’s 12.99” the owner apologized. 

“Ah, no it’s fine!” Shuichi replied, giving the money he had in his wallet to the owner.

He both watched the owner walk away and make your cotton candy.

Even with the bright lights, kids laughing, and music playing; it seemed quiet.

Like it was just you and Shuichi.

Shuichi’s eyes darted around to places almost every millisecond, as it seemed.

You stared at his weird behavior and soon his eyes met yours.

Shuichi darted his eyes to where the owner was making both of your cotton candies, while his face turned redder by the second.

The owner started walking back to you both with cotton candy in both hands.

“Alright, here you guys!” the store owner said.

“Thank you!” you both said, at the same time.

“Jinx!” you said.

“Haha, well..” Shuichi said.

You both were walking to a tree with a bench under it.

As you sat down you ate your cotton candy.

The silence was worse than what it was during the wait over at the stand.

You realised that it was time. Time to take action.

“Shui- S-Shuichi..” you stuttered out.

It felt like a big weight was pressured into your chest and emotions.

“Uhh.. Y/N? Are you okay..? You’re stuttering..” Shuichi asked, concerned for your well-being.

“I-I’m fine! Really-”

‘What the hell no I’m not..’ you thought in your head.

You took a deep breath.

“Shuichi- I-I love you!” you spoke out.

You turned to him and cupped his cheeks almost instantly and kissed him.

Shuichi’s face turned red almost instantly and then he shut his eyes tightly, embracing the passionate kiss you had given him.

“A-Ah! I’m sorry Shuichi I-”

“No, I love you too S/O”.

Nagito Komaeda

As almost always, Nagito was talking trash about him.

You were both under a tree outside of Hope's Peak academy.

The tree provided shade for the hotness of the outside.

The sun was the only thing in the sky, you liked it being sunny/rainy. 

Either way, just as long as you could live another day to see the sky.

“Y/N, your talent is even more hopeful than mine…” he said verbally 

“Oh I- Thanks Komaeda..” flustered by his statement by you.

“No no, no need to thank me. It’s like being thanked by a goddess!” you exclaimed.

This made you about 10x flustered.

“Ah! Thanks Komaeda, but I really think you’re the goddess here” you said.

You swear you saw him blush.

Not in a million years you would see him blush.

You both made eye contact and blushed.

You did like him, a small crush.

Wow. You’re worse at lying than Kokichi.

No, you like him A LOT.

Not just a small crush, Miu would’ve called that bullshit if she heard that.

Your best friend Miu had to hear you ramble at how cute and hot Komaeda is. 

You didn;t care if he was crazy or not, you just-

Liked him. No reason on why or how, you just do.

You looked down at the grass which seemed like it was out of an anime.

Green. 

Like Nagito’s jacke-

“Huh?” you thought.

Even the smallest references towards him made you think of him.

Komaeda just watched you look at the grass, almost looking emotionless. 

“Y/N? Are you okay?” he asked.

You snapped out of your thoughts and looked at him.

“Y-yea!” you replied, lying.

“Well, that’s a relief..” you spoke out, but it seemed like he was talking to himself rather than talking to you.

Then he started on how great hope was, how it felt better than ecstasy and etc.

As you looked up, you started to look at the sky.

It was a nice day, sure.

But you wanted to make it even better.

You decided to confess towards the white haired maniac. 

“Nagito..” you started out.

“Yes Y/N?” he asked.

“I-”

“Well.. I-”

“Y/N.. Are you okay?” he asked.

“I love you Nagito!” you said, squinting your eyes in embarrassment.

You went over and grabbed his tie, reeling him closer to you.

Both of your lips met with a relieving feeling.

You felt like you were going to explode.

It didn’t take long for Nagito to adjust to the kiss and accepted it.

You both broke from the kiss, panting.

“That feeling.. Was better than hope. I...I love you too S/O”.

#shinguuji korekiyo #korekiyo shinguuji x reader #shuichi saihara x reader #Nagito Komaeda #nagito komaeda x reader #sdr2 komaeda

[i-moved-blogs-ffs]

Danganronpa request can a reader who is really kind and a sweetheart adopt the warriors of hope and helpem to forget they traumas and also can the reader beat the hell up the warriors of hope parents after everything they done to those innocents children's please

Of course, my darling! I love the WoH so much- I adopted them too, they're your adoptive siblings now so you all gotta get along ok-

These are probably gonna spiral into parenting headcanons because I cannot help myself- just let these kiddos have a happy home life man- :(

TW for mentions of abuse. It's nothing explicit, but it can be upsetting to some. Please be cautious.

Anyways, let's get started!

- 🌸🍭mod mikan🍭🌸

S/O adopting the WoH!

Now, we all know these kiddos had a bad time.

They were all abused in different ways, neglected, put down to the lowest point they could be.

Junko was like a light at the end of the tunnel for them, a savior - someone who cared, someone who they could trust, someone who loved them. But it was all lies.

She didn't care.

They couldn't trust her.

She didn't love them.

But then, you came around. At first, they thought you were like every other demon; evil, cold and uncaring.

And yet, there was this warmth radiating off of you... Almost like another light they could chase to get to true joy.

After Komaru and Toko defeated each of them, they felt lost. What were they supposed to do now that their empire has failed? Were the adults going to punish them, by abusing and taking advantage of them even further?

The group wandered the streets of Towa City, alone, hiding from every adult they could see and fending for themselves.

However, they stumbled upon you and Komaru. You two have been actively looking for them after finding out they survived.

But the reason why you were looking for them, was pretty unexpected.

You wanted to take them in as your own. They were just kids after all, no matter how much they tried to make themselves seem bigger. You wanted to help them, teach them that not everyone will hurt them, because they deserve to be loved like any other child does.

And so, they went with you. Very reluctantly mind you, but they didn't have much of a choice.

And as time went on, they opened up to you, one by one. And soon, you guys became like a happy family.

Somewhat dysfunctional, but still happy family.

Ok so, origin story's out of the way, now let's get in a bit deeper-

Parenting the Warriors is pretty hard- they each have something about themselves that you need to keep in mind.

And besides, taking care of 5 children wouldn't be easy even if they weren't traumatized-

You have to be patient, warm and kind to them, and to you that's no problem!

I would imagine Masaru would be the first to let his guard down around you, because he could tell that you weren't a bad person from the start.

He would start to admire you greatly, seeing you as the only cool adult around!!

He's always trying to impress you or get your attention because of that. And you always give him praise, telling him he's the most awesome kiddo ever!!

He always gets a bit bashful when you do, scratching his head as an "awhh, shucks!", escaping his lips.

He's very fond of you! He wants to do the things you do, like trying out your hobbies or imitating your mannerisms. He just wants to be as cool as you are.

While it is cute, you have to teach him that he's only the best when he's himself!

Kotoko was probably the second to open up. The first thing she noticed is that you never, ever used her trigger word in a sentence, not even on accident. You always used words like "soft", "tender" or "mallow", maybe even "delicate".

Not me looking up synonyms on thesaurus.com rn shHDHS

Like Masaru, her initial gut reaction always told her you were a good person, but the walls she had built up just couldn't let you in right away.

And when she does get comfortable, she becomes super clingy. She's almost as fond of you as Masaru is, honestly-

She always goes to you for any sort of help. She feels like you're the only person she can trust 100%, whether it be with her feelings or some other problem.

You're like- the only person who she's super nice to all the time. She used to be like that with Monaca, until you took them in.

Actually, speaking of that, they completely stopped literally worshipping Monaca's every move once you entered their lives.

Now, next up is Jataro. He initially thought you hated his every move, and that you only took him in because of pity.

But, you were proving him wrong every day. Going out of your way to talk to him, being so incredibly kind that it made his heart hurt.

You always help him out with his art! He loves when you sit down and paint, sculpt or draw with him, even if you're not artistic yourself. He feels like he's wanted, and all of that self-hatred almost completely washes away.

The biggest moment was when you finally convinced him to take off his mask. And when he did, you could tell he was way happier.

You two burned the mask together, leaving that part of his life behind you and turning over a new leaf.

And because of your influence, the rest of the kids are way nicer to him as well now!

Nagisa was the fourth one to take his guard down.

He saw how much Masaru, Kotoko and Jataro trusted you, and after observing you further, he began to see why.

He was always very distant from you, and you respected that. So, you were pleasantly surprised when he suddenly started going out of his way to help you, talk to you or spend time with you. However, you never questioned it, which made him relieved.

It's like you two silently agreed that you were cool with eachother.

He's very mature for his age, so he's the first one to try and help you with regular day-to-day tasks, even without you asking for said help.

Mans over here about to start doing your taxes HDHDH-

You always tell him to chill out, but he insists. He knows how much trouble he and his adoptive siblings are making for you, and it's his own way of thanking you.

Now, Monaca's a little interesting.

At first she was only pretending to care about you, like she did with the rest of the Warriors, but after a while she genuinely grew to love both you and her siblings.

She doesn't like the fact she cares one bit, but she can't help it.

She still has very manipulative tendencies, but you always see through them and her lies. You call her out on it, but never berate her.

She's very kiss ass-y, I guess?? Always complimenting you for the smallest reasons and calling you sweet nicknames.

She sometimes just wants to make you mess up to try and get herself to stop caring-

Like whenever a problem comes up, she always goes, "S/O can fix it!😌🙏 Our (affectionate parental term) dearest can do anything!🥰💞" and the rest of the kids are like "yah!!💖💕" because they love and support you while you're just there like🧍

Because no you can't rebuild the economy do you look like bob the fucking builder-

AnywaY their parents are already dead, so you guys beat up H*ji instead. :)

Ah, family bonding time. 💕

And done!! I love these little spawns of satan so much you guys don't even know- this was literally so fun to write that I think I got carried away a bit hshGhd- I hope this is ok!

Make sure to wash your hands, stay hydrated, take any meds you may need to and stay safe! You were so brave, have a lollipop! 🍭

#nurse!🍭 #mod nurse🍭 #mod mikan🍭 #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa ultra despair girls #ultra despair girls x reader #masaru daimon #kotoko utsugi #jataro kemuri #nagisa shingetsu #monaca towa

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Hello lovely mods! I was wondering if any of you could write a scenario where MC protects Piama from a jerk insult her flowers? And maybe afterwards MC compliments her? Thank you in advance! Love a wonderful week - Aquarius

The sun shone bright over the busy streets of Attadellys. An array of brilliant colors, flawlessly meshing together, as Spring seemed to blossom everywhere. The mood in the Spring Quarter was joyous with the recent coronation - warmly welcoming in their new Spring Queen.

"You'd think some of these people had never seen royalty before." Piama scoffed, holding her hand tightly in mine, as we weaved through the crowded cobblestone streets. "Ruelle, stay close and keep your eyes out for anything suspicious."

"I know how to do my job, Princess Flower Power, thank you." The whispered voice of Ruelle said from the other side of Piama. I laughed as I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. The slight blush to Piama's face only making me laugh harder.

"O-of course." She said, clearing her throat, as she averted her eyes from mine. "I meant no offense, Ruelle!"

She whispered the last part in flustered annoyance. Shaking my head with a chuckle, I placed a small kiss to the inside of Piama's wrist. I knew she would never admit her feelings for Ruelle to me, but I saw the way that they looked at each other. The stolen glances, the blush that spilled so beautifully across her warm skin, every time that Ruelle was close - and I knew I should be jealous - worried, even - but if there was anyone in Attadellys that I would share my love for Piama with, it would be Ruelle.

"Frost, Piama.. where is this place?" I groaned, her eyes cutting me short before I could say another word.

"Has being a Queen taught you no patience at all?" She replied with a smirk. "Does her majesty wish to retire already?"

I rolled my eyes, and gave her an exasperated look - swearing that just for a moment, I could hear a small chuckle coming from the direction of Ruelle.

"You are so very humorous Piama of the Spring. It's not my fault that you put me in the most uncomfortable shoes in all of Lysend!" I replied.

"Ah well, the shoes do make the dress, do they not?" Storm blue eyes tracing me over, as she gave me a heated smirk.

It was not an easy thing, to keep your composure, when dear Piama made you her main focus. The way her eyes seemed to study and learn every inch of you - like there was something just beneath the surface, that she wasn't quite seeing. It never failed to fluster me - to disarm me - to cause me to lose all train of coherent thought. She ran her fingers through the long tangles of her hair. The length of it cascading down her back, brilliant against her warm skin.

"Have I told you how much I like it when you wear your hair down like this?" I asked, taking a strand of her soft hair, and twisting it between two fingers.

"Only about a hundred times, yes." She replied, rolling her eyes - a slight blush rising to her cheeks.

I let out a sigh of relief, making sure to be as dramatic as possible, when we finally arrived at the shop that Piama had insisted we go to.

"Oh hush, Llewellyn! It did not take us that long to get here." She exclaimed, firmly swatting me on the arm before she took off towards a particularly beautiful dress. The sheer, white fabric, almost reaching the floor in the back, while the front would just barely covers Piama's thighs. The purple and yellow flower inlay that adorned the neckline, almost identical the ones in her hair.

"Slush, Piama.. You would look absolutely stunning in that." I said.

"That is the plan, my Queen." She replied with a smirk. "I have been staring at this dress for weeks, it seems like."

As she calls over the clerk, I immediately notice a shift in energy. The tall women's dark eyes, narrowing as they traced over Piama. Her lips almost perched, as she reluctantly made her way over to the dress.

"I would like to get this fitted, if you please."

The tall women just stood there for a minute, staring at Piama.

"In this span, preferably..." Piama added, giving me a look.

"Of course, Miss." The clerk finally answered, taking the dress off of it's stand.

"You might be more inclined to try something like this." A sharp voice from behind me, thick with judgment, rings through. A long arm holding out an extremely chaste style dress in Piama's direction.

"Apologies, but were we talking to you?" Piama snapped back, as I turned to face the person who had interrupted us. A tall woman, with hair as dark as Ruelle’s cloak, and green eyes that could cut their way through a moonless night, stood next to us. Her lips almost twisted into a snarl as she spoke.

"Obviously, you did not, and I am thankful for that, truly." She scoffed.

"Is there something that we can maybe help you with, then?" I asked the seemingly unpleasant woman.

"Yeah, like a stabbing." I heard Ruelle's sarcastic tone muttered under her breath.

"Oh, I was just looking at this dress your friend was planning on buying.. and well, I think we can all agree that this one here.. " She shoved the heavy fabric of the dress in our direction. ".. would suit her, and those unsightly flowers of her, much better. Do you not agree?"

I could feel a blush of embarrassment spilling over Piama's beautiful face without even looking at it. The woman's green eyes boring into her, waiting for a reply.

"And just what is that supposed to mean!" Piama barked back, her emotions starting to run high.

"It means, dear, that you look like a lost garden, that someone forgot to tend to." The woman laughed. "At least this dress, will help with mostly everything.. except for your face, that is."

I could see the tears welling up in sweet Piama's eyes, the vibrant flowers that so perfectly accentuated her warm skin, almost wilting at the harsh words. Anger surged through me like a tidal wave of fire. I clenched my fists, moving closer to Piama, as I took a deep steadying breath.

"Just who the frost do you think you are, speaking to her like that!?" I said, seething.

"Ha.. and just what's so special about her? Hm? Or you, for that matter" She rolled her eyes - her nose sticking straight up into the air, like a physical ailment of her own ignorance.

"Well I, for one, just happen to be Queen Llewellyn of Lysend... " I paused, watching as horror and realization began to paint it's way across the unpleasant woman's face. "And this.. this is Piama of the Spring. The Queen's consort, and my new wife."

I stood a little taller, justice flowing through me like a bolt of lightning.

"Oh.. I am.. so-!" I waved my hand firmly, cutting the woman’s words short.

"I could care less for your apologies, and even less for whatever excuse you'd deem to come up with."

"Y-yes, my Queen."

"And further more.. to answer your question - What makes her so special? The way her voice cracks slightly in the morning, when she's just woken up. How vulnerable she can be, when she’s finally let you into her beautiful soul. The brilliant way her skin flushes over, when I tell her how gorgeous she is. She's incredible - perfectly imperfect, in every way - A fierce and shining light in a world, that you insist on making darker, with your own ugly words."

I could feel my body shaking with anger. Ready to rip this woman apart right where she stood. Only stopping when I felt a shadow of a hand on my arm.

"That is enough for now, my Queen. Let us worry about getting Piama out of here." Ruelle's voice whispered behind me. "If she follows us, I will be more than glad to stab her. "

I gave a small nod, unable to help myself from smiling before clearing my throat.

"Now, I suggest you take you, and your opinions, back to wherever they came from."

"Yes, my Queen." The woman gave Piama one last sneering look, before bowing, and hurrying back to her friends.

"That lady was nothing but a rotting corpse." Ruelle spits out, causing Piama to laugh.

"T-truly."

I took Piama's hand in mine, bringing her attention back to me.

"Hey.. don't listen to a single word that closed minded slush-hole said about you. You are beautiful, Piama." I said, rubbing the back of hand across the supple part of her cheek. Her storm blue eyes slightly averting from mine, as she blushed.

"Th-thank you for saying so, Llewellyn... and thank you for sticking up for me. Ruelle and Lyris are the only one's who have ever done that before."

I placed a small kiss to the inside of her palm, before bringing her in for a hug. My arms wrapping tightly around her, only letting go when I felt her breath start to steady.

"I will always stick up for you, Piama. Always." I replied, as I pulled back, a fond smile on my face. 'Now, let's go buy this dress of yours, and head back to the palace. I'm famished, and the longer we stay out here, the greater chance we have of Ruelle stabbing someone."

"And for good reason." I heard come from the other side of Piama.

"That sounds like a very good plan, my Queen." Piama replied with a laugh, looping one of her arms around my own, the other resting on the empty space next to her. Her smile outshining the bright Spring sun itself, when we exited the shop. Three seasons blended imperfectly together - bonded by nothing more than fate, love, and friendship.

#answered #anonymous #lovestruck #women of lovestruck #piama of the spring #reigning passions mc #ruelle of the autumn #piama x mc #piama x mc x ruelle #reigning passions #light angst #fluffy angst #angsty #angst #woeful wednesday

[tsumugimagines]

Could I request Mikan, Kirumi, Akane, Korekiyo, and Teruteru with a s/o who is relapsing with anorexia after they've been trying to recover for a while? If this makes you uncomfortable I totally understand and you don't necessarily need to do it.

I'll do it, for sure! Of course, I've never had an eating disorder, so you'll all have to forgive me if there is something I get incorrect. It's just not something I have first hand experience with.

- Mod Tsumugi

Tw: Eating Disorder!

Mikan Tsumiki

"U-Um... S/O?"

"Yes, Mikan?"

"I n-noticed you w-weren't eating much today..." Mikan noted. The observation seemed to make her beloved noticably uncomfortable, as if they had suddenly shrunk.

"S-Sorry! I shouldn't have said anything!" She cried. "I-I'm so stupid!"

"No, Mikan, you're not-"

"You p-probably have a good reason..." She murmured. "I-I'm just being-"

"Mikan, it's okay!" You quickly assured her, taking hold of her hand.

"O-Okay... But... W-Why haven't you been eating? I-It's important for your health!"

"I... Um..." You managed. Tears began to prick at your eyes as Mikan scooted closer to you with concern.

"S/O?" She asked, quietly. You bit your lip as you felt the tears begin to run down your face.

"M-Mikan... I was..." You sobbed. "I was doing so well!"

"S/O... It's okay. I-I can take c-care of you." She assured you, squeezing your hand lightly. "We can work th-through this together, okay?"

"Okay..." Was all you could manage to say in reply. Mikan gave a smile in response. Suddenly, you had a distinct feeling that things were indeed going to be okay.

Kirumi Tojo

"S/O, may I speak with you?" Kirumi asked politely, closing the door to the room behind her.

"Of course, love." You replied as she sat down on the bed next to you. The expression in her eyes (or rather, the one eye that wasn't covered by her hair) was one of concern.

"S/O, I noticed that you have not been eating recently. Is there a reason for this? Are you ill?"

"Uh..."

"As the Ultimate Maid, I am more than capable of taking care of you."

"No, Kirumi. I'm not sick. But that's sweet of you." You replied, shaking your head. "I'll be fine."

"It is important that you eat-"

"I can stand to lose a few pounds! I'll be fine." You sighed. You watched Kirumi's concerned face harden into a serious one.

"S/O, I cannot stand for this. I will be ensuring that you eat regularly. I cannot let you waste away in this manner."

"Kirumi, I'll be-"

"You will not be fine. Ignoring the issue will only make it worse. You must eat. That is final. Come with me." She affirmed. The conviction in her words had an indescribable effect on you, making you rise to your feet before you even realized what you were doing. Placing her gloved hands gently on your shoulders, she led you to the kitchen to break your cycle of starvation.

Akane Owari

Akane stood in front of you with her hands on her hips. Her teeth were clenched as she looked at you.

"Akane?" You asked, sheepishly.

"I haven't seen you at the dining hall in days, S/O. The hell's going on?"

"Oh, I just haven't been hungry." You lied.

"For days?! C'mon, S/O. Either you're lyin', or we need to get you to Tsumiki-San, stat!"

"Akane, babe. I'm fine-" You started.

"Like hell you're fine! Not eating isn't normal!" She exclaimed, striding towards you. Immediately, you leaned back, out of instinct. It didn't do much, though. She still grabbed your shoulders firmly.

"A-Akane!" You managed to exclaim, unsure of how to react.

"If I've gotta be the person that makes sure you eat, them I'm gonna be the person to make sure you eat! Come on!" She exclaimed, practically dragging you to the dining hall in order to keep her word.

Korekiyo Shinguji

You two had been eating together in silence. Or rather, you were playing with your food, and he was eating through the small zipper on his mask.

"Unfortunately, the Aztecs were not very lenient when it came to public drunkenness." He was explaining. "Most younger people who committed such an act were clubbed to death. Older people got off a little bit easier."

"Wow. I wonder how many people actually suffered that fate."

"That is something we may not know." He replied. He zipped up his mask, having finished his meal.

"S/O, are you going to eat?"

"O-Oh... No. I'm not hungry."

"You have not eaten in days." He insisted.

"Oh... Uh..." You stammered. You should have known that nothing escaped him. Of course he would notice. Unsure of what to say, you just looked at him. What you were met with was an analytical gaze as his yellow eyes seemed to study you. Your eyebrows furrowed in concern. What was he trying to observe?

"Anorexia nervosa." He suddenly said.

"What?"

"An eating disorder in which the sufferer drastically reduces their food intake in an effort to lose weight. The sufferer can have severe medical effects due to the starvation-"

"Kiyo!" You exclaimed. "S-Stop it!"

"It is not good for you. Humans must consume to live, dearest S/O. A few bites will suffice."

"Kiyo, I..." You started, before finally slumping down in your seat. "Okay..."

A smile became visible under his mask.

Teruteru Hanamura

"Heya, S/O."

"Oh, Teruteru! What's going on?"

"C-Could we talk, Sugarplum?" He asked, closing the door behind him and making sure you two were alone. He had a plate of what appeared to be handmade truffles with him.

"Oh, sure! But you didn't have to make me food, love."

"Actually, Honeybun, that's part of what I wanted to talk about... Ya haven't been really eating lately." He admitted, looking away shyly.

"Oh... Um..."

"So I wondered if the things I've been fixin' lately weren't up ta snuff. You can tell me, Sweetie Pie."

"Oh, no! Your dishes are amazing, Teru! I just... Don't feel like eating much." You sighed, looking in the mirror with dissatisfaction.

"Wha? Well, that's not good? It's like Nidai-Kun says! Ya gotta eat well!"

"And shit well?"

"Well, I wasn't usin' that to prove my point... What I'm tryin' to get at is that ya need to eat, Pumpkin!"

"Um..."

"C'mon, hun. We can share these." He said with a big smile as he held up the truffles. How could you say no to that face?

#danganronpa imagines #tw: anorexia #mikan tsumiki #kirumi tojo #akane owari #korekiyo shinguji #teruteru hanamura #tw: eating disorder

[kokorosfanfics]

Jealous!Gonta x reader: Atua or My Love?

Nobody requested this, this is just an idea I’ve had for a while and I’m waiting to get more requests. Pretty much, Gonta joined the student council and it’s taking a toll on your relationship, but your good friend Kokichi is here to help! -Mod Kokoro

(Also, don’t do this if you’re in a similar situation. This is fiction, but in an actual relationship, it’s better to talk about it.)

Things were bad enough as it is, with being stuck in a killing game. But now, Gonta Gokuhara, your boyfriend, has been brainwashed into the student council, A.K.A. Angie’s cult. Normally, you ate with Gonta on your left and your best friend, Kokichi, on your right. But now that he’s all “ATUAAAA!” He only ate with the other student council members. You tried to talk to him, only for him to insist you join the student council, which you politely refused. No matter how many times Angie gives you a hug, or Gonta pleads, you’re not joining that Atua bullshit. One time, Gonta approached you, only to reprimand you on going out of the dorms at night. You sighed to yourself, simply poking your fork into your food. 

“You good (N/N)?” (Nickname)

“I’m fine, ‘Kichi...” Well, at least you still have Kokichi. At least he didn’t betray you for some cult.

“Yeah. That’s an obvious lie.” Kokichi scooted closer to you, and got a little more serious.

“Is this because of you and Gonta?”

Tears were threatening to come out. “Y-Yes...”

“Y’know, I wouldn’t mind helping you.”

“How? What could you do?”

“Meet me in your room after breakfast.” With nothing else better to do, you nodded your head, and finally ate your breakfast.

You walked with Kokichi to your room, and shut the door behind you. Kokichi sat in your bed, and you sat next to him.

“So... How’re you gonna help me?” You asked.

“Easy! All we gotta do is make him jealous!”

“Jealous? I don’t really think Gonta’s the type to get jealous...”

“Oh, but we’ll do it.” Kokichi gave you sneaky look.

“......How?”

“I’m going to pretend to try to steal you from him.” His face immediately went to one of his creepy/evil ones.

“WHAT?”

“You heard me right. We’re going to play pretend. I’ll pretend to try to steal you from him, and you’re going to pretend it’s working. He won’t catch on that we’re only faking it, and eventually he’ll do something! C’mon, what’s the worst that could happen?” Kokichi winked at you.

You thought about it for a bit. How would this work? Gonta... Isn’t the brightest. Pretty dense, really. You’d have to be all over each other in order for something like this to work. And do you really want to make him worry about losing you? That’s horrible! But then again..... He had barely spoken to you like a lover in a long while. And Kokichi, as devious as he is, usually his plans worked. He thought things through, and was pretty damn clever. An evil genius, who secretly had a heart of gold. He’s your best friend, and does genuinely care about you and want to help you. Who knows, maybe this could work?

“Alright. I’m in.” You reluctantly agreed. “But nothing that’ll hurt him!”

“Great! Let’s start right now.”

“Huh?”

“Uh, yeah! We gotta talk through some things we’re gonna do in front of Gonta to get him worked up! Don’t worry we don’t have smash lips or anything like that.”

The two of you planned out some scenarios to act out in front of Gonta to make him jealous.

“You ready N/n?” Kokichi nudged your shoulder.

“Yep. Ready as I’ll ever be, ‘Kichi.”

“Great! Let’s go!” Kokichi wrapped an arm around yours, and the two of you headed to the dining hall for lunch.

As usual, Gonta ignored you, and sat at the opposite end of the table. Kokichi sat next to you, but this time an arm was around your waist. Time to get your acting skills ready.

“Y’know S/o, you look really nice today.” Kokichi pretended to flirt.

“O-Oh! Thank you, that’s really nice. You’re looking good, too!” You responded. So far, so good. You noticed Miu in the corner of your eye carefully observing suspiciously. Kokichi reached up to tuck some hair behind your ear. Now, you saw Miu nudge Kiyo, who was next to her. Seems you’ve got the attention of two of your classmates.

“Hey, S/o, do your hands still hurt from yesterday?” Kokichi made sure this was asked a little louder than usual. 

“Hurt? Is S/O hurt???” You were surprised to hear none other than Gonta, who seemed to have picked up on the conversation. You looked over to see him surprised, and a little worried. You and Kokichi hadn’t planned to get Gonta’s attention this early, but he winked at you, assuring he knew what to do.

“Oh yeah! Poor S/o, she fell and got so injured! But luckily, I was there to help her/him/them.” Kokichi placed emphasis on the “I” part. “Hey, S/o, since your hands still hurt, I’d hate for you to be in pain while lifting your fork, so I’ll help you!” Kokichi picked up your fork, lifted it your mouth, and fed you. You blushed, yeah you had discussed and agreed to this, but it still caught you off guard. Now, Miu, Kiyo, Shuichi, Kaito, and Maki were observing as they spoke lowly to each other. You couldn’t tell if anyone from the student council was noticing, but you felt some eyes on you, so you assumed some of them were. The rest of lunch, Kokichi fed you and subtly pretended he was flirting with you. You pretended to be clueless to his fake advances, and “unknowingly” encouraged him. When you were done eating, Kokichi moved close enough so only you saw his face. He gestured with his eyes and head to look behind you. 

You looked over your shoulder to find Angie, Tenko, Himiko, Kiibo and Gonta muttering to each other. But Gonta only seemed to be focused on you. Not wanting to make it obvious you were looking, you went back to facing Kokichi, and the two of you looked mischievously at each other and nodded. This was getting good. Kokichi placed his head under your neck and rested against you.

“Oh! Are you tired, Kokichi?” You asked softly. You had to pretend like you were oblivious to his “advances” after all. 

“Yeah. You don’t mind if I rest against you, do you?” 

“Not at all!” You hugged him close. But then came something you hadn’t expected.

“Hey! Degenerate male! Why are you flirting with S/o? She’s dating Gonta, so get off her tits!” Tenko the man hater was here to protect you from threats that didn’t actually exist.

“Tenko, he’s not a degenerate and he’s not flirting with me. He’s my friend!” You spoke up to defend him.

“He’s been flirting this whole time! First he’s all over you, next he feeds you, and then he presses his head against your chest and, UGHH.” Tenko cringed in disgust.

“I fed her because her hands were injured? Oh and, N/N and I are like, best friends and all that. Not very uncommon for best friends to be affectionate, you know.” Kokichi scoffed at her remarks.

Before Tenko could say another word, Angie had stepped forward to where you were.

“Now now, it’ll be okay. I’m sure Kokichi is just trying to be a good friend, and S/o knows that. You’d do the same for your friends, wouldn’t you, Tenko?”

“I..... Yeah.” Tenko sighed.

“S/o, you are surrounded by good friends, and a lovely boyfriend! Why don’t you be apart of the student council?” Angie outstretched her arms and walked closer. Here it comes, the tenth time Angie has tried to brainwash you via magic hugs. But thankfully Kokichi swatted her away.

“Heyyy! Don’t take my friends from me! She/He/They doesn’t/don’t wanna be part of your stupid cult!”

“But can’t S/o speak for herself/himself/themselves?” Angie asked.

“Yes, and he’s right. I have no interest in your student council.” You gave her the polite version of what Kokichi said.

“See?” He taunted.

“It is fine! S/o will come around eventually! Let us go, student council.”

“C’mon, S/o. We’ve got places to be. Let’s go to my room!” Kokichi said, in his innocent voice. You saw Kiyo in the corner of you eye glaring at Miu that she better not make another dirty joke.

But as you left, Gonta was watching, and he began to feel.... Something. But he wasn’t sure what this was.

“Oh my God! S/o, THAT. WAS. AWESOME! DID YOU SEE THE LOOK ON THEIR FACES? MANNN THEY KNOW SOMETHING IS UP! I TOLD YA WE COULD GET GONTA JEALOUS!”

“I know! I think it’s working, maybe Gonta will finally snap out of it! I hope....” You were a little worried about hurting him, though.

The next days were spent with similar events. Kokichi would try to “steal you” from Gonta, Gonta would watch from afar, and you could tell it was working. One time you and Kokichi decided to just chill for a bit outside and look at the stars, and you weren’t putting up an act, just simply talking about stuff and chilling outside, and occasionally playing with each others hair. As you and Kokichi were talking, he stopped, and pointed behind you.

“Hm? What is it, ‘Kichi?” You looked behind you to see.... Gonta! Gonta was coming!

“Oh! Gonta you’re here, hey!” You and Kokichi stood up to greet him. You were just about to give him a hug, but...

“S/O and Kokichi not supposed to be out at night time. Gonta will bring S/O and Kokichi back to dorms.”

“Wha..... What?” You stared dumb founded. He was just here to tell you go back to the dorms? 

“Student council not allow you to be outside at night.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You asked.

“It no joke. Come, let us-”

“No.” You stated.

“What S/o mean no? Being out at night is dangerous!”

“I don’t care.” You turned around. ‘This whole thing was a bust. He doesn’t treat me like a lover anymore. I won’t stand for this.’ You began walking off, probably to wander the school. “C’mon ‘Kichi. Let’s walk around for a bit.”

“GONTA NO CAN LET THAT HAPPEN!” Gonta went to take a hold of your hand, only you slapped his hand away from you.

“Fuck off.” You spat. Your gaze only softened a little at Gonta’s hurt expression. “What the hell Gonta? What happened? What’s gotten into you? I don’t deserve to be ignored and bossed around. Just because you’re in Angie’s cult, it doesn’t mean you can just tell me what I can and cannot do. I’m sick of the way you’re treating me, and I especially do not deserve to be second to your PRECIOUS Angie! I deserve better than that! Hell, WHY DON’T YOU JUST GO OFF AND BE WITH HER INSTEAD?” You ran away with tears in your eyes as you headed straight for the school building. You had enough. It was evident to you that Gonta didn’t care for you anymore. In this world where you must kill to escape, Gonta was the silver lining for you. But now, that silver lining has faded.

“Wow.” Kokichi turned to face Gonta. “You fucked up, big guy.” Only then did Kokichi notice Gonta’s expression. He was.... Crying. 

“Gonta.... IDIOT! GONTA IDIOT! GONTA WAS UNGENTLEMANLY! HOW COULD GONTA DO THIS TO S/O?” Gonta fell to his knees, realizing how he made S/o feel. He’s never felt so ashamed in his life.

“Gonta.” Kokichi spoke up. 

“What?” Gonta let out through a sob.

“It’s not too late, y’know. So why don’t you get up and go after her/him/them?”

“S/o deserve better than Gonta. Gonta was ungentlemanly!”

“Yeah, ignoring her/him/them and favoring some student council instead was pretty bad, but you know what gentleman do when they slip up after that?” Kokichi asked.

“What do gentleman do?”

“They go make up for it!” Kokichi nudged Gonta to get him up.

“Run! Go after her/hi/them, and make it up to her/him/them!”

“Kokichi is right! Gonta will go make it up to S/o!” With newfound confidence, Gonta began to run towards the school building.

“S/O! WAIT FOR GONTA! GONTA HAS SOMETHING TO SAY!” 

“Nee-heehee. You’re welcome, S/o.” Kokichi simply walked into the school. He wanted to watch this play out.

You decided the best way to cope with your current situation would be to go in your lab. You were simply practicing your ultimate talent, hoping to get your mind off of things for a while, but you were interrupted.

“S/O!” Gonta exclaimed as he ran to you.

“W-What do you want, Gonta?” You really did not want more of Gonta’s bullshit. But thankfully, it wasn’t

“Whoa-” Gonta pulled you in for a hug.

“Gonta? What are you doing?...”

“Gonta is sorry. Gonta no should have mistreated S/O like that. Gonta promise to be a better gentleman. Gonta no want Angie, he want you.”

“Gonta.....” Finally. FINALLY your boyfriend was back!

“I’m sorry too, Gonta. I shouldn’t have snapped like that..”

“S/O no should apologize! Gonta was in wrong.”

“Thank you!” You reached up to kiss him, and he happily kissed back. You were so happy, finally, he was back! Your loveable giant teddy bear boyfriend was back! 

During your kiss, you heard the familiar sound of Kokichi’s footsteps walking into your lab, as he walked over to where you were. You smiled into your kiss, and reached a hand behind your back, and Kokichi gladly high fived you.

#danganronpa #gonta #gonta gokuhara #gonta x reader #kokichi #kokichi ouma #kokichi oma

[castlevania-afterdark-imagines]

Gotta go a tiny bit dark for a moment, how would trevor, godbrand, sypha, drac, and the forgemasters handle an s/o who's libido fluctuates wildly and struggles a lot with her body image? I'm sorry if that's too many characters, I just really really love them..

Gonna lean more into the body image part of this ask. Bonus Alucard cause I mean, we got the rest of the crew, might as well.

Trevor

General attitude about it is - Why though? (Trevor, please)

Is very much the sort of person who stands by if your body works then there's nothing wrong with it, so it's a bit hard for him to understand.

Okay, maybe he's a little self conscious about the sheer number of scars he has, but that's just because they bring up a lot of questions.

But he likes your body, and what you do to him with said body. So when you have moments where you pull away and look at yourself with disappointment he just can't quite wrap his head around it.

He'll try to be more careful with his comments towards the parts you don't like, cause god knows he'll fuck up trying to compliment them in a way that doesn't sound overbaked.

But when he's making love to you he makes sure to touch everywhere.

Words are hard, but he knows how to work with his hands.

He tries to utter soft praises, but most of it comes out as single word grunts like “perfect” and “ god-yes”

Oh, he'll also remove the eyes of anyone who makes a jab at what you're sensitive about.

Alucard

A bit of genuine confusion about it.

He just genuinely thinks you're the most sublime creature on the Earth so how could you not see that in yourself?

He certainly won't stop you from working on things you want to change, he will train with you if you want to change your body composition or he'll offer to research skin treatments if you have complexion concerns.

But only if you ask, he's never the one to suggest it. As far as he sees it he's just helping you achieve something you want to accomplish, not "improving" you.

However he does know that change doesn't happen overnight, so he gets sad when you express frustration over not being there yet because he can't really fix time.

So he stays close, lets you vent while he gently traces your face with his fingers.

He gets a bit drapey with his affection when you're down. Never pressing sexually, he just sort of stimulates a cocoon of limbs wanting to hold all of you close.

You might also notice more little gifts showing up where you can find them. Flowers by your bedside, pastries by your favorite chair, tokens of affection to assure you he is just as enamored with you when you aren't feeling your best.

Sypha

Is visibly upset when she sees you mentally tearing into yourself,  but that's just because she couldn't hide an expression if she tried.

Wants to talk with you about it, to find out if it was something somebody said or a result of something someone did.

If it's something that is changeable, she'll offer to help you with your goals, keep you motivated while also insisting you do NOT have to do any of this for her.

If it's not something that can be changed she'll try her best to listen, let you vent when you feel frustrated.

She gets conflicted between either wanting to give the parts of yourself that you don’t like *more* attention or trying to make sure to compliment the other parts of your body she loves (aka, the rest)

She might admit to you some of the spots she doesn’t like much either, like the scars on her shoulder, or the stretch marks around her knees.

Regardless she’ll always match your mood, throwing herself at you with gusto when the lust strikes, or being very gentle and soothing when you aren’t feeling up for it.

Gets up in the face of anybody who might make a rude remark, even if it might risk escalating the argument to melting the offender’s face off.

Dracula

Has seen many many many bodies in his lifetime (won't tell you how many of those were no longer living), he sees the variety as a staple of humanity.

So yeah, it distresses him to see you dislike anything about yourself.

But he also knows that’s not something he can just tell you you’re incorrect over and be done with. It’s not something he can actually control.

So he simply makes himself available, however you need him.

You in the mood to get dicked down? Yup, he can do that and mend the bedframe afterwards.

You need a few slow days with minimal touching? Okay, he’s got all the time in the world. He’ll stay within earshot until you call him, then he’ll cater to whatever you need.

He’s not super keen on trying to use any sort of magic to alter your body, even if you ask. Unless it’s life threatening of course.

He also makes it a mental note to be exceedingly clear that each time he has you bare before him he regards you like a devout cardinal would his holy texts.

Divine.

Godbrand

(Why, why ya’ll gotta pick the hard one for sensitive topics)

He thinks you’re hot, all the time, any time of day. So when he notices you going from a sexual high to a sexual dry, he honestly thinks it’s his fault.

Starts apologizing about whatever the fuck pops into his head (though this is a Godbrand apology so it’s stuff like “I’m sorry I dropped your favorite mug three months ago but I told you not to leave it on the edge of the counter like that”)

When you first explained to him what was actually up he’s...confused.

To behonest probably first went to his favored huntsmen and asked them what the fuck to do

Which was met with equally confused shrugs and panicked “Why the fuck would we know better?”

In the end he sort of resorts to brute forcing through it.

He sees you take a little too long in the mirror looking at yourself. Nope, no, nu uh, he hauls you up and finds something to distract you with.

He’ll try to offer ideas of how to help if it’s something you can change, if not he’ll just be six times as loud when he’s boasting about how perfect his partner is to the village.

Hector

Oh nooooooooo this gentle man, he’s so concern

He can pick up on your mood shifts as if he could hear them announce their presence.

He’s just as good at silently reading into what you want him to do next.

Sometimes it’s just to lie with you, touching your hair and face, murmuring sweet nothings into the space between you two. How lovely he finds you, how happy you make him.

He knows how cruel the world can be, especially over something as fickle as appearance. He hates that anyone could ever have instilled in you a disliking of your own body.

He’s never pushy about his more carnal wants, and never makes it about your attraction towards him. He trusts that you’re still interested, you just need time here and there.

Sometimes he will get a little flare of adoration when he sees you, when he remembers the areas you told him you aren’t fond of, and will absent mindedly want to touch them. Gentle brushes of fingertips, a soft smile resting on his lips until you bring him back to reality.

He might not be verbose in his support, but you’ll never shake him from it.

Isaac

Is honestly the one mostly likely to get frustrated over what in his mind is a baseless insecurity. Never shows it, but internally has trouble understanding it.

He gets the social troubles, humans being vain and cruel creatures, but to him a body is like a well-worn tool. What you don’t like you work to either change or adapt to.

But he also knows that mindset does not arrive overnight, and though internally he might feel a tug of irritation when he can feel you pull away he is very careful to not show it.

He’s never going to convince you of his adoration for the temple that is your body if he gives in to his temper and tries to force the change for you.

So he will be patient, offer you guidance when you ask for it, remain silent when you don’t and you simply need to speak your insecurities.

Though you might see a flash of bewilderment in his eyes when you mention something new that upsets you about your body he is quick to bury it and return to attending you.

He’s always delighted when your mood lifts again and he can resume touching you as he likes, fingertips digging into your skin and humming softly with satisfaction.

Carnal pleasure might be a more primal vice, but he doesn’t mind giving in to it when he can use it to show you exactly how much he likes the “tools” you were given.

-Mod Soviet

#trevor belmont #godbrand #sypha belnades #vlad dracula tepes #hector #isaac #adrian tepes #gender neutral reader #mod soviet #imagines #Castlevania

[dragonagecompanions]

hi there, so in love with your works. Seriously *bows head* thank you all so much. If its not too bad, I wanted to know how everyone in DAI from the advisors to the companions would react to a teen inquisitor who is brilliant at cooking? Yet the inquisitor has no idea about people from Leliana's agents to everyone else pinching her food.

Cassandra: She thinks she is being sneaky and subtle, insisting that because of their age and responsibility it is better for their young herald to stay close to camp and not take a watch when they leave Skyhold. There will be time for that when they are older, and bearless of a burden. If they will take on the difficulty of closing the rifts, then the most they should have to do is help around the camp, and after a long day nothing is appreciated more than hot food.

No one contradicts her, and the Seeker is left to silently congratulate herself on enjoying the absolutely divine way that their young leader has with rabbit and Hinterland herbs without making the Inquisitor feel worthless.

(And if everyone else lets her take a lead on that because she has mattered the speech, well...it’s really good stew.)

Varric: Damn, this is the stuff. Its like being back in the Hanged Man, except the bread is trying to actively strange him, and the pies aren’t staring back and.. 

It’s nothing like the Hanged Man, really, but the sheer comfort of phenomenal food at the end of the world? The same kind of warmth as sitting with your friends as the city goes to shit and laughing at a joke no one else gets. Their young protagonist has a good skill set on their hands, and If Varric’s writing table moves a little closer to the door into the kitchens, well.

Keeps the ink from freezing.

Solas: It had been a passing comment about the frilly cakes in Val Royeaux,  some exchange of banter with Varric about time passing and philosophy and the unending banal that one takes on to keep the miles from turning monotonous. He’d had no idea the Herald was listening, and so it makes it all the more touching when- after waqving to them as they take on the climb to the library- he comes down from his painter’s perch to find three petit fours waiting for him on his table. 

It drives home that they are a thoughtful young person, so different from the rest of this world, and if he uses the sweetness of the frosting and cake to drive away the twinge of guilt that his plans still move at speed....it does not take away from their talent, or their kindness. He will be content with that.

Blackwall: Food is food, particularly on the road. Hard tack and sausage has kept many a soldier alive, and he is the last person you’d hear complaining that he can’t put his pinky out eating meat from a spit. Luxury is for soft handed nobles, not men and women striving to make the world better. Let them have the best cuts-- Blackwall would starve before he robs true heroes of a hot meal.

And yet the first time he comes back from gathering firewood to find that the reason the inquisitor was tying so much string around the side of a wild hog was to make a porketta, and he got a good whiff of roasted pork slowly spinning in it’s own drippings....It would be a harder sacrifice. It made the Inquisitor so happy to watch their work be enjoyed and help people though, that it would the crueler not to take some. 

And if he dreams about the tender meat and crispy skin all perfectly seasoned and roasted for days afterwords, that’s no one’s business of his own. 

Vivienne: She cuts an imposing figure, and for the Madame de Fer is quite proud. It has cowed more than one recalcitrant novice into place with only a long legged stride alone, and for that she is a legend in her circle. Of course the stories do not tell how she would never be cruel or unfeeling to a child, and particularly not one far from home and frightened of every shadow like the ones that the Templars rip from families and depost in a new and strange place.

She expects a similar attitude from the young Herald, particularly after her (rahter stunning) entrance on their first meeting. And perhaps they were a bit overawed, but before it could become something she needs to address Lady Vivienne is pleasantly surprised to find their young leader coming to her for advice from a letter from some minor Orlesian lord. And while surely it will be up to Josephine to craft the response Vivienne is delighted that the Inquisitor wants her input.

That they went to the effort to bring beignet’s with them as a bribe...For that, she will give them every secret of the author’s well kept family scandals. 

Sera: Their Bitty Herald can make cookies better than Sera can make cookies, but they aren’t the kind that you throw at people as a prank or that come out all rock hard and brown and blegh. They are the soft gooey kind that make you want to steal the whole plate and eat them on your roof but also throw the plate at their Quizznitor because....because cookies!

She will trade pranks for cookies, who ever her Jenny in training wants to see doused in water or flour or...or...pudding! Pudding for cookies is the most fair.

Dorian: Southern food is bland and tasteless, and Skyhold’s resident ‘Vint will endure it for as long as he must to help defeat this ancient magister and get things on the right track. And the beer isn’t the worst, much to his own dismay as his delicate palette accepts the swill. But the food is all friend or brown or smothered in gravy, and he’d just as soon not.

So when they finally stop for the night under the endless web of branches that keep the sky from meeting the Fallow Mire, the pond water full of dead people sounds more appealing than one more night of Varric’s nug stew. Which makes the fact their valiant young Herald just ladled him a bowl of Minestrone so much more impressive. Their shrugged explanation of ‘I’ve always wanted to make it and the merchants had actual artichokes on the way here and you can tell me if I got it right’ does nothing to take away the warmth and delight the gesture brings to him. 

It would be like coming home, if anyone had ever made sucha rustic and delightful soup for him without strings and hooks attached in Tevinter, and for the first time on the whole mission Dorian isn’t chilled the rest of the night. 

The Iron Bull: He isn’t sure which one of the Chargers talks to the Herald (lies, it was  Krem), but one night half the fortress is piled into the Rest and the Inquisitor is waiting with four bowls of unreadable origin. The explanation that these are four kinds of curry and each is hotter than the last is the best gift he’s ever gotten, but the wager of a single coin (he won’t steal more than that from the kid) that the Iron Bull can’t finish them for the spice is even better. 

Three hours later finds him chewing on one of Stitche’s poultices for a burnt tongue (and throat and stomach and probably ass in a few hours) but one coin richer and hoarse voiced from the roaring laughter he’d gotten after a straight face convinced Krem to try the last bown and he’d literally wept.

Good times. 

Cole: The nug is made of bread, and it isn’t a nug but it looks like one. And it’s wearing a tiny hat! ‘Roll the dough out, has to be thin so it rises to keep the shape, he likes nugs so much and doesn’t ask for anything and Sera bet me I couldn’t.’ You made it for me. Thank you! He says hello back!

Josephine: When their ambassador hears that not only does the Herald have an aunt who married into a merchant house in Antiva but the inquisitor spent a summer there and learned to make authentic Paella, Lady Montiliyet’s mind is a whirlwind of plans and thoughts of just the appropriate bribe that would spare her from getting down on her knees and begging a fifteen year old to make her favorite dish. Eventually Leliana gets tired of little doodles of steaming bowls on all their meeting notes and sends a raven  three windows over, Josie, really with an ‘anonymous’ request to make it and leave it in the war room in exchange for a trade of equal value. 

And when Josephine finds out that all the Inquisitor wants is the creepy love letters from young  Orlesian nobles to go away, she takes great delight in her strongly worded letters to their mothers in between heaping mouthfuils of white wine rice and shrimp and the warm bite of saffron that will always be home.

Leliana: It is written on no report or schedule, and her agents will go to the grave without speaking of it to another soul, but the Inquisition’s spymaster has a man in the kitchens whose only role is to fetch firewood and water and try to one day recover his shattered after a terrible mission in her service. It’s easy work for a man who gave so much, and somewhere he is able to do good work until the tremors and the nightmares stop. The kitchen staff is kind to him and treat him well, but his true mission is known only to himself and his mistress.

The second the herald starts making  Cassoulet he is to fetch her immediately. She won’t be caught in a meeting and miss her favorite food again, damn it.

Cullen: It’s hard for the Inquisitor’s commander to be at ease with someone who is both a child and at least nominally his leader. They are someone he wants to protect, but also the key to stopping the world and someone who must be on the front lines. That is gift alone to the world, but when the rumors begin to swirl that they will also go out of their way to make things that people like it brings a small smile to his face. The world would be better if had more people like the herald in it. 

Especially if they could all make little crocks of shepards pie like the one that sits on his desk after a day of long meetings and a lyrium migraine. That might make everything right again.

-- Mod Fereldone

#dragon age inquisitions #Cassandra Pentaghast #Solas #Varric Tethras #sera #dorian pavus #the iron bull #cole #blackwall #josephine montilyet #Leliana #cullen rutherford #vivienne de fer #reactions #teen inquisitor

[the-peak-of-despair]

Mahiru Koizumi x Blackend!Reader

I NO LONGER HAVE ACCESS TO THE ORIGINAL ASK! 

anon asked:  Omg I just read the Fuyuhiko angst and it was amazing 🥺💖 Anyways I was wondering if I could have the same sort of plot with Mahiru if it’s not too much trouble? I love your blog💖💞💖

Definitely don’t listen to as the world caves in by matt maltese as you think about Mahiru watching your execution. I’m kidding, do it. Interalize it. -Mod Akane

Holy shit.

Holy.. fucking.. Shit.

You’d done it.

You’d killed Peko Pekoyama. 

You watched her eyes, she was there, at your feet, dying, looking up at you. So many emotions warped her red eyes. She rasped, as if she wanted to say something, but then.. Her eyes.. The light faded, near a gray dull color as she expired in front of you, moonlight shining down and giving her body a light glow, the most light it would ever give off again. 

You never thought you’d kill someone. Let alone the Ultimate Swordswoman. But still, looking down at her now, lifeless...bloody… a knife still in your hand….

The world around you collapsed, as you started to realize...

oh dear god, what had you done?

---

As everyone shuffled into the courtroom once again, Mahiru warily looked around, eyeing down anyone suspicious as she put her hand in (Y/N)’s, approaching her podium cautiously as (Y/N) joined right next to her. 

“So.. where shall we start..?” Sonia trails off as everyone settles. 

“I’m not sure, but whoever did this..” Mahiru starts, “it’d be better to just fess up.” She feels (Y/N)’s grip tighten, for only a second.

“W-Well, for now it might be easier to start with Mikan’s autopsy results?” Hajime suggests. 

“A-Ah, y-yes..!” Mikan starts. “W-Well, it’s obvious, her c-cause of death w-would be the gash o-on her neck.. T-There’s signs of a struggle with her clothes and scratches on her t-torso, b-but that’s a-about it..” She plays with her thumbs, looking down and away from the rest of the trial. 

“Man, to think someone got the jump on Peko..” Akane says, scratching the back of her head. “It’s hard to believe, you know?” 

“Maybe someone close to her betrayed her?” Sonia suggests. “It is the only thing I can think of, for such a skilled fighter..” 

“Hey.. Fuyuhiko.. You alright..?” Kazuichi asks, turning the room’s attention to Fuyuhiko, who was breathing heavy and gripping his podium, staring down at the floor.

“I-I’m fine. Just get o-on with the stupid trial..” He mutters, briefly glancing up at everyone else in the room. (Y/N)’s grip tightened once again, and Maihru glances at her. Eyes widened and almost like she was shaking.. 

“..You okay?” Maihru asks quietly, worried more about her lover than everyone else as the trial moved on.

“Y-Yeah. I-I’m fine.” (Y/N) turns to Mahiru and smiles weakly, before turning back to Hajime, who was rambling something about finding the murder weapon.

As a photographer, Mahiru knew smiles in and out. Better yet, she’d known your smile like she knew photography. She’d fallen in love with it. Which is why it concerned her, realizing that your smile was forced, and most likely fake…

Had you been hiding something from her? 

“Well, obviously, the weapon was a knife. We’d seen it at the scene, correct?” Nagito asks, a blatant rhetorical question. It was only the second trial, but it was pretty clear that this is how he would be acting during every trial.

“Well, duh! We saw that much, genius.” Akane rolls her eyes. “That doesn’t help any.”  

“Maybe it could help..?” Sonia suggests. “Does anyone know where the knife came from?” 

“U-Um.. judging by the size of it.. And the d-design i-itself.. I-I’d assume it’s a k-kitchen knife..” Mikan comments, shaking like a leaf. 

“Well, the only people who go into the hotel kitchen are.. Mahiru and (Y/N).” Kazuichi points out. Mahiru drops (Y/N)’s hand in shock.

“Me? You’re going to accuse us?” Mahiru asks. “Why would- would either of us have any reason to kill Peko? That’s ridiculous!” She waves her hands around dramatically, akin to a mother lecturing her children. 

“We haven’t accused either of you yet..” Hajime comments. 

“Still, the notion is ridiculous!” Mahiru argues. 

“I-I did it.” (Y/N) states, shaky yet a calm demeanor plastered over her face.

“W-What..?” Mahiru turned quickly, looking at (Y/N) with fear. “I-If you’re joking, this i-isn’t funny…” 

“I..I killed Peko.” (Y/N) takes a heavy breath, eyes brimming with tears. “I- I didn’t.. I don’t want you guys to argue a-and potentially get hurt c-cause of me..” “T-This isn’t funny, (Y/N)!” Mahiru places a hand on her shoulder, as she begins to cry. “S-Stop trying to joke around!” 

“I-I wish I was..”

“Y-You..” Fuyuhiko begins.. “Y-You bastard!” He takes a heavy breath, finally standing up straight before beginning to scream at the girl. The girl Mahiru loved- the girl- who killed their friend- oh God..

“L-Leave her alone!” “Like fucking hell I will! She fucking- she- sh-she killed Peko! Whatever fucking punishment she gets, she can take it!” Fuyuhiko argues, refusing to even look at (Y/N). 

“Take that back!” Mahiru reprimands him. “I don’t care, she didn’t kill Peko!”

“Mahiru..” (Y/N) sets a hand on her arm, even though she was still wincing from Fuyuhiko’s verbal assault. 

“I’m not gonna believe it! Not until there’s cold, hard evidence!” 

“You can deny it all you fucking want, she’s a FILTHFY FUCKING KILLER!” Fuyuhiko screams. “I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU WON’T BELIEVE!” 

“Guys, please stop argu-” Chiaki tries to intervene. 

“Stay out of this, Chiaki.” Mahiru stops her, without even looking at her.

“Mahiru!” (Y/N) snaps for her attention, and finally Mahiru- along with everyone else- finally turns and looks at (Y/N). She rolls up her sleeve, to reveal a gash across her arm, still slightly dripping with blood. “This is proof. When P-Peko fought back..” 

“N-No..” Mahiru covers her mouth, going as far as biting her hand to hold in her sobs. This isn’t happening. This was a dream, she’d wake up any second, or maybe Hajime would prove (Y/N) wrong..

“See?! There’s your fucking evidence!” Fuyuhiko yells. “Let’s just start fucking voting already!” 

“Weeell, if you insist!” Monokuma cheerily intervenes. “NO!” Mahiru starts screaming as she turns to her classmates, already pulling their levers. “PLEASE! She’s not- she’s not guilty! Please! You- You’ve gotta believe me!” 

“Stop, Mahiru..” (Y/N) sets a hand on her shoulder, even as Mahiru votes for herself instead of (Y/N). She turns, tears streaming down her beloved’s face..dear God, this was a nightmare. The world began to cave in around Mahiru as it was confirmed, (Y/N) was guilty.

“W-Why? WHY’D YOU FUCKING KILL PEKO?” Fuyuhiko slams his hands against his podium, daggers in his eyes as he stares down (Y/N) with daggers in his eyes. “I WAS PROTECTING MAHIRU!” (Y/N) screams. “I-I played that stupid game Monokuma set up! A-And- I saw what happened! And I heard you talking to Peko, Fuyuhiko!” 

Fuyuhiko’s taken aback. “What?” 

“Sh-She was your friend! Your bodyguard! And Mahiru- Mahiru just wanted to talk to everyone and- and fix everything! That’s why sh-she even wanted to invite Hiyoko, and Mikan, and I-Ibuki!” (Y/N) argues, wiping tears from her eyes.

Mikan looks between them, overwhelmed. “O-Oh, dear, l-l-let me t-take care of your arm-!”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Mikan!” Fuyuhiko interjects, earning a startled shriek from Mikan.

“Please, fix her arm, Mikan!” Mahiru adds, only overwhelming the poor girl.

“What am I missing here?!” Akane interjects. “What the hell happened?” 

“That- that game! I-It was about- our school life- our memories. and Mahiru just wanted to talk to everyone involved- b-but Fuyuhiko and Peko were planning to kill her! Because F-Fuyuhiko’s sister-”

“Don’t you fucking DARE-” Fuyuhiko starts to yell, before taking a deep breath- “talk about my fucking sister.”

“Heey, hey, hey hey!” Monokuma interjects. “The vote’s over, y’know! (Y/N). Is. Guilty!”

“N-No! M-Monkuma, d-don’t-” Mahiru begins pleading, and some part of her is praying to every god she’d ever known, please, don’t take away (Y/N), don’t take her away.. 

“Don’t whaaaat? You know the rules, sweetheart! (Y/N)’s the blackened! And I’ve prepared a veerry special punishment for her!” “Wait, I’m still confused..” Sonia stops Monokuma. “Let them explain..”

“Heey, I’m sure Mahiru and Fuyuhiko can do all the talking! Come on, stop delaying me!” Monokuma complains as Mahiru pulls (Y/N) into a hug, holding her close. 

“D-Don’t leave me, p-please..” Mahiru starts sobbing, hiccups to boot. “P-Please, (Y/N)! Tell me you didn’t kill her!” 

“I-I’m sorry, Mahiru..” (Y/N) wipes Mahiru’s tears as the hug ends, and Mahiru leans into the touch. “B-But it’s like y-you said at the s-start of the trial, right..? T-The killer d-deserves to be punished..” (Y/N) forced another smile. 

The realization slams into Mahiru as she realizes what she’s said, and what she’s done. “Oh, god, n-no..” Mahiru can’t even protest as she starts to cry even more, maybe the last time she’d ever see (Y/N) alive begins to blur with tears.

“Come on! Iiiiit’s PUNISHMENT TIME!” Monokuma shouts with glee as (Y/N) walks away, out of her grasp. “I’ve got an extra special punishment for our Ultimate (talent)!” 

Mahiru can’t even speak as she watches the execution. Her entire world, maybe even the Earth around her itself, began to cave in on her. It all became blurry, through her tears and her screams of protests.. All she really knew anymore was you were dead by the end of it all. No one said a word, not even after the execution was over, the room was near silent aside from Mahiru, on her knees crying and screaming for (Y/N) to come back, her entire personality itself shattered. 

No one said a word on the way back to their cottages. The killing game would continue, if you were there or not...

#mahiru koizumi #mahiru koizumi x reader #danganronpa #danganronpa 2 #angst #blackened reader #fuyuhiko kuzuryuu #mikan tsumiki #akane owari #nagito komeada #mod akane #oneshot

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

@theeyethatbinds​ Girl SING IT. SING IT LOUDER FOR THE GIRLS IN THE BACK, SWEAR TO GOD.

Like I’m gonna be real wit y’all I was looking forward to le Comte for a while, but I was always side-eyeing Jeanne. He’s a blunt hermit and grump and 100% mood, so I hoped his route would give me more insight into how I feel about him.

Ladies. When I tell you. It was EXCELLENT. I mean there are so many gr9 routes in the game, I don’t want to take away from them, but there was just something about his that hit me so hard???? (MY KOKORO BROKORO)

More under the cut since his route won’t be out for a little while (we still got Isaac, then Theo, then Jeanne), as a little treat. As usual, pls don’t read if you don’t want spoilers, thanks!

Okay so going into this route I was fully expecting the big sads. I mean, if history has taught us anything it was that Joan D’Arc was a badass but good lord, that doesn’t mean the people of her time were kind to her. (I need to do more thorough research on her, so if I’m getting any of her pronouns wrong or neglect something, I do apologize.)

That being sad, I was like aight DECK MY SHIT WITH TRAGEDY, JEANNE. And at the beginning it’s p fascinating. He’s very ornery and resistant to any kind of consideration or attempts at friendship MC extends. But eventually, after a good deal of persistence, he relents little by little.

I’d also like to level with y’all for a sec. Being someone who knows a great deal in regards to the kinds of mental and emotional shit Jeanne struggles through, I think they handled that part of the route so, so well. Granted, I’m not the kind of person to launch a crusade over different writing styles--but for me it just feels all the more poignant when it makes sense; when certain dispositions or trauma are conveyed with that depth. To me, it made 100% sense that Jeanne would be so against accepting other people into his life immediately.

He and Mozart vibe because they’re so similar, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s comfortable letting just anyone in--much less a complete stranger. I think it’s more that Mozart and Jeanne share a kind of indelible bond/mutual recognition through their talent, actually. They were both prodigies, absolute geniuses in their fields (military vs. music) but their social skills were shot to hell for the very same reason. To be brilliant--beyond one’s potential posthumous legacy--tends to mean being hated. Plus, they’re both principled to absolute extremes. When they’ve decided on something, they will not waver. They’re stubborn and austere, but behind those walls lies a molten core of sensitivity.

This is important to understanding him, I think, before I move forward.

While one could argue that their reaction is a result of that deficiency of emotional and social support (which I entirely concede does contribute to the matter at hand, it shouldn’t be overlooked) I think the real crux of the matter here is control. Think about it. Among the oldest residents in the mansion (let’s say that were born more than 100 years within the range of the present period of the game) are Mozart, Jeanne, Isaac, and Shakespeare. What do they all have in common?

Extremity. For Mozart, it comes in the form of a kind of OCD, as perfectionism. For Jeanne, it is generalized anxiety and PTSD. For Isaac, it is primarily social anxiety--but it’s still noticeably severe. And Shakespeare runs around with a knife, insecurity through the roof, literally unable to trust anything or anyone (psychosis? schizoaffective? I’m really not sure, these are all ballpark assessments based on the evidence I have). In order to adjust to their new surroundings, there was a cost--and in some ways their coping mechanisms become noticeably maladaptive. They were born into eras that were mercilessly unpredictable, and the only way they knew how to cope was to was to either take the blame--make it a personal failing that tragedy struck--or try to immerse themselves into their craft. They all seek to regain some kind of control (this is even visible in Vincent, to a degree--painting was an escape from his emotionally turbulent world).

Granted that’s not to say that the others don’t struggle with such issues at all, I just feel like the characters from more unstable time periods tend (as a general trend) to mirror that instability within their personalities.

All that being said, (I apologize I am a tangent-monger and love meta), Jeanne’s self-imposed isolation is only partially caused by the above dynamic. Yes, he is unwilling to let people into his heart for fear of betrayal. (It’s almost like an entire nation clamoring to watch you burn for something you didn’t do after spending your entire life and talents trying to protect them would do that to you, but I digress >:| ). But there’s another devastating and potentially less obvious reason for keeping people out.

He thinks he deserves it.

Loneliness, melancholy, aimlessness. These are all the punishments that he incurred on himself after a life of what he conceives to be considerable sin (hahaha battlefield enemies go ripppp). Whether or not he was operating purely out of a sense of duty, even if he felt sympathy for his enemy combatants, it’s not enough. And the condemnation of his king, of his entire nation, only served to magnify that self-loathing to a dangerous degree. (Don’t get me started on his parents I’m still so angry >:| they more or less disowned him since he was constitutionally weak as a young boy, and thus could not serve as an adequate farmhand. Don’t work? Don’t eat/live).

It’s hard enough living in a reserved way because you’re afraid of getting hurt, but to think that you deserve it when hurt finds you, no less? And my favorite part, that he’s so profoundly sure that it is an extension of a personal, fundamental failing? That for a person to survive, they must be strong, that there can be no other way--that there is no time or space for ruminations on fairness or unfairness, there are only those who manage to survive and those who die.

Now my friends, esteemed comrades, legendary sluts. Is that enough for us, Cybird asks, are we feeling enough pain quite yet? Fuck no.

Most of his route after we get over the hurdle of his hesitation is just him. Being. Bashful and gentle as all FUCK. Like he is the definition of “I'll kill you, but also I’m babie.” For instance, she insists on teaching him how to read and write at night when she finds him trying (and not succeeding) to read “The Ugly Duckling”. Yes I mean the children’s book. I CRIED THE FIRST TIME AND I’M CRYING NOW. So, naturally, MC buys him a notebook to practice with and he puts his name in big letters on the front. When MC sees this, she asks him about it--wondering why he would given he’s so self-conscious of his own writing (boy writes all squiggly like a little kid because he’s never done it before ;-;).

The scene goes a little something like this:

MC: Wh....whatcha go there Jeanne? Jeanne: ? My notebook? MC: I...mean that you wrote your name on it? Jeanne: Yeah? MC: Why? Jeanne: ._. It was a gift from you, and I figured it'd be hard to practice if I lost it...so I put my name on it... (HE WAS SECRETLY TOUCHED I BET AND IM--) MC: Why such big letters? Jeanne: So people can spot it quickly, obviously MC, inches from crying and laughing: Jeanne: Mademoiselle??? Why are you laughing? MC: Because you’re cute, Jeanne!

Like. They start out so rocky and Jeanne is so SIGH. I guess I’ll agree if it’ll get her to stop looking so sad and ask me to join her for stuff. But then he just can’t help but go full softe at how patient and kind she is, starts feeling comfortable just...being who he is deep down. A man that’s always hoped for better in life, a person that only ever takes up his sword to protect--that has an incredibly pure and clear heart, despite so much pain.

And good lord, they are GOD TIER romantic slow burn???? Swear to everything holy, I was BEGGING for them to make out by like chapter 10, I was just suffering for most of the route until the bangarang premium. Here’s probably my favorite moment in the entire route:

Basically Sebastian and Mozart pull out all the stops trying to bring Jeanne and MC together (once they see Jeanne show some interested in her). And so Jeanne asks her to join him in the courtyard the next morning, and they’re playing with Cherie (Jeanne’s pet baby white tiger). Besides being ungodly adorable--because Jeanne invited her for the sole purpose of hoping to see her delightfully surprised--Mozart begins to play a love song nearby. They don’t name the tune, but Jeanne canonically starts singing along (I wholeass cried, I WANT TO HEAR HIM SING????). And so she asks what the song is about, and he explains that Mozart once played it for him, but he couldn’t make out the words at first. Mozart explained that it was a love song that speaks to the difficulties of being in love (the worry, the strife) but also the beauty of the intensity and passion. He goes on to say that even when he learned the words, it never made much sense to him back then--it never resonated.

He’s singing softly with a fond look, and so she asks, does he understand it now? And he looks her dead in the eye, and says “...I think I’m starting to.” Like. AM I SUPPOSED TO NOT LOSE MY MIND AT THE TENDERNESS????? WHAT A SMOOTH MOFO????? MAN RAISED TO BE A SOLDIER, NO KNOWLEDGE OF ROMANCE OR WOMEN, AND KILLS ME IN MILLISECONDS?????? I DEMAND JUSTICE. (Or it’s just me thinking sincerity is the best aphrodisiac, but that’s beside the point.)

This has been your quarantine 2d boy meta and yelling, provided by your local mod Minnie. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to get to the things I’ve been procrastinating on while reliving/dissociating about one of my favorite rts in the entire game. Stay safe and well out there y’all, peace out!

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikevamp spoilers #ikevamp jeanne #ikevamp mozart #yall like #this reply just launched me right back into my jeanne feels #i dont have words for how much i love him #he's just such a good dude????? such a good dude #he really is trying his best pls give him love for me if you can #i binged his route almost as hard as sg's bc it was just t h a t sweet and compelling #i also cried like a baby #he deserves better and he deserves love #i will protect him forever #does that mean that in every single route i am acutely aware of the fact that I can't help him? #:))))))))))))))))))))))))))) life is pain. life is a party and jeanne and i are the pinatas. #and no i dont wanna talk abt it there will be no more questions LDKJH #just kidding around if anyone has any questions yall are free to send em! I'll answer to the best of my ability~ #anyhoot ty @theeyethatbinds for bringing all those good feels back #you are a legend and you have wonderful taste we stan **cheers**

[peachy-inserts]

Hello may I ask for a scenario with yandere Shinsou with a deaf fem reader? Like reader has this stoic face most of the time but once she's comfortable with you or she all alone she's actually a pure cinnamon bun who just wants some cuddles and head pats. I guess you can call her a kuudere or something like that?? Thank youuu ☺️

*cracks knuckles* time to get back into touch with baby shinsou, except this time, deranged 

Yandere!Shinsou x Deaf, Fem Reader

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

Shinsou was always the sadistic type. He loved to watch you suffer, put you through pain, and crush you beneath his foot just to pick you back up and be your big, strong man; a masochist ideology that guided him through life, and through your relationship. He would hurt you intentionally, most of the time unbeknownst to you, and then swoop in like a dove to carry you off under his wing - because what use was he if you didn’t need him?

He simply loved nothing more than you exploit your impairment, instilling fear from behind and as soon as you turned around, flashing his pity eyes and putting on a show of panic. Except it wasn’t a show.

Shinsou would routinely perform this exhibition of distress, and yet every single time he was actually scared for you after the damage had been done, because after all, you were his little darling; what real man wants to see his little darling worried? You were vulnerable. You needed him. Thankfully, he was here to remind you of that.

Oh, the world is so scary - there was no need for you to go out there alone, at least according to your overprotective boyfriend. He was right, though! You depended on him; the world is too dangerous for a lady as fragile as you. And yet, here you were, out in the wilderness of the city, all by your lonesome.

You just needed some laundry detergent; you had texted Shinsou several times that day before leaving, but after the sixth message with no answer you decided it was best to let him do his work. Oh, he was such a good hero! It made you giddy to think about such a brave, courageous man being your own personal defender. As the cashier scanned your items, you stood silent, neither smiling nor frowning, one hand nervously playing with the volume buttons on your phone, anxiously awaiting for a response from Shinsou, while the other one slid your wallet back into your purse.

Nodding your head to the cashier as thanks, and took your purchase and walked out onto the street, scrunching your nose in offense to the smog that covered the city like a woolen blanket. 

“Watch out!” Someone shouted from behind you; you were unaware, only noticing the slight change in the atmosphere around you. Paranoid to be out by yourself, no way of defense, your eyes darted from the right, the left, up and then down, round the back of your head and up into the skylines. Bam!

A young child, no older then eight at the very least, crashed into you, spinning around on his heels and then bouncing off the pavement. Startled, and anxious to begin with, you couldn’t stop yourself from shrieking as your knees gave out and the plastic shopping bag slipped out of your grasp. The detergent busted on impact, spilling all over the sidewalk. 

“I’m so sorry!” The child looked down at you in shock, not knowing what to do. You could read his lips well enough to have gathered what he said, though, and waved your hand in response. He insisted on helping you up, so you let him, all the while showing no emotion on your face; this must have scared him off, because after a few moments of confused staring he made haste back to his clearly disgruntled mother, who rested an infant on her hip and was shouting at the boy for being so reckless.

You watched the small family with a tinge of jealousy; how cute of a family would you guys be? Before you had time to daydream, you felt a tap at your shoulder. Whipping your head back, you saw a tall man of twenty something years, dressed in a pressed suit with polished shoes; a man of importance perhaps.

“Excuse me, ma’am” he pleaded. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but you see, I’ve broken down here, and...” he trailed off, and you could practically see the gears turning in his mind. “Well, I’ve only ever passed through this city once or twice, and my car’s dead. I have a meeting I really need to be at so, please-” he tilted his head ever so slightly as an innocent animal; what a sorry man, you felt bad for him. “I won’t ask to borrow your cellphone, it feels much too intrusive - I just need some change to call my boss at a payphone”.

You looked at him curiously, not knowing what to do; you pointed to your left ear and shook your head, trying to imply that you were deaf. You could make out only a few of his words; he was jittery, and spoke too fast for you to interpret through his lips.

“Ha...” the supposed businessman shuffled his hands around in his pockets. “I’m sure pretty girls like you get weirdos talking to you all the time, but baby I’m just some poor dude trying to get by. I’m a nice guy, promise, and you’ll probably never even see me again. So, come on - just give me a couple bucks and I’ll be out of your way”.

You opened your mouth as if to speak, but quickly shut it. What were you supposed to do? You had never been in such a situation before... what if something happened to you? Shinsou wasn’t there to protect you, after all, so it was very much a possibility. Looking tired and aggravated, the man huffed a couple times, still waiting for a response.

“Oh, come on!” he finally snapped, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer to him. “Just give me your fucking money already!”.

Terrified, your pupils dilated, and your lips turned white from how taut they were. You made no attempts to pull away; that always ended poorly for you. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Your emotions were for your boyfriend’s pleasure, not anybody else’s. This man did not deserve the satisfaction of having made you scared, either.

Suddenly, he released his grip, falling backward. You closed your eyes; but, then, another figure touched you again. Could they stop touching you? Carefully turning around, you were shocked to see your beloved Shinsou standing with you. Immediately, you flung yourself into his welcoming, protecting arms that held you tight. He was grimacing. Pulling back so that he could see your face, he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, then wiping a stray tear from your cheek. 

It was hard to look him in the eye; he was mad, and although it wasn’t directed towards you, it was difficult to see him in a state of anger, hungry for revenge. 

Later, at home, he sat you down and stroked your cheek. God, he could look at you all day and never get tired of your face. You grinned from ear to ear, lighting his heart on fire and warming him in a way nobody else could. Your smile was only for him, and he was so incredibly honored to be the one and only that you could open up to. You were so sweet, tender, and precious. He’d do anything to make you happy.

Content, recovering from the fear of the day, you buried yourself under his neck. He knew you wouldn’t be able to hear you, but had to voice some things anyways. 

“Ah... I hope now you’ll know better. I’m so glad I was there to save you in time, but God knows what could have happened to you... if only I could hear you promise me to stay with me, that would be a blessing”. He ran his fingers up and down your spine. “You’re too frail to be out alone. Only I can make you happy”. You were truly happy with him; he was always there to lift you up when you were down, and loved him more than anything. He’d do anything to prove his love to you, too.

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

Ok so ngl im not very proud of this i,,,, dont have a lot of experience w yandere types and wasnt really sure how to go about this but i really hope you liked it !!!

-mod Josie

#bnha #mha #boku no hero fanfic #boku no hero imagines #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #shinsou x reader #yandere shinsou #scenario

[teamhook]

CSSNS 2019 Rionnag Dorcha Gorm (Dark Blue Star) 4/4

Hello all!

This is my contribution to this year’s @cssns

I know my other story is still going on and it will find it’s ending, but since I cannot say no to @kmomof4  here I am, once more.

I wanna thank the lovely ladies at the CSSNS Discord. I love chatting with you all.

I wanna thank the mods of CSSNS19, my lovely very patient Beta @searchingwardrobes and my artist for the event @hollyethecurious

This is it guys. Final Chapter!!

Tagging: @hookedonapirate @let-it-raines @profdanglaisstuff @seriouslyhooked @resident-of-storybrooke @revanmeetra87 @killianjonesownsmyheart1 @snowbellewells @gingerchangeling @ultraluckycatnd​ @shireness-says​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @stahlop​ @branlovestowrite​ @kymbersmith-90​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​

AO3

FFN

The next day, the day of the Founder's Gala on the outskirts of town, at the edge of the forest surrounded by shadows, Hester Blue's anger grew. The town was celebrating her killers. At that moment her thirst for vengeance consumed her. She would make them all pay.

The town was in a buzz with everyone doing last minute things to make sure the event was a success.

Emma and Killian had a battle plan. Belle was going to babysit Leo in Killian's room. Ruby was going to guide Emma and Killian into the forest entrance. They were prepared with some high powered flashlights, two shovels, water bottles, and a few snacks. They also had some salt and lighter fluid, and his new weapon: the hook from his father's ship. Emma had a simple crowbar. The books and video clips from the longest-running supernatural show had taught them what tools they would need on this mission. Good thing the objects they needed were easy to find rock salt to purify a corpse before burning the bones. Killian wasn't sure why they might need to purify a corpse, but he wasn't taking any chances.

Leo wasn't happy about staying behind, but he understood. Emma had explained to him why he couldn't go. They needed to cover as much ground as possible without any distractions.

Emma had also called on Robin, Liam's best friend to borrow his Jeep to get around the tougher terrain of the forest. It had been a brief reunion between Killian and Robin. He had offered to go with them, but with his wife sick, Emma and Killian had insisted he shouldn't leave her and their son alone.

They had started their quest at sunrise. The three were pacing themselves to avoid getting too tired since there was still a lot of ground to cover. They had lucked out - in the diaries, there had been a description of the location. Their only hope was for the scenery to not have changed much. It was crazy to think so, but stranger things had happened in the town.

Emma figured it had been guilt that led her great-great-grandmother to write about the injustice done to the poor woman. So they walked closely together up to the toll bridge, and then Ruby was urged to go back to town.

No one ventured further into the woods because the atmosphere changed drastically beyond that point. Everything seemed eerily dark and quiet. Hours had passed, and they had yet to reach their destination. There was no sound even as their feet crushed the leaves and branches on the ground. No birds chirped; no signs of life could be heard at all. The shadows played tricks on them. Killian was on high alert with his hook ready to strike. Emma was holding on to her crowbar. It felt as if they had entered a different dimension. The air was thicker, making it hard to breathe. They followed the landmarks mentioned in the diary. It had taken them most of the day, but they had reached their destination or so they hoped if the old beat up cabin was any indication. Emma scanned the area. It was simply too quiet. She noticed a withering tree next to the cabin.

The founder's gala is in full swing. It's the biggest celebration in town and nothing is left to chance.

Belle keeps a close eye on Leo. There's no way she is letting something happen to the boy. There's a sudden knock on the door, and Belle wonders if Ruby is back already. She opens the door, and Brennan Jones stands tall on the other side of the doorway. He smiles as soon as the door opens.

"Hello, I would like to have a word with my son."

"Oh, Killian isn't here." She checks to make sure Leo is still reading his book. "He won't be back for a while."

Brennan walks past Belle. "What is Leo Nolan doing here?"

"Mr. Jones, I think it's best if you leave. I will let Killian know you stopped by." Belle tries to push him out of the room.

"I'm not leaving until I speak to my son," Brennan states, thinking Belle is hiding Killian from him.

Leo looks up from his book and says, "Killian and Emma went to fight the monster to keep it from hurting me."

Brennan looks at Leo, then turns to Belle, "Monster? Is my son still telling that story?"

The lights flicker in the room for a second, allowing a shadow to appear. The inn's lighting is dated, frozen in time like all of Storybrooke. Leo halts as he notices the shadow become larger and thicker as it solidifies behind the older man.

Belle notices Leo's attention has been captured and follows his line of sight. Startled by what she sees, Belle grabs Leo and pushes him behind her. There's a large solid shadow behind Brennan Jones, and the man is oblivious to it. Brennan feels the little hairs on the back of his neck rise. He turns to the source of dread he is feeling.

Brennan freezes as he realizes that his son had told the truth all those years ago, that his beloved Alice was lost to him because of the thing in front of him. The rage in his heart ignites as he moves towards the monster that had torn his family apart. Hester evades the movement easily and turns to Leo with a wicked smile as she approaches the boy. Belle's small body seems to shrink in front of Hester's unnatural presence. She's no coward, but the phantasm kept moving. Brennan bypasses Hester, and pushes Belle and Leo out of the way. Hester's hands land on Brennan's body. He tries to bite back his scream he looks to Belle and Leo to mouth the word run which is ignored by the two as they stare at the man writhing in pain. Ruby bursts through the door holding an iron skillet from the kitchen. She swings at Hester, who releases Brennan and disappears.

Ruby turns to Belle and Leo. "She is real." She looks at the skillet and laughs "it worked."

Ruby nods at Belle to take Leo out of the room as she looks down at the man on the floor. She slowly approaches him, and he opens his eyes. "Please, tell Killian I'm sorry." His labored breath stills. His skin is red as if sunburnt. Ruby looks around at the room to make sure Hester is truly gone. She hasn't been back for long when she hears some scuffling upstairs. Luckily, she grabs the skillet before going upstairs.

Downstairs a rattled Belle is holding onto Leo so tightly that the little boy's eyes are wide. "Belle, is Mr. Jones okay?" The young boy sniffles.

"I don't know, Leo." She squeezes him. "The important thing is that you're okay."

Ruby comes down the stairs, "I'm going to have to call Graham."

Belle nods, "Okay, what are we going to say? I don't think we can say that a ghost attacked him."

Ruby sighs, "I know Belle, but we can't just leave him there. Granny will kill me. People need to know that they're in danger."

"She is not after everyone it's just some. There's no need to cause panic."

"Are you kidding me? Belle, I don't think Mr. Jones fits the victim criteria, but he is still dead. Emma and Killian told me what you all found and this Gala gives me a bad feeling. You know the attacks have escalated a whole lot more. Killian was attacked and now you and Leo. Mr. Jones is dead. That thing killed him."

Emma and Killian had been lucky finding the cabin so quickly. Emma's heart breaks for Hester as they snoop around it, for it must have been a lovely place to love but also lonely.

The tree beside the cottage is so huge, it defies logic. It has a thick tree stump, and the roots are so thick they appear to be cradling something. Perhaps protecting something- the body? That makes no sense, but apparently vengeful ghosts exist, so why not?

"Killian, do you think it knows we're here?"

They stand in front of the tree. "I hope not, because if she knows we're here, she knows why we're here."

Emma nods, "I'm just worried about Leo."

"I know you're worried about that lad, but I'm sure Belle is taking very good care of him. Besides, the equipment in that room has the best sensors money can buy."

After a few discussions, Belle and Ruby decide to call Graham. "In the end, they feel they don't really have a choice. After all, there's a dead body. The only disagreement was if they should mention Hester.

Graham arrives at the Inn to investigate the death, and after a quick look over the body, his first question has nothing to do with it. "Ruby, where's Emma?"

"She's with Killian, what does this have to do with the dead body?"

"Did you know he spent time in a mental institution? Where are they?"

"Wait a minute. Are you seriously suggesting Killian did this?" Ruby asks incredulously. "He wasn't even here."

"Ruby, answer the question. Emma could be in danger."

"This is bullshit and you know it. I don't think it's possible for Killian to be in two places at the same time. They went into the forest, beyond the toll bridge. So how did he do it, oh great detective?"

Graham only glares at her.

"Graham, this goes beyond your unrequited love for Emma. we need to cancel the Gala. Mr. Jones killer might attack again." Ruby sassed.

"Are you crazy? They would lynch me if I even suggested it. If the killer is not Killian, who is it?"

"Well, are you going to let them know that a descendant from one of the founder's members is dead?"

"Do you want me to say how he was found in his estranged son's room? And that he has very similar injuries to his first wife's?"

"You know perfectly well that Killian is not here and he was innocent then and now. This is just about Emma. You're seriously not going to warn them? You don't get it. I have a feeling this will not be the last death tonight if we don't at least try.."

"Ruby, warn the town about what? You're not making any sense"

Belle and Leo look at each other. They had been sitting quietly while Ruby talked, but fed up Leo yells, "It was the monster, she killed Mr. Jones. Killian didn't. The monster is going to hurt everyone and you don't care!" The young boy sniffles.

Ruby turns to Leo and smiles, "Come on, kid." Belle and Leo fall into place behind her as she faces Graham, "If you won't, I will!" The three of them storm out.

Graham stands over the body and decides to go looking for Emma and Killian.

After leaving Graham; Belle, Ruby, and Leo head towards the Gala to warn people. Leo gets on stage followed by Ruby and Belle, and the three of them try to explain the danger that's lurking in the dark. At first, no one believes them.

Abruptly the power goes out, and chaos ensues. Random people are screaming in pain. Mr. Midas pushes his daughter Kathryn out of the way from Hester's grasp and falls in her place.

George Spencer pulls a startled Ashley in front of him as Hester approaches him. The young girl's cries echo beyond the walls. The new Mrs. Jones falls too as she tries to help her. The great Mr. Spencer reaches for the doorknob at the emergency exit. He smirks as he opens the door: he made it. Sometimes collateral damage is necessary, what a pity, the girl was nice. Once the door is fully open, and he is finally going to cross the threshold, he turns his full attention only to find Hester waiting for him. She jabs her in hand his chest. The door slams shut behind him as his screams end quickly.

Ruby and Belle are trying to help people, but Leo is their priority. The boy is trying to find his parents. Leo, Belle, and Ruby narrowly escape Hester's wrath as they manage to find Mary Margaret and David to make a quick getaway. As they walk away they try not to think about how many of their friends they've lost - the carnage is too great to comprehend.

Emma and Killian have tried digging by the tree, but the roots were too thick. Dried sweat has made their hair stick to their faces. They've been going at it for hours, and it seems to make no difference. Emma is losing hope and her patience. "Killian, this isn't working. We need to get to that body soon."

"Aye, I know love." Killian keeps trying to dig. "If only we had something sharper."

The two suddenly turn to each other and at the same time say "the hook"

They had laid their belongings on the ground when they started digging. He goes to grab the hook and looks at the tip. It looks extremely sharp. So he goes back to work. The root has started to splinter.

The air has become thicker, making it hard to breathe. Killian turns to Emma. "I don't think we will be able to get the body out. We will have to burn the tree and hope that the body burns with it. Give me the salt."

Emma hands him the salt as she is taking deep breaths.

He pours it all over the crevices and pats it down. "Emma, let me have the lighter fluid." She hands him the can. He douses the tree's roots.

It doesn't take Graham long to track them.

"Graham, what are you doing here?" Emma asks, sweat making her body glisten.

"I came looking for Mr. Jones." He curtly answers.

Killian's brow raises as he plunges the hook on the tree root. "Mate, can't you see we're a little busy at the moment?"

"I have questions about your father."

"My father? I haven't crossed words with the man."

"Then explain to me, how is it I just left his body in your room?"

"His body, in my room?" Killian's heart beats faster.

"Yes, his body resembles the one of your mother."

Crackle, crackle, crackle, crackle…

"Sheriff, -crackle- come in -crackle- power out -crackle- we're -crackle- attack"

Emma and Killian turn to each other and say, "Hester." He resumes his work frantically, he needs to hurry.

Graham looks curiously at what Killian is doing.

"Graham, you know he couldn't have done any of that. We've been here all day." She sighs, "I don't want to argue. All I can say is that once we burn the body, the unexplainable deaths will end. My brother will be safe: him and all the children."

"Emma, I don't understand," Graham says.

Emma's green eyes get big as saucers, Graham turns to see what has captured her attention. Hester is moving towards them. Emma turns to Killian, "we're out of time, do it now!"

Graham is frozen in place.

Killian pours the remaining lighter fluid and turns a match as Hester makes her attack on Graham. His body drops to the ground lifeless.

The fire roars to life fast. Hester shrieks in pain as the tree and the exposed roots are engulfed by the fire, consuming the body as Hester starts to burn.

Emma locks eyes with her, "Your truth will be known."

Hester's body incinerates, her ashes ignite a fire that burns out of control. The flames quickly reaching the cabin she once called home, and soon it spreads throughout the forest that embraced her in her vengeance.

Emma and Killian start running as everything turns to ash. The fire cleansing the cursed forest.

After the massacre at the Gala, the truth about what had been done to Hester was revealed. Sadly the event had left a lot of families torn apart. The town embraced the ones left behind. Storybrooke had become peaceful and united.

Killian became his half brother's, Liam guardian. He left his life in Vegas behind and moved to Boston. His boss Nemo, and surrogate father followed soon after. He had become fond of the young boy who reminded him of a lost boy he met years ago.

Emma moved to Boston and joined the BPD. She shared a lovely apartment with the love of her life and his little brother. During the weekends they would visit her parents at the farm in Storybrooke. Her little brother, Leo was once again the happy little boy he used to be. The bond that Leo and Killian shared had only gotten stronger, although there was no monster haunting them.

Years later while visiting her grandparents, a young blonde girl is being tucked into bed by her loving parents. She is afraid because she has just lost her last baby tooth, and she's heard the scary stories. Her mother lovingly caresses her hair soothing her fears and pulls a gold coin from her pocket. Her father stands close behind her mother as he leans to kiss the top of his wife's head. "Hope, there's no need to be afraid anymore."

#Captain Swan #CS Crew #cssns19 #CS Mafia #kmomof4 #cs ff #cs au #cs au ff

[shireness-says]

A Drowning Soul Will Clutch at Any Straw

Summary: Though this is far from Killian Jones' first encounter with a mermaid, he's never met any quite like this blonde siren. Together, can they break a cruel curse? Rated T for language. ~13.3K. Also on AO3. 

~~~~~

A/N: It’s here - my entry for @cssns 2k19! Thanks to the mods for organizing this again, my beta @snidgetsafan, and ESPECIALLY to @hollyethecurious, who’s created this lovely photoset for the fic. It’s posted on her page as well - definitely go check it out and give her some love. 

Tagging my usuals and those who showed interest in the sneak peek: @kmomof4, @teamhook, @snowbellewells, @scientificapricot, @winterbaby89, @mythologicalmango

Enjoy!

~~~~~

It’s agreed upon on every shore of this realm’s oceans: Killian Jones is one hell of a captain.

He’s not just saying that either, as vain as it sounds - he’s proved it, many times over. After all, who else can boast of having not only evaded every nation’s navy for as long as he has, but outrun curses, cut through the most treacherous of waters, and even discovered every secret way in and out of Neverland? No, in this case, as in all others (a pirate he may be, but he still prides himself on being a true gentleman), his word is worth its weight in gold.

Yes, Killian Jones prides himself on being the best captain this realm has ever seen, able to handle everything fate and the sea has thrown his way for well over a century. This storm, however, is testing every moment of his vast experience and all the seafaring instincts he possesses.

It had arisen suddenly and without warning. This isn’t a corner of the world Killian or his crew have ever visited before, a remote island he’s never even seen on any of his maps. Smee had heard a rumor though, in a seedy tavern in a seedy town while the rest of them had been more concerned with finding spirits and female companionship, of a glorious treasure hidden on a secret island. In all his years, Killian has never been one to turn down treasure, and this rumor is no different. Sure, it might not lead anywhere, but at this point, what do any of them have to lose? With the Dark One long since disappeared and the king who killed Liam even longer since overthrown, they’re only in this now for the thrill of it all. Treasure hunting seems just as good a pastime as any.

The rumor had neglected to mention whatever magical enchantments are protecting the island, however - because mark his words, there’s something unusual about this storm, something otherworldly. Killian has been around for a long while, and has seen a lot of things, but a storm spontaneously forming in a matter of minutes from what was a cloudless sky and calm seas is not one of them. He’s been around long enough, too, to recognize magic, and the air here practically reeks with the stuff. Something more is a play here - something sinister. And until they can identify it and defeat it, he and his men are left clinging to drenched ropes as the Jolly tilts precariously from side to side.

“Turn us into the waves, Mr. Smee!” He yells over the crush of noise. “Let’s work with this storm instead of against it!”

“Aye aye, Captain!” The stout man yells back. His red hat is obviously drenched through, but for some unimaginable reason he still insists on wearing the stupid thing. Frivolities aside, he’s a good first mate, able to get the other men to follow orders quickly and efficiently, leaving Killian free to scan the waves for whatever might be causing this. He’s got his suspicions already, based off his long experience in Neverland, and if he can just spot something amongst the waves —

— There. A flash of silver, too bright to be just the light on the waves, and a lilting feminine voice he shouldn’t be able to hear over the storm around them.

“Prepare the nets, Mr. Smee!” He calls. “There’s a merbitch in the water, and I’ve got a mind to go fishing!”

With a target in mind, the men cheer before scurrying to man their stations, guiding the ship into position as Killian directs them to capture their quarry.

He’ll give the scaly cunt this much: she fights back. Hard. For the first time in decades, Killian is genuinely concerned that the Jolly Roger will capsize as the waves rise higher and higher all around them. It’s easy to miss the flash of her tail amongst the squall, but Killian and the crew do their best to keep her in sight, teams of men working with nets to trap and entangle her. And eventually, their efforts succeed.

Killian expects the mermaid to be spitting mad when they haul her aboard - he certainly would be, in her position - but he’s shocked by her… acceptance isn’t quite the word. There’s still too much defiance, too much fire in her eyes to truly call it that. But she doesn’t fight back either, or curse them all to a variety of watery hells even as lightning strikes dangerously close to the ship. Instead, she tilts her chin upwards as Killian approaches, his sword drawn and resting against his shoulder in a contradictory move between threat and casualness, making sure to meet his eyes. All the while, she continues singing, her words melodically wrapping around them both - and almost certainly controlling this storm, like the sirens of legend. She’s dooming them with her very voice.

“Anything to say for yourself, siren?” he sneers. He almost hopes she does - would welcome the chance to rid them of such a predator, even one wearing such a pretty face.

The singing doesn’t stop, though, even as she stares boldly into his face. With her arms still tangled in the net, it’s her only means of defense, and she seems intent on using it. If it wasn’t obvious how she was summoning the storm before, it is now as a bolt of lightning cracks down dangerously close to the ship as her singing crescendos. He may have the weapons, but in this fight for their lives, it’s obvious who’s winning.

It’d be so easy to just gut the fish-woman where she lies, dispatch her like the monster she’s currently behaving as, but something makes him look closer, push past the noise echoing in his ears to really examine the creature in front of him. Her expression is a careful blank mask, only the bold set of her chin betraying any emotion or personality, but her eyes… her eyes are brimming with emotion. Horrifically human. Confoundingly pleading.

End this, they beg. End me.

Killian raises his sword to strike.

———

He shouldn’t have done it - left her alive, that is.

He’d been fully prepared to end her, for the sake of his whole crew, but at the last moment he had knocked her out with the hilt of his sword instead. Something about those eyes… he couldn’t do it. They’d been a little too human, a little too female, and he’s always prided himself on being a gentleman.

(There’s also the fact that after decades, centuries, he’s bloody bored, and he can’t deny that there’s something intriguing about the mermaid who asks for death. She’s a mystery, a pleasant diversion, and he can’t bring himself to kill the first interesting thing to happen to him in ages.)

Regardless of method, the storm had abruptly stopped as soon as the mermaid had been knocked into unconsciousness, black skies giving way again to the rosy colors of a sunset at sea, which had been the goal all along. Killian had just taken a slightly different path to get there. After that, they had located the largest tub they could find and relocated it to the brig, where it had been filled with water behind the iron bars before their unexpected guest was deposited in it and locked up. It’s true that Killian Jones may be a pirate, but he’s not a cruel man, not without severe provocation, and it seems a bit much to beach the siren, so to speak, if she’ll be with them for any amount of time.

For now, she’s still unconscious, and Killian is left playing the waiting game. He’s got a fair few questions for their piscine guest, after all. He can’t help but examine her form in the meantime, driven both by boredom and the desire to be there the very moment she wakes up. There’s something more intimidating about waking up to find the captain present, after all, as if already waiting to dole out judgement and punishment. He could tell himself that his examination is just precautionary, sizing up the enemy, but the truth is that his appreciation is much more aesthetic. The mermaid is, in a word, striking - a little too dangerous to be pretty and a little too real to be otherworldly. She could be the very source of all the tales of sirens’ dangerous beauty. The lantern’s light reflects almost blindingly off her silver-scaled tail in the darkness of the brig, though with this closer proximity he can pick up glints of blue and green amongst the metallic sheen where it hangs lazily over the edge. Her hair is blonde and tousled by the waves, the wet locks drying before his eyes into a mess of curls. A smattering of small braids twines through the strands, though he can’t tell from here whether they’re simply intended for looks or as a small effort towards taming the way it must all billow around her head underwater. Her breasts are covered by some contraption made of seaweed and shells, which strikes Killian as a bit odd; he’s spent a good amount of time with mermaids during his many years in Neverland, and they’ve never been particularly known for their modesty. Her skin, apart from her shimmering tail, is pale - pale in a way that betrays how rarely she must seek out the surface. Again, odd - most mermaids sun themselves on the rocks like lazy cats and pick up quite the tan for their efforts. The paleness of her skin makes her seem more dangerous in a way he can’t quite put his finger on - the remoteness it suggests, perhaps, or the way it displays the scars collected on her torso and arms. Perhaps the business of turning ships into toothpicks is more dangerous than he gave her credit for.

Killian realizes he’s wandered closer than he intended at the same moment that he hears her breathing minutely change, and hurriedly takes a step back. Only moments later, her eyes flutter open, scanning her surroundings with brows furrowing in confusion before settling on where he leans faux-casually against a wall.

“It’s rude to stare, you know,” she quips, rolling her eyes - also unlike any other mermaid he’s had the questionable pleasure to meet, who were all vain creatures who revelled in any form of male attention. Sarcasm and cheek were not in their vocabulary - just jealousy, pettiness, and a simpering vanity he’d quickly tired of.

(He notes, too, that this mermaid’s voice is all gravelly, like she hasn’t spoken in a long while. And who knows - way out here in this forgotten corner of the world, that just might be true.)

“Can you blame a man?” he asks, pushing off the wall to saunter closer again. “It’s not often we have such lovely ladies on this ship. Or any ladies, really. And when I’ve got one so alluring in front of me… well. I’m only human, lass.”

She makes a noise that might almost be a laugh, something that might almost be a smile tugging at the edges of her mouth, before sobering again. Killian doesn’t like that nearly as well. “You should have killed me,” she states. Matter-of-fact. Looking right at Killian, as if to best drive her point home.

It doesn’t work.

“Ah, well, you see, about that. I didn’t.” It’s probably - definitely - too lighthearted for the subject at hand. “I am, however, quite intrigued as to why you’d want that in the first place. I’ve been sitting here asking myself, ‘What kind of mermaid creates the storm of the century, almost sinks our ship and kills the entire crew, only to ask for death when she’s caught instead of smiting us all to smithereens?’ Don’t think I didn’t notice that very impressive lightning, love, because it did not escape my notice that you could have doomed every last one of us in a second.”

“The cursed kind,” she fires back. “The kind that doesn’t want to kill anyone in the first place.”

“Seems a little far fetched,” he comments, because it does. Even in a land bursting with magic, it sounds like the plot of a tall tale. A mermaid - a woman? - cursed to do terrible things against her will. How ridiculous.

“Well, it’s the truth.”

“And how did you get cursed, pray tell?”

“The usual way,” she replies, smiling like she knows just how much this crypticness is irritating him. She probably does. Finally, some way she’s like every other mermaid of his experience.

“And for those of us less experienced with curses?” He almost certainly sounds exasperated, and couldn’t care less about it.

“There was a witch. I’m sure you can piece together the rest.”

“Gods, but you are maddening,” Killian mutters under his breath. It must not be that quiet, though, as he can spot the mermaid’s mouth twitching back towards a smile. “So let me get this straight. You were cursed by a witch for some reason - I assume you won’t be so courteous as to tell me why?” She shakes her head on a smirk. “Of course not. So you’re cursed by a witch, and spend the next gods know how long forced to sink any ship that comes into your territory. Is that about right?”

“That’s the gist of it,” she agrees. “I haven’t had legs since Stephen the Second of Misthaven, if that clears matters up at all.”

Killian does the math in his head - once, then again when his first result seems too absurd to be believed. “That’s over six hundred years!”

She shrugs. “I’ll trust you on that. There’s not much way to track time, down below the surface. I’m sure you can imagine, the years all start to blend together eventually.”

He does know - better than she could have guessed. After all, he’s an almost three hundred year old man who just met the only person in existence older than him. It takes a swig from his ever-present flask to really move past that.

“So you’ve been cursed for six centuries,” he reasons out, “and not once have you tried to do anything about it? There’s no way to break your curse? No mortality clause?”

“You think I haven’t tried?” she scoffs. “I know this curse better than anything else in this realm, or any other. I know exactly where the boundaries of my bay are, the markers I can’t cross without swimming face first into invisible walls. The singing is beyond my control. I don’t need food to survive, or air, or daylight. The only way out of this curse is death, and I can’t even manage that.”

It’s horrifying to hear her speak so callously of her search for a way out of her curse by any means, but Killian supposes he can almost understand it. She’s had her free will ripped away for hundreds of years; having lived through that particular nightmare himself as a slave in his youth, he can understand how it would drive a man, or woman, to madness. The longevity of this curse really is striking; Killian doesn’t consider himself an expert on magic by any means, but he does know that generally, curses don’t last past the death of the person who cast it. It suggests other, just as impossible things - namely, that this sorceress is still alive somewhere.

“What about the witch?” he asks. “Did you ever attempt to track her down again?”

“Did you miss the part where I couldn’t leave my territory?” she shoots back in her dry, sarcastic voice. “Doesn’t leave much opportunity for searching for witches, even if I wanted to. She used to come to the island, it felt like to taunt me, but even that stopped ages ago. Decades, perhaps even a century or two.”

She had mentioned her barriers before. Killian feels like a little bit of a numbskull for not retaining it, honestly. “Aye, well, consider this my cordial invitation to assist you in such a quest,” he declares pompously, sketching an elaborate bow towards the barrel. It’s only mostly an attempt to save face - he would have offered anyways. He’s always had a soft spot for damsels in distress, after all.

She doesn’t seem to take him at his word however, snorting and rolling her eyes at the offer. “Be serious, Captain. It’s not nice to tease.”

“I assure you, milady, I’m deadly serious,” he returns.

“It’s a terrible idea. You don’t even know my name, you just think you’ve heard some sob story and want to watch it play out,” she argues.

“Killian Jones,” he replies, introducing himself as a counterargument. “Feared pirate of the seven seas - though many are more familiar with my more colorful moniker. Hook. And you are…?”

“That still doesn’t answer what you expect to get out of this.” He’s not sure if it could be considered a true deflection, but it’s definitely a blatant avoidance of his question - whether to protect herself or leave him in the dark, he’s not sure. Maybe a bit of both. The mermaid certainly seems to enjoy annoying him.

More to the point, it’s a good question she poses, as Killian isn’t quite sure what he actually expects out of this. He’s not usually given towards such generosity - rather against the pirate code, and all that. He’s not operating a charity. The mermaid in front of him though… he couldn’t tell you why, but he keeps coming back to the word interesting. He’s never met anyone quite like her, on legs or fins - an intriguing mix of danger and allure and just a touch of tragedy. Killian has been a bit at loose ends ever since he discovered that his Dark One problem took care of itself, and like it or not, hearing about the problems of cursed mermaids is a welcome diversion, as ridiculous as that feels to admit. The truth is that he wants to help her if only to see all this play out, and maybe try to figure out the woman in front of him a little along the way.

(There’s also the fact that he dislikes witches even more than he mistrusts mermaids, but she definitely doesn’t need to know that.)

That honest reason is a little too personal, however, so Killian quickly spins a different excuse. “A clear path to whatever treasure is hidden on that island would be nice,” he offers, smirking in a way that he hopes will sell his facade of being just a greedy pirate. It’s a good enough excuse, and he’s not so intrigued by their finned guest that he’s already forgotten how he and the crew stumbled into this mess in the first place.

The snort is back. Again. It seems to be his guest’s default reaction - sarcasm and completely rejecting whatever he has to say. It’s a bit off-putting, but he supposes allowances have to be made for those who haven’t had proper human interaction in hundreds of years. “If you’re searching for treasure, you’re going to be disappointed,” she confides. “There’s nothing on that island. Never was. Ages ago, witches used to meet here for coven meetings or some shit - that’s why I’m here, to protect the island from any meddlers - but that dropped off ages ago. It’s just a bunch of rocks up there - no gold, no jewels, no buried treasure. Nothing. So if that’s your reason for offering to help me, it’s not worth your time. Kill me now, or toss me back into the sea, but I can’t give you what you seek.”

That’s not it, though, not really. Yes, treasure and riches beyond all their imaginings would be nice, but his desire to keep this woman on his ship for a little while longer has nothing to do with it. Instead, he settles on bluster. “Like I said, love, I’m a simple man, with simple pleasures, and one of those is having enchanting women aboard my ship.” It must not work, however, as she fixes him with an unimpressed look - or at least, as unimpressed a look as she can manage while in such an undignified position. Still, it’s enough for Killian to quickly cave. “And, maybe, your witch hunt is the most interesting thing I’ve come across in years.”

She fixes him with a searching look for a moment longer, before finally nodding. “Alright, then, you’ve got a deal.”

“That’s what did it?” Killian demands incredulously. “Everything else I’ve said, and it’s boredom that you buy, out of all that?”

“I understand boredom,” she replies simply. “After all this time, it’s an old friend.”

Kindred spirits. He supposes he can believe that.

“In that case, welcome aboard, Miss…?”

“Emma,” she finally smiles, trusting him with her name like it’s her greatest secret. “Emma Swan.”

———

The first order of business is setting the men to work building an even larger tub for their fish-tailed guest. The original had been fine for a prisoner, but her tail doesn’t fit all the way inside, the iridescent flipper at the end obviously hanging over the edge and losing its sheen as it dries out. An invited guest deserves a bit more comfort - or at least to be able to fully submerge her tail. They’d seriously debated just releasing her back into the ocean to swim alongside the Jolly, but there’d been some uncertainty about whether her curse would allow it. After her talk of invisible walls she can’t cross, it seems like that the only reason she’s been able to leave her cove is because they’d hauled her aboard and forcibly carried her away from the bounds of her prescribed territory. He and Emma are both a little concerned about what might happen if she were returned to the water. Magic is so intrinsically involved with all of this; would it transport her right back to where it’s deemed she belongs? The larger tub may still be uncomfortable, but at least they can be sure she’ll stay put.

Somewhat more uncomfortable is the fact that the finished container is installed in the captain’s quarters - Killian’s quarters. Though ruthlessly organized, the Jolly is a small ship, and each inch is precious for storage and housing the crew. Besides the brig, only Killian’s space offered enough room to hold the container Emma would be calling hers for the indeterminable future. Between that and the windowless cell, it hadn’t really been much of a choice. It’ll be more convenient as he and Emma attempt to chart a course anyways - or at least that’s how Killian tries to convince himself.

“It’ll still be close quarters, I’m afraid. Not much privacy,” he apologizes, reaching to scratch behind his ear in an expression of embarrassment that makes him feel like some bashful youth again.

“What, are you the only modest pirate in existence?” Emma asks, mouth twisted into a smirk at his expense. “I’m a big girl, Jones, I’ve been around men before. It’ll be fine. I’ll even cover my eyes while you undress, if it makes you feel better.”

“That’s not —” he tries to protest, before sighing. “Fine. Good. Let’s do this, then.”

He’d carried her before, from the deck down here to the brig while she was unconscious, but it’s a different thing now when Emma’s awake and an ally and someone he has to be careful with. The weight isn’t an issue - he’s carried rum barrels heavier than her, though the pure muscle that makes up her tail is rather heavier than he expected of someone who is otherwise so slight - but with the woman in question awake to wrap her arms around his neck in an attempt to make the maneuver easier, it seems very intimate. One breast presses softly against his chest through her bodice and his shirt, and he’s suddenly very aware of every inch of bare skin his hand is touching along her back. It was easier to ignore such things when she was a nameless enemy - now that he’s seen a little of the woman in his arms, it just feels like an invasion of her privacy and a step in whatever this alliance is that neither of them was ready to take, especially him. The whole thing does nothing to help the blush that’s already established residence across his cheekbones, and he can feel Emma quivering with suppressed laughter in his arms.

“Shut up and watch your head,” he mutters as they begin the trek up the rickety wooden stairs, finally working a full laugh out of Emma. It’s nice to hear, though rough around the edges in the same way her voice was at first. Killian supposes she hasn’t had much reason to laugh in a long while either.

“Aye aye, Captain,” she chuckles as he begins the ascent.

It’s more than a little cramped in his cabin, what with the tub competing for space with all his regular furniture. There’s not even that many pieces - just a table and chairs, the bed, a storage cabinet and a handful of trunks - but the Jolly isn’t a particularly large ship, and the Captain’s cabin is no different; space has always been more a dream than a reality.

“Sorry about the clutter,” he offers bashfully. Embarrassment isn’t a common feeling for Killian; the pirate’s life doesn’t lend itself well to shame. Something about having a lady in his quarters, however - particularly this lady, and particularly knowing she’ll be here for the foreseeable future - brings back that youthful kind of anxiety of wanting everything to be perfect. It almost makes him wonder if he’s been put under some spell, like in the mermaid tales of old, but dismisses it as ridiculous. There’s limits to what he’s willing to believe, especially where this particular mermaid is concerned.

“It’s fine, really,” Emma replies, reclining gracefully in her makeshift tank. “It’s a nice change to be surrounded by such… human things after so long under the sea. The view doesn’t hurt either,” she adds, gesturing widely towards the square paned windows lining one wall, displaying the sea in all her dangerous glory. It’s a favorite view of Killian’s as well, especially now when the sky is just starting to turn all the colors of the sunset, each one reflected between the peaks of the waves. It’s the only thing that really sets the captain’s cabin apart from any others, except for the extra privacy.

“Aye, it’s really something, isn’t it,” he murmurs softly, allowing himself to share a moment of reflection with his guest before snapping himself back to himself. “You said you were from Misthaven? If we’re going to do this, we should set a proper course.”

“Yes, Misthaven. It was just a little village, though, it didn’t even really have a name that I was aware of.”

“If I got out my maps, do you think you could recognize the area, at least?” As Killian asks, he’s already moving.

“I think so. Worth a shot, at least,” Emma agrees.

Grabbing the appropriate map, Killian tosses it on the table top before pushing the whole thing as close as he can to where Emma reclines. As soon as the surface gets close enough, Emma rearranges herself in the tub to prop her arms on the table, splashing a little as she turns in the tub. They’re going to need plenty of towels, Killian realizes suddenly. Oh, what logistical things you don’t consider when you agree to house a mermaid in your quarters.

Quickly, he unrolls the map and weighs it down with a handful of paperweights. “Do you remember anything else? Any starting point?”

“It was on the eastern coast,” Emma replies, tilting her head in thought and squinting into the distance. “There was a little island nearby in the sound, too, but I don’t think anyone lived there.”

They continue like that for the next hour, eventually narrowing it down to three possible sites - all once tiny fishing hamlets, all now sizable towns, and in one case a bustling city. A lot can happen in 600 years, as it turns out.

They’ve got a plan, now, but Killian is left with more questions - namely, the particulars of his companion’s curse.

“I don’t suppose you want to share why you were cursed?” he asks casually, leaning against the cabinet with a smirk.

“Not unless you want to explain how a nice Navy boy became a notorious pirate,” she smirks back.

It immediately throws Killian off whatever game he was playing - probably her intention all along. She shouldn’t know anything about that. “How do you know about that?” he demands, straightening to attention.

“I’ve got hundreds of years’ experience with ships. Of course I can recognize a Royal Naval vessel, even dressed as a pirate ship,” she declares loftily. It only lasts a moment though before she relaxes back into that smirk. “And I saw all the old Naval manuals on your shelf. I figured a pirate who took the ship would most likely just get rid of them, but someone who kept them probably had a sentimental reason to.”

“So a guess,” he concludes.

“Ah, but a good one,” she winks. “So, are you going to tell me?”

“Perhaps another day,” Killian smiles tightly. Truthfully, he doesn’t have any intention of telling her; his memories of the Navy are far too tied up with his memories of Liam, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be ready to share them. “And you?”

“Perhaps another day,” she echoes.

They’ve done more than enough sharing for the day.

———

There’s unexpected things you learn when you’re living with a mermaid, as Killian comes to discover.

He learns within the first few days that she’s a voracious reader, whipping through the adventure novels he keeps beneath the window. It alleviates a lot of the guilt he feels about leaving her alone all day while he goes about the business of leading a crew above decks. She’s meticulously careful about it, too, making sure to never drip on the pages. Killian happily leaves her a stack of books in the morning, and usually she’s completed one by the end of the day - oftentimes more, especially if she picks a short volume or books of poetry. It’s one of the things he hadn’t really thought about - how she must not have heard any new stories in centuries. How lonely she must have been in her corner of the sea, he can’t help but think, starved both for companionship and any news of the outside world.

More surprising are her dining habits - or lack thereof, rather. He’d brought her dinner that first night - nothing fancy or unusual, just some fish they’d caught earlier in the day and a few hardtack biscuits to wash it down with - only for Emma to stare at the plated offerings with an odd look on her face. It’s not quite confusion, and stops shy of suspicion, but it’s definitely not enthusiasm either. As Killian really processes what he’s offered her, he flushes. Again. Gods, what is it about this woman that’s turned him back into some blushing youth?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about the fish thing,” he apologizes, moving to whisk the plate away again. “That would be rather macabre, wouldn’t it? Let me get you something else —”

She waves him off, though, pulling the plate back with her other hand. “Jones, it’s fine. You are aware of how many fish subsist on other fish, right? It’s not an issue.”

He furrows his brow in confusion. “What seems to be the problem, then? I don’t mean to pry, but you seem hesitant about this meal.”

“I don’t eat,” she explains simply. “Or at least I don’t need to. I can, but it’s not necessary for my survival.”

“That seems… odd.”

“It does, until you remember the curse. It’s very determined to keep me alive no matter what - not needing food is just another way to keep me from depriving myself of it.” Starve herself to death, she means, but they’re both tactful enough not to say it.

“So when you say you don’t eat…” he trails off in question.

“I mean that I haven’t in a very, very long time. Longer than I can remember. Kelp and seaweed and raw seafood don’t make for a very appetizing meal, as it turns out,” she teases lightly.

“Then allow me to present you with the feast of a lifetime,” Killian declares with a smile and a dramatic flourish. “The finest hardtack on the seven seas. By which I mean it will still break a tooth if you’re not careful. Shall I pour some wine with dinner?”

“By all means,” Emma smiles, gesturing with a regal air from her tub. Somehow, she still manages to look like a queen, even in such a ridiculous setting.

(It’s the best dinner he’s had in a long time, despite the simple menu, and he thinks it just might be due to his new companion.)

There’s a multitude of other little things he learns as the days pass - like the way that she softly snores if she’s not submerged completely underwater, or how she loves to debate any subject he brings up (and articulately, at that, though her sources sometimes need a little updating after centuries of isolation), or the way she rolls her eyes when he spouts off a particularly clever innuendo. Maybe it’s just his own years of loneliness talking, but it’s nice, having her companionship. Someone he doesn’t have to be the captain with, who he can talk to over books or dinner and who makes him smile. It’s something he could get used to over time, if allowed, even if the idea of that - of coming to depend on someone again - is a little bit terrifying.

As well as they get along, the fact is that Emma is still a full-sized mermaid residing in an oversized tub. It’s not a lot of space, and Killian’s impressed that she’s lasted as long as she has. In her proverbial shoes, he would have long since been driven mad by the close confines - probably have been constantly plagued by cramps as well. So he completely understands when she finally caves and asks to be returned to the open ocean, if only for a little exercise.

“Maybe I’ve been a mermaid for too long, but I’m antsy, knowing the ocean is right there and I’m still here in this stupid basin,” she explains. “I know we still don’t know what will happen, now that I’m so far from where I’m supposed to be, but… I need to try it. You can stay right there to try and pull me back if you like, just… Please. I need this.”

“Of course, love.” She needn’t ask twice.

In case some bizarre magic portal does open beneath where Emma enters the water, they do make the decision for Emma to be lowered to the water in a rowboat with Killian instead of just diving off the rail of the Jolly like he’s sure she could do easily. They almost certainly make quite the picture, the mermaid and the one-handed pirate together in the little craft being lowered to the water, but any absurdity is worth the look of excitement on Emma’s face.

As soon as she slips into the water, still grasping his hand and empty wrist (and that doesn’t send little quivers of some feeling quivering through his veins, not at all), it’s easy to hear her audible sigh of relief.

“Feels nice, does it?” he grins down to where Emma’s head is just peeking out of the water. If he thought her tail was beautiful in the dim light of the brig or in the cramped confines of her tub, it’s nothing to the way that the scales glisten here in the open water, their iridescence reflecting in every color of the rainbow as her tail sways gently back and forth beneath the surface, keeping her buoyant.

“I can’t even describe it,” she admits, smiling right back. “It feels wonderful.” She takes a deep breath before exhaling once again. “I’m going to try letting go,” she announces.

“Aye, alright,” Killian agrees. “Slowly? To be safe?”

Emma seems to be barely listening for the anticipation of it all, but still nods as she removes her hand from his left wrist. With a final exhalation and a nod of determination, she slowly releases his hand as well to float of her own accord, still within reach of Killian and the boat but entirely self-supported in the water.

“I think it’s alright,” she smiles brilliantly, quickly dunking herself under the surface so that her hair floats out in all directions, weightless against the flow of the water. “Better than.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Killian smiles back. “Enjoy your swim.”

He’s fully prepared to retrieve his book from the waterproof sack he’d stowed it in for the descent from the deck, but Emma interrupts him before he can reach underneath the seat. “Aren’t you coming in too?” she asks, face screwed up in confusion.

“Not today, lass,” he replies, forcing himself to chuckle in a manner that hopefully reads as lighthearted. There’s a multitude of reasons he won’t get in the water - most of them relating to the lash scars still on his back - but mostly it comes down to the fact that he doesn’t want to. Well, that and the scars and the elaborate straps of his brace.

(The wenches in the port bars never mind too much that their encounters aren’t anything more than a quick, mostly-clothed fuck, so no one has seen all the damage to his body in years - and in the case of his mangled wrist, no one ever has. It’s a lot of vulnerability to show to a person, and he just doesn’t think he can handle that yet.)

Quickly, he busies himself trying to locate the volume as slowly as possible in hopes that it’ll keep Emma from digging any further. It doesn’t work. Not that he’s surprised - he’s fielded more than a few questions from her in the past days. She’s certainly inquisitive, he’ll give her that - though it’s bordering on nosy at times. This is definitely one of those.

“What, don’t you know how to swim?” she asks, the teasing clearly evident in her tone.

“Of course I do,” he replies absently, still focusing on avoiding her gaze and fishing the bag out from where it’s gotten caught beneath the bench. “I’ve known how to swim since I was young. Liam taught me.”

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but tries not to tense up so much as to immediately give that away. It’d just been a slip of the tongue; he’d been so determined to not say anything about the physical scars he’d wanted to hide, he’d forgotten to guard against the emotional scars he’d already declared himself not ready to talk about. Maybe he’ll get lucky, maybe she’ll let it pass, maybe —

“Who’s Liam?” the silky voice cuts through. Of course she heard and wants to know more - she’s a clever one, Swan is, absorbing and processing everything around her at all times, including the things he’d rather she not examine.

It’s too late for that, though - the cat is already out of the bag, or whatever the proper oceanic comparison is. Sitting back upright, Killian takes a fortifying breath before replying. Perhaps if he answers her inquiries quickly and in a straightforward manner, it won’t hurt so badly. “Liam was my brother. Captain Liam Jones. He’s gone, now.”

Emma’s brows lower as she processes this, before something seems to click. “He was the one in the Navy.”

Killian nods. “Aye. To be fair, we both were. We were sent to find a medicinal plant, but when we discovered it… well. As it turns out, our king has more nefarious aims than we were aware of, and my brother died because of his faith in the bastard. Scratched himself with one of those damn thorns to prove to me that if was perfectly safe.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma murmurs. It almost looks like she wants to reach for him - in comfort, in companionship, in a pure human instinct that can’t be stifled even by a curse - but still doesn’t. It’s probably for the best; she is dripping wet, after all, and he doesn’t have any interest in her soaking him as well.

Killian jerks his head and shoulders into a little half-shrug, like it still doesn’t affect him in every corner of his soul. “What’s done is done,” he finally says. “But, needless to say, I wasn’t exactly eager to continue in the Navy after that, serving that evil son of a bitch. Drastic measures were taken, you might say, and I found myself the captain of a pirate ship. Spent the next several years crippling Navy ships until the king was deposed and replaced with a distant cousin.”

He expects that to be the end of it; he shares a painful memory, they both lapse into awkward silence, and eventually return to their solitary pursuits. Emma surprises him though, taking a deep breath as if to brace herself before making her own revelation.

“There was a man, once,” she tells him. “That’s what led to the curse.”

“You don’t have to —” Killian interrupts, trying to assure her that he doesn’t expect any reciprocity, but Emma shakes her head.

“It’s alright,” she tells him, “it’s only fair. Tit for tat, or something.” Another deep breath, and a smile that seems a little sad. “His name was Neal, he was a sailor, and I was… Gods, I was so in love. That all-consuming kind of love where they’re the light of your days and the center of your world. He was a crewman on a whaling ship, and I’d worry myself sick every time he left on a voyage. I was so convinced that one day, something would happen and he wouldn’t come back.

“But there was a witch in our village, too. Regina. She’d been there for longer than anyone could remember and never seemed to age a day; rumor had it that the apples on the tree in her garden granted her immortality, though I don’t know how true that was. She could do wonderful things, if you were willing to pay. I couldn’t pay, unfortunately, but I’d heard tell that she’d grant favors sometimes, if the cause was good enough. Or she’d find some other price for you to pay with. So I went to Regina and begged for a charm, a spell, something that would keep him safe. I swore up and down that we had true love, and that I couldn’t bear it if anything was to happen to him. And she agreed - with one condition. She’d grant me a little bit of enchanted cord he could wear to keep him from harm, if I granted her a strand of each of our hair so that she could bottle the essence of true love.

“And I agreed. I was so young, you know? And I believed, so much, that what we shared really was true love, the rarest and most precious magic of all. So I gave her a strand of my hair and found a strand of his and she gave me the cord in return.

“She was as good as her word, too; it worked. Not even six months later, his ship wrecked in a storm, leaving only a handful of survivors. Somehow, he was one of them. It was such a small price to pay for his safety, two strands of hair, especially since it worked.”

Killian won’t interrupt, not in the middle of something so important, but he has a terrible feeling about where this is going. It’s all a little too idyllic, a little too good to be true. Sure enough:

“I was so naive back then,” Emma continues with frustration seeping into her tone. “I thought that would be the end of the matter. I thought I was it for Neal, the same way he was for me. But only weeks after he returned, he met someone else. It wasn’t true love at all, and I suddenly hadn’t paid the price demanded. Maybe I had saved his life, but at the cost of my own. Regina turned me into this when she found out, trapped me in that cove, and I’ve been trying to find some way out of her curse ever since. You know the rest.”

“Aye, I do.” It’s an even sorrier tale than he imagined - a young woman, betrayed in love and forced to unimaginable sacrifice because of it. It makes him even more determined to find a way to free her from this, whatever it takes. “Thank you for telling me.”

“It was the right thing to do,” she says, shrugging. Killian thinks they might be alike in that way - two people just trying to rediscover that small bit of good form still left in the deepest corner of their souls, from back before time and circumstances turned them into the weathered creatures they are now. Neither one of them had particularly wanted to share the darkest moments in their long lives, but they’d unintentionally struck an agreement that first day - she’d share if he would - and Emma had stuck to that. Their alliance may have started tentatively, but it’s holding.

He’s more confident that ever that they’ll be able to break this thing.

———

Things shift, ever so slightly, in those days following their afternoon in the water. There’s a new trust between himself and Emma, born of those revelations and fostering a greater familiarity between the two. That’s something Killian hasn’t had in a long time. Sure, he has his crew, but he always has to wear the mask of “Captain” around them; when you’re supposed to be the man in charge, there’s no real room for emotional intimacy. Swan is different though - a guest, really, someone he doesn’t have any authority over and doesn’t need to. It’s refreshing, and offers him something he hasn’t had the opportunity for in years: friendship.

It’s the ease of their interactions that makes this so special, Killian realizes one night as he prepares for bed. Emma is settling down in her basin as well, setting whatever book she’s reading today aside and allowing herself to slide more completely beneath the water’s surface. He’s a little surprised that she’s so ready to go to sleep; she’d been unusually tired this afternoon, to the point that she’d napped in the cabin for several hours earlier. He’s surprised that she could still be tired after that, though he supposes if she’s that tired it would likely persist. Remembering how graceful and peaceful she’d looked that afternoon, one hand delicately draped over the edge of the tub as she emitted a soft whistle with every breath, Killian can’t help but smile - something she doesn’t miss, of course.

“What are you smirking at?” she demands, her own voice teasing.

“I think that seems a little harsh of a description,” he shoots back, sharpening what had actually been a relatively soft smile into a cocky grin. He likes this banter; they’re rather good at it, Killian thinks. “Personally, I think it was more of a dashing smile.”

“Fine then,” she huffs dramatically, even as a smile continues to pull at the corners of her mouth. “What are you ‘smiling dashingly’ about?”

“You, of course.” That part is the truth, even if he knows she won’t take it seriously.

Sure enough, she scoffs in response. “Please.”

“It’s true! What, I can’t smile about having a pretty lass in my cabin?”

“I bet you say that to all the women,” she replies, rolling her eyes.

“Only the ones I like,” he winks back.

It’s just a witty little thing to say, a spur of the moment comment, but it gets him thinking later, once all the lamps are extinguished and Emma has slipped below the water. It’s not possible that he fancies Emma Swan, is it? It shouldn’t be. They’ve known each other for such a short while, and even if he does feel a strong connection to the mermaid in his company, that’s probably just because she’s the closest human bond he’s had in ages. Killian doesn’t think that he’s ready for anything more serious, anyways, not when he still remembers all the pain of his Milah’s death. Emma will want to leave once her curse is broken; he can’t afford to get more attached to someone temporary.

Killian forces the matter from his mind. It can’t be anything deeper; that’s nonsense. If nothing else, it’s a matter for later.

With that, he rolls over to face the wall and drops into sleep.

———

In retrospect, they should have been more concerned about the water.

There hadn’t been any immediate, visible reaction when Emma had dived into the ocean, even if she was beyond her magically-imposed borders. All he could see was the relief as she stretched, executing lazy flips and twirls before surfacing again. After they’d moved past the downer of their mutual revelations, Emma had spent hours just swimming around, just because she could. She was beautiful like that, and free in a way Killian had never seen. The rest of the afternoon passed in a lazy haze with her in the water and he in the rowboat, no sign of danger to come on the horizon.

Even in the days immediately following, there’s no cause for concern. Sure, Emma is a little lethargic, but neither of them thinks anything of it; Killian is sure he’d be a little slow too if he was forced to sit in bed all day, every day for days on end.

Emma gets steadily worse as they get closer to port, however, until she’s a shivering, sweaty mess, as if struck by a fever. Her skin still holds that fish-like coldness, however, and she assures Killian that never once in her centuries of cursed life has she ever gotten sick. This is something else.

It’s easy connecting the dots after that. They’d been so foolish to underestimate her curse - after all, what else could this be? Maybe the curse didn’t have the power to magically transport her back to within the boundaries of her cove, but it turns out that it does have the power to slowly poison her should she enter unsanctioned waters, and that’s horrifically worse. Their mission had always been important - striving for someone’s freedom is the most noble cause, after all - but now it’s deadly crucial that they succeed, before the curse completes its own deadly aim.

“I’m alright,” Emma assures him once the Jolly makes landfall and he’s preparing to search out their witch. It’s a lie, and an obvious one at that; she’s sickly pale and trembling. Even an utter idiot could see that she’s far from fine. At least they know they’re in the right place; time is of the essence, but Emma had recognized the landscape and the curve of the coast beneath all the new population and its structure and monuments. “Go, find Regina. Her cottage was on the highest bluff, you should start looking there.”

When Killian reaches that bluff, however, there’s no cottage left to see. A tall stone fireplace still stands tall amongst the wild grasses and flowers, but that’s all that’s left to see. Nature has almost entirely reclaimed the site. Killian thinks he can spot the edges of bricks poking through the low mound that must cover the remains of the house, but even that seems a stretch.

Asking in the village-turned-city for the witch Regina doesn’t help either. No one has heard of a living person of that name and occupation, but they do all know of a legend, peculiar to this part of the world. In other circumstances, Killian might almost have enjoyed the tale: the story of a witch, alive for centuries, who fell in love with a common thief and ran off with him, taking nothing more than a sack full of the apples that had lengthened her life for so long before destroying the tree and letting her home crumble to rubble behind her. Unfortunately, he also knows that the best stories have their basis in truth, and there are just too many details that point to this fable chronicling what has happened to Regina, from the apples that kept her alive for hundreds of years to the house she supposedly lived in on that same bluff. A handful of old ladies even claim to remember her from their youth. It’s her, and it’s a dead end.

“She’s long gone, Swan,” he reports back to Emma, failing to hide the disappointment and sorrow and concern in his voice.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” she murmurs, gazing blankly into the middle distance. Still, she tries to smile a weak smile as she turns to meet Killian’s eyes. “Thank you for trying.” Despite the smile, her voice is resigned. It’s obvious she thinks this is the end.

“I’m not giving up so easily,” Killian fires back. “There must be someone who can undo this.”

“Who?” Emma asks. Her voice is edged with desperation in a way that Killian doesn’t like at all. “Witches can’t alter each other’s curses. Hell, this should have ended when Regina died, but it somehow didn’t. We are out of options.” She slumps back into the water as she finishes, clearly exhausted.

“I won’t believe that,” he insists. “I know a fairy, one whose specialty is True Love. Maybe she can help. Isn’t it worth trying, at least?”

“Fine,” she agrees, “but if it doesn’t work… it’ll be okay, Killian. I’ve lived a long enough life, and if this is how it ends, then so be it.” It’s the first time she’s called him by his first name, and it kills him that it’s in the middle of such a bleak moment.

“I’m not giving up so easily,” he repeats for lack of anything better to say, before moving to order his crew to set a new course.

This has to work.

———

Even if Killian does know every back way into Neverland, all the little cracks between realms and waterways unknown even to Peter Pan himself, he never relishes having to make that trip. He’ll go to his grave believing that cursed island to be Purgatory itself made real in the world. However, the Jolly now makes the journey faster than he thinks it ever has, all for a chance to save Emma before it’s too late.

Talking to Tink is a longshot; she’s technically not even a fairy anymore, having long since lost her wings in an incident she doesn’t like to talk about. Something about trying to help the wrong person find their true love. There’s also the small fact that she’s probably also furious with him after Killian left Neverland for good without taking her with him. In his defense, he had to take advantage of a rare moment when Pan was absent from the island and time was of the essence to escape before he returned. Come to think of it, it will be dangerous for Killian to return to Neverland at all, lest the demon Pan trap and possibly torture or kill him for the transgression, but that’s a risk he’s going to have to take. Tinkerbell knows more about True Love than anyone else he’s aware of, and he’s willing to risk anything, from feminine rage to Pan himself, if it will break Emma’s curse and save her life.

Emma herself has taken a decided turn for the worse, her condition deteriorating with every day and every hour. She’s started slipping in and out of consciousness, her waking moments still dominated by the feverish shaking that first plagued her. On top of everything, she’s constantly parched when she’s awake and aware, and her very skin seems incapable of retaining moisture. A mermaid lives and dies submerged in water, or should; now, it seems to have no effect. He can practically see her shriveling before his eyes as her skin turns rough and tight across her bones, her tail like sandpaper to the touch in places.

Killian has found himself spending a lot of time reading to Emma in her sickness, something that seems to calm both of them. There’s no telling if she hears his voice while she’s unconscious, but their adventure tales are one of the only things that can make her smile even a little bit anymore, so Killian keeps on doing it regardless of her conscious or unconscious state. It calms him a bit, too; he’s frantically worried about Swan nearly every hour of the day, and the reading at least lets him feel like he’s doing something. The depth of his concern had surprised him - after all, he’s only known Emma for a matter of weeks. However, after all the time they’ve spent together, all their talks, the way they were able to reveal things about themselves - hell, he even told her about Milah, the loss of his hand, and all the subsequent years in Neverland after that magical-seeming day in the water - he feels like he knows her, in a way he hasn’t known another human being in a very long time. Time is no hindrance to true emotional closeness and trust, and he knows beyond a doubt: Emma Swan trusts him, the same way he trusts her right back. He never would have thought that would be true after such a rough start, but somehow, it is.

She hasn’t woken at all today, and it scares him half to death. She’s still alive - there’s still a pulse in her wrists and neck. Killian checks periodically, and holds himself back from doing so any more often because of the way she whimpers at even the most gentle touch to her skin. They don’t have much time.

“Captain?” Smee interrupts, poking his head around the doorway and into the cabin. “We need your assistance on deck, we’re about to slip into Neverland.”

“I’ll be there momentarily, Mr. Smee.” As the little man hurries away, Killian leans in to check Emma’s pulse one more time. Still there, and still fighting. “Hang in there, darling, I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he murmurs, brushing a lank curl away from her face before heading on deck.

———

Sneaking into Neverland is the easy part; Killian knows how to navigate these waters better than anyone else, and could practically steer them along the hidden currents straight into a hidden bay with his eyes closed. That’s not hard, not anymore, not after hundreds of years. He can handle the wheel with a practiced hand, and the crew knows these routes just as well as he does, moving as one body in a synchronized effort.

No, the hard part is traversing through the dense tropical jungle that covers almost every inch of this accursed island. When Killian had been here and forced to traverse the island regularly, there’d been a set of paths that he made sure to keep cleared. However, even the foliage has a mind of its own in a place so steeped in magic as Neverland, and vines, flowers, and all manner of other flora would quickly overtake even the most established of trails if not regularly traversed and cleared. After an absence of several years, the trails have become nigh on impassable, and Killian is forced to hack his way through the greenery with his sword with every step he takes, doing his best to avoid vicious thorns and especially the variety of intoxicants that grow so prevalently. He knows what each of them induces - vivid hallucinations, unconsciousness, unbearably heightened libido and all manner of other things - and knows he doesn’t have time for any of their inconveniences. Time is of the essence, with Emma’s condition worsening by the minute.

Tinkerbell’s home should be just ahead, if he remembers right, and he’s spent far too much time trekking along this path through the years for him to remember incorrectly. Tink may have lost her wings, but she’s never stopped longing for the freedom she once found in the skies, and her abode reflects that: a series of platforms and reed walls nestled within the branches of the tallest tree for miles around, offering one of the best views of Neverland. It’s only topped by the cliffs of Deadman’s Peak, but Killian won’t go back there for anything - too many memories of Liam collapsing from the Dreamshade’s poison to make even the most beautiful view worse the effort to get up there and the pain, both emotional and physical, it evokes. Tink almost certainly knows he’s here already - Killian is quite familiar with the sightlines the treehouse offers, and there’s a clear view of the harbor where the Jolly has dropped anchor. Hell, she probably even saw him and Smee rowing over, maybe even can spot where the mousy little man waits with the rowboat on the sandy beach. Regardless, he’ll need to be on his guard; he can’t imagine he’ll be treated to a warm welcome from his former ally.

Sure enough, he’s barely stepped into the clearing she so carefully maintains around her tree before there’s the press of cold metal against his throat - a knife point, its wielder seemingly having materialized from the depths of the jungle. “You’ve got an awful lot of nerve coming back here after what you did to me, Hook,” she hisses, venom dripping from every syllable of her words. “Did Pan catch up to you after all? Or are you just back to make nice, because let me tell you, it won’t work. Save your pretty words.”

“Neither,” he croaks in response, doing his best not to move his throat too much. Already, there’s a trickle of blood creeping its way down his neck from where the point of her weapon had pricked him, and he doesn’t relish the thought of that little dagger digging any deeper. “I’m not here for me, or for you. I’m here on behalf of someone else.”

“And why should I believe you?” Tink demands, pressing in closer. “Everyone knows that Captain Hook only cares about his own interests.”

“Because it’s the truth!” He doesn’t have any better answer than that, but somehow, Killian knows it won’t be enough. “Because I’ve told you of my past, and you know I used to be a man of honor. Because I’ve never told you a lie. Because I wouldn’t come back to this hellhole without a damn good reason. Because a woman doesn’t deserve to die because you can’t bring yourself to believe me!” His voice rises with each excuse without his conscious decision until he’s yelling, and it’s only Tinkerbell’s slight step back that keeps him from being stuck like a pig.

“This woman,” she asks, finally sheathing the knife back at her waist, “you love her?”

“Most certainly not,” Killian huffs and crosses his arms into a defensive posture - as if the words of one petite blonde fairy could physically harm him. Fool. “But I do care for her. She deserves to live her life, and a good one at that. Isn’t that enough?”

“Sure it is,” Tink replies easily - though Killian does spot a knowing, almost mischievous twinkle in her eye. Bloody fairy probably didn’t believe a word he said. “Where do I come in, though? You haven’t been particularly… illuminating in this defensiveness.”

“As if I could get a word in edgewise with that damned knife to my throat,” he mutters.

“Like I’m the first one to try that. Now talk, pirate.”

And he does. He tells Tink all about Emma and her curse, True Love gone bad and their failed attempts to find the woman who could reverse the whole thing. He’s barely touched on the illness now causing Emma to waste away before his very eyes before Tink starts shaking her head.

“I can’t do anything for her, Hook,” she tells him, voice dripping with regret. “I’m sorry.”

“Why in the hell not?” Never mind the fact that her tone is honest, sympathetic even, offering no indication that she’s telling anything but the unfortunate truth. “You’re a fairy —”

“ — a former, disgraced fairy —”

“Semantics. This is a curse, brought on by True Love. You’re supposedly an expert in that very phenomenon. And you’re saying that you can’t do anything?”

“Curses aren’t like other magic,” Tink explains. “They’re very specific to the caster, and designed to last. Any meddling that I, or anyone else, would attempt would only make an already bad situation worse. As for True Love… it’s the most powerful magic of all, and any curse infused with it would be doubly strong. I can’t imagine what bottled love gone sour would do, but I can’t imagine anything good. The thing about True Love is that there’s nothing else like it - there’s no substitute and it can’t be replaced. I know you think that I know everything there is about True Love, but I can’t fix this.”

“Well what about fairy dust?” Killian demands, not even attempting to hide the desperation in his voice anymore. There has to be something, anything; he doesn’t want to admit that they’re staring down defeat.

“Fairy dust is… That’s not what it does. It’s a structural thing, a tool; it can enchant objects, or lend extra power to potions or enchantments, but that’s it. It’s useless for the kind of curse breaking that you want.” Despite all the threats that started their interaction, Tink’s voice is gentle as she reiterates her apology. “I’m sorry, Killian. I wish I could help her, but there’s just nothing I can do.”

Killian nods in response, his mind going numb as the reality of those words sinks in. This was already their last wild hope, and all for naught. It’s the end of the line. “Thank you for trying,” he hears himself say distantly. “I’ll, uh… I guess I’ll…”

“Go to her,” Tink finishes. He can’t quite read the odd, soft little smile on the fairy’s face, and frankly, he’s too exhausted to try - both physically and emotionally.

“Gather your things, if you like,” he offers before turning to leave. “We’ll be happy to take you away from here.”

As Tinkerbell bustles off to pack whatever odds and ends she wants to keep, Killian begins to make his way back through the woods along the newly remarked path. There’s half a temptation to move slowly and put off having to convey the full extent of his failure for as long as he can; Killian doesn’t relish the thought of having to crush Swan’s hopes yet again, if she’s even well enough to hear it. It’s a selfish thought, though, and he does his best to push it aside. It’s obvious that Emma doesn’t have much time left, and after all her years alone, if she’s going to die, she deserves someone holding her hand until the very end. With that in mind, Killian forces himself to hurry, rushing through the jungle as quickly as he can without tripping on any vines or stray roots.

As it is, he’s terrified that they’re too late when Starkey, one of his last sailors from the Navy days, meets the rowboat as soon as it’s hauled aboard.

“It’s not looking good, Captain,” he says. “We’ve got the cabin boy down there trying to keep her hydrated, but.. It’s not looking good, Captain.”

“I’ll make that judgement for myself,” he all but snaps. He’ll have to apologize to the man later, but panic and fear has a way of removing the niceties from one’s speech. What’s more important is getting down to his cabin and assessing the situation for himself.

It’s just as bad as he’d been warned, however. Emma looks almost grey in the skin and scales, and as much as young Hawkins is obviously trying to pour fresh water over her skin, it’s obvious that she’s absorbing none of it, every inch of her flesh dry, cracked and flaking. He’s terrified to check for a pulse, half convinced he won’t find anything. He supposes that the boy wouldn’t be trying his best to keep her comfortable if he didn’t still think she had life in her though. Speaking of which:

“Thank you, lad, that will be fine for now,” Killian says quietly, a little afraid to break the quiet that dominates the sickroom his cabin has become. “Close the door on your way out, please.”

“Aye, Captain,” young Hawkins replies, hopping into motion as soon as the cup he’d been using is replaced in the bucket of water next to the tub, but Killian barely hears him, not even processing when the heavy cabin door shuts with a soft thud.

Her breath is just a fluttery little thing now that he can barely feel on the back of his hand held close to her face. Killian is suddenly struck with the sudden urge to hold her close in these last minutes and hours, provide her with some of that deeply human comfort she’s been denied for so long. It’s obvious that the pool of water isn’t helping anyways; she’s dry as a bone, no matter how thoroughly she’s submerged or for how long. Knowing that, it’s easy to cave to the urge.

She’s so much lighter now than she was a mere month ago, the magic and the fever it’s caused eating away at her form. It barely takes any effort to pluck her from the tub and settle both of them on the edge of his bunk, her tail draped limply across his lap. No doubt they’re soaking the bed linens, but that doesn’t matter right now.

“I’m so sorry, darling,” he murmurs, running his hand gently down her arm in what he hopes will register as a comforting touch. “I wanted so badly to help you, to help you live the life you deserve, but I failed you, and I only hope one day you can forgive me from wherever you end up. I wanted so much better for you.” His throat is becoming suspiciously tight. When did he become so attached to Swan? “I think that I might have come to love you, given the chance,” he admits, “but I guess we’ll never know. Whatever happens, I just want you to know that I’m here. I’ll be here until the very end. It’s alright, if you’re ready to rest.”

He holds her for a while longer, rocking her body back and forth and stroking her hair. When her pulse is so slow as to be almost indiscernible, Killian blinks back the tears to try and give her a proper goodbye.

“Thank you for everything, my Swan, all the trust you’ve placed in me. I’ll never forget you,” he murmurs. “Godspeed.” And in a final gesture, Killian leans down to place a soft kiss on her lips - a tender sealing of all the things that might have been.

That’s when it happens.

It starts as warmth, a gentle glow that seems like it’s suffusing every pore and fills him with a sense of peace that he never expected to feel in this moment. That warmth increases and expands, however, until it’s no longer contained just within his body and instead washes outwards over the whole room in a bright flash of rainbow light that he pulls away from Emma’s form just in time to see. Under other circumstances, Killian might take the time to investigate, to wonder exactly what just happened —

— but in that same moment, Emma stirs in his arms.

“Swan?” he queries softly, barely daring to hope.

Sure enough, though, her eyes flutter open, clearer than he’s seen in days and fully alert. “Jones?” She croaks. “What happened?”

“I… I don’t know,” he stammers back, stroking his hand along her cheek in wonder. What had only moments ago been sunken, dry, and grey is soft and warm again, healthily plump in the way that cheeks should be. “I thought you were doomed. I thought it was any moment now, and I —” he blushes, realizing how that kiss might sound now — “well, I moved to kiss you goodbye. But then there was this flood of warmth of light, and you woke up. I don’t know how.”

“You kissed me?” Emma doesn’t sound outraged, like he expected; rather, she just sounds curious. Maybe a little confused too.

“Yes, I kissed you - just a little kiss, mind you, nothing untoward - but then you woke up, and —”

It seems to strike them at the same time - the implications of what those two undeniable facts put together might mean. True Love’s Kiss. Emma’s eyes are blown wide with an emotion he can’t quite name - shock? Fear? Something else entirely? Whatever the case, Killian is certain that he must look much the same, as he knows that his thoughts are racing in a chaotic mess at the revelation. Emma scrambles to sit upright as it sinks in, bracing herself on his shoulders and scooting her bottom underneath her.

That’s when they notice the other revelation.

“Are those…” Killian murmurs in wonder before Emma completes his thought.

“Legs.” She pats frantically - nay, excitedly - at the limbs, beaming up at Killian with her own joy suffusing every bit of her countenance. “My legs. My… naked legs.” That’s another thing they both notice at the same time - her unclothed state. Both flush a furious red, and Killian hurriedly drags a blanket over her lower half.

“That’s better,” he mutters, trying to subdue the bright crimson staining his cheeks like some untried lad with his first paramour. Emma doesn’t even seem to hear him, though.

“I’m free,” she breathes, smiling a brilliant smile like he’s never seen before. It suits her, like a piece he didn’t know was missing in his perception of Emma Swan. “I can go anywhere.”

“Anywhere you want, and I’ll take you there,” Killian vows. Almost as soon as he says it, though, he’s struck with a spike of uncertainty. “That is, if you want me to.”

He almost expects her to say no. He’s a pirate, and he’s acting a bit presumptuously, and he’d understand entirely if she’d rather seek different company or even no company at all.

But Emma surprises him, shyly returning her hands to his chest. “I’d like that,” she declares softly.

With those words, Killian’s heart feels like it’s about to fly right out of his chest in fluttery, hesitant joy and optimism. “Then we’ll do exactly that.”

———

And they do.

There’s things to do, and stops to make, but now, almost a month after Emma’s miraculous cure, they’re finally faced with the open sea and no plans to speak of.

Killian can’t wait.

Things with Emma are… evolving. They’re both fully aware of the power of that kiss, and what exactly it means, but it’s still terrifying to admit that. They’ve both been hurt by love, scarred in physical and emotional ways that they carry with them to this day. This feels different, and Killian will be the first one to admit it - light and hopeful and genuine, all feelings that he’s all but forgotten in the past three hundred years - but he still carries that memory of how deeply love can hurt when it’s ripped away from you. It’s terrifying to commit to that - to hand over such a power to another person again.

Still, they’re evolving. They spend their nights telling stories and searching out different constellations before Emma retires to his bunk and Killian to the cot placed where her ridiculous tub had once sat, now just a bathing vessel again. They’d tried sleeping apart - the crew had gladly cleared out a cabin for Emma and Tinkerbell to share as they ventured back towards a town where Emma could procure new clothes - but had both discovered that they’d come to find a comfort in the other’s presence, even in the short amount of time they’d travelled together on their search for a cure. After that, they’d quickly agreed with barely any discussion to bring the cot in instead. Killian insists Emma take the bunk, even if it’s likely not any more comfortable. It’s the least he can do, especially since he’s trying to rediscover how to be a gentleman again.

(For her - all for her. It’s funny how, even at his most hesitant, Emma makes him want to be the kind of man she deserves again.)

As slowly as their relationship is developing, Killian like learning how to enjoy all the little gestures of blooming affection again. Every brief touch sends butterflies into flight in his stomach, every smile carefully catalogued to see how he can elicit it again. They’d had an almost perfect day when they’d stopped in a small village to restock supplies and procure Swan some clothes of her choice, as Killian was able to grasp her hand and twine their fingers together to lead her through the market. When he’d bought her a flower on a whim, a soft pink Middlemist rose, Emma had blushed prettily before taking it with a small smile and gentle fingers. In that moment, he’d finally started to embrace the hope that the two of them could truly become something together. He’d even given her a kiss on the cheek goodnight.

(Tink had teased them mercilessly after that, even more than she already had, but it had been easy enough to ignore her behind his haze of happiness. Still, it’d been a relief to leave the smug fairy at the port of her choice to try and find a way to earn her wings again. Killian wishes her the best of luck.)

With Tinkerbell gone and no more curse or impending death hanging over their heads, there’s a sense of peace about Killian that he thinks Emma feels too, especially now that they’ve reached open waters once again. Privately, he wonders if she’ll miss her tail one day - not the curse itself, but the ease in the water that her scales had brought. It’s far too soon to broach the topic though, and Killian has a plan anyways - he’s heard before of bracelets from Glowerhaven that can grant the wearer the tail and powers of a mermaid for as long as they wish, and he’ll be happy to buy them both such a bauble if that day ever comes.

Emma waits at the deck’s railing, surveying the waves as sunlight bounces off their peaks and glitters in the clear day. She looks so beautiful like this, so human and happy that Killian can’t help but stop for a moment just to watch. There’s still something of the siren in her, with her lovely blonde curls and long legs in soft breeches and boots calling to him, but he knows that now, that’s only because he’s utterly enchanted in the most mundane, non magical way. True Love - if he’s brave enough to grab it. With that thought bouncing around his head, he finally takes the finally steps forward to stand next to Emma, his hand and hook placed on the rail alongside Emma’s. She casually - a little too casually - twines her pinky finger around his, almost short circuiting his mind, especially with the small smile she offers him after he stares in awe at their entwined fingers a moment too long. That brings him back out of it.

“Do you know where you want to go, love?” he asks. That’s another thing to get used to - learning to mean every letter of those little nicknames he’s tossed around so casually with other women again.

“Everywhere,” she grins back, the note of teasing in her voice belied by the fact that he knows she really does want to explore the entire world and somehow try to make up for 600 years trapped in the same place. Maybe tonight he’ll test his luck and kiss her again - it’s hard not to want to when she says things like that.

“As you wish, love,” he replies, moving to squeeze her entire hand.

They’ve got an awful lot of world to see, and ocean to cover, and the rest of their forever to do it in.

#cssns #captain swan #cs ff #my writing #A Drowning Soul Will Clutch at Any Straw #mermaid!Emma

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Flood my Mornings: Found

I know, right??? Thank you for bearing with me while I’ve taken a wee ten month sabbatical! And thank you, too, for dropping in every now and again to remind me of how much you love this story. It means the world! - With love, Mod Bonnie 

This story takes place in an AU where Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

FMM Master List 

Previously: Hectic

Found

Early December, 1952

.

“Hey, Mummy?”

“Yes, pumpkin?”

“Um! Why come—”

“How....”

“—How come my hairs is all gray in all tha’ pictures?”

One grammar victory at a time.

“Cameras only can show things in black and white. Ours, anyway.”

Taking pictures was always great fun; poring over them once they’d come back from the developer, a joy, particularly coupled with Jamie’s still-sharp wonder in their implicit magic. Actually following through with organizing them into albums, though? A bloody-hateful chore I’d managed to put off for nearly a year, this time. The red album already held Ian’s first six months or so, but most of his subsequent life had accumulated in lazy shoeboxes and (better late than never) now lay scattered around Bree and me in a shiny arc on the living room floor. 

“Wouldn’t them—those pictures be better if it was all the right ones?” She popped up from hands and knees to shove a fistful of ginger curls toward me. “The good colors?” 

“Absolutely! Maybe someday.”

She nodded once, satisfied. “You should go tell them to.”

“Tell who?”

Shrug. “Camera people.”

“I’ll write Mr. Kodak right away.”

“Good. Which picture’re we doin’ next?”

“Hmmm....” It came out more like a ‘heeeeeee’, since I was grinning with complete, albeit exhausted joy at my unstoppable eldest. 

“How ‘bout THIS one?” She came up with a snapshot from the Fernacre Halloween party this year: Jamie beaming as he held Ian securely atop Kugel, one of the newer horses. 

“Oh,” I moaned, heart squeezing as I held the photo next to the page showing Ian at four months, fuzzy-headed and drooling happily with his hands clapped together. “Bree, when did my tiny baby become a grown-up boy?” 

“He izzzz a baby, Mummy.”

“Well, yes, but....”  

But oh lord, to see his infant photos again, compared with the walking, sometimes-talking little man across the house! Where had all the baby fat gone? When had the generic softness of his features been replaced with cheekbones and Jamie’s dimpled chin?! Jesus H. Christ, it made me want to curl up and sob for days and then get down to business making another one. (Except, no, absolutely not). 

“He IS a real baby,” Brianna was saying, with a sass that spilled over into guilty-glee: “He still poopies in his pants!”

“Touché, lovey,” I giggled along with her, rifling through our pile to make sure I hadn’t missed any from Ian’s birthday. “OH! This is pure Ian, right here, don’t you think??”

This was from just last week, from the packet Jamie had picked up on his way home yesterday. No special occasion: just our sweet, sweet boy standing in the doorway to the back garden, beaming with a magnetic smile even as he shyly resisted any coaxing to come out, blanket over his shoulder and pressed comfortingly against his cheek.

Somehow, he alone had managed to miss the gene for curly hair. His was still thick, though, brown and unruly as mine, with a tendency to poke up in little cowlicks every time you turned your back (and good bloody luck to anyone that tried to come at him with a comb and triggered a caterwauling to wake the dead). His eyes—dark honey—were slanted, seeming even more so as he grinned at the camera. So like Bree and yet so much his own. 

Resemblance wasn’t the only difference between my little ones, for Ian was less tempestuous than Brianna, to say the very least. Whereas she had seemed to exit the very womb inclined to speak (or howl) her mind with a fierce, vocal confidence in herself, Ian Fraser was a more subtle charmer. He got what he wanted by lavishing snuggles and carefully-placed puppy-dog eyes on his target, speaking his few words when necessary, but usually content to wheedle in his own way, or else let Bree do the talking for him.  

His own unique spirit, I marveled, running my thumbs against the glossed edges. Bree was, in a word, intense; her brother..... what? More shy by contrast, absolutely, but I’d always hated the milquetoast connotations of that word. He wasn’t at all skittish or morose; when in his element, he could be as boisterous as she, and if he sometimes preferred to play by himself in a group of friends, it always seemed to be by choice, not exclusion. In fact, I’d observed that he even spoke more when on his own, when he was absorbed in organizing a Gathering of the cuddly toys, or making tiny stick-villages in the garden, narrating his playtime in a mixture of English, Gaelic, and (the vast majority) Toddler. It was only when someone was watching that he would flash them a sheepish grin and start keeping his thoughts to himself. 

No, see, Ian’s quieter nature bespoke something beneath it, something that always struck me as remarkably developed and complex for a child of his age. Cunning, I’d call it, or some deep, satisfied knowing—slyness, in the best way! His twinkling eyes often seemed to so, so sweetly say, ‘You can’t make me do what you want, Mummy, but I sure do enjoy watching you try!’ A strain of the MacKenzies, I thought, not for the first time. 

“Hey-Mummy?” My little Fraser had her brows scrunched up as though contemplating murder, poring over the blue album from the shelf under the coffee table. “I dinna remember this pictures.”

“Those are of you as a baby,” I grinned, “so you were too small to remember.”

“Well....then...Da! He must—!” She nodded, full of budding conviction. “He remembers a whole, whole-lot, then, cause he’s really big!”

"Ah—” My lips hurt as little fizzles escaped from between them. “You’re not wrong, smudge.” 

“Uh-huh, I know.” 

She had flipped open to the middle of the album, to a series of snowy shots taken when she was...what...sixteen months old? We had gone sledding for the first time, and Ms. Byrd had captured the fleeting joy of it so perfectly. Little Bree’s jack-o-lantern teeth bared in glee above her muffler, the point of her elf-bonnet tickling my chin. My own hat had flown off into the wind, curls a blurry cloud above us.

She turned the pages to the left, going back in time. Cackles erupted at the images from her first birthday, elbows and eyebrows deep in chocolate cake, then she straightened gravely at the evidence of some of her exuberant early steps. “Was I walkin’ as good as Ian?” she dared me. 

“Very well! Though he did start sooner.”

“Hey-Mummy?”

I inhaled through a secret, tired smile. Eighteen hundred times a day.  At least. “Yes, Bree?”

“Hey-Mummy, where’s Da?”

“Putting Ian to bed.” I glanced at my watch. “Which means you, sweet pea, need to get your pajamas on, and—”

“NO, where is he in heee-rrrrre?” She lifted the album, glaring. “Where I was the baby?”

My jaw was open as though I’d started to say something. If only I knew what it might have been. Maybe then I’d know what came next. 

“See-look,” she insisted, turning the thick pages of the other album and pointing emphatically.

Jamie, showing Ian around the house on the first day he’d come home with us . 

Ian, in my arms in the hospital bed with Jamie at my shoulder, smiling down at us with Bree on his lap.

She thunked the album down, half on top of the other, contrasting the very first family photos I possessed: just the two of us, meeting one another in the morning light of that lonely, heavenly hospital room. “Where’s the Da-ones for me, Mummy?”  

“Da…he...” 

Damn it. 

“....He wasn’t there when you were a baby.”

Brianna blinked twice, and her eyes went fierce as she cocked her head. “Wasn’t?”

“No. He wasn’t.”

“Why wasn’t he?”

“He was away at—at the war when you were born.” 

Seeing the questions stacking up behind her eyes, I tried to explain, though my blood was thudding in my ears. “You know how Miss Della’s beau Peter is a soldier? And how he has to be away in Korea? That's like where Daddy was, too. He…” My voice cracked a little. “He was away, and didn’t get to meet you until you were Ian’s age.”

“Da was-not away!” Bree insisted, though her eyes were wide, unaccustomed doubt creeping in.

“He was, though, darling,” I whispered. “You don’t remember because you were still very little when he came back.” 

I turned the pages slowly, past those scattered glimpses of our early days, when we were the Randalls, then the Beauchamps. “Da was—” Goddamn it, what was the bloody story? “—captured, and we were told he died.”

I thought she hadn’t heard me. I cleared my throat and started to repeat myself, more audibly this time, but I glanced down and my heart clenched so hard the tears broke through. For, my little warrior’s face had completely fallen to despair. “....Daddy died?”

“No! No, no, no, sweetheart, he didn’t, but he was….lost....for a long time.”

She sucked in a breath, almost a gasp, all trace of fierceness gone as she searched my face. “Was he scared?”

I could only nod, the tears stinging, squeezing the walls of my throat. “But, one day, he did come back. He found us and he got to meet you. His wee lassie. See?”

Jamie, on our second wedding day, so very thin in his suit, but glowing as he held little Bree in his arms, looking down at her with unrestrained, awestruck  tenderness.

“You made him — make him  — so happy, lovey,” I whispered, pulling her close onto my lap and against my heart as I turned the page. 

The two of them, stretched out on this very couch, both their mouths open as they slept, her cheek smushed cozily against his chest.

I pressed my own cheek against her head. “He’d loved you the whole time he was lost. Getting to finally meet you was....” I flipped over to Ian’s first photos, pointing to Jamie. “Just like how happy he was here, when he met baby Ian for the first time.”  

“Mummy....I dinna—” Her voice was choked, tears streaming as she whispered: “I dinna w-want Da to be lost when I w-was Ian.”

“Ohh, love, sweetheart, I—”

The door from the kitchen opened. “Alright, Bree, your turn for—”

“DA!”

By long instinct, he dropped to a crouch to let her run, sobbing, into his arms. “Christ, what's this, then, cub?” He rubbed her back, coaxing brightly to ease her worries, his expert skill. “Heyyy, lass, there, now.....Dinna be troubled so, wee love—tell me what’s amiss.”

She couldn’t say anything coherent at first, but at last, she choked it out. “I dinna want—y-you to b-be—lost again!”

“I’m no’ lost, Brianna,” he nearly laughed. “I’m here, see? Safe and—”

“Mu—Mummy said you were dead and l-lost when I was littlest and–I don't—dinna—w-want—you—to—ever— ”

“Och, no, lass,” he moaned at once as he pulled her tight against his chest and rose to his feet, his eyes meeting mine with an understanding that ached in us both as he saw the tracks of my own tears. “Never. Not ever.”

He swayed with her for a very long time as she sobbed into his shoulder. His eyes were closed and I could barely hear what he murmured into her hair: 

“That was the saddest time of my whole life, mo chridhe....” In Gaelic: ‘I'll never be parted from ye again...nor your mother... nor Ian…...I swear it.’

“She’s truly growing up, then,” Jamie whispered, softly rubbing Brianna’s back where she lay curled up asleep on the sofa behind us. “That she can feel things so in her heart…..” He turned from her to lean fully against the bottom cushions, resting his arms on his knees. “It makes me want to weep, Sassenach. All the sadness that awaits them in the world....That I could keep all of it at bay.”

“Will we ever tell them differently?”

His head swiveled around, surprised. “Tell them what, mo ghraidh?”

“The truth.” The word was a ball of ice in my stomach. “About....everything. The stones... How we met. Who you really are.”

“I confess....I had assumed we never would tell them.” 

“When it was only me and Bree, I had thought...well, it was a vague thought, only....but I assumed someday she would know. Now, though....it doesn’t seem as simple, somehow.” 

“Aye.” His chest rose and fell heavily as he ran a hand backward through his hair. “In truth, ‘tis indeed a weight on my heart to think that they might never know all the dear memories—only the wee fragments, disguised as they must be.”

About Lallybroch. Jenny and Ian. All their little cousins. Murtagh. Brian and Ellen. Names the children knew, but only a surface-version; a bedtime story about people in a faraway land who were now lost; no more real than any other; far less so, with no photographs or brightly-colored illustrations to prove those people had existed. 

Still more....might they never know what their father did for them at Culloden? Of the sacrifice and pain we both chose on that day? 

“But we must bear it, no?” he was saying sadly, even as a half-hope grew in his eyes. 

“How can they ever truly know us, Jamie,” I said, “understand us without knowing where we’ve been? What we’ve been through?” I thought of my own parents, shrouded in so much mystery, so much not known; unknowable, now. 

“Perhaps...when they’re older? When they might be trusted to keep such a big secret, we might tell them. Though....” he considered. “They might both be fully grown before t’would be the right time for such a—"

“And yet, that’s the other side of the coin.” I hated this; scolded myself for being the devil’s advocate of cloying gloom. “It’s like adopted children that aren’t told until adulthood. If we wait so long, won’t they resent us for keeping such a monumental thing from them? The truth of who they are and how they came to exist?” My eyes must have looked as hopeless as Bree’s. “What do you think we should we do?”

A pause, then his mouth twitched in a weak attempt at a smile. “I wish I kent the certain path, Claire. I do.” Any light in his eyes ebbed. “In truth, we rob them — and ourselves, forbye — of something dear no matter the choice, aye?”

It might have lingered, the worry. It might have been a cloud over us throughout the fallen night. Instead, our eyes met and we softened in unison. He leaned his forehead against mine, pulling me closer to kiss my cheek. Many years stood between us and that day, should it ever even come. 

I was about to rest my head on his shoulder, but a photo caught my eye, right there by my ankle. 

It was barely in focus, fully half the image a diagonal, black nothingness, a childish finger covering the lens. Still, it had been captured at precisely the right moment, before Jamie or I had had time to react. 

Both of us were in pajamas in front of the stove, my hair an absolute wreck (though, when was it not?), the cup of tea in my hand in serious danger of slopping over the side, since Jamie had me by the waist and was working to pull me close. His head was bent to my neck, his grin sweet and roguish, though his eyes were hidden. Mine were closed and my head was thrown back, as though no other damn thing in the world mattered but the moment’s silly joy. 

I cradled it between us and spoke the simplest version of the ache within me.

 “I’m so happy you’re not lost anymore.”

#;mod Bonnie #Flood my mornings #FMM Chapter 72

[imaginedanganronpa]

Could I request some angst where Gonta's fem!S/O somehow finds out about the plan in the Virtual World and, before he kills Miu, she confronts him. And tells him that, if he honestly thinks killing everyone will save them, then to kill her first. Because whatever he does to her will be far less painful than whatever Monokuma will do. And because Gonta wouldn't want to see her suffer. Or something like that? Please and thank you!

This is so long!! I really liked this Prompt and I hope I do it justice! But this hurt my poor lil’ heart. I hope you enjoy!~ 

Major V3 Spoilers!

Gonta Gokuhara’s S/O Discovering His Plan To Kill Miu & Mercy Kill The Others, Then Begs Him To Spare Her First! (Angst!)

Truthfully, you were quiteskeptical about Miu’s Virtual Word. You wondered how this would offer a way toescape the Killing Game, but everyone else seemed so enthusiastic and curious.Your boyfriend, Gonta, was especially curious since he had never experiencedVirtual Reality or anything coming close to it before.

With a reluctant sigh, you join the others in the World she had created, butyou weren’t going to go passively. While you were here, you wanted to do some investigating of your own. You departed from Gonta, leaving him with Ouma Kokichi… whichdidn’t help settle your nerves. 

After veering away from the pack, you trail Miu from a distance while making surethat you wouldn’t be seen. You watched her travel through the wall that wassupposed to be the cut-off point in this World and the alarms in your headbegan to sound.

The only person you truly trusted in the Killing Game was Gonta, and possiblySaihara Shuichi but you didn’t want to bring too much attention to theremaining students just yet and cause a panic. A heavy, sinking feeling formed in the pit of yourstomach as everything in your gut told you that something bad was about tohappen. You were growing more and more concerned with your own safety and allyou wanted to do was run to Gonta so he could protect you.

What you stumbled upon instead changed your mind. 

As you approached the two boys, youoverheard Ouma explaining his plan to kill Miu, and you froze in fear. CouldGonta really be considering this? Killing someone in cold blood? You didn’t understand…he was the last person you thought would become the Blackened…

You made your presence known, causing the two boys to jump. Their faces twisted into uncomfortable looks of worry… worry that you may have just overheard their plans. 

“Oh, (Y/N)!” Ouma says cheerfully, masking the fear festering inside of him. He didn’t want to get his hands dirty and have to kill you as well… plus, he knew Gonta couldn’t bring himself to kill his partner. The smaller man was smiling on the outside but crumbling internally at the thought that his plans may now be in shambles.

“Can I talk to Gonta for a moment?” Your voice was a bit shaky which only tipped Ouma off and confirmed his suspicions, but he couldn’t keep you two apart. The large man hesitantly complies before he could say anything, and Ouma watches helplessly as you and Gonta disappear on the other side of the building.

Your expression speaks for itself and the Entomologist swallows hard, his heart beginning to race. He didn’t normally feel this weak or nervous, but how else was he supposed to react? As you turn towards him and take his much larger hands into your own, your heart began fluttering in your chest. You wished so desperately that this was just a dream or somehow part of the simulation Miu had created.

“Please, tell me what you’re planning. I know you’re better than this, Gonta.” Your voice sounded like a plea, but inside you knew the truth that you didn’t want to face. His lip quivered as he broke down and spilled everything.

“Gonta just wants to save the others from the outside…” his voice is straining. You narrow your eyes, unsure of what this could possibly mean; but before you can interrogate him further, the answers come rushing out of his mouth. “Kokichi and Gonta found out truth about the outside! Gonta don’t want his friends to live like that… it was bad, very bad.”

“Gonta,” none of this was making any sense and you worried that this may just be part of Ouma’s plan to manipulate and frame Gonta at the Trial, “What are you talking about?”

In a desperate tone, he forces back the tears in his eyes. “Mercy kill! We mercy kill the others and leave so that our friends don’t have to live like that!”

Everything was beginning to make sense now. Somehow, through the Flashback Light, Ouma and Gonta must have uncovered the truth about the outside world. If it was really as bad as he says it is, you didn’t know if you wanted to live that way, either. And he seemed so sincere that you couldn’t help but to believe him.

Gonta wasn’t the best liar nor would he try tricking to you, and you break away from his grasp momentarily to assess the situation. Suddenly, everything felt so overwhelming and the seriousness of the situation was beginning to sink in.

It’s true, you didn’t want to live in a world that could be as awful as he is implying and maybe their plan to spare everyone from that fate was worth it… Gonta seemed to have pure intentions, after all. You were getting sick of the Killing Game, anyway, and didn’t know how much more of this you could take.

You place a soft hand on his cheek and reassuringly smile. “Listen,” you coo in hopes of easing his mind, “do you really think that sparing everyone will save us? That this is truly the right thing to do?”

Gonta nods his head silently. “And this is the choice you made for yourself? You aren’t just doing what Kokichi is telling you?”

Once again, he reassures you that this is what he believes. He places his hand on top of yours, which was still resting peacefully on his face. 

“Gonta just trying to save everyone… please. It’s Gonta’s decision, not Kokichi’s.”

No matter how much you tried, you couldn’t restrain the tears from falling down your face. The reality of what was happening cut through you and you made the painstaking decision to support Gonta and go through with his plan. You weren’t sure if you’d survive the Killing Game, anyway, and part of love is trusting that your partner is making the right choices for themselves and others.

Right now, you had to put faith in him.

“If that’s seriously what you think, then please kill me first.” The shocking response caused Gonta to gasp, widening his eyes. He shakes his head frantically and insists that there’s no way he could do that.

This was the response you expected to receive, but you couldn’t handle it. “Gonta! If you don’t kill me now, you’re just delaying the inevitable! I’m… going to die no matter what! If your plan works, I’ll get executed… or even worse, if it fails I’ll probably become the next Victim. I don’t think I have what it takes to survive this fucked up Game, so do you want that for me?”

He stares at you in bitter silence, a serious look taking over his face. He looked so solemn, and his eyes were glassy with tears. A single drop rolled down his cheek as he sniffed and finally shakes his head, “No…”

“Gonta, I trust you. If I’m going to die, I don’t want it to be by anyone else’s hand but yours and… if your plan works, Monokuma will have to execute me, right? Whatever you do to me will be far less painful than whatever he has in store,” you tighten your now trembling grip on his palm, “please, do this for me, sweetheart.”

He winces at your words but ultimately realized that this was the right thing to do. It was the most merciful end that you could possibly meet and Gonta didn’t want Monokuma to slowly and painfully kill you. He wouldn’t be able to watch him torture you like that, and make you suffer; he couldn’t live with that thought burned into his memory.

So, he reluctantly agreed and accepted your demands. Although, he didn’t want to be the one to ultimately end your life, he felt as though he had no other choice. If he didn’t do this now and sacrificed you along with the other students at the Trial, he would have indirectly caused your death, anyway. At least this way you won’t suffer as much.

You press one last kiss against his lips, and both of you finally release the hot tears that were forming in your eyes. Although this was just in the Virtual World, it still felt so real. The kiss felt like it always did, almost as if he was really here in front of you.

It takes you a long while to finally separate. Gonta gazes into your eyes one last time and whispers a weak apology in your ear.

Through teary eyes, you choke out a reassuring sentence. “Don’t apologize to me, Gonta, you’re saving me,” you close your eyes and squeeze his hand, “you’re saving everyone. You aren’t a bad person.”

He stares down at the unbreakable toilet paper that was supposed to be used to kill Miu, and bites his lip as he realizes what he’s about to do. “Gonta loves you, (Y/N)… Goodbye.”

- Mod Rantaro

#danganronpa #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa v3 #ndrv3 #ndrv3 imagines #gonta gokuhara #killing harmony

[shippingtheswann]

Summary: Emma Swan has been married since she was five years old. Under the old oak tree, she wed Killian Jones, her neighbor. Then, he moved away, but made one final promise, that one day he would marry her for real. See what happens when he returns to make good on his promise.

Fools Rush In Chapter Fourteen

Read from the beginning here

Rating: E/M

Warnings: Smut

A/N: Thanks to @captainswanbigbang for once again organizing an amazing event. I’ve been missing Captain Swan for the past year, and having this has helped so much! Thanks to Lana @high-seas-swan and Kaitlyn @spartanguard for their beta help. Go check out Lana’s story when you get a moment as well – it’s amazing! Thanks to Rachel @ladyciaramiggles for the art she has provided. Also, thanks to Kris @sambethe for the cover art for the story and for beta help. All of you have made this story what it is! Enjoy the final chapter! On a little note, there is a part at the end that may not seem super realistic; but I thought it was cute - and hey, it’s an AU so anything is possible! Thanks for all the reviews and love you’ve given this story! A huge thanks to the Mods of @captainswanbigbang for all their hard work and dedication! I am already working on something for next year!

It was a long week without Emma Swan. Killian was pretty sure he was in hell without her; but the pain he felt when he heard her speak to her friends about the real reason she started their relationship hurt more.

He walked around in a daze without her. His bed felt too large and empty without her. He missed her breathing, her smell, her laugh. He missed the way her eyes danced with a passion when looking at him, they way they glistened when she smiled. He missed her next to him - her body touching his, causing his blood to simmer in a way no one else could.

Yet the sting he felt when he heard the words leave her lips chilled him to the bone and made each feeling her felt for her hurt more. He missed her, but his heart was broken.

Never before had he felt this way. He thought the world had ended when Milah left, but it only took a few days for him to realize that she wasn’t right for him and there was still light in his life. He thought he was in pain when his mother died, and the most important, biggest part of his life became missing; but none of it compared to what he was feeling now.

Emotions wracked his system. He was angry, and that anger would turn into pain and heartbreak in a second. The heartbreak would then be overtaken by grief and sadness. That would turn into loneliness and a feeling of confusion for how would he continue on without her.

He wanted to forgive her, wanted to go running back into her arms, begging her to forgive him for his behavior. He wanted to demand the truth on how she felt; because in his heart, he knew that she wouldn’t just propose marriage only to get Henry. She must have feelings for him. However, he still had to question everything that happened.  He couldn’t help it. The nagging thought sat at the back of his head. What if she had only done this simply to get Henry?

He thought about it.

She probably only met with him that first night as just to get things over with - for old times sake. She probably only forgave him because it was the nice thing to do, something you did for old friends. When he brought up their old promise, he could see the confusion in her face. It wasn’t until later that she brought it up again. After a long period of thought, he was sure--she was probably thinking that she could get Henry quicker, without having to marry a stranger or a creep.

The whole week, that was his thought process - even after Henry came over, trying to get him to come home.

His phone had been ringing steadily on Sunday, then he just got annoyed and threw it at the wall, mad at her and himself. But, he had forgotten he had given Henry his duty phone number - only to be used in case of emergency.

He thought back to the afternoon Henry called and came by.

“Jones,” he barked out, picking up the phone, cursing whatever sailor had the balls to call him after he had called out sick.

Normally, he would have to go into work, see the on-call doctor, and then go home; but his commanding officer had been lenient. When he called that morning, his CO was surprised, but said he could just take the day, as long as his ass was at work the next day.

“Hey,” a small voice, timidly answered. “It’s me, Henry; don’t hang up,” the last part came out quickly with a nervous hint.

“Henry?” he questioned.

“I know you said this number was for emergency only; but it is,” he spit out quickly.

Panic set in - every single worry Killian ever had about Emma flashed through his mind.

“What’s wrong?” The concern evident in his tone.

“I couldn’t get a hold of you. You have to forgive mom, you have to talk to her. Please, Killian,” he begged. Killian was pretty sure Henry was at school. Things must be pretty bad for Henry to call in the middle of the school day.

“Henry…” he began, but the boy cut him off.

“Please. She’s a mess. I’ve never seen her so upset. Never. You have to talk to her, let her explain things. Give her a second chance,” Henry begged, rather quickly, which told him that Henry wasn’t in class where he should be.

“Henry, this isn’t something you can fix,” he tried to calm him down, but his words did nothing.

He heard a ringing over the phone, probably signaling the end of a class period or the start of one.

“Crap,” he heard Henry mutter. “Can I come by and see you? After school,” Henry’s words were louder now. Killian could picture him now; the boy was probably huddled in a bathroom, trying to get out the call before the change of class ended.

“Ok, I’ll text you the address,” Killian replied, not wanting to keep him, and knowing that if he didn’t, Henry wouldn’t get off the phone.

“Thanks,” he ended the call with the thought.

Later that afternoon, Henry pounded on Liam’s front door, with such a force that surprised Killian.

“Hey, lad; come in,” Killian gestured to the front room.

Before he joined him, however, he took a peek outside, a little bit worried that Henry tricked him into the meeting and Emma would be waiting for him. He wouldn’t put it past the lad. His aunt was the queen of meddling, after all. He probably learned from her. So, not seeing Emma sitting in her bug outside his house was a bit disappointing, but a relief at the same time.

“Killian, you have to go see her, listen to her,” he begged, not skipping a beat, getting straight to the point.

“Henry, what happened between your mom and I, it isn’t something I can just get over, you know that right?” Killian asked, hoping Henry would understand that even though friends can forgive just about anything, somethings were just too much to come back from.

“But you don’t even know the whole story,” his annoyance at the situation clear.

“That’s not the point though, Henry. The point is, your mother lied to me; she led me to believe one thing when the other was true. She played me,” Killian said deflated. It was the first time he was actually confessing his feelings about the whole thing. Liam had asked, but he kept it short, not wanting to think I about it - especially knowing Liam and what would surely be his insistence that Killian man up and listen to her before doing anything rash.

“But that isn’t what really happened!” Henry’s anger was evident. His fist pounded into the cushion of the couch.

Killian stared at him, eyebrow raised in question. He didn’t have to tell Henry he was being unreasonable. They both were; but Henry’s wasn’t called for. Until Henry grew up, experienced love and heartbreak, he wouldn’t understand.

That was it after all. The pain was bad because Killian loved Emma. In his heart, the love still had roots. But he wasn’t sure the love was strong enough to withstand the hurricane she brought upon him.

He hadn’t told anyone he loved her. At times, he regretted it - not telling her every chance he got, especially with his history. But, he was also glad he had guarded his feelings. His heart barely survived this blow, and he knew it wouldn’t survive being ripped out and stepped on, which is what would have happened if he told her.

The pain he was feeling would only be multiplied if he had confessed his true feelings. Especially if she had said the words back, which he believed she would.

He knew it was an internal fight he would continue to have with himself. Did the love come before or after the using; did the love change her behavior and meaning; did the love have any effect at all?

“She promised, you promised,” he heard Henry whisper to his lap.

“What was that?” Killian asked.

“You guys promised nothing would change. Before you two started dating or whatever. You guys said if you did move out, things wouldn’t change. But they have,” he replied. His eyes still down cast on his lap.

“You’re right,” he said, causing Henry to look up. “We said nothing would change, and that’s my fault. I’m not gonna lie to you - things have; but I will always be there for you,” Killian said, moving to sit next to him.

“Really? You’ll still come on the field trip with me next week?” Henry asked, his demeanor already changing.

“Of course. The CO already approved my time off. I was going to the store later in the week to find a lunchbox, too!” Killian smiled.

“Good,” he smiled back.

They chatted for a few more hours. Killian already knew that Emma would expect Henry home by seven, and time was ticking by. But he didn’t want to give it up. He missed Henry’s company, even though they’d only been separated for a few days. Killian smiled as he thought about it. Not only had he invested his life in Emma, he invested in it Henry, too.

He couldn’t picture his life without either one of them in it. Even though he was still mad at Emma, even though he still couldn’t start processing what everything meant, he knew he would need to start thinking about allowing Emma to explain and mending the relationship he had with her. If not for him, for Henry.

“I’ll think about it,” Killian said, as the TV show they had been watching ended.

“Huh?” Henry asked.

“I’ll think about talking to your mom - about mending it all - but it’ll take time. I can’t promise we will make up, but I will promise that no matter what, I’ll always be there for you,” Killian said, a smile appearing on his face.

“Thanks, Killian,” Henry smiled back.

Killian looked over and noted the time.

“I better be getting you back,” he said, nodding his head towards to door.

Before they headed towards the car, Killian turned around to say one final thing to Henry; but before he was able to start, he was met with a force against his chest.

Henry was pressed again him, his arms wrapped around his back.

The hug took Killian by surprise. But, he enjoyed it. He wrapped his arms around Henry, clapping his hand against his back.

“I hope you and mom work things out; the house feels wrong without you,” he said, smiling up at Killian.

“Aye, me too, Henry. Me too,” Killian replied.

They decided on the ride back to not tell Emma about Henry’s sneaky meeting. It didn’t surprise him that Emma had no clue Henry had come to visit him. Mostly because Henry didn’t lie - it wasn’t really in his nature. So when Henry confessed, it made Killian laugh. Henry looked so excited to be getting away with it, the meddling, that Killian didn’t have the heart to tell on him.

He was worried that Emma would come out and see him when his Jeep pulled into the driveway, but the doorway remained empty.

Since he pulled back out of the drive, his feelings had been playing ping pong.

He did think about Emma, and what everything meant; but he couldn’t decide what he wanted to feel. Or, every time he came to a decision, a voice inside his head would talk him out of it.

That is what his week was like. Walking through like he was in fog.

Each day got easier though; each day, the fight between his head and heart was starting to die down. Things began to look clearer, the fog slowly lifting. At times, he thought he could even see the distance; what was there, in the place he so longed to get to, was unclear, but he knew things would start to lift soon.

It was getting easier for him to forgive what he heard Emma say, and the voice that told him she would never love him the way he loved her was getting smaller each day.

While he wanted to thank his own mind, he knew in reality it was thanks to Henry and Liam. Henry pulled him from the verge of a deep depression. Killian knew Henry was just as upset over Emma’s words, so if the boy could forgive Emma, surely one day he could, too. But, unlike Henry, he knew it was going to take longer for his heart to heal; for the demons that lay in his mind to rest.

Liam was patient. He knew not to pry too much. He learned his lesson after Milah. But that didn’t stop him for putting his two, or two hundred cents in. Each day, at least twice, Liam would ask if he spoke to Emma, if he was willing to give her another chance to explain herself. Each day, Killian’s answer was the same - he just wasn’t quite ready yet. He was pretty sure that Liam wouldn’t keep accepting that answer much longer.  

He could hear his brother’s words repeating in his head.

You love her; so just go get her. Forgive her. You’ve both made mistakes. No relationship is perfect. Stop being such a wanker.

His brother was right, as much as it pained him to admit it.

They both made mistakes in the past. And while one angry voice in his head told him Emma’s mistake was worse, he knew that it didn’t really matter. Not really. Not in the long term.

There was only one thing that really mattered - that he loved her.

If he was being completely honest with himself, he had loved Emma - truly, madly, deeply loved Emma - forever.

By Saturday morning, his options were weighed, his thoughts fully processed, and his head and heart finally on the same page.

He knew it was going to take some work - that they had to build back up the trust they once had in each other, that their mistakes would take some time to fully get over; but he was willing to make that happen. She was worth it; they were worth it.

Emma Swan was the love of his life and he wasn’t going to let her slip away simply because of a bruised ego and a slightly sprained heart.

He readied himself quickly. When Killian stormed out of Emma’s a week prior, he didn’t return to get his things. He didn’t want to. It would make everything too real; plus, he determined it was his heart’s way of telling him he would be going back soon enough. Thankfully, he did have a bag in his Jeep with some essentials, including the letters he had written to her.

What made him pack the letters that morning, he didn’t know, but he was glad he had. He hadn’t been able to read them during the past week, not needing a larger reminder of his need to have Emma in his life. He needed to be rational about it all. Reading those letters wouldn’t be rational.

He moved through his room, throwing everything he would need in his bag. He paused though as he opened the bedside stand. The box of letters he had moved there on his first night back wasn’t there.

Panic rode through his mind, matched with a horror of losing something he held so dear. Then he thought back through the week, hoping to remember if he took the letters with him anywhere. Nothing came to mind.

He came to the next logical conclusion - Liam.

Why did it not surprise him that his brother was behind his missing letters?

Liam was a meddler - not as bad as Emma’s best friend, but he loved putting himself into Killian’s life. Killian knew it was because Liam had to take over at such a young age, becoming mother, father and brother all at the same time. Liam wasn’t sure which line to tread.

So while it didn’t surprise Killian that Liam could have taken his letters, what left Killian stunned was he couldn’t figure out why. Normally, Liam would have already prodded him about the letters, either teasing him or using them as a way to get him to apologize to Emma. But Liam had had the letters for longer than a few hours - since he hadn’t seen Liam or heard from him since he left for work early the previous morning. It didn��t really make sense to him.

Killian heard a car turn outside. An engine cut off and heard a car door shut. He glanced at the clock; Liam was due home.

He grabbed the bag off his bed and headed to towards the door.

“You git, you better have those letters; I swear to God,” he shouted as he neared the door.

Before he was able to throw the door open to confront his brother, the doorbell rang.

He reached out and opened the door, stunned at what he saw on the other side.

Emma stood there with a slight smile on her face, but fear and trepidation shone in her eyes. Her hands were white, holding a box that Killian was all too familiar with. Her hair was falling down around her shoulders. She was wearing one of his sweatshirts that he had left behind. Her favorite jeans hugging every curve of her body. She looked absolutely breathtakingly beautiful. Yet, there was a deep sadness highlighting each of her features. Her eyes, while bright, were tinted red, signs of tears that had been flowing for days. Her skin was paler than before.

“You don’t have to say anything. I know you’re pissed at me, and me showing up like this is probably crazy; but I just had to say one thing. I’m sorry. Ok? I’m sorry, Killian, for everything. Liam brought these to me. I read them. I know that probably angers you even more, but Liam told me I could find my answer in this; that I could fix everything with this. There’s something extra in there. Please read it. I’m sorry again,” she said quickly, not pausing to take a breath. She thrust the box back into his hands.

Killian was stunned to silence and frozen on the spot. He barely registered his hands wrapping around the box; making sure it didn’t fall to the ground. Seconds ticked by as he listened to her, watched her, and took in everything from her. Her words filtered into his ears and brain; but they didn’t fully register.

Not until she turned and ran to her car.

He was still standing there, the box in his hands, watching her car speed off down the road. Why did she run like that?

The words she had blurted out started to register within him.

She was sorry; he could tell she meant it, too. The pain in her voice echoed in his mind. She had also verified what he thought - Liam had taken the letters. He had given them to Emma to read.

Anger didn’t cover what he felt at that revelation. Most importantly because he didn’t feel anger at all. Not anger towards Emma at least. He couldn’t blame her for reading them, especially if Liam told her they were important. There was still slight anger for Liam though.

Instead, he surprisingly felt relief. She finally knew everything he ever wanted to tell. His words finally reached her. It may not have been exactly how he wanted her to get the letters, but he was glad she had them. His writing held more emotion than he could physically say. It was easier for him to write down his feelings for her over time than for him to confess to her his love.

The box started to feel heavy in his arms. She said something about the box holding something extra. He moved to the chairs that Liam had put on the porch. Fall was quickly setting in and the chairs would be useless in a few weeks. His hand reached up to scratch that spot behind his ear. The unknown of what she had left for him was driving his anxiety crazy.

All the letters were how they should be when he opened the box. The very first letter he wrote to her in the front. His handwriting noticeable, as was the drawings he had put on the envelope. The letters followed in order, showing his growth and feelings. When he got to the end, behind the last letter he had written to her only a month prior, there was another letter. Pretty letters wrote out his name. Like the letters he wrote to her, the address was missing. The name took up the space, screaming at him to open it. The envelope was simple, no special drawings or notes. Just his name.

He sat the box down on the table that was next to the chair. His hands came to hold the letter, raising it up for Killian to get a good look at it. He took a deep breath, a bit worried about what would be written in the letter. He knew it was from Emma, that she wrote the words that were on the pages found inside; but what they said was a mystery. A voice that he had pushed far into the depths of his mind came running back out. That letter probably tells you to take a hike, get your stuff and get out. Thankfully, another voice told him he had nothing to worry about - that the letter was something good and he should just read it and see.

There was one piece of paper inside, along with a photo.

The photo was newly printed, but held history. He instantly recognized the people in the picture: a younger version of himself and Emma. Instantly, it was like he was transported back to that day. It was the morning of their wedding. Their moms insisted on a picture of them before they left for school. They wanted to start a tradition, taking the kids pictures the morning of picture day. Also, Killian distinctly remember Emma’s mom complaining that school pictures were way too expensive, so they would take their own pictures. Emma’s hair hung the same way it did now. It cascaded over her shoulders, but the color and waves were different. Her blonde hair was more natural back then, the waves a bit more prominent. Her eyes were sparkling; the picture didn’t do them justice. Her hands were wrapped around her lunch box, holding it before her dress. His fingers traced her face, knowing that in a few short months, he would hurt that happy little girl.

He stole a glance at himself. His bow tie a bit lopsided, but it was cute. His could remember his mom yelling at him to fix it before the pictures. His hair was only slightly wild. His shoes were shiny in the sun that was already casting its morning glow over everything.

They stood in front of Emma’s house, her big blue door creating the perfect frame for the picture. His arm was wrapped around Emma’s shoulder, pulling her closer to him. Her head tilted in his direction. They both had large grins on their faces; not forced like some kids would do for their parents. Their smiles were genuine and bright.

He held the picture for a moment longer, savoring the moment of the morning. He was so happy that day. He remembered walking tall after that ceremony. Sure, he was a little kid and it wasn’t a real wedding; but Killian felt on top of the world that afternoon. One kid tried to make fun of him in the hallway when the boys had PE time, but Killian gave him a glance that told the kid to back off. For the first time, but not the last, the look did the job. No one could touch him; not when Emma was by his side. She always made everything right. Even now, even with him sitting on the porch, still a bit heartbroken about everything. Emma showed up, and instantly, everything felt right again. Seeing her made him realize that he was being stupid. Seeing her made him realize that life without Emma Swan was just shit.

Behind where the picture had laid inside the envelope was a letter. The handwriting drew him in quickly. Unlike Killian’s military, uniformed handwriting, Emma’s was stylish and beautiful.

Dear Killian,

I know that you are upset with me. I know what I did was pretty unforgivable. But, I need you to know something. What you heard me say - what you walked in on - wasn’t how I really feel.

I’m not going to lie anymore and say that the thought never crossed my mind. Because, of course it did. How could it not? I’ve been trying to adopt Henry for months, years. Of course I thought about how you could help me. And I know I’m a horrible person for asking you to marry me under false pretenses. But I was worried if I told you the truth, you would run away again. I saw the hesitation in your eyes; so I asked. What I didn’t expect was to fall for you so fast and hard. I’m also not going to lie and say that I didn’t automatically stop thinking that. But, not for the reasons you probably think. I kept thinking them, because it was easier for me to think about that then the real reason I wanted to be with you. I was scared; scared of what you returning meant, scared of my feelings for you, scared of how deep those feelings were so fast. Maybe it was me secretly sabotaging everything, because I’ve never been in a real relationship with someone that mattered. But, you matter. You matter so much.

The marriage proposal was a mistake. I should have never done that. But, that doesn’t mean what I feel for you isn’t real or that  I don’t want to marry you one day.

I’m sorry for everything, Killian; but I also want you to know that I do care. I care so much about you, about our relationship that I can barely breathe. This week has been hell without you; but it’s also been a wakeup call for me. The reason why none of the relationships I had in the past ever worked out was because of you. You were meant for me; and me for you. We were made for each other; and no one would be able to fill that spot you were made for.

I read through your letters to me. I read them a few times.

I’m at a loss for words on what to say about them. I cried, I laughed, I mourned. I was angry at times, happy at others. It was like they made up for all the missing years.

I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. I’m sorry I let our friendship slide.

However, it brought us both to this place; to this time.

I wanted to save these words for your ears. I wanted to tell you so bad. That is why Mary Margaret and Ruby were over. I was scared of telling you, because of the thoughts I had about adopting Henry, plus I was worried you wouldn’t feel the same way. I thought you wouldn’t feel the same if you knew I even thought about the fact adopting Henry would be so much easier if I just married you. I was scared that if I told you all of this, that you wouldn’t trust me, or my feelings for you. I never wanted my horrible, selfish thoughts to get in the way of something that I treasure so much. I never wanted them to hurt you.

I was scared to say this to you. But, reading through your letters helped me to see that there was no need to be scared. You have always been there for me, even if you weren’t here physically. Deep in my heart, I know that you were always there; that if I ever needed you, that the world would intervene and there you’d be, waiting to help at the drop of a hat. Your feelings for me never scared you the way they scared me. But, I am no longer afraid. I know what I want and need in my life, and it’s you.

I love you, Killian. I always have, I always will. It’s not the type of love that can be scared off by a fight. It isn’t the type of love that comes with strings or conditions. It’s forever. It’s deep. It’s true. I know you may still be mad at me, and I accept that anger; but I still love you. You can hate me for the rest of our lives; but I will still love you. I think I’ve loved you forever, since the day our parents brought us home from the hospital. I’ve always been yours.

I know it sounds corny now, or crazy, especially after everything we’ve been through, but our old wedding day for me sealed the deal. I am yours for life Killian Jones. I’ve been your wife for almost thirty years, and I intend on being your wife for years to come – if, of course, you’ll have me.

I know it will take time for you to forgive me. I know it will take time; but I’m willing to take that time if you are, too.

Henry will be my son no matter what; some adoption paper doesn’t tell us who his parents are. So if what you need from me is a promise that this relationship isn’t because of that, I can promise it. If you need more time apart, I’ll give it to you, even if it’s killing me inside. Because I’ve been selfish in the past, and now there is nothing I wouldn’t do to win you back.

I love you. And it isn’t because of what you can give me. It’s not because of Henry and our situation. It’s because of you, your soul. It’s because of how you make me feel each and every moment of each and every day.

I love the way you take care of me and Henry, the way you cook us dinner, even though we are perfectly content on doing takeout every night. I love the way you look at me as we lay in bed together. I love the way your voice changes when you laugh – a good honest laugh, not one just for the sake of laughing. I love the way you’ve come into our lives and turned it on it’s head. I love that Henry loves you. I love that you always know what I need when I’m upset or angry. I love that you make me laugh after a movie that made me cry. I love when you sing along to the car radio. I love it even more when you purposefully sing the song wrong or off key, just to make me smile. I love the smile you get when we thank you for dinner. I love the way your hair falls in your face if you wait too long to cut it. I love the way our bodies fit together, both as we are making love and as we fall asleep. I love the way you look at me, like you’ve never seen anything like me before. I love your hands, and how they hold me when I need them. I love your eyes and how they know absolutely everything about me. I love that you can read me the way no one else can. I love that your hand fits perfectly around mine. I love that you have an adventurous side. I love that you also have a sensitive side.

I love every single thing about you.

I hope that you can forgive me for everything. I hope that what we once had can still be found again. I hope that I haven’t chased you away forever.

I’ll be at our spot tonight, but only till 9 PM. If you show up, I’ll know you want this just as much as I do. If you don’t, well, I understand. I’ll give you your space. But I hope you show up.

Love always,

Your Emma.

Emma’s POV

Emma’s hands were shaking. They had been since she got in the car and drove to Killian’s house. She was pretty sure that her nerves were caused by the lack of sleep more than the fear of seeing Killian and speaking to him again. She was nervous about that, but more because she didn’t think she could contain herself when she saw him again. She was pretty sure that the tears she had been sprouting all week would pop up again, even though she felt like her tear ducts were dry. She was nervous as to what he would say to her. Would he listen? Would he even answer the door?

When she pulled into the driveway of Liam’s house, there seemed to be an invisible force that was pulling her towards the front door. All of a sudden, right as she turned off the ignition and opened the door, all the fear and doubt left her body. She was here to get Killian back, and nothing was going to get in her way.

Her hands didn’t stop shaking though.

She held onto the box of letters tight. While she had penned her own letter to him, letting the truth flow onto the paper, she spent the whole night reading and rereading the letters in her hand. Each time the words passed in front of her, she felt a new emotion with them. She felt closer to Killian reading those letters than she ever felt with him before. She felt his soul and every single emotion. Even though he wasn’t physically there, when she read the letters, it was like he was right next to her.

She heard yelling from inside the house. The oncoming voice made her grip on the box even tighter.

Reaching out with a still shaky hand, she rang the doorbell, which opened almost immediately.

A smile crossed her face when she saw just who was yelling behind the door. It was like a light was finally shining down on her. Killian’s presence, even if he was just standing in the doorframe, a slight gap in his lips; made her feel at peace. The nerves were still there, but they weren’t something she wanted to get rid of. They were good nerves, nerves that warned her of something good to come. She blinked a few times, registering every inch of him.

His black, inky hair was pushed back from his head. His jeans tight and shirt newly cleaned; no wrinkles in the soft fabric. Even though Killian looked good, she could tell he was suffering just as much as she was. There were dark circles under his crystal blue eyes. Evidence of a lack of sleep, which she knew she was the cause of. Seeing him, with a confused and almost upset look in his eyes, was like a sucker punch to the stomach for her. She knew she hurt him, but she never expected it to be this way. For him to look at her as if he didn’t even know her.

She spoke before things got too awkward.

“You don’t have to say anything. I know you’re pissed at me, and me showing up like this is probably crazy; but I just had to say one thing. I’m sorry. Ok? I’m sorry, Killian; for everything. Liam brought these to me. I read them. I know that probably angers you even more, but Liam told me I could find my answer in this; that I could fix everything with this. There’s something extra in there. Please read it. I’m sorry again,” the words came out in a sprint, not slowing down for anything.

She thrust the box into his hands, turned, and ran off.

It wasn’t her plan, but she couldn’t stand there any longer. Not when he looked at her the way he did. It broke her to see him that way, knowing that it was all her fault. She had hoped that he would say something to stop her, something to make her stay. She didn’t plan on being a chicken and running away so soon. He didn’t even chase after her as she got into her bug and headed up the street. He just stood on his porch, in a complete daze.

The letter she wrote to him was tucked in the back of the box, and she hoped he would read it soon. It told him things she was too scared to admit herself.

There was something cathartic about writing a letter to the person you love. It was easier for her to get out her emotions on paper than it was for her to physically say the things she was feeling. Yet, she felt wonderful after writing them, knowing that he had the words she hoped he wanted to hear. She loved that he could go back and read them over and over. Maybe, if he didn’t have it in him to forgive her yet, reading her words every day could help.

In the letter, she told him to meet her at their spot. She said she would be there until 9. And she would, she would wait at their spot as long as it took. She wasn’t going to give up on them. What they had was so pure and right that she would be a fool to just throw it away without a fight. If Killian needed space, she would give it to him, if he needed time, she would give it to him. Whatever he needed, she would provide. She just hoped that he was willing to forgive her.

She paced around the tree for the hundredth time. If only she had stayed a moment longer, maybe he would have said something, something that wouldn’t have ended with her circling the tree waiting and praying that he would show up. When she left his house, she still had 6 hours until her deadline was up. She thought about going to get something to eat, or walking around the park until it got closer to the time she said in her letter; but she couldn’t chance missing him, causing him more pain. Instead, she marched around the tree where she first kissed him.

In the back of her mind, voices were telling her to give up. They said he wasn’t coming, that if he cared about her in the way she cared about him, he would have already been there. They said that she was stupid for laying it all on the line in a letter; that Killian deserved to hear her confession rather than read it. They said that she was too vague and he wouldn’t know what she meant by their spot. Every negative thought was running through her mind and nothing she could do would stop it. There was only one thing in the world at that time that could quench their booming thoughts.

An hour after she arrived, she thought she spotted him from across the pond. She got up from her spot that she had created underneath the leaves of the willow. Her eyes adjusted so that she could focus on the man across the way. Once they settled on the man, with floppy black hair and a hint of stubble, her heart died. It wasn’t Killian. The man was too short and a tad bit overweight to be him.

Twice more did she think she spotted him. Each time, her heart raced and a smile came across her face with pure joy. Each time she thought that he was ready to forgive her and things would go back to how they were, only better. But, it was never him.

As the sun began to set, worry began to set in. While she would do anything to be with Killian, there was a large part of her that hoped and prayed that he would follow her. She hoped he would have read her letter and understand, then jump right in his Jeep and come to her. Maybe he hadn’t read it? Maybe he did and wasn’t ready for what she had to offer?

Emma’s phone rang from within her pocket.

“Hey,” she answered, noting who had appeared on her caller ID.

“You still waiting for him?” Ruby asked.

Emma had called Mary Margaret and Ruby that morning to tell them what she was going to do. They told her to wait a while first. They wanted her to make sure she didn’t do something rash. So, she waited until the afternoon rolled around. She decided then that she couldn’t wait any more. But she was glad she waited, as it gave her time to add in the photo she had found of them.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s going to show Ruby,” her voice broke as she said what she didn’t want to believe.

“Hey, he’ll show. I know he will,” her friend encouraged her.

“But what if he doesn’t?” she asked.

“He will, there is no point thinking about something that won’t happen,” Ruby countered.

“Just, what if he read the letter and felt it wasn’t heartfelt? What if he read the letter and didn’t believe me? What if he read the letter and doesn’t care? What if he didn’t read the letter at all? What if…”

“Emma, stop,” Ruby interjected. “You have to stop. You made a mistake, you apologized. You told Killian exactly how you felt, and that’s all you can do.”

“I could have waited there,” she whispered.

“And what? Forced him to read your letter?” Ruby questioned.

“Maybe,” she responded.

“You wouldn’t have done that, and you know it. Give him some credit, Emma.” Emma could hear the annoyance in her friend’s voice, but she knew it was only because she wanted Emma to see the good that could happen and not focus so much on the negative.

“But he just stood there when I was talking; he didn’t say or do anything,” she countered.

“Probably because you took him by surprise. Emma, you know him. You two may have been separated for years, but you know him. And what he did in the past, stopping the communication, was simply because he was too young to deal with what had happened to him. He’s not that same little boy anymore,” Ruby explained.

She was right, too. Emma knew Killian. Even though time and space had kept them apart, she knew him in his heart. Ruby also knew why Emma was worried, even though she hadn’t mentioned it aloud. She was scared that he would run off again, stop all communication. It’s what they knew. Ruby spoke truth again - Killian wasn’t that same little boy. He wasn’t scared anymore of hurting her. He wasn’t going to run.

“You’re right, Ruby. I’m just so nervous,” Emma said.

“Of course you are. You are going to the dark side, my friend. I already lost Mary Margaret to it, and now I’m losing you. Love is a scary thing, Emma. It’s not all sunshine and daisies, no matter what Mary Margaret says. Love is hard. You are putting your feelings and trust, hell even your own soul, into something that means so much. But, even though it’s scary, it's worth it, Emma. I’ve never been in love, but I see the way it affects you and Mary Margaret. You are both better because of it. Killian makes your life better,” Ruby’s assurance helped her. She had never heard Ruby speak like that before.

She loved her friend dearly, but love wasn’t something Ruby was about. She used to make fun of Mary Margaret for being in love. But something told Emma that Ruby wanted love so much, that sometimes she had to make fun of it to make it bearable.

“Thanks, Rube,” Emma sighed.

“No problem. He’ll be there; just give it time. Like I said, you probably shocked him when you showed up. Then, I’m sure you ran away once you said everything you needed to say.” Emma rolled her eyes at how well her friend knew her. “Give him some time. Besides, I’m sure he is just packing up all the rest of his stuff to move into your house.”

Emma let a small giggle out. Ruby had a way of making Emma feel better. She wasn’t a crazy romantic hopeful that Mary Margaret was, but she did the job.

She had continued to pace around the tree as she talked to Ruby. They talked about nothing of importance, Emma listening on as Ruby discussed her latest adventures with Graham. On the last lap, she didn’t see a figure walking up to her. She was too engrossed with a story Ruby was telling. As she completed her lap, she noticed the figure that approached.

“You came,” she said to him, yet Ruby was still on the line.

“No. Unfortunately, the douche bag left me hanging,” Ruby quipped back.

“Not you, Ruby. I gotta go,” Emma said before hanging up on her friend rather quickly.

“You came,” she said again, as Killian stepped closer to her.

As he came into the light that was slowly making its ways down through the trees, she saw him nod his head.

There was still a look of heartbreak across his face. Her words she wrote to him didn’t do the justice he deserved. He deserved to hear everything from her directly. While the letter got him here, she was going to have to do the rest.

She took a deep breath, and walked towards him. She stopped right in front of him, barely an arm’s length away. If she wanted to, she could reach out and pull him closer to her, pressing his body against hers. But, she stayed still. Her eyes met his. She couldn’t read what they were saying. They were bloodshot, like he had been recently crying. They were timid, but held strength.

They stood there for a minute, just taking in the emotions that surrounded them. Finally, Emma spoke.

“I’m so sorry. What you heard wasn’t something I was proud of. It was a horrible and selfish thing to even think; and I’ll hate myself forever for hurting you like that. You deserve way better than me. I’m sorry for even letting those thoughts get into my head,” she said, casting her eyes down to his shoes.

If Killian had a tell, Emma did, too. He scratched behind his ear when nervous, and Emma couldn’t help but find the nearest floor and stare at it.

She felt a hand on her chin, lifting it up to look back in the face of the man she loved.

“Say it,” Killian asked.

Emma didn’t need to ask what he meant. She knew. He wanted the words she had written. He wanted the words that belonged to him. He wanted her to say what she truly and deeply felt.

“I love you. I think I’ve always have. I always will,” she said, her eyes not leaving his.

She saw the change in his face as she spoke the words. His eyes lightened. Passion returned to the shell of a man he was. He stood taller, prouder. A small smile crossed his lips. Without any hesitation, he pulled her to him, crashing his lips to hers.

The instant their lips connected, Emma let out a sob. It was the first time that week she had cried because something good happened. The kiss told her what she needed to know, what she was so desperate to know. He felt the same way she did. He was hers and she was his. Their bond was strong and could outlast just about any trial it was sent through. His lips moved against hers, slowly but filled with a promise of more. Tears that streamed down her face met where their lips were moving; the taste of salt sprinkled their kisses.

Killian pulled back, stopping their kiss. Emma looked up at him through watery eyelashes. He had been crying, too. A lone tear sat on the top of his cheek. Emma reached up and wiped it away, just as his hands came to cup her face.

“Tell me again,” he pleaded.

“I love you, Killian, I love you,” she emphasized the word, so he knew what she meant.

“I love you too, Emma,” he smiled, leaning down to press a kiss against her lips again.

“Come home, please,” she started to beg, a bit a whine came out with the request.

He just smiled and leaned down for another kiss.

They stayed like that for what seemed like hours. Every once in a while, they would stop kissing and just tell each other the words they needed to hear again. But, the real world waited and they needed to get going. Darkness fully surrounded them and Emma’s stomach was beginning to rumble.

“I’m so sorry again,” she said as they stood up from the seated position they had taken a few minutes after his arrival.

“I know love, and I thank you for the apology. I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have run out like that without getting the full story. But, like you, I have fears that I can’t always control,” he explained.

She nodded, understanding what he meant.

“I promise that I won’t hide anything from you from now on; no more secrets,” she proposed.

“Aye, no more secrets,” he winked, taking her hand in his, leading them back up the path towards the parking lot.

“Should we stop and get something to eat before heading home? I heard your stomach a few times and I’m sure Henry will be starving, too,” he offered.

Emma finally looked down at her watch. It was still early in the evening. They must have not spent as much time near their willow tree as she though. But all the time in the world with Killian would never be enough - not in her books.

“I am hungry; but Henry isn’t home. I sent him to Avery’s for the weekend,” she said, turning back to look at him as he stopped on the grass near the lot. “I thought we needed to properly make up before he got home.”

She winked and walked to her car.

“See you at home,” she yelled as she entered her vehicle. She smiled as she saw Killian race to his car to meet her.

“I’m glad you sent Henry away,” Killian groaned as Emma kissed his neck.

They had rushed back home after their reunion. Emma was thankful too; but not just because the house was quiet. She was so thankful that Killian had shown up. They hadn’t said much, Emma hadn’t fully spoken about what she had said and done; but the way Killian kissed her after she said she loved him told her that she didn’t need to explain anymore. The hurt and pain was old history already. Nothing would stop them now.

Killian had met her outside her front door. He had sped past her on the road, breaking a few laws as he did. It made Emma smile, even though she would scold him later for putting his life at risk the way he did. However, she got it. She needed him the same way he needed her.

Her hands moved up and down Killian’s chest. His shirt was so soft that she didn’t want to take it off of him; but she knew what rested beneath the fine cotton, and she couldn’t wait to see him or taste him. She needed him desperately. She needed him to be close to her, to make her know that he was real, that everything was going to be fine.

His hands gripped her hair, yanking her head back just enough to allow him access to her lips again. He was demanding, more than usual. His lips devoured her, his tongue fierce and frenzied. It was like he couldn’t get enough and was worried that he would never have her again. The need that pooled in her belly was just as strong though. As he took her lips, she jumped up and wrapped herself around him. Her legs pulled her closer against him and her arms held on for dear life. She never wanted to let go.

His arms moved her from hair down to her ass. His hands squeezed, causing her to release a deep moan. His hands against her felt magical.

It wasn’t just the missing time that made them come together that way. It was the new understanding of how deep their feelings for each other ran. The love that had blossomed and bloomed took over their senses. Every touch they gave each other, every kiss, was filled with lust and love. The confession made everything brighter, hotter, and more perfect. Sex with Killian had always been good, great even; but now that Emma knew in her heart the feelings they shared, knew that they were meant to be together, things were phenomenal. It was like each look and touch was a cure for everything that had ever been wrong in her life.

Killian walked them down to the bedroom, never breaking their kiss. Emma’s hands held him, her fingers dragging against his scalp under the strands of hair. She was panting through the kiss, desperately needing air, but not willing to stop.

As they entered the bedroom, Killian gently sat her down, her feet silently hitting the floor. They were both fully clothed, shoes still on. The second Emma had gotten out of her car and reached the porch, Killian pulled her to him, dominating her. His arms wrapped around her and didn’t let her go. She fumbled to get her keys out and door unlocked. Killian didn’t want to let her lips go, and she didn’t want him too, either, but she knew they needed to get inside. She didn’t need the cops called on her. She was also pretty sure her nosey neighbor Zelena was watching from her front window.

Killian bent down to start undressing her. He took his time, slowly undoing her boots, pulling them off so slow that Emma could barely handle it. His hands caressed her skin as they came off. Goosebumps began to form on her body with each brush of his fingers. He planted kisses outside her jeans as he made his way up, his hands coming into contact with the button of the tight pants. Her shirt just hit her jeans, leaving a small sliver of skin that Killian ran his tongue against. She moaned in pleasure, her head falling back, her hands gripping his hair. His fingers worked diligently, undoing the button and slowly working the pants off her legs. The brushed against her cheeks and his lips began to kiss down her frame, following the same trail they had taken on the way up. He still had more clothing to attend to, but that didn’t stop him from pausing at her apex on his way up, breathing her in and sending shivers down her spine. The teasing was torture, but one she loved so much.

She didn’t want him to stop, so she took care of her shirt for him. He smiled a wicked grin and yanked down her panties, quickly assaulting her clit, with his fingers. She let out a gasp, followed by a loud moan as he thoroughly kissed her. He reached around her and brought a leg up and over his shoulder, giving him extra room to play. She didn’t think she would be able to stand; her legs were already weak and wobbly from the pleasure. Her hands gripped his hair tighter. Little squeals of excitement left her lips as he took little nips against her lips. She craved more, needed him more. He was taking his time with her, wanting to get as much as he could, show the love he had for her. At least, that is what she thought he was doing. He was cherishing her, loving her truly.

As one hand held her steady, he moved the other around to join his tongue. He gave her clit a momentary break, as he moved his lips to her thigh, and his thumb began rubbing small circles against her. She was close, she could feel it. It had been too long since she and Killian had been together, and it was taking everything she had not to fall apart. She needed this to last, to be in Killian’s arms, secure in what they had. What they were doing was repairing their relationship. Making up for all the anger and broken feelings.

He finally relented, after teasing for her a while longer. His lips stopped their light kisses against her skin and moved back to her hard nub. His thumb disappeared, moving to put two fingers inside of her, moving them with such precision that she was coming before she had the chance to say what she was feeling.

“Fuck, oh fuck! Yes! Yes!” she cried.

She fell apart, her walls clenching his hands as he steadied her, planting slow kisses to her thighs and his fingers stilled. He let her come down from her high, but never let her stop feeling his presence. When her walls stopped their pulsing, he removed his fingers and stood up, taking her mouth again.

It wasn’t long before she needed him again, before the urge to push him down on the bed and take what she needed almost overcame her. Maybe it was the feeling of his shirt against her hard nipples that were pressing against her sheer lace bra. Maybe it was the way his hands were gliding against her back, just above her ass, just enough to send her crazy. It didn’t really matter what was giving her the impulse, because she acted on it.

Turning them so she was facing the bed, she pushed him down forcefully. Her arms came up to take off her bra in a fluid motion.

“Undress,” she commanded.

“As you wish,” he smirked.

He worked quickly to remove the pants and shirt he had on. Emma stood naked before him, patience waning. She loved the site of him undressing, getting to watch each and every movement his body made, fully focus on him; but she was ready to get to the fun stuff.

Finally, he was ready for her. He laid down on the bed, bringing his hand up, motioning for her to come to him. She walked to him, well, she more ran to him. Her heartbeat was already running a marathon. The second her hands found Killian’s body, she calmed. Feeling him touch her, his hands coming to sit on her hips. Her legs were splayed over his, thighs clinching together, not quite inviting him in yet. She was ready, but wanted to pause a moment to take in the wonder that was now beneath her.

His eyes were captivated by her. They bore into her, wanting to know every little thing she had to offer. His hands roamed over her lower body; hers moved across his chest, playing with the chest hair that she had come to love. She preferred his chest hair running through her fingers over the hair on his head. It was  coarser, rougher, but covered what she was really after - his heart.

She looked down at him, their eyes meeting.

“I love you,” she whispered, not needing loud voices to get across her point.

Her whisper held everything they needed to know. It didn’t need to be screamed from the top of her lungs, even though she would if she had the opportunity. What they had was pure and special. It was something that had grown over the years and made stronger from the troubles they had been through. She appreciated him more now than ever. He forgave her for her selfish antics and she understood his emotions and trauma of the past. Looking down at him, feeling him twitch underneath her legs, she knew they were perfect for each other; no one would ever make her, and her heart, feel this way.

“I know,” he winked. She understood exactly. She didn’t need the words back, the I know was exactly what she needed. She needed to know that he understood her love and what it meant. She needed him to know that her love came without strings, without conditions, without force.

She leaned down and pressed a kiss against his lips. She started off sweet and kind; but he quickly changed the feel of the kiss. He was slow and in control earlier; but now, he was ready for her, needed her. There was no time to waste now.

Her hand reached down to grasp his length. He growled as she moved her hand up and down, just once, before placing him at her entrance. She lifted ever so slightly.

As she sank down on him, their passionate kisses stopped, each one of them moaning in unison. It had been too long since they had done this. She missed the way he felt inside of her, the fullness she felt. She sat on him for a moment, letting herself readjust to him. He felt different. She felt him pulse within her, begging her to move.

She pulled away from him, sitting straight up. Her hands came down to rest on his chest, fingernails scratching ever so slightly. She raised herself up, slowly riding him. His hands returned to her hips, his nails matching hers, digging into her skin.

Her movements started slow, wanting to tease him just a bit, to give him a taste of his own medicine. But, she couldn’t contain herself. He felt so good, so large inside of her. She needed to get him deeper, harder. She was unable to keep her straight upright position, but instead of bending forward, she pushed herself back against his legs, knees jutting closer to his chest, her hands moving to clutch his calves. It was during times like this that she was glad she was flexible by nature. The angle at which she moved created a deeper attack. Yet she missed the feeling of his pubic hair against her clit.

Without asking, knowing exactly what she wanted, Killian moved one of his hands to meet her nub. His palm splayed against her thigh, allowing his thumb the perfect access to her clit. He matched her rhythm, not rubbing too fast or hard, put with enough pressure to get her close to the edge again.

Right to the edge.

Before she could fall, he pulled away, his hand resting fully against her thigh.

“Not yet,” he said, as Emma whined at the missing pressure.

She sped up her pace, thrusting back against him harder than she was before. She didn’t want to stop. She needed him.

“Please, Killian,” she begged, the fullness of her belly getting too much to deal with.

“Soon,” he promised, a moan escaping with his word. She knew he was going to be nearing his edge soon. His lips were pressed tightly together, his eyes closed, head thrown back slightly. He was doing what she had tried to do early - delay what they both really wanted.

She wasn’t able to wait any longer. They had the rest of their lives to take their time, to savor each and every moment. Right now, they needed to come together, in more ways than one.

She leaned forward, righting herself against him, moaning when his hair met her clit. She pushed down harder on him, bringing him in as deep as she could take him. Instead of rising up though, she leaned forward. Her lips came to his ear. She pulled the lobe in and bit as she rocked against him. His hands came flying up to her ass, nails digging into her skin. She heard him let go the breath he had been holding; trying to hold back his release. He was closer now, and so was she. The deepness of his cock, plus the movement of his hair was sending her in a frenzy. She was also crazy turned on by the fact she was causing Killian to curse loudly every few seconds with the movement of her lips and teeth.

“Fuck, Emma,” he yelled, pushing himself up.

Her mouth stayed at his ear, but there were both sitting up. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his back. Her hands scratched down his back. She was sure she would leave marks that would drive her crazy the next morning. She loved marking him, a constant reminder that he was hers. She also loved when he marked her. The first night they spent together, he had left small hickeys against her skin.

One of his hands snaked between them. She knew he was going to rub her to her release.

His thumb met her clit again, and she grinded against him. She couldn’t move up or down, thanks to Killian’s strong arms wrapped around her, but she could circle her hips. He circled his against hers. His thumb worked her, as she kept up the nibbling at his ear. She knew it was driving him wild, because each time she took a nip, he would push his thumb hard against her hard nub.

Emma was close, her whimpers between sucks getting louder and longer.

“I’m close Killian, I’m going to come,” she mewed into his ear.

He removed his thumb, but within the second, two fingers danced across her clit, sending her over the edge. She sank deep against him, her legs closing around him, pulling him in deeper than she thought she could take him. Within seconds, he followed, spilling himself into her. Their bodies shook against one another, his fingers still playing with her and her lips still at his ear.

“I love you,” she whispered again, as she came down from her high.

“I love you too,” he whispered back, rearranging them so they were spooned against each other, under the covers of her bed.

“I’m sorry for everything,” she said, and she told herself it would for the final time. She was going to leave it all in the past and she hoped he would too.

“As am I, love, but I forgive you. It’s all in the past now. All that matters is our future,” he replied, placing a chaste kiss against her back.

She breathed him in. She loved the mixture of musk and sweat that Killian had after sex. It was her favorite scent.

He was right. He forgave her because he loved her. It was as simple as that. Their love was stronger than anything that life could put in their way. It withstood the test of time and distance; so of course, it could withstand this test.

“Tell me again,” his whispered right as she was beginning to fall asleep on his arm.

“I love you,” she smiled against him, sleep over taking her, as she finally felt at peace.

Two Months Later.

Killian’s POV

Things since the night Emma had shown up at Killian’s door had been perfect, if you asked him to tell the truth. Each moment he spent with Emma, his love for her grew deeper. He learned new things about her each day, and they were more open with each other than ever. While he wasn’t planning on asking her about what had happened when he had walked in on her and friends, he couldn’t help himself. He loved her letter, but he wanted to hear it straight from her.

It took him a month to get the courage to ask her, not wanting to break the bubble they had created, but he was glad he did. They were lying in bed after another long passionate session of love making, thanks to Henry having a date, when he asked her to tell him about it. Tears sprinkled her eyes as she relayed the entire story. She started from the moment he messaged her, and ended with her showing up at his house, the box of letters in her hands.

After hearing her speak about it, he better understood why she had done what she did. There was no more anger in his body, at least when it came to that situation. They had become closer because of it. His letters had come to the present because of it.

The letters didn’t stop there. Every few days, he would find a letter from Emma somewhere he didn’t think he would find one. One day she put it in his empty coffee mug that was waiting for him next to the coffee pot. Another day it was in his car, waiting on his seat. Another day, it was under his shaving kit. Henry even got in on it, helping Emma stash her letters around the house.

He wrote to her too, at least once a week, he would sit down and pen her a letter from the heart. He would tell her how much he loved her and how much she changed his life. Hers echoed him, with words of love and a promise of a life together.

They had discussed what their new life meant the morning after their reunion. He had admitted to her that he still wanted to marry her. Emma had other ideas. Similar to the bet he gave her at the beginning of the month, she had given him one. She bet he couldn’t go six months without marrying her. If he did, they would have a giant wedding, one that showed the amount of love they had for each other. He bet her back that she wouldn’t be able to last either. He bet a wonderful honeymoon to Ireland, to show Emma everything that shaped his childhood. But only if they could make it to six months.

Henry caught them a couple of times talking about eloping, and it had only been two months.

He didn’t think he would be able to last; but there was one surprise he knew he would need to wait for.

Henry had asked Killian shortly after he moved back in if he was planning on adopting him. It took Killian by surprise that Henry would be so open about it. Before he could answer, Henry started talking again and told him that he wanted him to. He wanted Emma to be his real mom and for Killian to be his real dad. The next afternoon he went to the adoption agency and spoke with Regina about starting the process. He knew Emma still wanted to adopt Henry; but he also knew that she was hesitant about following through - worrying that he may get upset again, old memories returning to the surface. He knew he couldn’t hide it from her; but maybe if he went and got the information, then she would be more willing to really get the ball rolling again. He thought about waiting till the wedding and showing her the papers - with his name included. All he wanted was to make Emma happy, and he knew Henry was the key to perfect happiness.

So, he couldn’t rush it. He couldn’t let her talk him into eloping.

Each night, they curled up together, her head resting beneath his, against his chest. Her legs thrown over his, her arm resting beneath her head. Each night, they spoke in hushed tones to each other. Each night, they went to bed the same way they did their first night back together.

“Tell me,” he whispered to her, planting a kiss against her head.

“I love you,” she always responded.

Looking back at their short time together, he couldn’t help but think about the old saying. Wise men say, only fools rush in. But the song was right. He couldn’t help falling in love with Emma; and she couldn’t help falling in love with him.

#CSBB #Captain Swan Big Bang #Captain Swan #CS FF #Captain Swan Fan Fiction

[branlovestowrite]

Score One for the Coach

This is the story that I wrote for the @fallforcs event. I live in Northeast Florida, and we don’t often see many of the traditional markers of fall, like cooler weather and turning leaves, until much later in the year. But one fall tradition that is universal to the south is football. I grew up on football, and I knew it was fall when the regular season games started. 

When I had to pick a fall topic to write a story about, football was one of the first things that came to mind. I must send a HUGE thank you to my beta @jonirobinson64. She not only helped me focus and fine-tune the story but also helped me pick the title. She was such a joy to work with, and I am really glad the mods assigned her to be my beta.

I also want to thank the mods of Fall for CS. This was a fun event. I loved the blind date with a fanfic concept. I hope it will be repeated in the future.

Thanks also goes to my artist, @nicole-nikla who created the lovely banner for this story.

Score One for the Coach

Summary: When her son takes up football, Emma Swan starts attending games to support him. She just wants to cheer on her kid, but all the other moms want to set her up with the team's coach, Killian Jones. No matter how good looking he is, she hates set-ups. But can she really resist his charms once she starts getting to know him better?

Rating: T for mild language and some light petting (nothing explicit)

Trigger Warning: brief mention of deaths of minor characters in the past (this is an AU, but Killian still lived through some of same tragedies that he does in canon)

AO3 Fanfiction

Emma cringed as she watched Henry get tackled for the third time that day. He had insisted on playing football this year, and it was the first extracurricular activity his dad Neal supported and was willing to pay for. So, despite her concerns about injury, she hadn't tried very hard to talk her son out of playing. She was just happy there was finally something that allowed her ex to connect with his son.

Henry was good at the sport when he paid attention, but today was not one of those days. He kept looking to the bleachers to see when his dad was going to show up, and the defensive players were taking advantage of his distraction. Luckily he hadn't given up any points… yet. Being one of the fastest runners at his school, he'd been given the position of Running Back. His slight stature and ability to weave through obstacles had dubbed him the team's secret weapon. The other team wouldn’t see him coming until it was too late. But he had to avoid getting tackled to make that work, and today he was doing a very poor job of it.

The coach blew his whistle. “Swan! Get your head in the game! Our first real matchup is Thursday. We need you focused!”

Emma couldn't help but swoon just a little at the football coach’s accented speech. His elegant tone made even the most mundane platitudes sound exciting. And, even if she thought he might be granting a little too much importance to a game played by middle school kids, she appreciated his motivation tactics. He never lashed out in anger or tried to embarrass the kids. Instead he reminded them how dependent they were on each other.

“Sorry Coach Jones,” Henry called back.

“Don't apologize to me. Apologize to your teammates.” He blew his whistle again. “Everyone bring it in. Let's do a water break. The weather hasn't caught up with the date yet.”

Emma fanned herself as she silently agreed with him. The weather in their North Georgia town was still hot, despite the September date. She was ready for fall and cooler temperatures.

“Oh my god, I know. He's so hot, right?” came a voice from her left. Emma looked over to see Ariel Seafarer, whose daughter Melody was the team's Kicker. Ariel was a beautiful woman with thick red hair, creamy smooth skin, and bright green eyes. She had a personality to match, being one of the kindest people Emma had ever met, outside of her sister-in-law Mary Margaret. She was also very happily married to her husband Eric for fifteen years, so why was she ogling the coach?

Emma realized she was staring awkwardly and quickly averted her gaze before replying. “Oh, um, no. I was thinking about the weather, actually.”

Ariel smiled. “Oh yeah, that too. But it only serves to highlight his muscles more when he wears those tight shirts to try and combat the heat.” Emma opened her mouth to reply, but Ariel pressed on. “ And no, there is nothing wrong with my marriage. I love Eric dearly. But I still have eyes!” she said with a giggle.

“I um… I guess…?” Emma didn't know how to respond.

“You should ask him out sometime! You're both single. Then you could tell me all about it and help feed my fantasies.”

“Ask who out?” came a voice from behind them as Neal settled on the bleachers next to Emma.

“No one,” Emma replied, shooting a warning look to Ariel. “Where were you?” she asked, changing the subject as she turned to face him. “The scrimmage is almost over.”

He rubbed his hand through his shaggy brown hair and looked at her with his big, brown, puppy dog eyes. “Shit, I'm sorry, Ems. I got held up at work.  I promise I'll be on time for the game on Thursday. That's the important thing, right?”

“Don't apologize to me. Apologize to your son.” It wasn't lost on Emma that her words echoed those of Coach Jones. “But don't give him empty promises. If you say you're going to be there, be there.”

“Alright, alright. I got it. You don’t have to badger me. I’ll be there with bells on, okay?”

She bit her lip to hold back the snarky reply waiting on the tip of her tongue. Neal’s nonchalance infuriated her. She’d found it charming when she first met him. She thought he was too cool to give a damn about anything. But now that he treated their son with the same laissez faire attitude, she wished Neal would learn to be conscientious. She would never trade her son for anything, but she chastised herself constantly for having ever hooked up with his father.

Thankfully, the rest of the scrimmage went well, and, as it wrapped up, she was glad to see the broad grin on Henry’s face when he saw his father. Neal walked onto the field to greet his son, and Emma trailed behind.

“Mrs. Swan?” She heard Coach Jones say as he approached her.

She smiled awkwardly at him. “Just Miss Swan, Coach Jones. How can I help you?” She struggled to maintain her composure up close. He was so good looking, with his dark hair, broad shoulders, soulful blue eyes and artful scruff covering his rugged jaw.

“I was hoping to have a chance to speak with you about Henry in private. I have some concerns about his behavior.” She felt her face pale at his words, which he must have noticed because he scrambled to amend his statement. “Oh! No, nothing dire, I assure you. Henry is a good boy.”

“Of course he is! He’s my son!” Neal said as he walked up with Henry at his side, his arm around the boy’s shoulder.

“Mom! Can we go get pizza?” Henry asked, his pleading brown eyes an exact match of his father's, only with more sincerity.

“Um, yeah, let me just finish up with Coach Jones and I can meet you guys there. Where are you going?”

“Oh, well, I was kinda hoping I could have some guy time with Henry…” Neal replied, a sheepish smile spreading across his face.

“It’s a school night, Neal,” Emma began.

“Please Mom! Dad can drop me off at the apartment when we’re done. I promise I’ll still get my homework done.”

She felt her resolve weaken. It was hard to deny Henry time with his father, an all too rare occurrence. “Fine,” Emma said. She turned her steely gaze to Neal, “You better have him home by 9:00 at the latest.”

“Yes officer.”

His mother’s permission having been granted, Henry headed off to the locker rooms to change. Neal called out that he'd be waiting for his son at the car, and, after a breezy goodbye to Emma, he headed that way. The field emptied out, but Coach Jones was still there.

“Well,” Emma started as she walked over to him. “It appears my evening has opened up. I’m free now if you want to talk.”

“Why don’t we get dinner at Granny’s?” Jones suggested. “I am afraid I unnecessarily worried you earlier, and I’d like to make up for my gaff.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle at his slyness. “Okay Coach Jones, I’ll meet you for dinner, but I’m paying for my own meal.”

“Alright,” he said with a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling adorably. “But please, call me Killian.”

She returned his smile. “Only if you call me Emma.”

Sitting across from Emma Swan, Killian found his usual cool demeanor failing him. He’d been attracted to Henry’s mother from the moment he saw her, but told himself that he could never do more than admire her from afar. He wasn’t sure what possessed him to suggest they go out to dinner tonight. This conversation could just as easily have happened in his office. On school grounds. With other people around. Meeting her like this, in such a casual setting, felt almost like a date.

Thankfully, Emma did not seem afflicted by the same anxiety. “So, you said you had some concerns about Henry?”

“Ah, yes,” Killian began, clearing his throat. “Henry is a good boy, and he plays hard, but he seems overly focused on how others perceive him. He shows a talent for football, but I have noticed that his best performances always occur when his father is around.”

“I’ve seen that too,” she replied, her voice low. “He’s always been more of an introverted kid, writing stories and playing fantasy games with his friends. Neal has always pressed him to be more outgoing. I think that’s the only reason he tried out for football, to connect with his dad.”

“That’s an understandable motivation, but I need Henry to be more consistent. We can’t hinge all our games on whether or not his father will be there.” He paused, gauging her reaction before continuing. “I would like to have a conversation with him along these lines, but, considering the sensitive topic, I wanted to consult with you before I do so.”

She stared at him, and he could not interpret the look on her face. He had a moment of panic, fearing he'd overstepped his bounds, before the corners of her mouth lifted into a small smile. “Thank you… for offering to talk with him, but I think this would be better received coming from me.”

“That would be perfect. Henry is truly an asset to our team. I am proud to be coaching him.”

The waitress appeared then and they placed their orders. Once the menus were taken away, Emma placed her hands on the table and cocked her head slightly while she looked at him. He couldn’t help but admire her intelligent green eyes, soft skin, high cheekbones, and golden hair. He’d always found Emma Swan to be beautiful, but being this close to her, he saw now that she was more than beautiful- she was captivating.

Her soft pink lips fell open, and he realized with a start that he’d been gawking at her. He felt his cheeks flush as he picked up his glass and took a long sip of water.

“So,” she began, mercifully breaking the tension, “how did you end up coaching middle school football in Northeast Georgia? I hope I’m not wrong in assuming you’re not a native, considering your accent.”

He chuckled. “You are correct. I was raised in England, but I came to America when I was a freshman in high school. I was much more familiar with the version of football you Yanks call soccer, but there weren’t many options to play soccer in the town I lived in, so I learned American football. I played well enough to be awarded a college scholarship. Not well enough to earn fame and fortune, but it paid for me to get my degree.”

“As a teacher, right? How long have you been doing that?”

“Aye. I’ve been teaching for about ten years, but I only started coaching two years ago.”

“And you like being a coach?”

“I do. I’m glad I took on this responsibility. I love teaching, but coaching gives me an entirely different sense of fulfillment.”

“I should know this,” she said with a shy smile, “but what subject do you teach?”

“Eighth grade English and literature.”

“How’d you end up teaching middle school? That’s a hard age group. I am extremely lucky to have an easy kid like Henry, but even I get frustrated now and then.”

“Middle School is a difficult time of life, and that is just when students need extra support. I won’t tell you that I’ve never had a student bring me to my wit’s end, but for the most part I truly enjoy working with middle schoolers.”

“Well, I have to thank you. Henry really likes having you as a coach. He’s always going on about something ‘Coach J’ said. I’m glad he has someone like you setting an example for him.”

“I’m happy to be there for him.” He took another sip and looked at her, raising a single eyebrow. “Your turn, love. How did you end up working for the Sheriff’s office?”

“My brother’s the Sheriff.”

“Truly? David Nolan is your brother?”

“Yep. Well, by adoption, but he’s never treated me like anything less than his true sister.”

“I like David. I’ve only been able to interact with him on a few occasions, but I can see that he is a truly good person.”

“Do you know Mary Margaret? She teaches at the elementary school, so you two might not have met.”

“We've crossed paths a few times, at teacher meetings and the like. I have yet to meet a more upbeat person.”

“Truer words were never spoken,’ she said with a chuckle. “I wonder why you and I haven't ever seen each other before? It seems like we've both been in Storybrooke for a while, and it's not like it's a large town.”

“I've seen you, love. Several times. It just never felt right to approach you.”

“Why not?”

“You're a parent. Teacher parent relations outside of school aren't expressly forbidden, but they are discouraged.”

“Oh, right, of course.” Emma drew back, seemingly reluctant to have gone down this path in their conversation. Luckily she was saved by the arrival of their food.

After they'd both taken a few bites, Killian picked up the conversation once more. “So, have you always lived in Storybrooke?”

“No. I came here when I was twelve.”

“What brought you here?”

“Um…” she hesitated, putting her sandwich back on her plate and wiping her hands on a napkin. “It's not an easy story.”

She’d rested her hand on the table, and he gently placed his own hand over it. “You can trust me, Swan. I'll not spill your secrets.” He met her eyes with an earnest gaze.

She smiled nervously. “It's not exactly a secret. I'm surprised you haven't heard my story through the rumor mill already.”

“I haven't, but even if I had, I would prefer to hear the truth from you.”

Her smile bloomed into a radiant grin for just a brief moment, and it was like he was looking into the sun. As she began speaking, however, her countenance changed to a more pensive expression. “I was born in Maine, but my parents abandoned me when I was just a few days old. I don't know who they were. I got put in foster care. A family took me in, but when I was three they had their own child and I was moved.”

“They could just give up a child they'd adopted?”

“I was never adopted. They only fostered me.” She took a deep breath, her voice a little shaky. “After that I kind of bounced around. I'm told I was a willful child and gave most of the families a hard time. By the time I was twelve, I was living in group homes, and I'd had enough.”

“What did you do?”

“I stole some cash and bought a bus ticket. I wasn't really sure where I wanted to go, but I had just enough money for a ticket to Atlanta, so I took that as a sign.”

“You, as a twelve year-old, rode a bus from Maine to Atlanta?”

“From Boston, actually. That's where I'd been placed originally.”

“What did you do when you arrived?”

“Starved, mostly. But then I met David and his mother Ruth, completely by chance. And David, being David, wouldn't let me walk away. It took a while, but I eventually learned to trust them, and they took me in. Ruth adopted me when I was sixteen. I only got a few years with her after that, but I cherish every one. She was an amazing woman.”

“She sounds like it.”

Emma sniffled slightly before taking in a deep breath. “So, tell me more about you. You said you came to the states as a high school freshman. What brought you here?”

“Well, like you, it’s not exactly a happy tale. I grew up with my mother and older brother. Our father abandoned us when I was very young.” He paused to clear his throat. The next part of the story never got easier, no matter how often he told it. “When I was thirteen, Mum got sick very suddenly. Cancer, late stage. Liam was in the Navy, stationed on a submarine, and we couldn’t contact him. She died quickly, and, as I had no other family nearby, the social worker contacted my father. To this day I don’t know how she was able to obtain his contact information so easily when Mum hadn’t heard from him in ages.”

Killian looked down at his plate, idly picking the sesame seeds off the bun of his hamburger. He lifted his head and saw Emma watching him without any pity, just understanding, and it was a balm to his nerves. Having lost his appetite, he shoved the plate to the side, but felt compelled to continue his tale. He found himself wanting to share things with Emma that he hadn’t been willing to share with another person for a very long time.

“So,” he said, taking a deep breath, “turns out dear old Dad was living in the States, in Florida. When he heard about Mum, he offered to take me in, even paying for my airfare. I didn’t want to go, but he was still legally my father. It was all over before Liam even heard about our mother’s death. Liam tried to get custody of me, but it was a very difficult battle, especially once I was stateside and in my father’s care. Dad had turned over a new leaf. He had a new American wife and a little boy named Will. Pretty hard to get a judge to agree that living with my bachelor elder brother was a better situation.”

“It must have been really hard for you, coming to a new country, not having your brother, and having to reconnect with your father.”

“It was. I was very angry. Dad had his perfect little family. I resented him for leaving us behind. He tried to give me excuses, but I wouldn’t listen. His wife, Maria, was the person who saved me from myself. She has the patience of a saint, that one. She convinced me to visit a therapist, reconnected me with Liam, and even helped me make a plan to move back to the UK once I was legally an adult.”

“Did you go back?”

“No… um…” his throat choked up. “Liam was killed in an accident two years later.”

“Oh Killian, I am so sorry!” She got up and moved to his side of the booth, taking his hand in her own and rubbing soothing circles on the back with her thumb.

“Thank you, love” he said, his voice husky. “It’s in the past. It was a very difficult time in my life, but playing sports helped tremendously. The routine and camaraderie with my teammates helped me get through.”

“I’m glad you had that to keep you grounded.”

“As am I.”

“Do you still keep in touch with your dad and Maria?”

“Aye. They moved down to Palm Beach, and Will is in college. We get together at holidays.”

“Family is nice.”

“It is.” He looked down and saw that their fingers were still entwined. “It appears we have much in common.”

“Yeah,” she said with a smile. “I’d say we understand each other.”

Their food had gone cold, but neither minded. They continued their conversation, staying as long as they dared before Emma had to leave to make sure Henry was home on time. When they parted ways, Killian felt lighter than he had in years. And that night when he slept, he had a pleasing dream involving the beach, a light breeze, and Emma’s golden tresses flowing in the wind.

It was the night of the first game of the season. Henry’s first game as a football player. The night Neal promised he wouldn’t be late. And he wasn’t there.

Emma’s heart broke for her son. As she’d promised Killian, she had spoken with Henry about being distracted at the games. He seemed to understand and take her words to heart, but now it appeared as if nothing had stuck. Henry was constantly looking toward the bleachers, distracted from the game. Because of this, he’d lost control of the ball and allowed the opposing team to take possession. The Storybrooke Knights were down by a touchdown as a result.

They were midway through the second quarter. Mary Margaret and David had come out to support their nephew, and were very charitably attributing Henry’s flawed performance to anything other than his father’s absence

“He must be nervous, poor kid,” David said. He clapped his hands and yelled loudly “Go Knights!” in an attempt to cheer on Henry.

“I’m sure Neal got held up at work. He’ll be here soon,” Mary Margaret said, her green eyes shining with their trademark look of hope. She smoothed her short black hair and scrutinized her sister-in-law. “Is there anything else going on?” She followed Emma’s gaze to the field before realizing that Emma wasn’t looking at the field, but rather the sideline where Coach Jones stood, anxiously watching the action.

“Killian Jones is the coach, huh? I never would have thought of him for this role, but he seems to  be doing really well with the kids.”

“Yeah, he’s a good coach. Henry really likes him.”

“Not just Henry, judging by the look on your face.”

Emma turned to give her sister-in-law an incredulous look. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re into him. I can see it in the way you look at him. And Ruby told me you had dinner with him at Granny’s the other night.”

“We had dinner to talk about Henry, that’s it. I’m not ‘into’ him.” She emphasized her words with air quotes.

“Right,” Mary Margaret replied before fanning herself with her hand. “Man it’s hot out here! I wonder why Coach Jones decided to wear black jeans instead of shorts.”

“Blue jeans,” Emma replied automatically before realizing the trap that had been laid for her.

“Really? His jeans are blue? How can you tell when it’s so dark?”

“I’m not dignifying that with an answer,” Emma grumbled before turning her attention back to the game.

Neal didn’t arrive until the last two minutes of the first half. By that time the team was behind, 14-0. Killian lingered at the sideline after they filed off the field, and Emma took a chance to step down from the bleachers and approach him.

“Swan,” he said, his smile forced, an exasperated look marring his features.

“Rough game, huh?”

“They’re still children, I don’t want to pressure them too much. But we had such high hopes going into this game.”

“Well, Neal is here now, so maybe things will pick up in the second half?” Emma smiled at him sheepishly.

Killian sighed in response and scrubbed his hand down his face. “No offense, Emma, but I don’t want the success of my team to hang on whether or not your ex can get his shit together.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Her heart started racing and her voice went up an octave, her body jumping into defense mode. “You think I told him to be late? You think I want my son stressing out like this?”

“Of course not,” Killian backtracked. “I didn’t mean that, but I thought you were going to talk about this with Henry?”

“I did!” she hissed, pulling him aside so they were more secluded. “But I can’t control anything about this situation, and it kills me much more than it wounds your precious pride. It’s just a damn game to you, Killian. Meanwhile, I have to watch my son’s heart get broken every fucking day.  So don’t give me some lecture about how your team of middle school kids are losing one game because my son desperately craves validation from his father.”

Killian set his jaw and stared at her. “This has nothing to do with my pride. This is about my team. The entire team. I need Henry to be able to focus, and if he can’t do that, then maybe he’s not cut out for football.”

“You’d cut him? He’s twelve. This is a middle school football league.”

“And one of the reasons parents sign their kids up for this is to help them learn how to work as part of a team. Now, I am going to talk to all my players and encourage them to get their heads in the game and pull out a worthwhile performance. I am not worried about winning or losing, so long as they all put in their best effort. And Henry is not doing that right now. If he can’t shape up, he will be cut.”

Emma was speechless as she watched him walk away to the small, concrete block structure that served as a locker room. She really wished alcohol was allowed at these events. Unable to drink, she did the next best thing and trudged up the bleachers to yell at her ex for being so late.

Killian had not seen Emma since the night of the team’s first game. Instead, Henry’s father made a show of attending every scrimmage, always on time. It was quite an improvement on his part, and Killian couldn’t help but feel happy for the lad.

They did not win their first game, but Henry improved in the second half. He was becoming a more conscientious player, although his father attending the entirety of their practice games was the most likely cause of his improvement. Killian still worried about how Henry would react if Neal suddenly returned to his old ways.

If he was honest with himself, Killian also missed Emma. After admiring her from afar for so long, it was painful now to not have the ability to further explore their potential relationship. He longed to apologize to her for his behavior that night. He'd been frustrated and said things he shouldn't have. He was unable to catch up with her after the game and hadn't seen her since.

After ruminating on these thoughts in his office one night, long after school ended, he decided to get out of his own head and go for a drink. Killian tried not to drink often. He had a bad history with alcohol, which at one point had nearly lost him his college scholarship. But, after many years of abstinence, he'd taught himself how to drink in moderation and enjoyed a nice glass of rum every now and then.

He stepped into his favorite establishment, the Rabbit Hole, and approached the bar. Just as he was about to take the first empty stool, he saw her. She looked as beautiful as ever, her golden tresses framing her face and accentuating her high cheekbones. A spot was open next to her, and he made his way over before he could think too much about it.

“Is this spot taken?” He asked as he gestured to the empty stool.

She looked up at him, and he could not read the expression in her eyes. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, she opened her mouth to respond. He caught himself fixating on her lips and almost didn't hear what she said.

“Long time no see, Coach Jones.”

“Aye, Miss Swan. I've missed you at our scrimmages.”

“Yeah well… if I told you I was a little embarrassed to show my face after the fight we had, would you believe me?”

“I would, because I feel the same. I am sorry for the things I said. I let my temper and my frustration get the better of me.”

“I’m sorry too. I think we both got a little carried away.” She took a sip from her nearly empty drink. “That being said, I think it's better that Neal is the primary parent for football. He knows more about the sport.”

“I'm glad he is there for Henry now, but his sudden change in behavior is somewhat surprising. I can't help but worry that it's not sustainable.”

She was silent for a moment, studying the melting ice in her glass. “I think the change will stick. I’ve given him hell in the past for skipping out, but he really didn't start paying attention until I told him Henry might get cut from the team. He wanted to put the blame on you and go complain to the principal at first, but I talked him down from that, and he finally agreed to start attending scrimmages.”

“I appreciate you saving me from another parent yelling at me about how I am robbing their child of an opportunity. I just hope you are right.”

“Neal is a selfish bastard, but I think he's finally gotten the message. He does love his son.”

The bartender came and took their order, and Killian used the opportunity to gather his wits. There was a time when he'd been good with women, and he tried to channel that part of himself now. “ As I said, Swan, I am happy for Henry, but I don't wish to discuss your ex.”

“Yeah?” She rested her elbows on the bar and looked at him slyly. “So what do you want to talk about?”

His rum arrived then, and he took a sip before replying. “I've missed seeing you. We'd only just begun to get to know one another, and I think I've made it clear that I've admired you for quite some time.”

“I thought I was off limits,” she responded, her voice husky as she batted her eyelashes.

“I’ve been thinking about that, and technically I'm not your son’s teacher, just his coach.”

“I see… Well that makes all the difference. Any other revelations?”

“Just that I can't stop thinking about how much I want to kiss you. I regret not taking the chance when I had it.”

“Oh?” She angled her body toward him and tilted her head slightly. “Well, if you play your cards right you might get another.” She put a hand on his thigh, just above the knee, and squeezed gently.

Although he was trying to be a gentleman, that simple touch went straight to his groin. He stifled a moan. It had been too long since he'd been with a woman. Instead, he mustered a cheeky grin and tilted his glass toward hers. “Well then, a toast to second chances.”

Emma felt like a naughty teenager as she made out with Killian Jones in the alley next to the Rabbit Hole. They were trying to remain undetected, but doing a poor job of it judging by the sounds they were making.

Jones's mouth plundered her own, wrapping around her bottom lip and sucking gently, nibbling until she moaned and opened up, allowing him to slide his tongue inside. Their heads tilted and the kiss deepened, the firm press of his lips to her own fueling her fantasies of what else he could do with that mouth.

They parted to pull in some much needed breaths, before his sinful lips began to mark a trail down her neck. His hands pulled her hips into his own.

“You are so beautiful.” He whispered against her neck. “I've wanted to taste you for so long.”

“Come back to my place,” she whispered. “Henry is spending the night with his dad.”

He stopped, his mouth hovering over the hollow of her throat. “You are a siren, tempting me to my doom.” The vibration of his voice against her skin made her shiver. “I would love nothing more than to spend the night worshipping you, but I must insist on being a gentleman.”

“What do you mean?” She asked, running her fingers through the short hairs on the back of his head.

“Let me take you on a date, love. A real date.” His hand flew up to cup her cheek as he lifted his head to gaze into her eyes. “Let me treat you like you deserve.”

The Indian Summer heat wave had yet to abate, and, even at night, the humidity pressed down on them. She watched as a bead of sweat rolled down Killian's throat and wanted nothing more than to follow it with her tongue. “Are you sure we can't do both?” She grabbed the collar of his shirt and latched her mouth onto his neck, acting on her thoughts.

His head fell back and he groaned in frustration. “Emma, please, can we take this slow? I don't want to rush.”

His shaky voice gave her pause, and she froze in place. “You really want to take me out first?” She lifted her head and met his eyes once more.

“Yes. I do. More than anything.” He held the stare and pressed his lips together.

“Okay,” she finally said, sliding her hands down to his shoulders and leaning forward to place a chaste kiss to his lips.

At the next game, Emma sat closer to the sidelines, and surreptitiously tried to check out Killian’s butt every chance she got. A cold snap had finally come, and she was wearing a light sweater under her favorite red leather jacket. And if she’d been a little extra precise when applying her makeup that evening, it was no one’s business but her own.

Ariel was there again, this time with Rory Prince, whose son, Phil, played defense. Ariel gave Emma a sly look before leaning over to Rory.

“She’s definitely interested in the coach.”

“Who could blame her?” Rory replied. “They’d be super cute together. I ship it.”

“We’re just friends,” Emma replied, looking at the two other women with a furrowed brow.

“Okay,” Ariel replied. “But if you ever change your mind and decide to go for more, you have our full support and encouragement.”

“Absolutely,” Rory chimed in. “Henry is welcome to spend the night any time you need a date night.”

“But please,” Ariel added, “give us details. I need to know if he's as good of a kisser as I imagine.”

Emma couldn't stop the blush that rose up her face as she recalled memories from their night at the Rabbit Hole. “Thanks…” She schooled her features and looked forward, watching the game closely.

“Oh yeah. She wants him,” Rory said. Emma took some deep breaths and tried to ignore them.

When Emma had agreed to a date with Killian, she'd made one request: they had to go somewhere outside of town, to avoid the prying eyes of small town neighbors.

Killian spent an entire evening agonizing over their destination before finally finding the perfect solution. Now it was the night of the date, and he pulled into the parking lot and headed to the gate to meet her.

“The fair? Really?” She asked as she walked up to him a short while later.

He had a moment of panic. “Would you rather go elsewhere?”

“No!” Her mouth stretched into a big smile. “I love the fair! I haven't been to one in years.” She lifted up on her toes and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Perfect choice.”

He relaxed and offered her his arm. After purchasing their admission and ride passes, they entered, walking down the aisle of carnival games first. Emma’s face lit up as she pointed out the oversized stuffed animals hanging from the top of the tents. Killian determined that he would win her one of those prizes before they left.

They made their way to the ride section and lined up for Tilt-A-Whirl. The childlike joy on Emma’s face warmed his heart. As they settled into their seats and the lap bar was lowered, she giggled in anticipation. The sound was pure magic. The ride started moving, slowly at first but picking up speed. As they spun around, Emma's giggles turned into full on laughs and Killian joined in. The ride was over almost as quickly as it began, but their joy continued as they lined up to ride the bumper cars next.

They worked their way through the ride section, leaving the ferris wheel for last. When it came time for the wheel, they were ushered into a gondola by the attendant and then waited as they were slowly moved forward so more riders could board. Killian took the opportunity to admire Emma’s profile, cast in the glow of neon against the backdrop of the darkening sky.

She caught his eye and smiled. “This is wonderful. I'm so glad we did this.”

“Aye. Me too.” He reached over and threaded their fingers together.

She snuggled into his side just as the ride began to move. “You know,” Emma said, “I don't normally like heights, but this is really nice. The view is breathtaking.”

“That it is,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving her face.

She tore her gaze from the view to meet his own. Her lips lifted into a shy smile and she tilted her chin up. He took the hint and met her mouth with his own, their kiss sweet and unhurried. The gondola rocked gently in response to their movement and the motion of the ride. They continued kissing even as they passed by the bottom of the ride where other riders were waiting. It was only when someone directed a whooping call their way that they broke apart, both flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and desire.

They ascended once more, and Emma leaned her head on his shoulder. “I really like you, Killian.”

“I feel the same. You are an exceptional woman.”

She looked up at him through her lashes, biting her lip. “ Do you think we should… ‘go public’? Tell people we're dating?”

“Is that what you want?”

“I do. But… maybe not just yet? It has nothing to do with you. It's just the other moms.”

“What do they have to do with it?”

“They have been trying to push you and me together all season! They've all got the hots for you, and they want me to tell them everything that goes on between us. If they find out we're dating now, I'll never be able to make it through the rest of the season.” Upon conclusion of her speech, her nerves got the better of her and she looked away.

“I’ll follow your lead on this.” He whispered as he lifted her arm to place a kiss on the back of her hand.

They hadn't noticed that the ride stopped until the attendant cleared his throat. They broke apart and Killian stepped out before helping Emma exit.

Once they were back on solid ground, Killian joined their hands once more. “Let’s find something to eat, shall we?”

He led her to the food section, and they were immediately overwhelmed with the scent of fried cuisine. After perusing their choices, Emma opted for a corn dog while Killian got a slice of truly greasy pizza. They shared some onion rings and had cotton candy for dessert. Having eaten their fill, they headed back toward the midway to try their hand at some games.

The first game they approached was a basketball toss, where they competed to see who could make the most baskets. Emma’s laughs were so beautiful, and Killian found himself distracted during the game, which led to her winning. He didn’t mind very much when he saw her dazzling smile.

Similar to the rides, they proceeded down the aisle, also playing the ball toss, skeeball, and the water gun shooting gallery. The booth at the end of the row housed a balloon pop game, as well as the array of stuffed animals Emma had admired on their way in. She pointed to it again, identifying one of the smaller prizes hanging on the side.

“Look at that bear dressed like a pirate! Is that not the cutest thing you’ve ever seen?”

He saw the toy in question, a medium-sized stuffed bear wearing black trousers and shirt, with a red vest and a hook for a hand. It was certainly one of the more unique prizes. He remembered his pledge from earlier to win her a prize and approached the booth.

“What do I need to do in order to win that bear?” he asked the attendant, pointing to it.

“Pop one of the red balloons,” the lad answered. “Five dollars for three darts. Wanna try?”

Killian fished a five dollar-bill out of his pocket and handed it to the young man and was given three rubber tipped darts in return. He felt confident that he would win the prize. He’d always been excellent at darts.

His first throw somehow managed to land between a blue and red balloon. The second hit a red balloon, but bounced off. This mishap helped him to understand the trick. Most of the balloons were not fully inflated, making them harder to pop. Holding his last dart in his right hand, he stepped back slightly and took stock of the entire board. One red balloon, in the upper right hand corner, looked fuller than the rest. He had his target.

He took a few steps to the right and angled his body in line with the balloon. Emma watched him with rapt attention. Killian closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. When he felt conditions were right, he threw the dart with extra force. It whistled through the air and hit the target directly on the head. There was a loud pop and Emma cried out in surprise.

“You did it!”

He smiled at her infectious joy. “I’ll take that bear now, young man.”

The attendant took down the bear and handed it to Killian. He turned and presented it to Emma.

“Thank you! No one has ever won me a prize at the fair before.”

“Truly?”

“I’ve only ever been to the fair before with Henry, so I’m normally the one trying to win the prizes. It’s nice to be on the other end for a change.”

He smiled at her. “Well, I am glad I could win that for you.”

“Me too.” She threaded her arm through his as they continued walking, leaning her head on his shoulder once more.

They decided to walk around to the back of the fair, where live music was playing. As they traveled, he could feel Emma thinking. ‘What’s on your mind, love?”

She stopped walking and gave him a nervous smile. “I hope you’re not mad about what I said on the ferris wheel. About not wanting to tell anyone about us. I’m starting to feel guilty after you’ve given me such a great night.”

“You have no need to feel guilty. I understand your reasons for wanting to keep our relationship under wraps.”

“And you're not mad?”

“Of course not, Emma. As long as we can find a way to see one another, I can deal with everything else.”

She picked up his hand and pressed a firm kiss to the back, mimicking his action from earlier. “The last game is in November, right?”

“Aye, the first Thursday of the month.”

“Okay, as soon as that's over, we'll let everyone know.”

“Sounds like a perfect way to end the season, Swan.” He gave her a goofy grin before leaning down to give her another soft kiss.

Emma huddled into her jacket. It was the last game of the season, and the weather was finally congruent with the date, the early November air having a slight chill. She was enjoying fall, but knew that the winter cold would arrive all too soon. It seemed like their little corner of the south was always too hot or too cold. There weren’t many days that fell in between.

Despite the chill in the air, her spirits were high. The Storybrooke Knights had had a great season, and, if they won this game, they would break a school record for most wins in a season which had been set more than a decade prior. Emma had also found that by making Neal solely responsible for Henry’s football career, he’d begun to step up as a parent in other ways. Henry was becoming more secure in his relationship with his father, which was all she ever really wanted for her son.

But the true source of Emma’s joy was in the form of the team’s coach, currently cheering on his charges from the sidelines. They’d had several more dates, and Emma felt like Killian Jones was someone she could be with for a long time. He was sweet and thoughtful and giving, and just thinking of him warmed her cheeks. They’d told Henry about their relationship a week ago, consigning him to secrecy. Henry was fortunately good at keeping secrets (though she wasn’t sure how she felt about that in the grand scheme of things), so thankfully no one else suspected she was dating Killian. She watched him now and couldn’t stop the thought that she was well on her way to falling in love with this man.

“You know…” she heard Ariel say from her right, “now that the season is over, you should totally ask Coach Jones out.”

“You’re still hung up on that?” Emma asked, not looking away from the field. She had to bite her cheek to stop her sly smile from giving her away.

“Not hung up on it. I just want to see you both happy.”

“Save yourself the trouble, Ariel,” Mary Margaret said, leaning around her sister-in-law to address the redhead. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Emma, it’s that pushing her toward something is the fastest way to get her to reject it.”

“Ohhh,” Ariel replied. “Reverse psychology, huh? I get it.” She paused their discussion to cheer on her daughter, who was going onto the field to kick for a field goal. Melody was an accurate kicker, and sent the ball exactly where it needed to be, giving the Knights the advantage. The stands erupted in cheers. There were five minutes left in the game, and the Knights were up by three.

After a few more plays, the opposing team called a timeout, and Ariel took the chance to continue their discussion. “You totally should not go for Coach Jones, Emma. You two would make a terrible couple.” She winked at Mary Margaret over Emma’s shoulder.

“Wait, what?” Rory asked, returning from a restroom break. ‘We don’t want Emma to hook up with Jones now?”

“Nope,” Ariel replied, a goofy smile on her face. “She shouldn’t even consider it.”

“I am so confused right now,” Rory said, but once more the conversation was stopped when Phil intercepted the ball. He ran it for twenty yards before he was tackled. The clock had run down, and there was one minute left in the game. This would be the last play. The Knights’ offensive line took the field and lined up a play Emma recognized from their scrimmages. Henry was going to get the ball.

The play began, and Henry ran to get into position. The quarterback threw the ball and it sailed down the field, landing smoothly in her son’s arms. He ran. The other team tried to block him, but he used his ability to bob and weave and found holes in the defense they didn’t see. He made it to the end zone just as the clock ticked down to twenty seconds left in the game.

A raucous cheer broke out as fans of the Storybrooke Knights applauded their team. The crowd quieted long enough for Melody to kick the point after, making the final score 17-7. The Knights had won, and the record was broken! Parents and fans cheered loudly as the players graciously shook hands with the opposing team.

Emma ran down the bleachers, and Ariel, Rory, and Mary Margaret called after her to stop. Parents weren’t allowed on the field. But all three of their jaws dropped when Emma stopped at the sideline and ran up to Coach Jones. She cried out in excitement before bouncing up and wrapping her arms around his neck. He reciprocated her embrace, encircling her waist in his arms.

Emma looked up at Killian, love shining in her eyes, and his own reflecting the same. “Congratulations, Coach Jones.”

“Why thank you, Miss Swan. Can I kiss you now?”

“You think you can handle it?” she asked, her smile spreading across her cheeks.

He didn’t respond, but instead lowered his head and captured her lips with his own. The kiss was tender and chaste, a brief intermingling of lips, but still expressing all their passion. He pulled away and rested his forehead against hers. “I think they are the ones who can’t handle it,” he said, enunciating the ‘t’ as he turned his head to gesture toward the three other women still gaping at them.

“They’ll get used to it,” Emma rose up and met his lips once more, but they were cut short when a triumphant cry came from the bleachers.

“I KNEW it!” Ariel called out, pumping her fist in the air.

Emma smiled. “I guess reverse psychology was all it took!” she called out in response.

“Reverse psychology?” Killian asked.

“I’ll tell you later.” They broke apart and threaded their fingers together, ready to join the victorious Storybrooke Knights.

tagging my crew:  @artistic-writer @bleebug @cat-sophia @capswantrue@courtorderedcake @distant-rose @flslp87 @gingerchangeling @hollyethecurious @initiala @kmomof4 @kymbersmith-90 @lassluna @let-it-raines @resident-of-storybrooke @rouhn @searchingwardrobes @sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @snidgetsafan @snowbellewells @spartanguard @teamhook @wellhellotragic @winterbythesea @winterbaby89 @wingedlioness @wyntereyez

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