#Boatyard Rate
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— 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲
[masterlist]
hannibal lecter x will graham
rated t - 4k words
tags - au, age-re, developing relationship, hannibal loves will, little will, cg hannibal, bathtime
warnings - none!
— will slips into an unfamiliar mindset. he knows nothing except for how bad he needs hannibal, and how bad he fucking loves forests.
(pls read on ao3 if possible 🫀)
[banner by reveriesources]
Will Graham did not grow up in Michigan.
Not like that was any sort of consensus or widely held belief, though, because it wasn’t. Many times, the subject of Will’s origins either sparked passionate debates, or merely circulated as rumors. A woman from the intelligence branch vehemently asserted that his accent was distinctly ubiquitous; thus, he grew up across several states and developed the default American lilt. A man from the services branch said he carried himself in such a way that connoted what he dubbed as white-trash DNA (even though Will swore to God he heard that line used in Joe Dirt). Clad in thrift store aesthetics, with fishing as his sole hobby, he surely came from a state with far different culture than Virginia.
Curiously, nobody ever bothered to ask, which was the remarkable thing. They figured Will wouldn’t tell them if they tried, and they were right. He absolutely would not. The matter of his background was entirely too intimate and entirely too personal. He might as well tell them his exact address and then paint targets on his vital organs.
For the record, though, he did not grow up in Michigan, New York, or Idaho. His formative years were spent in many places but he was born in and spent the bulk of his childhood in the backwoods of Louisiana, with the snakes and ‘gators and muskrats and loblolly pines that made bushes in Heaven (as his father used to say).
He lived in a ramshackle shack in Hammond with his father and the few friends he made at school (those friends being the only friends he’d make across all schools he would ever attend. He left his social life sitting in the boatyards somewhere in Wisconsin). He got to school by seven in the morning, and class started at eight. There were three classrooms, one for ‘stories’, one for ‘letters’, and one for ‘numbers’, which was their equivalent of history, English, and mathematics. Will was what they would consider a sufficiently educated student. He could read Oliver Twist sooner than any of his classmates could, but he couldn’t socialize as well, couldn’t play rugby or kiss a girl (or a boy, for that matter).
After one lethargic and muggy night, hotwiring cars and chugging beer, he had retreated to the sticks behind his house to decompress, a moment of sheer desperation and experimentation. He found it was the last place he’d ever felt he belonged in.
It didn’t take him long to teach himself the names and classifications of all the remarkable flora and fauna of the bayou, but that was before he went into criminal science. Crawfish, bluegill, the elusive nutria, and the stately American alligator all became members of his zoological repertoire. The blue herons who pierced the northern sky with their elegant wings and pointed beaks. The boars who squealed and thundered across the brush. Will could identify and spell each of their names, tell you their unique behaviors, along with at least one assorted fact about them— he couldn’t make a career off of that, though, so he dropped it. Grew out of it like a ratty hand-me-down cardigan.
The bayou, for all of its danger, made Will feel safe and childish. Childish . That was the kicker, because he didn’t need those support mechanisms in his adult life. A hefty dose of Klonopin, sure, but that was it. Forever. He no longer needed all the things he might have needed as a boy. He ignored the urge to drive down to Louisiana and- he dared not to say it- play . He especially neglected the playful tug at his wading pants while he was river-fishing. He didn’t need those things. He didn’t. He smothered them with a pillow until they stopped struggling.
(He came to learn that his brain had no jurisdiction over his heart, and when his heart was telling his legs to move in the direction of the secluded forest that hugged the riverbanks, well, that’s a far greater force than any gross motor skill).
His father used to berate him for his filth when he returned home after his little outings, but it was always with a degree of fondness and was nothing compared to the prejudice he faced at school, even from his friends. Smelling of bog water and humidity. His father, probably, was used to the aroma. It was his house too, after all. Now, though, Will was bigger. He could take a shower and wash his clothes and it would all be fine, even if that didn’t ring true during his younger years. He didn’t need somebody else to do those basic things for him, to lead him by his hand until he could walk on his own; to run through the forest was enough, to laugh like he did when he was eight and thriving and ignorant to his plight, even if he did feel it creeping in.
You can only ignore your heart for so long. The strange instincts you didn’t know you had.
He was putrid, for a lack of better words. Dirt caked his pants and face and tangled in his hair, strands plastered to his forehead with sweat. He could , theoretically, clean himself up. Go right home and handle this like a big boy, like an adult, which is (ironically) exactly the same sentiment that landed him on Hannibal Lecter’s doorstep like a stray dog.
“Will?” Hannibal says, dressed in one of his more casual suits (casual being a comparative word. He is always done up in his most impeccable dress). It’s three in the afternoon and the sun is sizzling above, only accentuating Will’s musk; Hannibal notices as well, and his nose scrunches unpleasantly despite himself. Will briefly notices that Hannibal seldom emotes so vividly, but the observation seems as though it’s only being broadcasted to him, rather than conjured up in his own mind
“Is everything alright?”
Will only hums and rocks back and forth on his heels, hands wringing the bottom of his shirt anxiously, beads of sweat sweltering on his temples. Hannibal watches him with a sort of knowingness that feels contemplative, experimental. Will is only able to tell this by the way Hannibal’s eyes glaze over and he seems to look straight through Will as if he were a specter. This isn’t the first of these occurrences, either; Will has slipped into a more youthful mindset accidentally only twice before, once at a crime scene and once at Hannibal’s office. Where the world seems bigger and Will seems far, far smaller. In a way, it comforts him. In that same way, he is terrified.
“You look disheveled,” Hannibal says, and his tone is less chastising and more alarmed, perhaps impressed at the absurdity, perhaps concerned. “Why don’t you come in?”
Will nods and ambles past Hannibal into the foyer, immediately intimidated by the openness. Simple, compact spaces always brought Will comfort. He’d feel enclosed like each wall was an angel extending to him their protection. In a space as grand and vast as this, he feels exposed. Hannibal comes up beside him and wraps an arm around his shoulders, as unexpected as it is grounding.
“Come,” he soothes, guiding him into the considerably smaller dining room- it’s still magnificent, but the ceiling is lower and there’s more to fill the negative space. Chairs and fireplaces and vases lined along the wall, paintings dotting the space above. Hannibal leads him to a seat at the end of the table and sits him down; Will breathes a sigh of relief at not having to decide where to sit, or what is appropriate, trivial a matter as it is.
“‘M makin’ your chair all dirty,” mumbles a displeased Will once he’s squirmed into being comfortable. Hannibal leans over him, producing a handkerchief and wiping away a smudge of mud from Will’s cheek.
“Chairs can be cleaned. Besides, you seem distressed. Do you care to tell me what happened?” He takes a seat perpendicular to Will, arms folded on the table, back straight. Ever so perfect is the good doctor.
“Was… in the forest,” Will says, tip-toeing around the word play because people like Will simply do not play. What was I doing, then? “And, and I don’t… I can’t-”
“Would you like me to help you clean up?”
Will gnaws an angry bruise into his lip, his green eyes boring apprehensive holes into his lap. One part of him- one that’s big and broad- says that he’s wasting Hannibal’s time, this is unprofessional, this is embarrassing, and a perversion of his time. The other- much smaller and meek- just wants to be clean, and for a bygone reason, wants Hannibal to be the one to assist. Maybe it’s Hannibal’s professional status as a therapist that exudes an impression of compassion and care, something parallel to paternity. Instead, maybe it was Hannibal’s unique understanding of Will that invited him to bare his throat, his mind, his insides. He nods, and Hannibal returns it. His fate is sealed.
“Very well. Come with me. Have you a change of clothes?” Hannibal asks, letting Will trail behind him up the tall, curling flight of stairs. A red and golden carpet is sprawled down the length of the stairwell, following its curve. Will shakes his head and grabs a handful of Hannibal’s blazer rather than the railing, surely wrinkling the expensive wool. If Hannibal minds, he doesn’t show it.
The space between his mind and the world is where he has curled up and built his temporary solace. It’s blurry inside, and Will has to hang on tight to his surroundings in reality; ornate light fixtures hanging from the ceiling and antique paintings with macabre themes, boasting opulent golden frames. His penchant for music seeping into his interior design, with sheet music scattered about in a decidedly orderly manner as if he had purposefully tried to replicate the chaos of a mess.
The observation is gone as soon as it comes, like second nature, and Will can let it be washed away by the calm stream of his thoughts, for it is too hazy in this depersonalized state of his but hazy like a sauna. Warm and bare.
The bathroom door flings— no, is gently pushed— open and Will is relieved to not be immediately blinded by fluorescent lamps and bright tile. It’s paved in dark marble, while Victorian-style arches and moldings adorn the walls and ceiling, as intricate as their counterparts in the foyer. The fixtures seem vintage, gold and shining, and the countertop is a deep mahogany. A freestanding clawfoot bathtub sits at the end like the fountain of youth. A receptacle for indulgence.
He’s especially grateful for the dim, gentle lighting as if he is having his cheek tenderly caressed rather than battered and bruised. A lavish robe hangs from a hook beside the counter.
“Come now,” prods Hannibal, coaxing Will into the bathroom. Will saunters in nervously, and Hannibal brushes past him, retrieving a towel from the cabinet and laying it on the counter, smoothing it over with his hands. Will collapses onto the toilet seat— he’s overheating in his clothes, the fabric is too thick and heavy, and his skin oppresses his bones, threatening to rend him to the ground. His breathing picks up pace and he squirms uncomfortably, beginning to punch at his arms weakly.
Hannibal’s voice pierces through the fray. “Do you need help getting undressed?”
Will whines and curls in on himself; his hair is too dirty, unpleasant and sticky on his head, he feels too big for his skin, he isn’t used to the smell in here, and his head is caving in on itself– he fears his bones may bulge through his skin and tear free. He thinks he may die. He’s pretty sure he’s dying.
Suddenly, though, he isn’t, and instead he’s having his wrists restrained by either of Hannibal’s hands and he’s crouching beside him, careful not to make eye contact. Like a dam, keeping everything in, gentle yet formidable. He keeps it all in . Hannibal is taller than Will, if not just by an inch or two, but the slight difference in proportion is just enough to make Will feel small. Or maybe he’s imagining that. Right now, it doesn’t matter which.
“I know you are nervous, Will,” Hannibal hushes, thoughtful to control his tone of voice. “But I need you to use your words, alright? I cannot help you if you do not tell me what you need.”
Will nods, and Hannibal wipes away the tears that Will hadn’t even noticed had ever formed.
“I need help,” Will mumbles, hardly even audible. Hannibal graciously settles for this answer with nary a frown and slots his hands under Will’s armpits, pulling him to his feet. The green field jacket is shucked off first and falls stiff to the floor. Then comes his olive button-up, carefully unbuttoned and discarded along with his coat. Will begins to fidget when Hannibal unclasps his belt.
“No need to be anxious,” Hannibal says. “You are safe here. Nobody is going to judge you. We’re going to get you cleaned up, alright?” He places a careful palm against Will’s cheek. He’s testing the waters– has been all night. Drawing the line in the sand a bit closer each time the waves wipe the last one away. Will isn't sure where he stands. He can only hope Hannibal will help him figure it out. “Won't that feel nice?”
“Yeah,” Will easily agrees, and lets Hannibal remove the rest of his clothes (he catches a subdued sneer at the khaki color of his chinos, and doesn’t quite blame him. He isn’t known for being the best-dressed man in the world).
“There you are,” Hannibal remarks, and deposits the pile into a nearby hamper. “We can clean those later, alright? Wait here while I run the water and find something for you to wear.”
“You’re leaving?”
Hannibal smiles reassuringly. “I am, but only for a moment. Should you require me, you need only call. I’ll be here.”
Will is left alone with the bubbling, dated sound of the faucet as it fills the ceramic to its brim. He hears the distant creaking of old floorboards, the hum of the water heater. For such an extravagant house, it has touches of real, common humanism in its walls. A thin thread that connects Hannibal to every other person on the planet, as detached and withdrawn as he sometimes likes to act. Will’s hands are folded in between his knees, and he’s leaned forward a bit as he waits for Hannibal to return. He feels warm, peaceful, cared for, and a trifle exhausted. Discontent. What is it that’s holding him back?
When Hannibal returns, a pair of ambiguous silk pajamas are draped over his arm, and he places them atop the towel delicately. They’re a muted beige and capture all of the light in the room, little as that quantity is. Nicer than anything Will would choose to wear. Hannibal turns off the faucet and the warm water falls still, steaming gently billowing in the air. Droplets of water periodically drip from the faucet.
“Do you need me to help you in?”
Will doesn’t think his legs would support him if he so much as tried to stand on his own. He runs the heel of his palm over his eye tiredly and stretches his arms expectantly towards Hannibal. Hannibal gives him an affectionate smile and guides him into the bath.
Will is used to the thrumming of high-pressure water against a tile basin. Will is used to heavy, exerted breathing as the heat fogs up the space, and suddenly enclosed areas aren’t as comforting as they are entrapping. Here, though, he is being tenderly delivered into the warm water and sinks into it, fighting the beckoning pull on his eyelids. It’s like he’s being lulled by a soothing, benign god of luxury and sleep.
“There you are,” Hannibal muses, and takes a seat on a stool beside Will’s head. “Just relax. You’re alright.”
He retrieves a red loofah and onto it squirts a quarter-sized dollop of body wash, an unobtrusive fragrance of pine. It’s nothing like Hannibal’s own scent, but Will isn’t in the right mindset to be suspicious about why Hannibal already owned soap that was so uniquely Will, tailored to his likeness. Curious, maybe. Is it okay to be curious? As he’s about to bring the loofah to Will’s skin, he hesitates.
“Loofahs encourage circulation and exfoliation on the skin,” he explains after a brief moment of silence. Will tilts his head. “Alternatively, they’re breeding grounds for bacteria. That’s why I replace mine regularly.” He extends it to Will, who touches it tentatively.
“However, the material can be very scratchy and harsh. Do you feel?”
Will rubs a leaf between his fingers and immediately recoils, scrunching his nose. Hannibal removes it at once, but not before he submerges it under the water to rid it of its contents.
“Very well.” He leaves it on the rim of the tub. “Would you like me to find something else?”
They cycle through rags and sponges, different textures and materials, until they settle on a washcloth that's just plush enough to not irritate him, but stimulating enough to remind him of where he is.
Pleased to have pleased Will, Hannibal runs the cloth up and down the length of Will’s left arm, then the right, asks him to prop his right leg up on the rim of the bath, and then the left. Drags it about his stomach, his thighs, and the sensitive parts of his neck that make Will need to suppress a giggle.
Will doesn’t feel like talking about why he was playing in the woods in the first place, why he keeps whining instead of speaking clearly, why he feels so spoiled and idle, all in the body of a grown man; Will Graham, to be exact, to whom life did not afford such luxuries. He especially did not want to discuss why he sought out Hannibal specifically, or why Hannibal was so immediately receptive. And so he didn’t, because he didn’t need to. For once, by God, he didn’t need to.
“I know it’s uncomfortable for you,” Hannibal says as he tilts Will’s head back and pushes his hair away from his face, letting a glass of water cascade through it. (He always had a special way of reading Will’s mind, and it’s always impressive before it becomes just short of uncanny). “Being dirty, and then wet, all in somewhere unfamiliar. Clothes you’ve never worn, scents you’ve never smelled. But I assure you, you’ve got nothing to worry about here. There is nobody that needs saving. Nothing that exists outside of this room.”
He rakes his hands through Will’s curls, fingers catching on dense locks and tight knots. Will leans into his grasp, shoulders resting against the back of the tub. He doesn’t register Hannibal rinsing out the shampoo and then the conditioner, nor a gentle tapping at his bicep.
“It’s time to get out now, Will.”
Will whines.
“Don’t be petulant. Come now, let’s get out.”
“Don’t wanna leave,” Will says tiredly, hardly pronouncing his vowels.
“The tub or the house?”
“House,” he yawns.
“You can stay in my home for as long as you’d like, Will. I just need you out of here, okay? Could you do that for me?”
Will nods slowly, wishing he could fall asleep here and be done with it. But Hannibal is making a request of him, and he’s already burdened him so greatly, both in this night and in generally dragging him into his own issues; he shouldn’t reject him. He doesn’t know why, but he knows he shouldn’t, either out of moral obligation or out of fear of slipping further into whatever this was. He never cared before about whether he came off as rude or impolite.
Granted, though, that was before, and before he wasn’t being bathed by his psychiatrist while he had mini-meltdowns.
He allows himself to be assisted into standing and then dried off from head to toe with a plush microfiber towel, exquisite and soft. Will could drown in the sensation. The water in the tub is murky and brown as it swirls down the drain. Hannibal doesn’t bother to ask Will if he needs help dressing himself— he needed help the last several times, after all— and takes the liberty of doing it for him, buttoning up his top and slipping on his bottoms, long and loose and airy. Cold against his skin. They're a bit big on him— Will wonders if this was on purpose— and hang off of his frame, giving the impression of a child playing dress-up rather than an adult clad in their own bedtime garb.
Hannibal meticulously dries his hair, pausing occasionally to comb through it with his fingers and fluff it back into place. Unnecessary, time-consuming. Will basks in the strange sensation of being worthy of such attention.
He remembers very little of the rest of the night, save for Hannibal leading him down the hall and into a room with a large bed in the center, being sat on the edge, feeling as if he craved something he could not yet have. Feeling the exhausted arms of his heart reach for Hannibal as he bid him good night and disappeared. He left the door cracked and a sliver of light spilled through. Will had never been so afraid of the dark before.
When he wakes, his clothes are folded neatly on the nightstand and his shoes are waiting beside the front door, all impeccably cleaned as if he had bought them brand new. He gets dressed and leaves before he can smell breakfast wafting through the many rooms and it’s midnight when he returns home, for he had spent several hours driving in a straight line. He’d stop for gas, keep driving, run out of gas, and the cycle would repeat until the large Tennessee Welcomes You sign bid him back to reality.
His dogs sniff him curiously, his feet and his legs. He no longer smells of fish and offensive cologne; rather, soft pine and woodland, something that would sit on the highest, highest shelf at Bath & Body Works. Something Will likely wouldn’t choose for himself but suited him anyway.
Will almost doesn't recognize his scent either, feeling foreign in his own home. He does notice, however, how his clothes and body are as clean as they had ever been. Not that Will is unkempt, reeks every day, or doesn’t take care of himself. He, most days, simply isn’t as on top of it as his peers, and especially not Hannibal. (He also seems to attract the brunt of dirt and grime like flies to a glue trap; perhaps that is why everybody around him is so well kept in comparison to him, there’s no dirt left to sully them).
He removes his work boots in a daze, hangs his coat on the hanger, and takes a seat in the center of his couch, as he absentmindedly scratches Winston’s head, or perhaps Buster, or another dog he’d (regrettably) forgotten the name of. As he lays in bed, splayed on his back and covers thrown off, he briefly remembers he has an appointment scheduled tomorrow evening with Hannibal. Dragging a hand over his face seems to be the only appropriate reaction.
They can discuss the events of the night then. Of course they can. And Hannibal will have all the answers for him and then things can go back to the way they’ve been. He can tell him he needs to get his behavior in check, stop snapping at people, and keep a handle on his sense of reality. Hannibal can tell him, and he will listen. He always does.
That comes later, though. Tonight, Will is fatigued beyond the point of comprehension and doesn’t fall asleep so much as pass out, the feeling of being pampered never quite wearing off.
#tiredmother#hannigram#murder husbands#fandom agere#age regression#cg/l#little will graham#caregiver hannibal lecter#hannigram fanfiction#will graham age regression#regressor will graham#fanfiction#annewrites
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I finally joined the Corporate Clash bandwagon, no doubt thanks to some close friends of mine. I’ve actually been playing since late January/early February, though my interest in it was relatively passive.... Until a few days ago. I do a bit of a dive into the Corporate Clash lore and just like that, the brainworms got a hold of me.
So this is my main Toon at the moment, Loopy Lancelot. She’s quite the silly fellow, outgoing and chatty, loves cracking little jokes with her friends. She’s a pretty enthusiastic one, especially when it comes to slapstick, which she considers peak comedy. Other Toons, however.... Not so much. They think she’s way too much of a brute and thus tend to avoid her, so she doesn’t have many friends. The few friends she does have however, primarily this one friend group that consists of me and my friends’ Toons, are ones she care about deeply and will happily sacrifice her happiness for them. She’s also trans!
She also may or may not end up being shipped with one of the Managers, cause those fellas especially have me in a brainrot choke hold. At the very least she’ll befriend one of them, anyways. Who will it be? I don’t know if I feel confident enough to elaborate publicly.
Bonus: What she currently looks like in-game:
Her drip here isn’t finalized at the moment. The shoes and collar are staying, I may swap out the shirt with one of the playing card ones from the Gumball Machine because I REALLY like the aesthetic of that set. The firefighter skirt is to be swapped out with the knight, which probably won’t happen for a LOOONG while because I am nowhere near ready to fight Holly (I’m still early into the Barnacle Boatyard part of the main quest), plus the low drop rate of that thing.Good Cog that’s gonna be really fun /s
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Good morning! I will be taking some time today to go indulge my regular Alligator Behaviors. This reduces greatly the rate I may snap and death roll a colleague.
If you need me, I will be in Barnacle Boatyard catching fish and going upstream to Daffodil Gardens to bask.
#not an ask#mundie.txt#Yes. I will be catching fish the way you would expect.#With my bare teeth.#://)#askbox is still open i just thought it would be fun to! have him do his funny little gator things
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Chance safely home in Essex and now the big work can begin with the major structural work to get on with now that it is home
Chance safely home in Essex and now the big work can begin with the major structural work to get on with now that it is home
Chance arrived at midday and was offloaded at the local marina boatyard where is in now laid up ready for the major works to start in the coming weeks and months to come.
Now Chance is near to my workshop work should be easier and be able to be done at a faster rate than before.
She will be well protected from the elements as she is low down with high banks around her
Chance is going to be…
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Winter Refit 2023-2024
This winter was spent in the water because we plan to be out of the water in the summer for a big job, but more on that below.
The tasks and improvements we did during this winter's refit were:
New Deck
When we bought Skyran we knew the original teak deck was nearing the end of its life. We wanted to replace it before any leaks developed causing bigger problems. So we made the commitment this year. The deck was templated in the autumn and, over the winter, a new deck was made for us This is to be professionally installed in a boatyard for us in early summer 2024. We decided to replace with a 'fake' teak to ease the maintenance burden in future years.
Removable Inner Forestay
Our mast is fitted for a cutter-rig. We decided some time ago to make use of this and install a halyard, stay and running backstays to make possible the use of a staysail and storm-staysail. This is because our headsail is a large overlapping genoa at present, challenging to handle in a big blow and obviously not the best shape when deeply reefed. For flexibility, we decided to make the inner stay removable. But first it was necessary to install a chain-plate to handle the structural loading. Having designed this and had it manufactured, we installed it in early 2024. We installed the inner stay and running backstays in late March. Very pleased with the results.
Electric Bilge Pumps
We completely replaced and upgraded the arrangements. We installed a new Whale gulper pump in the engine space, and a high-capacity Jabsco impeller pump for the main bilge. Both have solid-state level and alarm switches and completely independent power supplies and control switches with all new wiring. We created a neat new bilge pumps control panel too, and replaced quite a lot of the old hoses.
Water Meter
We installed a new meter, which is of the flow counting type. This is much more accurate than a tank level sensor that tells us exactly how many litres we have used. We measured the tanks using another flow counting meter so we know their exact capacity. The new water meter shows how many litres remain aboard, which is very handy indeed.
New Spray Hood & Canopy
We had replacements made for these. We will keep the older one for winters.
Electrical Improvements
We made a lot of improvements to the 12V DC system. Too many to list in detail, but the main items were:
Re-wired fridge and freezer systems, including relays. And fixed shore power supply to freezer.
Replaced choc-box terminals behind DC distribution panel with ring-screw terminals.
Re-designed and replaced un-switched distribution system, including fitting a Blue Sea Systems safety hub to remove multiple connections to the service batteries.
Installed marine rated battery fuses to protect cabling from service battery (there was no fusing before!). And installed fusing to other principal cables.
Removed and/or replaced many, many cables. All replacements made with tinned copper cabling.
Replaced gas alarm and sensors.
Installed WiFi router to broadcast navigation system data to mobile devices and computers.
Installed new 240V sockets adjacent to galley (for toaster and coffee machine :)
Miscellanious
We replaced the headsail furler line, with a larger diameter dyneema one to guard against failure when reefing in heavy weather.
We serviced the engine
We ordered wheels for the dinghy, to make it easier to haul it up slipways and beaches.
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Discover the Benefits of Yacht Sales in Fort Lauderdale
Fort Lauderdale is one of the most popular destinations for yacht sales, and it’s not hard to understand why. With its stunning ocean views, world-class marinas, and an abundance of luxury yachts, it’s no surprise that this city is the perfect spot for yacht sales. Whether you’re a first-time buyer or an experienced sailor, purchasing a yacht in Fort Lauderdale comes with a variety of benefits. From the convenience of being close to the ocean and the ability to enjoy a wide range of activities on the open water, to the access to a wealth of services and resources for boat owners, there are plenty of advantages to buying a yacht in Fort Lauderdale. In this article, we’ll take a closer look at some of the benefits of yacht sales in Fort Lauderdale and how it can help you find the perfect boat for your needs.
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Benefits of Buying a Yacht in Fort Lauderdale
The biggest benefit of buying a boat in Fort Lauderdale is the selection. The city is home to some of the world’s top boat builders, so you can find a wide array of vessels to choose from. From small pleasure boats to luxurious mega-yachts, there is something for everyone in Fort Lauderdale. Additionally, the city’s extensive network of marinas and boatyards make it easy to find the perfect vessel for your needs.
The Boating Culture in Fort Lauderdale
The city of Fort Lauderdale is known for its vibrant boating culture, and it’s easy to see why. The city has numerous marinas, boat clubs, and boatyards, making it easy to find a place to keep your vessel. In addition, the city is home to a number of boat shows, events, and competitions, so you can mingle with other boaters and get an up-close look at the latest vessels on the market.
Cost of Yacht Sales in Fort Lauderdale
The cost of yacht sales in Fort Lauderdale can vary greatly, depending on the size and type of vessel you’re looking for. Luxury mega-yachts can cost millions of dollars, while smaller boats and skiffs can be found for much less. It’s important to keep in mind that the cost of yacht sales in Fort Lauderdale also includes registration fees, taxes, and insurance, so it’s important to factor these costs into your budget.
Financing a Yacht in Fort Lauderdale
If you don’t have the money to buy a yacht outright, there are a number of financing options available in Fort Lauderdale. Most yacht dealers offer financing options, and there are also a number of banks and credit unions in the city that specialize in boat loans. Additionally, there are a number of online lenders who offer competitive rates and terms for financing a boat in Fort Lauderdale.
Finding a Yacht Broker in Fort Lauderdale
If you’re looking to buy or sell a boat in Fort Lauderdale, it’s important to work with an experienced yacht broker. Brokers can help you through the entire process, from finding the perfect vessel to negotiating a fair price. When looking for a broker, it’s important to consider their experience and reputation. You should also make sure they are properly licensed and insured.
Tips for Buying a Yacht in Fort Lauderdale
When buying a yacht in Fort Lauderdale, there are a few things to keep in mind. First, make sure to do your research and understand the features, amenities, and options that are available on the vessel. You should also inspect the boat in person before committing to a purchase. Finally, it’s important to understand the costs associated with yacht ownership, such as registration fees, taxes, and insurance.
Conclusion
Buying a yacht in Fort Lauderdale is a great way to get the most out of your boating experience. With its stunning ocean views, world-class marinas, and a wealth of services and resources available to boat owners, Fort Lauderdale is the perfect spot for yacht sales. From the convenience of being close to the ocean and the ability to enjoy a wide range of activities on the open water, to access to a wealth of services and resources for boat owners, there are plenty of advantages to buying a yacht in Fort Lauderdale. Whether you’re a first-time buyer or an experienced sailor, purchasing a yacht in Fort Lauderdale can provide you with countless benefits. With all these advantages, it’s no wonder that Fort Lauderdale is one of the most popular destinations for yacht sales.
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Advantages of Employing Maritime Software for Enhancing Business Operations
The maritime sector presents a formidable and intricate domain, without a doubt. It entails the meticulous handling of stock and logistics, monitoring customer requisitions and shipping timetables – an array of responsibilities that demand meticulous oversight. Yet, envision a remedy that could elevate manageability and efficiency by magnitudes. Introducing marine software.
Envision a scenario where all your business functions converge within a single nexus, accessible with a mere click, be it on terra firma or in the open waters. Envision monitoring stock levels and shipping schedules in real-time, facilitating swift and well-informed decisions. Picture the ability to refine your operations, heighten productivity, all while curbing mistakes and economizing time and capital. These are just a few of the implicit benefits that await through the utilization of marine software.
Lean back and get ready to delve into the potential of marine software, propelling your boatyard enterprise to unprecedented heights.
Enhanced Operations Efficiency
Marine software can automate a plethora of everyday tasks at a marina, rendering it effortless for the staff to oversee marina activities and manage customer and vessel data within a centralized repository.
This encompasses slip bookings, rentals, boat upkeep and storage, along with customer invoicing and payments. Furthermore, the software can yield valuable insights into occupancy rates, revenue trends, customer demographics, etc., empowering administrators to make more judicious choices.
Optimized Inventory Oversight
Marina software empowers you to monitor inventory levels in real-time, providing a lucid portrayal of available stock and requisitions for reordering. With the software in place, automated triggers for reorder can be established, assuring constant availability of essential items.
This mechanism cultivates cost control and curtails superfluous stockpiling or unwarranted expenditures through meticulous inventory surveillance. The software also aids in forecasting future inventory demands founded on historical data, thus enabling you to strategize proactively and evade stock shortages.
To delve deeper into these insights, readers are encouraged to explore the full blog by Dockmaster: Maritime Software for Enhancing Business Operations
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Elements to Take Into Consideration When Acquiring a Watercraft Prop
Acquiring a new watercraft propeller is just one of the most convenient means to enhance your watercraft's performance. There are numerous different elements to take into consideration. The size of your boat will also affect which type of propeller you require. Propellers can differ from three to 4 blades. Propellers can also impact the means your boat performs and just how much gas it makes use of. Propellers can be purchased from a boatyard, or they can be purchased from the supplier of your engine. Check out this link; https://www.propellerdepot.com/solas-propellers they will be able to advise a propeller that will certainly ideal serve your certain requirements. Nevertheless, if you are changing a propeller, it is essential to ensure that it fits appropriately. Props are a vital part of watercraft efficiency, and if you buy the incorrect one, you could be damaging your boat. Propeller pitch impacts your boat's rate and distance. Props with a reduced pitch will create even more engine RPMs as well as make your boat traveling quicker. A propeller with a greater pitch will certainly allow your watercraft to take a trip farther with each turning.
By knowing your watercraft's rate and also tons, you can pick a boat prop that is right for you. Propeller height is another element to consider. Propeller elevation is important as it can boost your watercraft's velocity. Props with wrong elevation can cause your boat to lose its equilibrium and control. It's additionally crucial to check the prop pitch to make sure it fits your boat engine. Depending upon the supplier, there are different kinds of props available. As an example, a lower-pitch watercraft propeller will certainly require a lower prop height. Prop pitch additionally affects the efficiency of your boat. Selecting the ideal prop can aid you prevent engine stress or damages. Propellers with high pitch will certainly absorb more power however put the engine under more stress. Preferably, you should select the mid-range of recommended operating variety. Click here and get more info on the best propeller services.
Additionally, take into consideration just how usually your boat is loaded when picking a prop. If the load is less than regular, you can select a lower-pitch prop. Selecting a new watercraft prop isn't simple. There are lots of aspects to think about, and also it's easy to end up being overwhelmed by the options. Inevitably, the appropriate prop will certainly boost your watercraft's performance and fuel performance. You can even acquire a prop online if you're unsure what to pick. So, take the time to do your study as well as obtain the ideal boat propeller to optimize your boat's efficiency. An additional aspect to think about is the prop's product. Usually, you'll find light weight aluminum props are a good selection for smaller sized boats.
They're not as resilient as stainless steel props, however they're fairly economical. Stainless-steel propellers, on the various other hand, are more expensive, but they additionally have actually better propelled efficiency. The dimension of your watercraft prop is essential for determining just how promptly it will travel. For example, a three-blade propeller is excellent for cruising on tranquil water. Nonetheless, if you plan to take a trip on rougher water, a four-blade propeller is suggested. For larger boats, you can likewise choose a larger prop. This will certainly improve your watercraft's top-end efficiency as well as acceleration. For more knowledge about this topic, visit this link: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Modular_propeller.
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Boat Painting by Experienced Marine Painters
Boat Painting by Experienced Marine Painters
Why paint your boat’s bottom yourself when you can get someone else to do it for you and remove all that hassle and stress! At Nanaimo Yacht Services @ Stones Boatyard, we offer an excellent rate, skill and speed of service for boat painting in a paved yard in picturesque Nanaimo! We are professional, experienced marina painters.
Not sure which paint to use? Not a problem! Once you have hauled…
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hey I loved what you wrote for sarahbucky! You are so talented. I was wondering if you are comfortable writing any NSFW content or smut related content for this pairing? If you are I would love you to write something, anything of the sort. If you're not comfortable that's absolutely fine!!
Chasing Water Pumps
Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier
Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Sarah Wilson
Rating: E
Word Count: 5288
Summary:
After banishing Sam, Sarah gets Bucky's help reinstalling the boat's water pump.
The water pump sits there on the dock through the morning. It sits there at midday. In the late afternoon, Bucky laughs when Sam almost falls over it as he walks backwards, waving his hands to guide a reversing pickup truck into position. A neighbour bringing spare lumber so they can replace a few rotting boards on the Wilsons’ boat.
Bucky can see—has been able to see all day—that Sam’s itching to just fix the damn pump back into position. Sam’s conscientious, neat, completing one job before moving on to the next, replacing pliers in the toolbox after rewiring the radio, coiling up the cord of a borrowed drill so no one can trip over it. Leaving a hulking piece of machinery just sitting there is killing him. All because Sarah won’t let him touch it.
For Bucky, watching this claim-staking over an old water pump is hilarious. It’s also something he takes absolutely seriously, backing away from the thing the minute Sarah ordered the two of them to quit tinkering and just leave it alone. He’s got no issue ceding to her authority. Oh, he’ll argue with Sam about other parts of the project, but he’s not gonna push back against Sarah. He’s only here for a couple days and she already won his loyalty by letting him bunk on her couch last night. They might be repairing a boat, but Bucky’s not making any waves.
When the sun starts going down and the helpers from the community start heading home to their suppers, almost as many of them shake Bucky’s hand as Sam’s. Bucky feels really good about that. He likes that they’ve become comfortable with him—many of them slapping his Vibranium shoulder as they take his right hand, like it’s just an arm. He likes the lingering warmth of the day and how it’s dried the back of his shirt where he sweat through it. He likes squinting into the sun to watch the vehicles pull away and seeing Sarah standing there, smiling at him. Cupping a hand above his eyes, he smiles back.
“Alright,” Sam says, taking a big step to bring him from boat to land. “Let’s get this water pump back in place.”
Immediately, Sarah comes forward.
“Uh uh, no. That’s not your job.”
“This whole thing is my job,” her brother protests.
Bucky stands on the sidelines, content to witness Sam lose this argument. Getting to study the way the sinking, burning glow of the sun catches on Sarah’s earrings is the equivalent of being handed an ice cream. The breeze that blows her open button-down against her to show him the intimate dip of her waist is the cherry on top of that ice cream. His gaze trails unhurriedly back up to her face and he sees that she’s been watching him admire her. Normally, staring is his default expression, but now his heart hammers with giddy yearning as he holds her eye. She smiles fleetingly before looking back to Sam. Oh right, Sam’s talking. Bucky had kinda tuned him out.
“It won’t take long.”
“No it won’t,” Sarah agrees. “Not if I do it. You’ve messed around with that pump enough for one day.”
“Sarah, come on. Be practical,” Sam pleads. “You can’t do it by yourself.”
“I won’t do it by myself. Bucky here can do the heavy lifting.”
Ok, he’s surprised about that, but when she glances to him, he nods readily. He refuses to meet Sam’s side-eye. He’s sure the message is ‘You traitor.’ Ignoring him, Bucky beams at Sarah.
“That’s what I’m here for,” he tells her.
“And what am I supposed to do?” Sam demands. “Watch?”
“Since you asked,” Sarah informs him, “you’re supposed to go pick your nephews up from AJ’s friend Marco’s house. If they haven’t eaten yet, feed them.”
“But—”
Sam motions indignantly towards Bucky, but Sarah waves away his complaint.
“You asked what I need from you and I told you. Let us get on with what we’ve gotta do here. We’re losing daylight.”
“You heard her, Samuel,” Bucky says, striding to the pump.
The wrench he and Sam passed back and forth while unbolting it is in the top tray of the toolbox when he flips it open. Tucking the wrench into his back pocket, Bucky turns and heaves the pump off the ground. Sarah’s watching. He throws her a smile with a little upward jerk of his chin. She rolls her lips together like she’s hiding her own smile but stands firm until Sam gives up and stalks off across the boatyard.
“You think it’d be cruel to yell after him not to wait up?” Sarah asks Bucky nonchalantly, hand on her hip as the two of them observe her brother’s retreat.
Bucky almost drops the pump before hugging it to himself too tightly, stopping when he hears the metal creak. But he tries to be cool.
“Only if you mean it,” he says.
She spares him a glance that doesn’t tell him either way and walks past, stepping onto the boat.
“You got it?” she asks.
“Yep,” Bucky assures her, adjusting his grip and jumping down onto the deck. Coulda stepped. Wanted to show off. Story of his life since he met Sarah Wilson maybe 36 hours ago.
He follows her into the cabin and she digs through a box of supplies, grabbing a flashlight.
“Might need this soon.”
Her explanation’s unnecessary (the sky’s darkening above them) and Bucky can see the nervousness in it, how she self-consciously plays with the hem of her t-shirt and twists her earring now that they’re together in a semi-enclosed space.
“Unless that arm of yours glows in the dark,” she adds.
“Unfortunately not,” he says with a smile as they duck below deck. His feet clomp sturdily down the steps, but Sarah still looks up at him from the bottom like he might teeter. “You shoulda been there while they were deciding on the specs.”
Sarah laughs, navigating the protruding inner workings of the boat more smoothly than movie spies crossing rooms streaked with red lasers. (Stupidest fucking scenes Bucky’s ever seen.)
“That was in Wakanda, right?”
“Sam told you?”
“He did. I guess you’ve seen a lot. Been a lot of places,” Sarah amends.
For a minute, his throat’s thick. She corrected herself to make sure he knew she wasn’t being nosy about his past. He wouldn’t mind. It’d be fair of her to bring up any worries she had, what with the two of them being alone here. But then, maybe he doesn’t make her nervous in that way. She’s the one who asked him to stay. (Or just told him he was staying more than asked, really.)
“So has Sam,” Bucky points out.
“Yeah, but Sam has to come back here to avoid getting an earful over the phone. Why would you wanna be here? Right here,” she adds, motioning to the spot where the water pump sat until early this morning. Bucky was one of the people who removed it, plus there’s a clear silhouette where the side rests against the boat, inside of which shape the wood’s less weathered, but he’ll be as clueless as Sarah wants if it results in more of this—her hand on his back as she trades places with him to guide him in ahead of her.
“It’s nice here,” he says simply. “Like a holiday.”
The instant he says it, he wants to backtrack. None of this is a holiday for the Wilsons; in spite of the block party atmosphere of the community coming together to restore the boat, they’re doing all this to ensure their livelihood. A good future for Sarah and her boys. She shoots him a benevolent smile like she knows he knows he just put his foot in his mouth. He can only shake his head at himself and carry on.
Squatting, Bucky aligns the holes in the pump’s base with those in the plate it has to mount back onto. They’re a little rusty, but the old blue paint’s just flaking, no problems with the actual integrity of the metal.
“You always do volunteer manual labour on your holidays?” Sarah jokes, putting a hand on his shoulder as she maneuvers around him. She drops to a crouch at his side and directs the beam of the flashlight down onto the pump.
“I like to be busy. I sleep better that way.”
“Until your host’s kids wake you up.”
“Aw, that was no problem.”
“Wrench?” she asks.
“Back pocket.”
Bucky could pass it to her. He could take one hand off the pump, retrieve the wrench, and hold it out for Sarah to grab. Hell, he could take both hands off the pump. The thing’s just sitting here. But he’s selfish, trying to make it look like he has to keep the pump from shifting out of the position he’s put it in, because he wants to find out what Sarah wants. He hasn’t completely thought this through, but some part of him’s saying a good way to find out what Sarah wants is to see if she’ll take the wrench from his back pocket while he’s squatting, jeans hugging his ass.
She laughs softly, looking at the floor.
She slides the wrench out of his pocket.
Now, there’s no actual contact required there, but she has touched him a couple times, so when she asks, “Bolts?” he looks at her in the dim light—flashlight still tilted towards the floor—and tells her, “Front pocket.”
When Sarah elects to maintain the angle of the light by holding the end of the flashlight in her mouth, Bucky thinks she might be capable of cruelty after all; he feels his face go slack at the sight of her lips around a fucking plastic cylinder. The choice leaves her hands free though, which is perfect because she apparently needs to grasp his knee with one for balance while the other goes to his hip, feeling out the line of his pocket. Bucky tries to breathe deep and even. This has gotta be it, the scenario Sam was most worried about when he left them here together.
Mercifully, when Sarah gets her fingers hooked into Bucky’s front pocket, she removes her other hand from his knee and uses it to hold the flashlight. He shifts forward onto his knees so his pocket isn’t pulled so tight and she can get her hand in there. Clearly a bad, terrifying plan now that his dick’s started to stiffen from the lingering image of the flashlight in her mouth and the proximity of her fingers to his crotch. It’s dark. Maybe she won’t see.
“Bolts,” Sarah says, wiggling her fingers deeper. “Nuts too?”
Their eyes meet and she pulls her hand back. Not too fast. Not like she embarrassed herself, saying something she didn’t mean to. Just like she did her bit and now the plan is to see what he’ll do. All he’s really capable of doing for the moment is extracting the nuts and bolts himself, dropping one of each into the raised palm she offers. He takes over with the flashlight and purposely doesn’t touch the end. It’ll drive him crazy if the plastic’s still wet.
“Thanks.”
“Yep.”
He spends three bolts being awkward, just pinching the head of each between his Vibranium fingers to hold them steady while Sarah tightens the nuts with the wrench from underneath the mounting plate. His other hand shines the light right where she needs it. They’re a different team than he and Sam are. Somehow, they can do two parts of the same job in the smallest scale, their hands practically on top of each other without either of them getting in the way. Bucky tries to think about that rather than her leg pressing against his or the fact that the gentle rock of the docked boat reminds him of rocking his hips forward when he… well. Does something he’s trying not to think about.
The wrench is old and though Sarah flicks the adjustment with her thumb to make it grip each nut in turn, it loosens and slips. It makes the task take longer and Sarah have to work harder. With two bolts to go, she sits back and pulls her button-down off, draping it over a pipe. Her t-shirt only catches Bucky’s eye because, even in here, the yellow’s so bright. It’s just the shirt. Absolutely not the shape of Sarah in it.
She leans back in, dropping the second last bolt through the hole. She feels beneath the plate to start the nut up the bolt’s threads with her fingers. With a soft noise of effort, Sarah simultaneously applies the wrench and reawakens Bucky’s erection.
“Sorry for keeping you from dinner,” she says, still tightening in the circle of light he provides. “You must be starving.”
“You have no idea.”
Bucky doesn’t mean for the words to sound the way they do, or maybe he does. Sarah falters, then finishes, but when she leans forward to fit the final bolt in place, the side of her breast presses his arm, and that’s the beginning of the end. Or possibly the end of the middle. Anyway, Bucky lets go of the flashlight and wraps his hand around Sarah’s waist instead. The flashlight must land on its button because the boat goes pitch-black. Why didn’t either of them think to turn the overhead light on? He hears the nut fall from her hand. It’s not one of the nuts he’s concerned with at the moment, so he tells himself they’ll look for it later and focuses on Sarah leaning in to find his lips in the dark.
Kissing her is… Hell, it’s something he’s been thinking about since they met yesterday. When she marched straight over to the boat and then changed her posture the second she spotted him. Bucky appreciates clear body language—it’s something he can do a quick read of and understand. If they’d had more time at that first meeting, of course he would’ve talked to her, flirted with more than a smile, but the smiles they swapped were an effective stopgap until they could end up right here. His mouth on hers. Being careful not to trap her braids under his fingers when he skims them up the back of her neck.
“Um,” Sarah says, breaking away with a shy laugh.
He keeps his hand on her lightly and feels her tilt her head forward like she’s avoiding his eye, even in the dark. Before he can worry that something is wrong, that he’s done something wrong, she lifts her head again and her braids flick, pattering across his forearm like rain.
“You should know,” she says, “since my husband passed, I haven’t really had a lot of time or inclination for this kinda thing, but...”
“That’s ok,” Bucky quickly assures her. “This doesn’t have to be anything. I didn’t mean to push.”
“And you didn’t.”
They sit in silence for a minute before he clears his throat.
“I’ve never… I’ve never had anybody special to me in that way, like your husband was to you, nobody to lose like that. But I do understand… uh, the sort of, um, momentousness… when it’s been a while.”
“You do?”
He can hear humour in her voice. This wasn’t supposed to be a funny conversation. Is he making it that weird?
“Sure. You know about me,” Bucky says quietly. He knows she must. She never asked who he was to Sam to be showing up here, being offered their couch for the night. Never asked about the arm, though he hasn’t tried to hide it. (He can’t remember the last time he just lived like this and the relief is enormous.)
“Tell me about the momentousness.”
He’d like to be able to see her better, but it’s also nice to know she has no idea the way he’s blushing over her request. It’s his own damn fault. Trying to be tactful and generous. Trying to say he knew how she felt, only for Sarah to call him on that. He’s gotta learn that this is not a woman who lets a man speak for her and, if he blunders into doing just that, she doesn’t let him off the hook. And she has a fish business. Who woulda thought.
“Well, it’s, uh…” Bucky rubs the back of his neck with the hand not cupping hers. “It feels like a big deal. Almost like being young all over again.”
“Hey,” she interjects, “some of us are still young.”
He laughs.
“Sorry. I just mean it’s… exciting. You know, thrilling. You wanna do everything at once but you’re also so scared to just…”
“Just…?”
“To just touch her,” he breathes out.
Sarah leans her head back so his hand’s not only touching her neck but holding it up. He laughs again as she straightens. He gets the point; he’s already touching her. So maybe it’s easier than even he thinks it is. Touch. Intimacy. Defiling the belly of a fishing boat with somebody who turned his head so fast he’s the one who needs something bolted back into place. Maybe one on either side of his neck, like Frankenstein’s monster. He sure does feel alive.
“I said I haven’t done this a lot lately,” Sarah says, loosely grasping his wrist. Bucky slips his hand off her neck to line it up with hers, lacing their fingers. “Not that it’s necessarily been that long since the last time I went on a date that ended with more than a kiss at the door.” Abruptly, she laughs. “I’m trying to tell you there’s a condom in the pocket of that shirt I threw over… wherever it got to. If you want this to keep going in a direction where you’d need to use it.”
“Yeah. Yes. I want that.”
“And not just to annoy Sam?”
“Not just.” Bucky smirks in the dark.
“Ok then.”
“I like you, Sarah,” he says as her fingers play with his. He shifts to face her better. “You don’t make things complicated.”
“I think we’ve both had enough of that.”
He can only make a noise of agreement as he comes close enough to feel out her mouth. He’s wishing he’d shaved his face smooth for this—obviously not as certain this encounter was going to happen today, or at all, as the woman who’s been carrying a condom in her pocket—but with a rough tilt of his head as he takes Sarah’s mouth harder, his cheek rubs against hers and she makes a sound into his mouth. A positive sound. An arousing sound. Bucky does something he never does and holds her face in both his hands, metal and skin. Sarah’s go to his hips, hooking into his beltloops, and they both rise up on their knees to press closer.
But she says, “Ouch, kneeled on the wrench,” and Bucky’s only being helpful when he moves his hands to the back of her thighs, running up over her ass as he urges her to her feet with him.
His hands behave themselves a little better when they’re both standing; he keeps them on the small of her back, scrunching her t-shirt in his fingers when she bows into him. He could kiss Sarah for a long time. It’s something he’s always enjoyed, got a lot of practice at when he was young, kissing in the back row of a theatre or savouring every moment until a girl’s curfew with some feverish necking in the alley around the corner from her family’s apartment. Nobody’s counting down the minutes on Bucky’s time with Sarah, so it’s looking like he might be able to just keep dragging his lips across hers for ages, stroking his tongue into her mouth. The geography decides otherwise.
He hears the speedboat’s motor approaching long before he really makes sense of the noise. That happens when the choppy wake hits Sarah’s docked boat, tossing her forward against him.
Alright, tossing him forward. He’s the one whose sea legs are for shit.
It’s evident that she feels his erection against her stomach. She’d have to be really unfamiliar with how this dance went not to notice with the way he’s swelling for her.
“Yeah?” Bucky checks when Sarah digs her fingers into his hips to hold him to her body.
“Yeah.”
He pulls out of her embrace to hunt down that shirt.
“You know, I’ve done this before.”
“I know. I’ve met your kids.” His voice says he’s joking even as his hands move desperately, caressing the boat’s innards in search of soft cotton.
“I mean specifically on this boat,” Sarah confesses, laughing.
Bucky hears a pair of thumps he determines to have been her shoes hitting the floor after the next sound he hears is her unzipping her pants. Wildly, he snatches her shirt from the pipe and dumps the condom out of the pocket and into his hand. He forces himself to calmly replace the shirt where he got it from so she can find it after—just the thought of there being an after has him hardening further.
“It’s startin’ to feel like I’m not so special,” he teases, lurching back to her when the speedboat seemingly swings around upriver and makes a second pass, causing the ground to slope once more.
“You might be,” she teases back. While his legs are tensed to keep his balance, Sarah has to be stretching up on her toes to brush her lips over his. “We’re gonna see about that.”
Her hands curl around the back of his neck as she presses up into the kiss. Bucky groans and gropes for her hips, condom caught between two fingers. His hands run over the sides of her underwear, but it’s mostly skin he touches. Warm and smooth. Kissing Sarah deeply, he traces the soft grooves of stretchmarks, signs of her body’s endurance. She’s given birth twice, lost her partner, come through the Blip and out the other side. This is a survivor’s body. Although she didn’t remove her shirt along with her pants, Bucky breaks the kiss to strip off his. With trembling fingers, he guides her hand from his neck to his shoulder, letting her feel the scars.
Sarah grazes her palm over him. It isn’t hesitant and it isn’t harsh. She touches the place where metal and skin converge the same way she’s touched his neck, his knee. Her other hand strokes over his chest, dawdling to outline his dog tags, then sliding lower. Her fingertips are so light on his abdomen that they almost tickle. The river flows around and against the boat in faint slaps. Sarah’s hand falls to fondle his erection and he gasps into the stillness.
He crowds into her and she presses back against the wall of the boat.
“Is it too cold?” he wonders.
“Cold?” she asks distractedly, popping open the button of his jeans. “No, I’m good.”
Smiling to himself, Bucky ducks his head until they’re almost kissing.
“Ok,” he says. “Well, you let me know.”
His hand wanders from her hip, down, then up her inner thigh. Sarah shivers but doesn’t say anything about being cold, so, breathing harder, Bucky touches his fingers to her underwear between her legs. He can tell she finds his tentativeness a little funny—she exhales a soft laugh—but he needs this short pause to stop him from getting too eager. Though he didn’t want to clarify, he’s figuring that Sarah probably had sex on this boat during her teenage years, and he really doesn’t want his touch to remind her of some adolescent boy’s horny fumblings. Not when the setting’s already bringing up memories for her.
“No heckling,” he jokingly protests.
“I’m not, I swear I’m not.”
He can hear the humour in her voice and he likes the way her words hitch into a panted breath when he relocates his hand to her stomach and nudges his fingers under the band of her underwear.
“Second thoughts?” Bucky asks before he touches her anywhere too interesting.
“Nope. Just a lotta thoughts about you lifting heavy loads off trucks and workin’ a wrench.”
“Yeah?” He pushes his face up under her jaw, kisses there while she tilts her chin to give him room. “You been thinkin’ I might be good with my hands, Sarah?”
He hears her shaky breath when he says her name and thinks there’s a chance he’s not too bad at this. Even now. Not with somebody he seemed to emotionally fall right into step with the instant they clapped eyes on each other.
“No might about it. I’ve been watching you for two days. I know you’re good with your hands.”
Pressing his mouth hard to hers, Bucky slides his fingers down towards warmth and, it turns out, wetness. He groans against her mouth and she jerks his zipper down with demanding fingers. Wedging her hands between his skin and his clothes, Sarah begins forcing his jeans and underwear off together. Even as he’s aching for her to get him naked, he’s gathering her body against his, arm wrapped securely around her back as his fingers slip through her arousal. He curls two fingers inside her and her hips jolt in an apparently automatic attempt to get him deeper. She tries to widen her legs for him, but his hand’s intrusion has stretched her underwear across her upper thighs, so he plucks at them hastily until they fall and she kicks them aside. His own bottom layers are hanging on around his knees. Bucky can’t be fucked to deal with that. He’s punched through a lot of walls rather than going through doors; he knows what is and isn’t a serious obstacle.
Sarah lifts her thigh to his hip and their mouths part with a ragged, shared breath. The Vibranium arm around her supports her—metal fingers clamped tight on the condom between them—as his other hand works her with more pressure when she asks for it in a moan.
“Can I get you off like this, or you want me some other way?” he pants.
It’s like Steve used to say about damn near everything—Bucky could do this all day. He withdraws his fingers from inside her to scrub his fingertips up and down over her clit.
“I’m sure you can,” Sarah says, chest heaving as her hips sway in response to his touch, “but…”
Her hands, which had climbed to his arms after undressing his bottom half, creep lower. The grip of one hand catches in his elbow, thumb to his pulse. The other wraps around his straining cock.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “But.”
Insistent on putting on the condom himself, he does it with one arm still encircling Sarah. While he’s tearing it open, he drops his face to her neck again. She sighs as he kisses down her throat and goes mmm when he licks along her collarbone. She’s sweaty, like him.
Though Bucky’s just dying to sink into her, holding her this close is a whole other kind of satisfying. He flicks the condom wrapper away and dips his head, taking hold of the front of Sarah’s yellow t-shirt with his teeth.
“Bucky! What…?”
But her hand pats the back of his head in time with her laughter as he drags the material up until it stays put above her breasts. Tragically, the ghost of Sarah’s horny teenage encounter on this boat possesses him and he’s compelled to mash his face into her cleavage as soon as it’s exposed. He rubs his lips over her breast and she takes the condom from him, reaching between them to roll it down his cock. The feel of her fist makes him grunt into her chest.
“You ready?” Sarah asks him.
Bucky lifts his head and looks at her. It’s dark, but not too dark to judge by her expression that she’s not just asking casually. This isn’t a carefree, youthful hookup—a couple teenagers sneaking onto a parent’s boat or perfecting their hickey-making technique in an alley. Is he ready? He hasn’t been. Not for the occasional assessing stare of a stranger on the sidewalk, or for dating apps and the staggeringly forward pictures people send in response to a simple ‘hi,’ or even for the low-stakes combo of beers and Battleship. But now? For Sarah?
“Yeah,” Bucky states, loud and clear, angling his hips forward when she takes her hands away.
“Alright,” she says, “so am I.”
He kisses her. He believes her.
He grips the underside of her raised thigh with one hand and his dick with the other, bending his knees slightly before pressing up into her. Heat slinks up his chest and twines around his neck like a scarf. Despite the tripping hazard of his pants around his legs, Bucky shuffles forward, holding Sarah so close. She doesn’t make a sound as he fills her, but when he pulls out and thrusts again, an uuuh catches in her throat. God, it feels good to be back in business.
Fingers digging into her leg and her ass, Bucky rocks his hips steadily, huffing sharply through his nose. Sarah’s hands move all over him. They’re on his shoulders, then squeezing his arms; grabbing his hips to encourage him to drive into her harder, then seizing his ass to hold him deep. When he does something good, he feels her tighten on his cock, a quick clutch and release. When he does something really good, she moans so loud the back of his neck tingles and he has to summon every bit of discipline he has not to just let go now.
The feel of the muscles in Sarah’s leg and ass flexing to sync the rhythm of their hips when things get rougher makes Bucky’s eyes roll back. He lifts her off the ground, thighs in his hands as he slings his hips sharply forward. Sarah curls into him, nipping one shoulder as she cups her hand over the metal of the other one. Her breasts bounce against his chest. He pins her between his groin and the boat and feels (and hears) it the second the motion of his hips drags at her clit.
“Bucky!” she gasps. “Don’t—”
“Stop?” he guesses, grinning even as he pants, even as he shifts his feet to make sure they’re gonna stay under him until this is over and he can set her down gently.
Sarah nods rapidly and Bucky keeps the closeness but progresses to fast, shallow thrusts. They should hum, like a machine, like a piston, like a pump, because that’s what it feels like, fucking her and falling for her, doing their dance with just the right friction. How it really sounds is wet, filthy, oh, but her smile is beautiful as she strives, fingers tangled in his dog tags. She comes calling his name. He’s right here, right there with her. She’s clenching so firmly around him that the pleasure might not end and he’ll just have to stay here on this boat, with her, and be Bucky, and get used to the luxury of it making sense again, his name in the mouth of somebody who needs him and wants him and could know him, after a few more nights on her couch and mornings with her kids. He could stand the sound of her name leaving his mouth every single goddamn day, but he’s gonna start with one day, this day, right now.
He says, “Sarah,” and wraps his arms around her, and hopes those arms feel strong.
#Anon you knew what you wanted and you asked for it nicely and I respect that#my writing#tfatws#tfatws spoilers#The Falcon and the Winter Soldier#Bucky Barnes#Sarah Wilson#bucky x sarah#sarahbucky
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All Too Well
Rated Mature
Also found on Ao3
It’s been five years almost to the day since he last saw the Nill sisters and although Heather looks exactly the same, Lily, now eighteen years old, has grown into an almost exact replica of her sister and it nearly knocks Ray off his feet seeing the two of them sitting together. He knew they would probably be in town. Had heard their mom had overdosed on the drugs she could never get away from. But knowing he would possibly see them and actually seeing them is two completely different things.
And as he watches them from the window of the diner, he doesn’t know what to do. If he should approach them, act aloof, act happy, hug them, or ignore them.
Then the child he hadn’t noticed at first starts bouncing in the seat beside Heather and the curly haired boy makes the decision for him by waving at him through the window. The sisters turn as one to see who the child is waving at. In true Lily fashion, the young girl he had once adored and had adored him in return, jumps out of her seat and runs outside to him. She doesn’t hesitate as she wraps her arms around him and he in turn hugs her back because she may be taller than the last time he saw her, she was still his Lily Bug.
“I’ve missed you so much.” She says into his shoulder and he feels actual tears on his shirt. He’s never in his life had someone cry over missing him.
He smiles and smooths a hand over her hair, “I’ve missed you too Bug.”
She laughs and pulls back, the tears still there for him to see. She quickly wipes them away, and motions to the diner, “Come have lunch with us.”
He glances at Heather through the window. She’s leaning over talking to the little boy beside her and he’s not sure he can do this, “I can’t.”
Lily grabs his arms and squeezes, “Please.” She whispers, “She would ask but she’s too proud, but I know.” Lily pauses and looks in at her sister, “I know she wants to see you. Needs to talk to you.”
“Who’s the kid?” He asks instead of answering but she ignores him and pulls on his arm as she opens the door, the bell above the door announcing their entrance.
——
It had taken everything in Heather not to follow her sister out to Ray. And it’s taking everything in her not to jump in his arms as he pauses by their table. She wants the feel of his arms wrapped around her, she wants to bury her nose in that spot between his neck and shoulder and just breath him in. No one and nothing has ever had the smell that is Ray Hall. The smell that drove her absolutely mad with want and need and anger and just pure happiness.
Instead she lifts her eyes to his and they meet for a long silent moment. She had thought it wasn’t possible to miss the blue of his eyes because of the child next to her but her chest hurts with the pain it brings when they meet. It has felt like so long since she last saw them and yet not enough time has passed. Everything still feels the same.
“Nill.” He finally says and she lets out the breath she had been holding. Slowly she rises and hugs him. Not as tightly as she wants to and certainly not as long. She never wants to let go of him again. And she doesn’t know if she’ll have the strength to walk away a second time.
“Hi, Ray.” She whispers into his ear and he pulls away from her. His eyes are a storm of emotions, anger, love, confusion.
“And who’s this little guy?” Ray says trying for a distraction but she hears as he sucks in a breath when the boy looks up at him. Familiar blue eyes blink at him as the boy smiles, a single dimple in his left cheek appearing.
“Hi. I’m RJ. Mommy promised I could go out on a boat soon, do you have a boat?”
“I…” Ray clears his throat, “I do.” He glances to Heather who smiles softly at him and he sits next to Lily, across from the boy. Heather sits back down. “In fact, I have a whole boatyard of them. You can come pick which one you want to take out on the water and we can make a day of it.”
RJ starts bouncing in his seat, “Did you hear that mommy? He said he has a bunch of boats.”
Ray is choking and the three of them look at him with concern. Heather pushes her glass of water to him and he takes a huge drink from it.
“Mommy?” He asks and she nods.
“Can we go now?” RJ asks.
Heather brushes RJ’s mop of curly hair back from his forehead, “Not today. We have Grandmas funeral.”
Ray meets her eyes and after a moment nods, “How about tomorrow? You and your … mom can come out to the boatyard and we can take one of the boats out. Maybe do some fishing, have you ever been fishing?”
“No!” RJ says with a rush of air. The excitement is clear to all of them.
“Are you sure?” Heather asks Ray, “I know Saturdays are busy for you.”
Ray gives her that half smile she remembers so well, his dimple flashing, “Nothing I can’t rearrange. Can’t have the kid leave without a boat ride and some fishing.”
—-
And so they make plans to meet early the next morning at the boatyard. Ray leaves as their lunch arrives. He wants nothing more than to stay with them the rest of the day but he also knows he can’t. Because he doesn’t want to make it about him when the sisters are about to bury their mother and he’s not sure he would be able to not question Heather.
He has so many questions. And he’s afraid he won’t get any answers. He’s afraid she’ll disappear again like before.
Instead he heads out to the boatyard and gets his boat ready for the next day. He stays busy to keep his mind off Heather and her family. Her son.
Sarah calls him later that night. He’s not surprised, even though she no longer lives here, news still travels fast.
“Heard the Nill sisters are back in town.” She says after he answers.
“Yep.”
“You seen them yet?”
Ray puts out his cigarette and makes his way to his porch, “Ran into them at the diner.”
“I imagine that didn’t go well.” Sarah says.
“It went fine, SarBear. Managed to keep it civil.”
“Good. Heard she has a child with her.”
Ray sighs, “Sarah, what’s your reason for calling?”
“Just checking in on you brother. Don’t want to see you hurt again. Remember who was there to pick up all the pieces.”
“Fuck you. There were no pieces to pick up. I was fine then and I’m fine now.”
Sarah laughs, “Keep telling yourself that, Hall.”
Ray hangs up without saying goodbye. He knows she won’t take it personally. He stays out on the porch for another hour. Considers opening a beer or two but he wants a clear head for tomorrow. And he’s not sure he can stop with just a few beers. He’s pretty sure he knows how the conversation will go tomorrow and he’s not sure he’s ready.
——
They spend the day on the boat. It’s a perfect day, sun shining bright, very few clouds in the sky. Fishing, swimming, lots and lots of laughter from RJ, which makes the awkwardness less awkward. That is until the boat ride home when he passes out. Ray keeps catching her eye and even though she’s staring at him each time, she looks away when their eyes meet. Brushing her hair back, she’s relieved when they finally dock. But then Lily takes RJ from her arms and with a knowing look promises to take him to their hotel and put him to bed. Heather watches as her sister takes her only form of transportation, leaving her dependent on Ray. Leaving her with a conversation four years past due.
“Who’s the father?” Ray asks her back as she stares at the car's fading tail lights.
“Heather?”
She turns to him and the look on his face surprises her. She expected anger but he just looks hurt. She makes her way back to the end of the dock and sits down. After a moment he settles beside her.
“How old is he?”
“Four.”
“He’s an adorable kid. A bit of a handful.”
She laughs, “You have no idea.”
“Fearless. Swinging from the rope to jump in the water? I don’t think I did that until I was at least eight.”
Heather sighs and leans forward, “Yeah. He’s a lot like his father that way.”
“Heather.”
She knows she’s being a coward not facing him. She wants to look him in the eye. She wants to tell him that he’s a dad. Wanted to tell him when she found out five years ago.
“Who's the father?” He asks her again and finally, finally she turns to look at him.
“You.” She whispers but it’s as loud as a gunshot to both of their ears.
Ray jumps to his feet, “What the fuck, Heather!?! What the actual fuck?!?” He’s pacing over the deck and she turns to face him because she owes him that much. She leans back against the post and pulls her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them.
“I’m sorry.” She says and she doesn’t think he hears her but he stops his pacing and stares hard at her. Finally he waves a hand at her, “Well?”
“What?”
He sighs, “I assume you have your reasons. Let’s hear them.”
“My reasons?”
“Fuck Heather, stop with the idiot act. We both know you’re not.”
“Nice Ray.” She grinds her teeth, “Real nice.”
He turns and actually storms off in a huff. She watches as he makes his way to the house and inside, the screen door slamming behind him. She stays in her spot and drops her forehead against her knees once he disappears from sight. She knew this would be a hard conversation and that they would get heated but she thought they would get a bit further than they had. She hears the screen door slam shut again and lifts her head to see Ray making his way back to her, a bottle of tequila in one hand, two shot glasses in the other. Without a word he sits against the post across from her and places the shot glasses between them. He fills them and nods to her as he picks up his own, shooting it back before dropping it back to the boards and refilling it.
“It’s necessary to have this conversation.” He says to her unasked question. She lifts her glass and jerks her head back as she takes the shot.
“Uggggg.” She groans at the taste but holds her glass out for more.
“That’s my girl.” He says then grimaces.
After they each have a third shot, Heather shakes her head at another. The burn is working it’s way through her and after spending the day in the sun, being a bit dehydrated and not having dinner yet she knows the alcohol will work fast on her.
“I really am sorry.” She says.
He puts down the bottle and sighs, “I know you are. But I’m going to need more than that.”
She crosses her legs and leans forward on her forearms.
“When we first started dating, we had the kids talk. I don’t remember why but I think it had something to do with Lily. How you adored her but wanted nothing to do with kids of your own.”
“Heather.”
“You said.” She interrupts with more anger than she intended, “You wanted the Hall name to die with you.” She pauses and swipes angrily at the hair blowing in her face, “You said, you never wanted kids of your own.”
“Okay. I remember that.” He turns his glare to the water slapping at the dock, “Still doesn’t explain the disappearing act.”
Heather shakes her head, her anger deflating at his hurt tone. She’s so used to him fighting back that when he doesn’t she loses any frustration she had felt building. She takes a deep, calming breath, “So when I realized I was pregnant. When I realized what it meant, I thought I would leave before you could ask me to get rid of it. Of him. Because you may not have wanted kids but I did. Maybe not then, so young. I certainly wanted to be much older but it didn’t happen that way.”
A long moment of silence passes then he says three words she never expected from him, “I get it.”
She looks at him, surprise written all over her face, “You do?”
He nods. “I said a lot of stupid shit. Even meant it. But that kid,” he points back to where Lily had driven off with RJ, “that kid is absolutely amazing.”
She smiles softly, “He is, isn’t he?”
“And if you’ll let me, I’d like to get to know him better.”
Heather closes her eyes, “There's nothing I want more.” She opens her eyes in time to see the smile spread across his face. It makes her heart flutter and her insides melt.
“But Ray, I don’t want him to get you for a little bit and then disappear. If we do this I want him to have the dad you and I never had. He deserves that. So much.”
He turns his face from her to look out across the water and she instantly misses having his eyes on her. After a beat he sucks in a deep breath, “I want that for him too. I want to be that for him.” He closes his eyes and tilts his head up, “But fuck if I’m not absolutely terrified I’ll somehow fuck this up. Fuck him up the way my dad and grandpa did me.”
The sun is disappearing behind the horizon and a soft breeze picks up across the lake. Heather understands his fears more than anyone. She had the same because of her own mother issues. It’s a legitimate fear and she doesn’t want to belittle it. The breeze brushes across her and she shivers. It’s not cold, far from it. It’s finally having this conversation after nearly five years of putting it off. She can’t count how many times she dialed his number only to hang up at the first ring. Or how many times she almost picked up when he called her that first year and a half after she left. How many tears she cried during the pregnancy wishing he was there with her. And how it wasn’t until after RJ was born that she trusted her decision because seeing his tiny button nose, his bright blue eyes (that all the nurses said would fade to another color because all babies did but she knew better. She remembered clearly the blue of her sons daddy’s eyes. There would be no fading) and his head of curly light brown hair. Those tiny fingers that had such a strong grip. She knew she had made the right decision in leaving because even the thought of someone, let alone Ray, telling her to get rid of this baby, would have absolutely destroyed her.
It wasn’t easy, taking care of a newborn and a preteen. But she did it. Pushed through. Lily was a huge help and never once complained of the late night wake up screams from a newborn. And soon the good days outweighed the bad and as her son grew, she grew too. As a person, as a mother. She began to trust herself. That she wasn’t her mother or going to turn into her mother.
“If I’ve learned anything from raising Lily, it’s that you’re not going to be perfect. You’re going to get some things wrong. It’s not easy being a parent and there’s no secret to doing it all right. Ray, all parents struggle. But listen,” she leans forward and touches his hand to bring him back to her, because if she knows him like she once did, he’s stuck in his own head full of doubts, “Listen to me Ray, you are not your dad. You’re not your grandpa. You’re not your brother. You’re so much better than all of them put together.”
Ray shakes his head, “I'm still a Hall. Their blood still runs through me.”
“And it runs through RJ’s. Would you ever think differently of him for it.”
“Never.”
Heather pulls his hand to her lap and wraps her fingers around his, squeezing as hard as possible to anchor him to her. “I love RJ more than I’ve ever imagined loving a human being. I promise I would not trust you to be a part of his life if I didn’t believe you were not like them. Ray, I promise you are worthy of this kid.”
“Fuck.” Ray runs his free hand over his face and through his hair. Heather looks away, ignoring the tears on his face. Then he laughs and her eyes are back on him. He’s smiling. So big. Like she’s never seen him smile before, “I have a son.”
Heather returns the smile, “You do.”
“I’m a dad.”
“You are.”
She jumps when he shouts loudly into the night, “I'M A DAD!”
They laugh together and then he pulls her into his arms and he’s hugging her tightly to him. She takes a deep breath and it’s filled of just him. He smells of the lake and grease and sweat and it’s all Ray.
“Thank you, Heather.” He mumbles into her neck and the feel of his lips there ignites her body. He knows. He was always able to tell and he lightly nips her in response. Heather pulls back and their lips crash to one another much like the first time it ever happened. His thumb nudges her chin and she opens and his tongue licks into her. She tilts her head and he presses harder, bruising her lips where it’s almost painful. But it’s Ray and it’s been five years and she’ll take all the pain, all the bruising as long as it’s from him.
Finally they break apart and she pulls at his bottom lip with her teeth as they do.
“Fuck, Heather, I’ve missed you.” His nose is nudging around her jaw and ear as he nips down her neck. She lets her head fall back as he does and her eyes blink up at the star filled sky. So many nights she spent in this exact spot, under this same sky, doing exactly this, with this man.
So many nights she spent missing him, missing this. She knows she should stop him, stop this, but she doesn’t have it in her to do it. And so she lets him continue as his mouth moves lower, as he undresses her, as he undresses himself and then she’s being pulled on his lap and he’s pushing inside of her and it feels so good. So damn good to finally have him filling her again. Nothing and no one has ever felt as good as when Ray is so deep inside of her she’s not sure where one begins and one ends.
It’s over quickly. Neither one of them had it in them to take it slow. Five years of missing someone can do that to a couple. They quickly get dressed and she wants to say it can’t happen again. They have to be smarter for RJ. But she doesn’t want to ruin the moment. Her heart and body are feeling far too good.
They get in his car so he can drive her back to her moms trailer. The last place in the world she wants to be right now. But it’s where her sister and her baby are.
“I do have another question.” He asks breaking the silence that had been there since their moans filled the night air.
“Shoot.” She says, pulling her hair off her neck.
“What does RJ stand for?”
Heather smiles as she stares out of the side window, she smiles because he knows what it stands for, he just doesn’t want to believe it. She smiles because she knows Ray is going to be the best father possible to their son, Ray Jr.
#panic tv series#heather x ray#heather nill#ray hall#my writing#heather x ray fanfic#panic fanfic#nillhall#nillhall fanfic
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Title: Sea of Silence
Author: hit_the_books
Artist: NinPotato
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic depictions of Violence
Tags: Post-Fall, Mute Hannibal, Hurt/Comfort, Murder Husbands, Cannibalism, Whump, Sexual Content
Posting date: 30 October
Summary:
After falling from the bluff, Hannibal and Will end up in St John's, Newfoundland. While time will allow some wounds to heal, Hannibal and Will must find new ways to express and navigate their shifting relationship together.
Preview:
The house creaks when Will is not home. All six bedrooms of it.
Its white panels mark it out along the jagged coast of St John’s but it’s an unremarkable location—aside from its new occupants. Hannibal is assured that he and Will are both incredibly remarkable. He doesn’t need the article after article on the two of them and what may have transpired with the Red Dragon that keeps popping up on TattleCrime and less salacious websites and news outlets—to know that the two of them are beyond the comprehension of nearly all.
Hannibal frowns as his tablet flashes up that he’s used his allocated time for browsing aimlessly on the device. The iPad locks him out and he curses Will with a hiss for having figured out a piece of technology so effectively.
Setting the tablet down, Hannibal listens to the house around him. There is little shelter to calm the winds that whip past the house where it stands and Hannibal dislikes the emptiness that cannot muffle the sounds. No rich rugs or hundreds of books. The house came unfurnished and Will insisted on using Hannibal’s funds as discretely as possible—“We’re not being tracked down like you and Bedelia were in Florence, understand?”—and so they had little in the humongous house. A simple couch and armchair. Flat pack dining table and chairs. The cheapest porcelain money can buy. A few paperbacks as and when Will finds them for Hannibal in a bookshop in the harbor city proper. No wine because Hannibal cannot drink on the combination of antibiotics and painkillers he’s on.
His clothes are now as simple as the meals that Will cooks for the two of them—Hannibal’s energy levels not yet recovered enough for the rigors of attending to their cooking needs. And to ensure they all seem like a normal, happy gay couple, Will works in a boatyard at the harbor, fixing engines for above minimum wage.
That Will wants to project the image of them as a couple is a topic of thought that often leaves Hannibal wandering the corners of his palace when the painkillers let him float.
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something I hate about Boom Boatyard: the beads are put in such places that it's very difficult to get more than a silver rating
what I like about it: I got this as my highest streak in the level
nice
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Without A Parachute (6/15) - Feels Like This
Summary: Emma worked tremendously hard to give herself a better chance. From group homes, to living in her car, to ivy league student, this English Major’s only solace was escaping her reality through books. One night, Emma comes home to find a small package with only her name on it written in beautiful calligraphy. The package contains a thick, brown leather journal. Emma soon learns that the fiction she writes in the journal eventually becomes reality. Will Emma learn to control this gift, or will she fall too fast into the temptation to change too much? With the help of her good friends August, Robin, and Elsa, and the mysterious, intriguing bartender of The Jolly Roger, Emma discovers just how easy it is to lose control, and how difficult it is to pick up the pieces.
Rating: M
Words: 24,187 total / 6,381 Ch 6
Read on ao3: Beginning | Current
Note: I'm SO sorry this took longer than I had anticipated to write. To make up for the delay it's a slightly longer chapter with a lot of fluff and some smut mixed if (so if that's not your thing feel free to scroll through that part). I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for reading, for your comments, and for your support. Stay safe out there everyone! I’d definitely read this one on ao3 for formatting since I might miss some italics here
//
When it feels like this, like a light came on
And you look at me like I’m all you want
I got everything at my fingertips
How can I resist when it feels like this?
-Maisie Peters, Feels Like This
“You had one fucking job! She told you exactly what to do, wrote it all out for you, you incompetent monkey.” A dark figure shrieked at the man in the hoodie, Emma’s necklace digging into the palm of a tightly clenched fist.
“She’ll do what you need her to. It was enough,” the man responded.
“That’s up to Him to determine,” the figure said. “You have no idea what He’s capable of.”
“I can handle myself you bitch. I played my part. You and I both know that you’re no more of a pawn in His game than I am.”
“You’re just a pathetic excuse for a man who had nothing better to do. Apparently you’re not even capable of a quick fuck. You’re an expendable sidekick. He created you thousands of years ago to run His errands, to do His dirty work. I can give Him what he wants and He can help me get my revenge and even now after all this time you’re still useless.”
“I. Played. My. Part. You’d be nowhere without me.” The man closed the distance between him and the dark figure. “You’re just mad you can’t bring her down by yourself. You need Him. You need us and that kills you.”
“At least I have a reason, you’re just evil,” the figure snarled at him.
“And that is exactly why you like me.” The man stepped closer to the figure, closing the distance between them, his tone resembling something close to seduction although the animal-like hiss still remained.
“He won’t be happy,” the figure responded, ignoring the man’s advances.
“It was enough. Just wait. The darkness in her is bound to consume her. It’s only a matter of time.”
“She’ll pay for what she did.”
***
Two weeks later, midterms were finally over which meant spring break had finally started. Emma and Killian had been texting regularly, usually late at night and in the morning when Emma wasn’t drowning under books or in class. She barely slept. Whenever she finally calmed herself down from exam stress enough to close her eyes every night, the nightmares she had shook her to her core and kept her from sleeping. So she was looking forward to a break.
It was Friday. Most students had already left for hometowns or vacation destinations to escape the cold, including Elsa, August and Robin. Campus and Collegetown were nearly empty. Killian had suggested they go out to dinner to celebrate the end of her exam period and kick off her spring break. The thing was, Emma had no idea what this dinner was.
Was it a night out between friends?
Was it a date?
Were they grabbing a slice of pizza around the corner?
Were they going somewhere nice?
Were they walking?
Were they driving?
Was she driving?
Was he driving?
Did he expect something after?
Emma nervously stared at the two dresses she owned hanging in her sorry excuse for a closet. Elsa, unfortunately, left for break the night before and since Emma wasn’t sure what this dinner was she didn’t ask her friend if she could borrow a dress. So she opted for the flowy pink dress Mary Marget helped her buy for her high school graduation and pulled her hair up into a ponytail to keep her from looking too overdressed. After her last night out, she opted for shorter heels that she had a better chance at balancing and walking in even though they would inevitably cause her pain.
Still having about half an hour before Killian was supposed to pick her up, she fiddled her hands nervously as she paced her small room. Compared to his beautiful apartment in a building he owned, Emma’s ratty, run-down, strictly-a-place-to-sleep college apartment was an utter embarrassment. It was the cheapest thing she could find and the only thing she could afford and the last thing she wanted Killian to see.
Quickly, Emma shoved a change of clothes, socks, sneakers, pajamas, and her toiletries into her backpack (a little presumptuous but honestly a night away from an apartment that she had been having endless nightmares in that was empty except for her was something she welcomed, and maybe even hoped for). She threw her bag over her shoulder and left her apartment, walking toward the Jolly Roger.
She got there with 15 minutes to spare. It was mostly empty so she took her usual spot at the bar, setting her bag on the chair next to her.
“What can I get for you?” The bartender asked.
“Uhm just a Coke, thanks,” Emma responded. “It’s Will Scarlet right? I think we met briefly before.”
“Yeah! It’s . . .” Will paused, clearly not remembering her name.
“Emma,” she smiled.
“Right! Emma. The Captain’s friend,” he noted, as if he was trying to commit it to memory. Will handed her the soda she asked for. She paid and sipped it slowly, hoping the bubbled would help settle her nervous stomach. They engaged in small talk for a bit, Will telling her some funny stories about patrons he observed. He was actually quite funny and the jokes were a welcomed distraction.
“Swan?” Killian had just come down from his apartment. He had traded his usually rock-star black for a more romantic blue for the evening. He donned dark navy dress pants and a matching vest over a pale blue dress shirt, black dress shoes, a black black belt and a black leather jacket. In one hand he held his keys and his phone; in the other he held a single red rose. “I was just about to leave to pick you up.”
She stood from her spot at the bar. “Oh right, sorry. I was ready early and my apartment was getting too quiet so I figured I’d just meet you here.”
“You look beautiful, love.” He sweetly kissed her cheek and handed her the rose.
Emma blushed, her cheeks turning a soft pink as she took the flower. “Thank you.” Date. Definitely a date.
Killian turned to Will. “You good here, mate?”
“Yup, have fun!”
Killian picked up Emma’s bag from the chair it was on and slung it over his shoulder, as if the fact that she had an overnight bag hadn’t phased him at all. If it did, he certainly didn’t show it. In fact, it hadn’t phased him at all. They had spent nearly every night talking to each other until one of them fell asleep. He missed her. She hadn’t been to the pub to study for her exams as she wasn’t sure she was capable of handling the rush of memories that might flood her mind upon returning here for the first time since the incident while also having to deal with midterms. He missed her voice, her laugh, the way she kissed him, the way she smiled at him. He missed the easy rise and fall of her chest as she slept against him. Killian was far too deep into this for his own good but the effect she had on him was unstoppable. All at once she lit his world on fire and kept him grounded.
“Shall we?” He asked. Leading her out of the pub, he rested one hand on the small of her back and walked her to his car.
Emma was barely able to form words, lost in her own thoughts. Exams were over. He was taking her on a date . He brought her a rose . She felt so free that it was like she was breathing fresh air for the first time. Emma could count on one hand the number of dates she had been on (meaning the one she was currently on). No one in high school was interested in dating the foster child or the girl who lived in her tiny car. People barely gave her the time of day, let alone got dressed up for her or bought her a rose. It wasn’t until Killian had started the car that she was able to find her voice again.
“You look nice, Killian.” She smiled at him, still holding the rose close to her, cherishing the sweet gift.
“Some might even say devilishly handsome ,” he smirked.
“Hah.” Emma snorted and rolled her eyes. “Remind me not to feed your ego ever again.” Killian laughed. It was the sweetest sound Emma had ever heard. “So where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise, love.” They sat the rest of the short ride in comfortable silence. Emma’s heart was fluttering in a mess of excitement and nervousness. Eventually he pulled the car up to BoatYard Grill, a beautiful restaurant right on the water. It was a perfect balance of classy and casual, and even though it was too dark to be able to look out and really see the water, there was something magical, something romantic, about the feeling of the lakeside air.
Parking the car and slipping out of the driver’s seat, Killian jogged around to Emma’s side to open the door for her. “Milady,” he said, offering her a hand that she happily took with her free hand (one still held the rose that she refused to let go of).
She giggled as she got out of the car, Killian closing the door behind her. “Why thank you, Captain .”
Killian kept her hand in his as he led her to the restaurant, telling the hostess that he has a reservation under Jones. He made a reservation for her . There were little things that Emma had never experienced growing up in the foster system. Dinner reservations was one of them. And Killian took the time and made the effort to plan an evening. For her. For them. Oh Swan you’re really in it with this one.
They were seated at a quiet table for two in the back of the restaurant. Killian ordered a glass of wine. Emma stuck with water. Even though she had a pretty solid fake, she hadn’t been too keen on drinking ever since -
“How was your last exam today?” Killian asked.
“Oh fine. Intro to Psych is pretty easy. It feels so nice to have a break for a bit.”
“Are you heading home for break?” He asked, curiously. As much as they spoke, Emma never talked about home.
“Uhm.” Emma hesitated, unsure of whether to tell him the truth. The last thing she wanted was for Killian to look at her differently. But he was someone who had seen her at her worst and held her through the night when she was desperate to not be alone. “No. I, uhm, don’t really have a home. I grew up being shuffled around foster homes in Minnesota until I was 16 and lived in my car for two years so I could finish high school in one school just to have a shot at an Ivy League.”
“Emma I’m so sorry.” Killian reached across the table, resting a hand on hers. She didn’t see the typical pity in his eyes that she had seen in others who knew her story. She saw sympathy. Still, Emma wanted to change the subject and remembered the University of Oxford shirt he had given her to sleep in once.
“So you went to Oxford?”
“Aye, for a year. Then I spent two years mostly traveling and sailing before my grandfather stopped funding my escapades and told me to get my act together. So I came here and decided to open the pub.”
“Why’d you leave?”
Killian welcomed the interruption when their waiter came to take their orders. This wasn’t a story he was itching to share, let alone share on a first date. Once the waiter left, an older woman popped by the table after the waiter left.
“Killian, my boy!”
Killian stood to hug the woman, “Angela, it’s good to see you.”
“How’s your grandmother doing? Where in the world is she now? It’s impossible to contact her these days!”
“Belize? I think? At least that’s where the last postcard was from.” Killian shrugged. “How are you?”
“Oh just fine. Business is good, Jim is good, although he sure does miss having your grandfather around.”
“They were always up to something.” Killian said, fond memories of his grandfather and Angela’s husband betting nickels and dimes in poker every week at the lake house in the summer and, once he opened the pub, taking up their designated seats at the bar nearly every day.
“And who’s this pretty lady?” Angela turned her attention to Emma.
“Angela this is Emma, my -”
“Girlfriend?!” Friend! He was going to say friend! Fuck! What if Emma bolts? Emma and Killian both blushed furiously. “You know Jim and I were just saying that it’s been so long since you’ve been with someone.”
Killian cleared his throat, scratching behind his ear, clearly flustered. Emma, who was still slightly able to form a semi-cohesive thought interjected. “It’s nice to meet you Mrs . . .?”
“Oh sweetie just call me Angela. He’s a special one you know?” She jabbed Killian in the chest playfully.
Emma smiled up at Killian. “Yeah. I know.” Killian grinned back at her.
Angela noticed their attention was clearly on eachother. “Well I’ll leave you two to enjoy your evening. Just holler if you need anything!” With that they were alone again and Killian reclaimed his seat across from Emma who was giggling.
“She seems lovely.” Emma noted.
“Aye, she is. Sorry about the whole -”
There were two ways this conversation could go. Emma could play it safe or she could take a risk.
“Oh it’s fine. Although my real boyfriend would probably be quite upset to hear that I kinda liked the sound of it.”
Killian raised an eyebrow at her and leaned in closer to her. “Well, Swan, you could tell your other boyfriend that when I win your heart, and I will win your heart, it will be because you want me more than you’ve ever wanted someone before.” His voice had dropped to a place reserved for only the most erotic utterings. He smirked at her and reached across the table to squeeze her hand. Emma swallowed hard. Killian’s words sent a shiver up her spine and her heart into a frenzy. They sat in silence for a moment, eyes locked on each other as if time had stood still while Emma sat there, needing a minute to process his words, his voice, his eyes.
“So your grandmother is in Belize?” Emma asked, eventually.
Killian chuckled, settling back into his seat. “Aye. She’s an archeologist. She spends most of her time in Central and South America, especially since my grandfather passed.”
“And your parents?”
“My mother, Alice, left when I was 5. She drove us to school to drop us off one day and then never came back. My father,” Killian sighed, taking a sip of his wine, “my father was a complicated man. I don’t blame Mum for leaving the way she did. He owned a pawn shop in Dublin that his grandfather had opened but I think he secretly hated it. He was drunk more often than not. He died when I was 19.”
Emma gave him a look, a look that, all at once, said I get it , and I’m sorry , and neither of us ever have to be alone again . She reached out and tenderly touched his hand, brushing her fingertips over his knuckles. Emma wondered if his death was why Killian never finished at Oxford, but something about the way he spoke about his father made her think there was more to that story that he seemed relieved to avoid. Their moment was interrupted by the waiter bringing them their food.
The conversation flowed easily over dinner. Killian told her he was intending to major in fine arts, he told stories about him and his brother, Liam, and the antics they got into during summers at the lake house, and about sailing with his grandfather. Emma told him about the book she was reading, a beautiful fiction novel about a pandemic and those who survived and those who didn’t and how a traveling group of musicians and actors kept the arts alive with concerts and Shakespeare plays called Station Eleven , which led her to telling him about her love of Shakespeare.
“So do you have any spring break plans at all, Swan?”
“Oh yeah. I’ve got a few dates with McDreamy lined up and a growing pile of library books stacking up on my floor. What about you? I imagine business will be pretty slow this week.”
Killian finished his glass of wine. “Aye, it’s always pretty slow during breaks. I was planning on leaving Will in charge for the week and escaping to the lake house.”
“That sounds like a nice break.” Emma noted.
An idea popped into Killian’s head. “I wouldn’t mind your company if you’re looking for a change of scenery.”
“Really?” Emma asked, sounding a little more hopeful and excited than she had planned.
Killian chuckled. “Aye. I think you’ve had a rough few weeks and have earned a bit of a break. Plus I quite miss having you in my bed.”
“Hm. A tempting offer. But will there be grilled cheese?”
“Aye, love. Whatever you want.”
“And ice cream?”
“Swan, we can go to the store once we’re done here and I will get you anything your heart desires.”
Now it was her turn to make him blush. “Anything?” She gave him a very insinuating look from across the table.
Killian leaned forward again, enjoying this game of flirting. “ Anything your heart desires.”
***
Quickly, Killian paid the bill and they made their way over to the supermarket. Emma, to his dismay, tossed in every unhealthy thing she could find, including a box of brownie mix that she insisted they bake to have with the vanilla ice cream that would inevitably be tossed in the cart. All he could do was laugh and watch her. She was like a kid in a candy store who never once let go of the rose he gave her.
Killian had seen Emma at her lowest point, watched her go to war with herself over what happened to her, watched her suffer for weeks while attempting to study for exams he knew were causing her stress. He knew she wasn’t sleeping because she’d send him random texts at all hours of the night. He figured it helped her feel less alone so when he woke up every morning, he replied to every single one, no matter how silly or ridiculous or sometimes incohesive it was.
This Emma, happy, free, with a light that radiated from every inch of her and filled even the darkest parts of him, was the Emma he wanted always to remember, the Emma he wanted to spend his days trying to bring out.
While she debated which PopTarts she wanted, Killian slipped away to run to the pharmacy section. Not that he expected anything, but he picked up a package of condoms. A gentleman is always prepared , he told himself. Oh who are you kidding, you want this way more than you should .
Killian returned to find Emma stuck deciding between two flavors of PopTarts and shoved the box into the cart before she could see them. The last thing he wanted was to think he invited her just so he could have sex with her. Really, Killian would be fine with spending the entire week watching Netflix with her in his arms. And apparently baking brownies to have with vanilla ice cream, chocolate syrup, whipped cream and who knows what else.
“Just get them both before you give yourself a headache,” he joked. Emma tossed both boxes in. This woman is going to cost you a fortune . She gave him a bright smile and kissed him. In the middle of the aisle. Not caring for a second who saw them.
“Thank you. For everything, Killian,” she said when she finally pulled back, leaving Killian breathless.
And she was worth every damn penny.
***
Killian pulled into a long driveway leading to a beautiful home right on the lake. It had to be at least 2 acres of property from what Emma could tell in the dark. The house was pretty far from any neighbors and the trees lining the edge of the property on either side hid any evidence that other people even existed. It was perfect and exactly what Emma needed. They grabbed a bag of groceries each and headed inside. The first thing Emma did was ask Killian to put her rose in some water for her.
From the entrance you could see all the way to the back of the house which was essentially just a wall of windows. In the living room there was a large overstuffed couch in front of a fireplace and a large TV fit for the best kinds of movie nights snuggled in front of the fire. As tempting as it was to jump on the couch they still had bags to bring in. Emma might have gone a little overboard on the snacks.
“Do you think we have enough chips?” Killian joked, putting the third bag bag of chips in the panty while Emma unpacked bags on the island. He suddenly realized that he completely forgot what bag -
“Think we have enough condoms?” Emma joked back. She found the box he so slyly tried to hide from her while unpacking a bag containing a ridiculous amount of candy for the movie nights they planned on having.
Killian froze, blushing so furiously even the tips of his ears were red. Emma broke out in hysterical laughter. This was quite literally the last thing she had ever expected would embarrass Killian, the king of flirting, the master of inappropriate comments, the professional smoothtalker, the dreamy bartender who had girls fawning over him constantly, with a voice that could, quite literally, get any girl to drop their pants for him.
“I’m glad you find this so funny.” He looked at anything except her, scratching behind his ear.
“This is just so not you, Jones,” she said, pulling herself together. “Well actually this -” she waved the box “is you. Trying to slyly slip them in without me noticing is definitely you. The blushing though!”
Killian snatched the box from her. “A gentleman is always prepared, Swan.”
Emma stepped towards him, slinking her arms around his waist. “Very smooth, Jones.”
He tossed the box onto the island and wrapped his arms around her. “I didn’t want to -”
“I know.”
“We don’t have to do anything.”
Emma’s hands slid up Killian’s chest to rest on his shoulders. “What if I want to?”
“Then I’d be quite happy to oblige your desires, Swan,” he purred.
“When did you even get these?”
“During the great PopTart debate of 2020.”
Emma chuckled. “Right.” Her hands ran along the collar of his shirt, her eyes avoiding his. “There’s something you should know.”
“About PopTarts?” Killian asked, confused.
“No, you idiot.” Emma took a breath, her hands again resting on his shoulders as she tried to calm the nerves causing her heart to beat faster, trying to find the words to tell the obviously experienced man standing in front of her that she was a virgin, that she, quite literally, had no idea what she was doing. But god , she wanted him. All Emma could think about was the way he kissed, the way his hands felt on her hips when they danced. “No one’s ever taken me on a date before. So if this is going where I’m hoping it’s going you’ll be my first.”
Killian’s heart broke for her. How could someone so beautiful, intelligent, strong, funny, kind, and lovely never have experienced what it feels like to be loved, to be cherished, to be adored? All he wanted to do was show her that.
He kissed her softly. “Come with me.” Killian whispered against her lips before pulling away. He took her hand, making sure to grab the box that started this, and led her up the stairs to the master bedroom he had taken over when his grandmother gave him the run of the house.
With each step, anticipation bubbled in Emma’s stomach. It was a spacious room, with doors leading to a balcony that overlooked the lake, a king-sized bed, and a door that led to the master bathroom. As much as she had touched herself reading illicit stories on the internet or watching porn sites or, recently, thinking about Killian, nothing could have prepared her for the look in Killian’s eyes as he closed the door behind them, tossed the box onto the nightstand.
His hands traveled down her arms before he kissed her deeply. Emma’s fingers worked at the buttons of his vest, eventually sliding it off his shoulders. Killian’s lips traveled down her neck, his stubble softly tickling her. She sighed when his lips found her pulsepoint, tiling her head back as her hands found the hair at the nape of his neck.
Killian slowly unzipped her dress, kissing her shoulder as it dropped to the floor, leaving Emma standing before him in nothing but her heels, white lace bra and matching panties. “Emma,” he whispered, taking her in. His hands roamed her back while his lips returned passionately to hers.
Emma’s entire body was buzzing, lit on fire from Killian’s kisses. Quickly, she undid the buttons on his dress shirt as he walked her backwards towards the bed. She smiled against his lips when her head hit the pillow. Her fingers danced their way down his spine. Killian trailed kisses down her body, kneeling before her on the bed as he took her shoes off. Emma moaned. “Fuck that feels goos. Those were killing my feet.”
Killian chuckled, settling back between her legs. “You can tell me to stop at any time, Emma.”
“Can you please stop wearing pants?” She teased, toying with the waistband of his dress pants.
He kissed her before standing to remove his shoes, socks, belt and pants. Emma missed the heat of his body on top of her. In the time it took him to strip down to his boxers, Emma had gotten into her own head.
What if I’m not good enough?
What if I do something wrong?
What if it hurts?
What if I’m not exciting enough for him?
What if I’m too loud?
What if I’m not loud enough?
What if he doesn’t enjoy it?
Emma was so stuck in her own thoughts that she hadn’t noticed Killian was again on top of her, bra now off and on the floor until he pulled her out of her thoughts. “Emma?” His face was inches from her breast. He could tell she was wrapped in her own thoughts.
“Huh?” She realized she had completely zoned out into her own thoughts.
“Are you nervous?” Killian asked her, laying on his side next to her, his arousal pressing against her thigh.”
Emma turned her head to look at him. “Yes,” she whispered. His fingers danced over the soft skin of her stomach.
“Do you want to stop?”
“No.” Her hand touched his cheek, reassuring him that she wanted this, that she wanted him .
He turned to kiss her palm. “Don’t overthink it. Just focus on me. Focus on my voice. Let yourself go for me, love.” Killian’s voice dropped. “Let me make you feel good.”
Emma’s heart was racing. She nodded, taking a deep breath. His hand gently cupped her breast, massaging gently.
“You’re so beautiful, Emma,” Killian said, nearly moaning at how soft her skin felt in his hand. He lowered his lips to take her nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. Emma’s hands tangled themselves in his hair.
“God I’ve dreamed about this.” Emma admitted, moaning softly. Killian grazed his fingers over the waistband of her panties, smirking against her skin.
“Swan, you have no idea.” Most of Killian’s nights ended with thoughts of Emma and all the wonderful things he wanted to do to her, do with her. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the day you came into the Jolly with a fucking textbook.” His hand slipped below the waistband, his fingers sliding teasingly over her wet folds. Emma gasped. “You’re already so wet for me, love.”
“Just for you,” Emma moaned, arching her back as Killian’s finger brushed across her clit. Slowly he teased light circles over her, quickening his pace whenever she moaned for him. “Killian. . .”
The way she moaned his name nearly drove Killian into a frenzy. “Tell me what you want, Emma,” he purred against her ear.
“You . . . inside,” Emma breathed.
“We’ll get there, my love.” Killian chuckled, capturing her lips with his, their tongues crashing together in a messy, delicious dance. He slipped a finger inside her, eliciting a groan from Emma. He ground his hips against her thigh, needing to relieve some of the pressure building in his cock. Emma’s hand snaked between them. Cautiously, she stroked him over the soft material of his boxers. Killian groaned against her mouth. “Fuck, Emma.”
He wanted to tell her not to worry about him, that this was about her, but the nights he spent thinking about how she would touch him made this first moment too much for him to form a comprehensive sentence. Killian gasped at the feeling of her hand slipping beneath his waistband and wrapping around him. In response he slipped a second finger into her, pumping in and out a little faster.
Emma’s head was spinning with the intoxicating sensations racing through her body. She stroked her hand over Killina’s full length until she could take it any longer. “Fuck, Killian-” she moaned. “So close.”
“Come for me, Emma,” he growled, thumb finding her clit to help her over the edge. Emma fell apart, her orgasm coming in waves over her as she cried out Killian’s name into the darkness of the room, pleasure possessing every inch of her body.
When she finally opened her eyes again, she saw Killian watching her and blushed furiously. “Hi.” She gave him a shy smile.
He smiled back at her. “Hi.”
Emma kissed him, softly at first and more passionately as she started to come back to herself. “I want you.”
“Emma . . .” Killian hesitated, wanting to make sure this was really what she wanted. And god did he hope it was what she wanted.
“Please.”
He reached for the box on the nightstand, rolling onto his back next to her. Emma watched as he opened the box to pull out a foil packet. His hair was a mess, sticking out in different directions and falling onto his forehead, and somehow he looked sexier than when he had every strand in place to match the very put together look of his vest and dress pants. His breathing was slightly labored with anticipation. He had a tattoo of an anchor on the top of his arm by his shoulder.
Killian lifted his hips to push his boxers off and Emma’s breath caught in her throat. Killian noticed Emma’s staring and raised an eyebrow, smirking at her. “See something you like, Swan?”
Emma’s face turned bright red. “Maybe.”
Killian kissed her quickly before returning his attention to the foil package. He carefully tore it open and rolled the condom down his length while Emma pulled her panties off, tossing them to the floor. Killian settled between her legs, resting on his forearms to keep his weight from crushing her beneath him. Her arms wrapped around him holding him close to her.
In that moment, the rush of passion, the unbearable heat between them slowly dissipated into a loving tenderness, a gentle caress of warmth surrounding them.
“Go slow,” Emma whispered, a soft encouragement for Killian not to stop.
“Aye, my love.” His hand reached between them, guiding himself into her slowly. Emma hissed slightly, her nails digging into Killian’s back. Immediately he stilled. “Emma?”
“Don’t stop.”
So he didn’t. He pushed in slowly until he was fully sheathed, whispered profanities falling from his lips. Killian dropped his head, placing a sensual kiss to Emma’s shoulder. “How are you?”
Weird. Full. Stretched. Those were the first words that came to Emma’s mind. She needed a second to gather her thoughts. Killian had the self control of a saint at that moment. He gave her the time, the silence, she needed, playing with the ends of the long, blond hair (really to distract himself from the desire to pull his hips back and push back into her because fuck she felt incredible).
When she adjusted to his length: Good. So good. More.
“Killian,” Emma whispered against his shoulder, “you feel so good.”
“Fuck, Emma.” Killian groaned, pulling his hips back slowly before pushing back into her. Emma let her eyes close. Her hands knotted in his hair, keeping him close to her. “You feel incredible.”
She moaned softly in response and Killian picked up his pace, pushing into her a little faster, a little harder. “Yes. Killian.”
Killian muttered profanities that could make any sailor blush, his self control slipping from his grasp. He kept a steady pace, not too slow, not too fast, hitting her in just the right spot over and over. Nothing compared to the feeling of Killian inside her, the way his hips rolled effortlessly against hers, the way his lips moved against her shoulder and her neck as he whispered dirty nothings to her, edging her on.
“Emma, god I can’t-” Killian moaned against her. “I’m gonna -”
She used his words against him. “Come for me, Killian.”
And with that he came undone above her, coming with a cry of her name and nearly collapsing on top of her as his orgasm shook his entire body. Emma’s hips rolled against his, working him through it, working him down. Her hands softly stroked his hair, now slightly damp with sweat.
He slowly pulled out, kissing her forehead softly, allowing his lips to linger there for a moment. “I’ll be right back.”
Emma whimpered at the loss of his weight on her, comforting like a weighted blanket. It wasn’t long before he came back from the master bathroom, condom discarded and a warm, damp washcloth in hand that he used to gently clean between her legs. Emma signed softly at the pleasant contact. He tossed the cloth into the laundry bin and settled back into bed next to Emma who turned on her side to face him, cuddling close.
“How are you?” Killian asked.
“Wonderful.” Emma admitted, relaxing against him. Her thoughts began to intrude on the moment. “Did you. . . Did you like it?”
Killian nearly scoffed. “I should be asking you that!”
“I asked first.” Emma teased. This was easy. This was them. Silly bantering. Caring words.
He chuckled, playing with her hair, nuzzling his nose against hers. “How could I not like it? It was with you.” Emma blushed. “Now you have to answer.”
Emma shrugged. “Eh. It was fine,” she toyed.
Killian’s jaw dropped. “You little minx.” Emma broke into a fit of giggles and he playfully swatted at her ass. “You take that back!”
She kissed him, playfully, smiling against his lips. “Yes. It was -” She paused.
“What?”
“Nothing, it’s silly.”
“Tell me.”
“It was almost as good as my dreams,” she admitted, partially teasing him, mostly being sincere.
He grinned. “Glad to hear I wasn’t the only one dreaming of this.”
They took turns showering. Emma was exhausted and, honestly, not quite up for round two just yet so Killian gave her some space. When she was done, she changed into her pajamas and pulled out her glasses and Station Eleven to read while waiting for Killian to return to bed.
“Glasses suit you, love.” Killian commented when he emerged from his shower in nothing but a towel.
Emma smirked, half hearing him while she was engrossed in her book. “A towel suits you.”
Killian chuckled, pulling out pajamas from the dresser. “You haven’t looked up for a second.”
“Shhhhhh. Two characters just disappeared. I need to know what happens.”
He pulled on his pajamas before collapsing on the bed next to her. Killian watched her for a moment, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration behind her glasses. She was beautiful. Always. She was beautiful when she was dressed for work, when she was dressed for a night out with her friends, when she was lost in concentration, when she was frustrated, when her hair was damp and she was getting ready for bed, when she was dolled up for a date, when she was nervous, when she was confident, when she was teasing him, when she was vulnerable with him, when she was exhausted, when she was dancing in the middle of the aisle in the supermarket.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Her said softly, almost to himself as he traces patterns absentmindedly on her thigh over her pajama bottoms.
Emma looked down from her book at him lying next to her. She closed the book, marking her space with a torn piece of paper she was using as a make-shift bookmark, before turning the light off and settling down next to him, her nose inches from his. “I’m glad you invited me. I really did need a break.”
“Aye, I know love,” he said before kissing her softly.
“Thank you, by the way. Dinner was lovely.”
“It was my pleasure, Swan.”
Emma rolled onto her other side, her back pressed against Killian’s chest. She held his arm close against her as their legs tangled together in a way that was nearly impossible to tell where one of them ended and the other began. “Goodnight, Killian,” she whispered softly, her eyes fluttering close as exhaustion began to take over her.
Killian breathed in the comforting scent of her lavender shampoo. “Goodnight, my love.”
That was the first time Emma had slept through the night since the incident. Warm and safe in Killian’s arms, she never wanted to leave.
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Tips for choosing the right boatyard service for your vessel
Every vessel owner knows the importance of using the best boatyard service for their yacht. The expectations of the customers play a major role in the success of every boatyard. Individuals always chose the boatyard which provides services that satisfy their every necessary need.
Boatyard Business:
It is a great deal to choose a correct boatyard for renovating your yacht in the best way possible. While dealing with a normal boat selecting a boatyard does not have a huge impact on the repair work. Consequently, when you deal with unusual or large yacht it needs a perfect boatyard to store it effectively. The major disadvantages of some boatyards are allowing their contractors to work on the yacht. This action will make them rise in profit but it leads to some problems when the contractor doesn’t have more experience in handling a bigger vessel.
To overcome these types of problems the boatyard owners use a better concept that will be good for both the customer and boatyard owner. These boatyards started allowing the external contractors and also allows the customer to buy products from the external store. The boatyard management only charges for the total time that the boat will be stored in the yard. They also provide haul and launch services at a fixed price. These types of boatyards are called DIY boatyard or do-it-yourself boatyard.
Price ranges:
You can save your money while choosing a boatyard based on the season you like to do renovation work. The easiest way to achieve this lower pricing is to do the repair work in the autumn and weeks before Christmas. At these times you can get better discounts for all your services rather than the other seasons. The boatyard's pricing will be based on the hull height of the vessel. It may differ by the type of the boat hull. For haul& launch, blocking and pressure washing the price rates will vary based on the yacht.
Location of the boatyard:
Some of the boat owners feel special to have their boat storage near their living area where they can easily store their boats. But it is not an important one to choose that type of boatyard to keep your boat ashore. Consequently, you have to select a boatyard that fulfills the following criteria where limited tidal access is available and it must be present nearby the open water to provide good sailing.
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