It wasn’t that Ronan didn’t love Adam; because, fuck, did he love Adam.
It was that Adam was this being that was so profoundly and entirely something else, something so worthy of every form of admiration Ronan feared he would never be able to give Adam, that Ronan couldn’t imagine calling it merely love.
It was more than infatuation with the idea of Adam, with the idea that his perfect hands and his perfect lips and his whole being wanted Ronan the way Ronan wanted him.
It was more than that, than wanting the feeling of standing on the porch with his mouth captured in Adam’s, more than that feeling of perfect hands tangled in the back of his tshirt, more than fingers tracing down throats and tattoos and hipbones.
It was more than a feeling.
It was a knowledge that existed in Ronan’s subconscious, a sense of rightness.
Rightness in the way that Adam did things, as simple as sitting in the passenger seat of the BMW with music blaring, or lying tangled in the sheets of Ronan’s bed, mouth agape and eyelashes fluttered onto his cheekbones, dreaming.
It was the way Adam grabbed Ronan’s sweatshirt to wear when he couldn’t find his own, the way Adam glanced towards him when he thought Ronan wasn’t looking, (Ronan was always looking).
So no, Ronan didn’t just love Adam, or want Adam, or have feelings for Adam.
Ronan and Adam were a pair that went together without reason or explanation.
They just existed, these two seperate entities filled with so much passion for one another, and that was enough.
A/N: I saw the post about Colin’s tattoo and had to write a thing. The above picture is in reference to the tattoo that I have decided Killian has on his hipbone.
She loves his tattoos. She loves to run her fingers across his Milah tattoo, caressing the dagger that once bore her name, fingernails sketching out the pattern of the bursting heart. His love for Milah always amazes her, his willingness to fight three-hundred years to avenge her. (It’s his ability to love that’s shown through this that she admires and yet struggles to grasp - especially when he vows he loves her more - that his heart wasn’t capable of loving as much as it is now that he has her.)
She loves to run her teeth down the elaborate design of the anchor and ship wheel tattoo along his hipbone, tasting his skin as she goes. Her tongue tracing the curves of the tentacles as he says her name followed by a string of curse words. Emma presses a smile into his flesh, making sure he feels it. When she initially saw it, he labeled it his pirate tattoo, telling her that when he first inked it into his skin, it was to solidify his promise to never work under the throne again.
He has two feathers on his left shoulder blade, white accented with gray ink. In a moment of vulnerability, shirt strewn haphazardly across the floorboards, he tells her the answers to what’s behind her eyes, what’s racing through her mind. She learns it was for Liam, the feathers symbolizing the Pegasus wings that allowed them to fly to Neverland. At the time, it was the exact comfort she needed, a glimpse into his box of lost childhood, into his beginnings.
But her favorite is the small black swan that graces the spot over his heart. The one he claims he got over the not-so-missing year, right before trading The Jolly Roger. The tears that fell because of the way he looked at her like she’s everything - because It’s you, Emma. You’ve always had my heart and the three words that are caught in the back of her throat. It puts to rest any doubts that still linger. It’s her tattoo.
She loves the obscurity of them all, hidden under layers of leather and button ups as if they’re only hers to see, to discover. Others only catch fragments and glimpses, her father (thankfully) still unaware of their presence. The absence of his annoyed eye rolls when she reaches for them under their concealment during the mundane days at the station. Not that she would care if he knew anyway. But it still feels nice, like their little secret amongst the people they are closest to. She loves his tattoos.
Killian Jones is a pirate captain down on his luck after a falling out with the Evil Queen. Emma Swan just found out she was the Savior. Their shared goals bring them on an epic quest to liberate the kingdom once and for all. It’s a lot easier said than done.
They’d fallen asleep entwined around each other, both too sated and exhausted to bother moving at all. It wasn’t as if they weren’t used to the feeling of waking up wrapped in each other’s arms, that seemed almost commonplace after the first few nights of traveling together. It’s the lack of clothing, the intimate knowledge of each and every carefully catalogued part of the other’s body. Killian has a scar right above his hipbone, a small compass tattooed to his upper back, and he’s ticklish around the middle of his left ribs. These aren’t things she knew, before.
She didn’t sleep with him, before.
Emma tilts her head up to look at him, his eyes closed and his breathing steady, and she sighs. She’s still tired, still exhausted (their night was busy, admittedly, and she aches in places she didn’t realize existed) and she just wants to go back to sleep. The sun is rising, though, and if there’s one annoying thing sleeping with Killian - actually sleeping - has ingrained in her it’s to rise with the sun.