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spartanguard · 21 days

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electric touch [from the vault]

Summary: All I know is this could either break my heart or bring it back to life… | Emma and Killian have both been burned in love before; maybe this is the time they'll get it right. [Inspired by "Electric Touch (Taylor's Version) (From the Vault)" by Taylor Swift & Fall Out Boy] A/N: for my annual self-indulgent birthday fic: Just a little thing based on my favorite vault track from Speak Now (Taylor's Version)…definitely the first in a series of similarly-inspired fics ;) rated G | 1.9k | AO3

Emma gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter and took a deep breath. She was almost home. She just had to get there—then whatever impending breakdown was creeping up her spine could happen.

Although she wasn’t sure this was a bad one. A mental break-up? No, definitely not that—she didn’t want to use anything even vaguely related to that term; she’d had enough splits and kissed enough frogs that it was what she usually expected to happen. And this time—she really, really hoped this was the one that didn’t end badly; that maybe this time, she’d found the prince.

That was an awful lot to put on just one date, but—it was a pretty incredible one. (Or maybe her sister-in-law’s unending optimism was finally rubbing off on her.)

Emma had almost bailed on it to start with, regretting that she’d finally conceded to one of Mary Margaret’s setups. But her sister-in-law had been particularly insistent on this one. And the guy had agreed to meet at one of her favorite restaurants in Boston, so at least the food would be good. She was already preparing the “it’s not you, it’s me” excuse to get out of ever seeing him again.

Based on the picture she’d seen of him, she figured he’d just be another handsome asshole. He was definitely the first part—possibly too much, if that was possible, in a way that made her want to put up extra defenses to protect her from a pretty face and a leather jacket (those kinds of guys were usually good for one thing and one thing only, and if he was David’s friend, then he was off limits for that).

But when she saw him across the restaurant, he looked nervous—or withdrawn—she couldn’t quite tell—anxiously tracing a tumbler of some amber-colored liquor as she approached. “Killian?” she asked, barely above a whisper—she didn’t want to scare him, getting the sudden impression he was like a timid but wild animal that might run away if startled.

He did jump a bit, but then when he realized what was going on, she saw a shift in his expression—almost like putting on a mask (though an attractive, charming one, with a brilliant grin that cut a dimple into his well-manicured scruff; it just wasn’t fully genuine).

“Emma, I take it?” he replied, standing, in an accent that took her by surprise.

“That’s me,” she confirmed, trying to keep it casual (and having no clue if she achieved that). “Nice to meet you,” she said, extending her hand to his (the only one he had, she noticed, the cuff of his left sleeve hanging empty).

And that was when it all changed.

An electric shock traveled through her veins at his firm grasp—coursing fast and warm through her whole body, settling somewhere around her heart.

His eyes widened at her touch; had he felt it, too? It was probably just static—or nothing—but this was something different; maybe it was his aura, or something in his eyes—some metaphysical sign from the universe that only Mary Margaret would believe in—but something was telling her—he was different. In the best way possible.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he said, voice deep and a bit breathy.

Woah—she was getting ahead of herself. He just had really pretty eyes or something and that was throwing her off. Right?

But then he kissed the back of her hand and, no—this was definitely something different. (The scratch of his stubble brushed her skin and it took everything in her not to find out right then and there what it felt like against her lips.)

The night flew by in a blur—they more than hit it off after that. There was all the normal getting-to-know-you conversation, but even there, it seemed like they had a connection that went deeper than surface level.

Leaving to drive back to her tiny house in the outer suburbs was extremely difficult (not the hardest thing she’d ever done—no, that remained giving up her baby for adoption—but this was up there). Despite his assurance that he’d be in touch, she wasn’t sure she could wait that long.

But she’d have to, because, as she was pulling in her driveway, she realized she hadn’t gotten his number.

She may have slammed her head against the steering wheel at that.

She took another breath and then headed inside. It was good, actually—because then she had some time to brace herself for the worst.

A fire of some kind had been lit—she knew that much; she just hoped that this would be the one time she didn’t get burned.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Killian managed to keep his cool until he was out of the restaurant and partway down the block, walking to his apartment, when he finally managed to exhale. That had been completely unexpected.

It had been several years since anyone had truly captured his attention—not since he first met Milah, and certainly not since she died. He’d tried dating a few times, but nothing ever felt…right.

(He’d pretty much given up on love entirely since the accident that took his hand and his Naval post. Mainly because he had to work on himself in that regard first.)

It had been a couple hours, but he swore—his hand was still buzzing from where Emma had first touched him. He flexed his fingers and felt a tingle spread through him—not as strong as earlier but it was still somehow running electricity through his nerves.

He was still somewhat berating himself for the choice to kiss her hand—that it had maybe come off as trying too hard—but he hadn’t been able to resist. He also had the sense that Emma would have made it known if the gesture hadn’t been appreciated, and he’d be limping home to nurse his wounds rather than the almost-floating he was currently engaged in.

Emma was certainly beautiful—he knew that much from the pictures he’d seen from Dave, his old Navy buddy—but that wasn’t it; at least, not all of it. She was also smart, fierce, caring, independent, and just—so lovely. (Perhaps a bit prickly, but in a good way—a way he understood.)

But most of all: she got it. Him. Being surrounded by others, yet still being alone. It hadn’t been a major topic of conversation—it was still only a first date, after all—but she had that look: the one you get when you've been on your own.

All of a sudden, he realized he was in front of his building. And all of a sudden, that empty flat loomed above him like a tomb. Sleeping alone was something he was accustomed to, but for the first time in so long, it was the last thing he wanted to do.

But…his vintage Chevelle was right there, parked on the street.

He pulled out his phone from his pocket, only to realize—they hadn’t exchanged digits. Blast.

But they had discussed domiciles—and he knew exactly where her house was, near the little diner he’d discovered while searching for the closest fish and chips Boston had compared to what he’d had growing up in England. (It hadn’t been, but they made a damn fine burger and he’d been back a few times.)

So he fished out his keys and hopped in the car. He didn’t have a ton of confidence in his romantic skills anymore, but he also knew that he only had to get it right one time. It hadn’t happened in the past; maybe this would be it. He’d known enough heartbreak not to hope, but found it sparking inside anyways.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Emma was puttering around her house, trying to find a distraction from thinking about him. But she was coming up short. There was no clutter to put away, no dishes to wash, surprisingly no laundry to fold.

She flopped herself down on her couch and picked up the remote, but nothing on TV sounded good. Scrolling social media on her phone was just a blur of color that she couldn’t focus on.

Her finger hovered over the messaging app. Would David think it was weird if she asked him for Killian’s number? Or rather—would Killian think that? Was it coming on too strong? Should she give space and wait for him to make a move? (Was she imagining all of this?)

This. This was why she didn’t do dating. There were way too many variables.

But, goddammit. Couldn’t this just be the one time the stars aligned and it just…happened?

No; Emma’s life never got to be that easy. And she couldn’t even really justify going to bed yet because it was only 8:05; the sun had only just set.

She threw her head back and groaned. God, she was a mess.

But while she was wallowing in—not misery, not self-loathing, some other thing—she heard the sound of an engine. No one else lived by her, and she hadn’t ordered anything to be delivered. What the hell?

She turned and looked—right into the glare of two headlamps from a 1970s muscle car. The engine shut off, killing the lights—and her heart skipped several beats when she saw who was behind the steering wheel.

Without thinking any further, she jumped up and ran for the door. And promptly ran into her coffee table, but the inevitable bruise on her shin was worth it.

She ended up limping the rest of the way, then took a brief moment to compose herself. And yanked it open.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Killian had ran up to Emma’s door, and was just about to knock when it swung open.

Part of him had been second-guessing this gesture the entire drive over, romantic as it was intended to be. She gave him a small smile, but that didn’t completely assure him that this advance wasn’t unwanted.

“Sorry; I—” he started, but she cut him off.

With a kiss.

She fisted her hands in the lapels of his leather jacket and pulled him close; he wasted no time in wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight.

When their lips met—it was instantaneous: whether they were real or imagined, sparks flew, jolting him from head to toe. It was incandescent—explosive—thrilling—terrifying—in all the best ways.

They broke for air, but stayed close. “You felt it, too?” he murmured; he had to ask.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “So much.”

“Maybe we should kiss again—just to make sure,” he suggested.

She looked up at him and smirked, then dragged him in the house.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

Killian wasn’t sure of much; just that this felt right. And it could either break his heart—or bring it back to life. It was a risk he was willing to take.

Thankfully, Emma was of the same mind—maybe even thinking about forever on her end. All he knew was that he was willing to spend just as long to figure it (them) out—especially if every touch had the same electricity as the first.

》* 。 • ˚ ˚ ˛ ˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。* 。 • ˚《

thanks so much for reading! tagging some friends:

@optomisticgirl @xpumpkindumplingx @cocohook38 @kmomof4 @kat2609 @shipsxahoy @mryddinwilt @annytecture @phiralovesloki @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @wistfulcynic @initiala @idoltina @pirateherokillian @colinoeyebrows @wingedlioness @word-bug @thejollyroger-writer @ineffablecolors @stubblesandwich @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis @scientificapricot @searchingwardrobes @donteattheappleshook @jrob64 @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @klynn-stormz @resident-of-storybrooke

#cs ff #captain swan ff #cs modern au #spartanguard: from the vault #my ff

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captain-mj · 1 year

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Ahhfhajbsua I know it was just posted this morning but please I'm desperate, I'm begging on my knees for more swanmaiden graves

I need to see everyones reactions, especially Soaps. How will the selkie (he was the selkie right???) react to him doing the exact thing he's probably afraid of someone using his coat for? Even if graves betrayed them thats gotta mess with some trust

I'm so glad you liked it! Also, yes! Soap was the selkie Previous part here

Price left Graves in his cell for now. He made tea for those of his group that drank it. Vanilla for Ghost, Mint for Farah, Chamomile for Gaz. The coffee drinkers could figure it the evil coffee machine Alejandro had. It had burnt Price once and he had refused to touch it since.

Alejandro laughed at him and offered to show him and he shook his head.

“No thanks. Tea is better anyway.” Price held his cup gingerly.

“Whatever you say, hermano.” Alejandro smiled before glancing around. “Where is your shadow?”

“In containment right now. Tied up tight, don’t worry. Wanted to explain that we have him to everyone first. Get all of the outrage out of the way before we talk.”

“So the plan is extort him for information right?”

“Exactly. The feathers are with me. If you can understand colonel, I’d like to hold on to them.”

Alejandro nodded. “When you need to sleep or a break, just let someone know. Best we keep those watched at all times.”

Price nodded and gently touched the feathers. He had stashed him in his gear, making sure none of them would bend or break in his pocket. They were really soft. Part of him anticipated some strange spell like Ghost had described when he put on Soap’s coat. A calling to control or own. But there was nothing. Maybe a small bit of protectiveness, but he couldn’t be sure if that was the feathers or how vulnerable Graves was in his current position.

“Gentlemen.” Alejandro got all of their attention. After he had made himself and Rudy a cup of coffee, of course. Price thought they were sweet. “We’ve caught Graves.”

Ghost spoke up first. His mask was pulled up to drink so they could all see the angry frown on his face. “How?”

Price slowly held out the feathers, letting them dangle delicately. It reminded him of the windchimes he had seen recently. He had a neighbor as a kid who was obsessed with them. She would hang feathers on them, claiming that it did something to the spirits. She always seemed slightly sad.

Price moved his hand, making the feathers twirl slightly. The light caught them and they shimmered, so beautiful.

“They’re his. He’s a shifter.”

Ghost put his hand on Soap. It was subtle, but it was protective. Soap visibly tensed, holding the edge of the table tightly.

Gaz’s hand went to his necklace, gently cupping it. Both of them had… intimate knowledge of having items like this over their heads. Price felt guilty for making them have to deal with this.

“I can’t control his actions with them. But if for any reason you have to hold them, be careful. Causes intense pain if you do anything.”

“That’s a downside?” Ghost muttered, glancing at Soap’s bandaged arm.

Price shook his head. “Don’t want to kill him. He has a lot of information that will be useful for catching Shepherd. Plus, if we mess them up too much… They’re not like Soap’s pelt. They don’t repair.” He showed the single feather he had bent, how it still curved. “Break them too much, we won’t have leverage left.”

Soap stood up and went to get coffee, ignoring the still steaming cup in front of him.

Price watched him go before looking back at everyone. “Alejandro has agreed that I’ll keep ahold of them. I’ll be passing them off when I need breaks.”

They all nodded and Alejandro continued. “We plan on interrogating him soon. We doubt it’ll be easy but he will give us information. One way or another.”

One of the Vaqueros got him out. Someone most’ve sprayed him off because he and his clothes were dripping, but he no longer had the dirt and ash from before. It looked like he had been scrubbed clean as well, though it wasn’t clear if that was his own doing, the water pressure or someone else. Price’s stomach churned at the thought of someone touching him when he was vulnerable. The whole situation was far out of his comfort zone though.

Slowly, Graves admitted through gritted teeth. “Yes. I’m a bird shifter. Born, not turned. Whole family was like this.” Price noted the use of the word was. He eyed him with caution as he continued to speak. “Feathers help me shift. Need them back.”

“All of them have feathers like that? Never seen them before.” Gaz asked curiously.

“Maybe you’re not as well traveled as you think.” Graves hissed.

Price interrupted, deciding not to let this continue. He lightly smacked the back of Graves’s head, since it was the only convenient thing he could do at this angle. “Tell us about Shepherd.”

“I’m not going to tell you anything.”

Rodolfo stood in front of him, the air shifting just a bit. “Why work for him? What did he give you? He left you to die.”

“He paid well. It’s not about him really. Can’t catch work if I have a history of betraying my customers, can I?” Graves grinned at him.

Price shook his head and, taking the feathers with him, walked away. “Get me if you get anything useful out of him.” He went to check on Soap.

Soap was sipping a new cup of coffee and he smiled when Price came in. It didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m fine, Captain.”

“I know you are. I also know this is a touchy subject for you.”

Soap sighed. “It’s… necessary. I know that. If it was me, I know you’d do it to me too. Nothing personal. He’s the enemy. I just… hate that you can do that.”

Price wanted to reassure him that he’d never let someone do that to him. Hell, he wouldn’t have to do much since he knew Ghost would put a stop to it immediately. But he understood that didn’t change the point. Price was willing to do it to someone else.

“I’m fine Captain. If it gets us one step closer to taking down Shepherd, one step closer to getting revenge for Los Almas and stopping who knows what else, I’m willing to put up with it. Can’t say I’m happy about it, but I’ll live. I escape with a bullet wound. A lot of people didn’t escape at all.”

Price nodded. “You’ll be a good captain one day, Soap. I just hope you never have to deal with anything like this during your service.”

“Aye.” Soap smiled at him.

Gaz kept Price informed on what was going on. Graves was determined not to spill any secrets.

Price arranged for them to be alone again. He noticed Graves didn’t clam up quite as bad with just him. Most likely it was the volume of people that crowded around him. He couldn’t particularly blame Graves for lashing out when he felt cornered.

“Phillip.” Trying to give the man a tiny bit of humanity back, he had him in a chair this time. Both of them facing each other.

“Don’t. Call me that.” Graves growled at him. His hair had started to dry, but it still stuck to his skin. Price noticed it fell in odd patterns and suddenly the hair gel in his things made sense.

“Graves. Talk to me. It would make this all so much easier.”

“I can’t tell you about Shepherd.”

Price paused. “You don’t know anything about him, do you?”

Graves frowned. “Of course I do.”

“No. You don’t. That’s the problem isn’t it? You don’t know where he is.”

Graves rolled his eyes. “I’m not a toddler or a FNG. That little trick won’t work on me.” He did slump a little though, like the posture he had as a commander suddenly weighed on him. His arms were tied behind his back loosely so it made him look… small. Dejected.

Price stared at him. Graves was a handsome man. He wouldn’t deny that. But… He was also really pretty. His features weren’t feminine per say, but they were a bit soft. And right now, on his knees, he didn’t seem like a commander at all. “Did you give the order?”

“I followed my orders as I was paid.” Graves hissed at him. “Shepherd paid me. I did as told.”

“Your men did as they were told.” Price corrected. “As you told them too. And they’re dead for it.” He wondered how Graves coped with the loss.

As the man’s face crumbled, he realized the answer was “not well”. His head tilted down and he shook it lightly. “Yeah. They’re dead. You took them out.”

“They we-” Price started, almost indignant.

Graves quickly interrupted. “I’m not saying it was… unjust. You were men following orders, same as I. I just… I lost a lot of people that day. When you grabbed those feathers, I felt it. You say you’re not human, though I don’t know what you are. If you’re like me, you’ll understand.”

“I’m not like you.” Price meant it in more ways than one.

“Then I can’t explain. But its like someone reached through time and space to touch me. A collar around my throat. Brand of ownership. I would never, ever let Shepherd do that to me. My men… Most of them knew. They wouldn’t have let that happen. Though it hurt, though the ancient bonds that bound me to those feathers hated me for it, I called their families first. I luckily don’t cough of blood or fall to pieces or anything too dramatic. I don’t want to give you the wrong idea that I was some martyr by doing that. But I called each one and walked here.”

“Didn’t bother to clean yourself up?”

Graves laughed. “No. Why should I? You guys blew up my fucking tank. You were expecting a half dead mess. That’s what I gave you.”

Price stared down at him. Grief wracked didn't seem like enough to explain his expression. “What were their names?”

“No.” Graves shook his head. “I said I understood. I said I didn’t think it unjust. But I’d rather you rip me to shreds than have you say those names to me. You didn’t meet any of them. They’re dead and they’ll stay dead. Plus i think half of them would haunt me if I let you know.”

“Me specifically or the 141?”

“All of you. Vaqueros included.” Graves grinned a little, looking tired.

“Did you sleep last night?”

“In this cold room with nothing but concrete and a bed I couldn’t manage to get on with how I was tied up? Yes. I long blinked for a while.”

Price laughed. “What?”

Graves watched his mouth. “It’s a joke. Your eyes are closed when you sleep.”

“I got the joke, Graves. It’s just… a rather bad one. Didn’t take you for the type.”

“Good old Southern humor. Dry as a fucking biscuit.” Graves tilted his head back, stretching as if trying to wake himself up.

Price tilted his head, only now that it was pointed out, catching the slight lilt to some of Graves words. “Don’t sound southern.”

Graves said in the thickest accent possible. “Well, howdy Pardner, I’ll be sure to throw in some y’alls and hankerins and other southernisms in there for ya.” He laughed, almost giddily and Price wondered why a Commander got so fuzzy off one night of bad sleep.

“Alright.” Price tried to mimic him, but it came out a little off which made Graves grin more. “I’ll stop pesterin ya for the night.” He ended up laughing half way through as he got up and moved Graves. It was only once he had almost lifted him off the ground that two things became very clear.

One, the small part wasn’t in his head. Graves only came up to his chin, probably only about 5’9. He was also a lot slimmer than he looked under the gear. Still as toned as the average soldier, but definitely meant more for the stealth work that mercenaries would be of more use for.

Second, Graves smelled like smoke. More specifically, burning metal and C4. He’d have to arrange for the man to get an actual shower because it was nauseating this close.

Price dropped him in the bed. Watching him grunt when he fell on his bound arms.

“Ow.”

“Don’t betray us next time.”

Graves huffed and stared at him. “What are you exactly?”

“I’m like you. Don’t really have a name.”

“Any stories about ya?”

“Nope. Sorry to disappoint. Go to sleep.”

“Any chance I can convince ya to tie my hands in front of me?” Graves looked up at him.

Price laughed. “Absolutely not.”

“Worth a shot.”

#cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #Phillip graves #John Price #Captain John Price #Price x Graves #Graves x Price #swan maiden #Swan Maiden Au

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booksteaandtoomuchtv · 5 months

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Witchy Woman (9/10)

64.media.tumblr.com

0.5 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | AO3 | 10

LOOK AT THIS STUNNING ARTWORK BY @cocohook38

Summary: When Emma came into her position as Storybrooke Coven Leader, she ended things with the powerful Vampire Overlord, Killian Jones. She’s spent over a decade working alongside him and ignoring the growing tension between them.

During his best mate’s wedding, Killian decides he is done waiting. He is ready to have his mate back in his arms (and bed) again. Emma is not an easy woman to woo, but Killian has never backed down from a challenge.

When Emma’s jilted ex-boyfriend returns to town and Emma goes missing, Killian will stop at nothing to get her back and ensure that nothing can ever separate them again.

Rating: E

CW: Mention of domestic abuse, blood and blood drinking (vampires), threatening situations, minor violence, death, mention of parental death

Entry for Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2023 (@cssns)

Tag: @anmylica, @deckerstarblanche, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4, @pirateswhore, @stahlop, @teamhook, @tiganasummertree, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert (let me know if you want to be added or dropped)

Killian woke up with Emma on his chest and the blankets wrapped tightly around them. Emma had built her cocoon around them both sometime in the night. Her sea-coloured eyes were already on his and she wore a contented smile while she twirled her finger in the patch of hair on his chest.

“What a lovely sight to see upon waking, Swan.”

“I've been admiring the view myself,” she said before placing a chaste kiss on his chest.

He ran his hand along her side, squeezing her tight to him as he did so. Her soft skin pressed against his beneath the blankets. Everything was perfect. These moments were becoming more frequent - they were no less precious in their frequency. With these once fleeting moments of warmth, contentedness, and connection becoming commonplace between them, their relationship felt more real, more substantial, than it had before. She wasn’t going to vanish from his grasp between one second and the next.

“I need to get up and shower and help Anna with the beach party preparations and…” Killian interrupted her task list with a sweet kiss.

“Let’s start with the shower - that is something I can help you with.”

“Okay, yeah.” Emma shifted off him to the en suite. “But after coffee, I have to go.”

“Hmm, that is a while from now,” Killian answered as he followed her into the bathroom to run the water for them. He tugged her into his shower and water engulfed them from all sides. He chuckled at the deep groan that she released when the side jet nearest to her hit her lower back. He kneaded his hand and his blunted arm into her lower back muscles, enjoying the sounds of her sighs and moans when he hit upon a particularly sore spot.

“I’m never going to leave if you keep this up.”

“That’s the plan, love.” Killian smiled cheekily at her as she turned to hug him in the warm water.

“This is nice.”

“Aye, that it is.”

“I like waking up with you,” Emma admitted softly. Killian broke their embrace to lather soap on them both.

“Should you move in with me, we would never need to wake up any other way.” Killian hadn’t intended to ask her, but he did not regret it. He wanted her to be the first thing that he saw every morning, the blanket thief in his bed each night, the clothing left strewn about the immaculate house, the other coffee cup on the counter top, and all the thousands of tiny things that are involved in sharing a life together.

“Hmm. You want me to move in with you so that we can always wake up together?”

“Aye. That’s one reason.” He answered after they rinsed off the soap.

“Not the only one?”

“There are so many reasons that I want to share a home with you, Emma. Move in with me and let me show them to you?”

The water seemed to roar more loudly in the quiet that followed. Time slowed in that cruel way it does when the next second will irrevocably impact your life. Perhaps, it is meant to help you prepare in case the ensuing second arrives ready to break you beyond repair. Maybe it is less malicious than that, a moment stretched out so that you know to pay attention and be fully present because what happens next matters.

Killian intently watched as thoughts and emotions flickered wildly behind Emma’s eyes, as she drew in a breath to answer, as she formed the words that propelled time suddenly forward.

“You do have a kitchen full of my favourite snacks,” Emma smiled excitedly up at him. His heart was cliche as it soared with joy.

“Aye, and these plush towels you love so much,” he said, wrapping her in a towel as they stepped out of the shower.

“And, that insanely large and comfortable bed.”

“Aye, and coffee,” he offered, “with cinnamon.”

“All with the vampire that I love.”

“All for the witch that I love.”

§§§§ §§§§ §§§§ §§§§

The connection that they’d forged between them last night felt like a thread pulling and guiding them together. It was a bit strange at first - when she left to catch up with Anna, it had felt like a rubber band angry with being stretched to its limit. But, it quickly became a comfort, especially, after all the time they’d spent apart.

As he went about his day, checking security for the beach party and of the town, he grew accustomed to the gentle nudge at his chest urging him ever closer to her. At times, he was sure he could detect echoes of emotion that belonged to his witch.

There was also a new awareness of the strands of magic flowing around him and through him that he knew meant he’d absorbed some of her powers. He was a magical creature, his magic was an essential part of his being and ruled him, but her powers gave her control over magic. He wanted to explore this with her further, to ensure he could use her gifts without a cost to her and to experience the world as she did. Plus, he thought up some positions and games for them to try once he learned how her telekinesis worked.

He was completing a final check of the security plan for tomorrow’s event before heading to the beach party when he received an email from Smee reporting a new possible security risk.

“Bloody,” Killian cursed as he opened the missive. He couldn’t afford to overlook any potential situation just because he was anxious to get to the beach.

He skimmed the report - a non-issue. But, he’d been delayed far longer than he wished. He shut down his computer and cleaned off his desk when the echoes of emotion that had accompanied him through the bond all day fell silent.

His heart pounded as he pulled out his phone and called David. He was travelling at the height of his vampiric speed, the beach almost in view, as he listened to the phone ringing out.

The band was playing and the party was in full swing when he reached the shoreline. The tether to Emma tugged him away from the party. Fear that didn’t belong to him crawled up his spine - Emma.

“Hey, it’s David. Leave a message.”

Killian cursed, waiting for the beep. “Something has happened to Emma. I am tracking her and sharing my location with you. When you get this, find me. See you soon, mate.”

He followed that wonderful tug toward the abandoned mines. When he reached the entrance, he caught her scent mixed with another he knew well. Smee?

As if in answer to his question, Smee emerged from the dark.

“Sire?”

“Mr Smee,” Killian acknowledged. “Why aren’t you at your post?”

“I got a call about some werewolves causing trouble nearby. I came to check it out.”

Liar. The thought came from the magic swirling around him - Emma’s lie detector was more literal than he ever considered. The betrayal stung for a moment. The way his scent was so intermingled with Emma’s suggested that Smee was a part of what was happening with Emma. He wanted to demand answers, to hurt Smee the way Emma’s fear was hurting him, but he had to get to her. He didn’t want to waste time on Smee’s games.

He smiled at Smee, all teeth and predator. Smee had a moment to process the threat before Killian rushed him and tore his head from his shoulders in one quick movement. He left the body and head at the mouth of the shaft and entered the mine.

He could feel the anger radiating from her through the thread that connected them now. Anger meant she would find a way to fight, that would buy him time to reach her.

As he raced deeper into the mine, Killian’s chest started to burn as if it were being set on fire. What the fuck is happening?

He set his teeth against the crippling pain and pressed on. He encountered a few weak werewolves blocking his progress. A wave of his hand sent them into the rock wall, knocking them out, and clearing the way forward.

Screaming bounced around the dark walls around him and the scent of Emma’s blood was thick in the air. A growl tore through him as rage, red and hot, overtook him. He stormed forward, entering a cavern lined with sigils and one large stone slab where Emma was restrained and screaming as she battled a force he could not see.

Regina and Neal stood in the space, watching the brutal scene unfold before them. Regina’s mouth was moving quickly, chanting the spell that was attacking Emma. Neal turned to face him with a broad smile on his face. “She’s going to be mine, now,” Neal gloated in way of greeting.

Killian flung him against a wall to be dealt with later and turned his attention to the witch harming his mate. He darted toward her. She raised an arm, suspending him in mid-stride. Her chanting continued as she held him with little effort. He fought against Regina’s magic with all his strength but failed to overpower her magic, failed to stop Emma’s suffering.

Regina smiled.

Now would be a fantastic time to arrive, David.

Killian stopped fighting against Regina’s power. It wrapped around him and held him in place. A witch’s magic would always be more powerful than the raw strength of either a vampire or a werewolf. It was how the gods kept the balance between the creatures. He just needed to figure out some other way to best her.

An itch in his fingers alerted him of a change in the magic restraining him. It was gathering at his fingertips, aligning with the magic at his call, no longer holding him in place but awaiting his commands.

He snarled forcing the magic back into Regina. It halted her chanting before tearing her into pieces from the inside out. A pile of purple dust gathered where the villainess had just stood. “Bloody hell.” Emma’s magic was a truly terrifying and wonderful thing.

Turning to the slab, he waved away her restraints and pulled her into his arms. She was unconscious as he turned to take her out of this hell. But she was safe, now. He gripped her tight to him, the relief of her heart beating against his chest almost brought him to his knees.

“I think I hear something in this direction.”

“David, my magic says they are this way.” Mary Margaret’s voice rang out through the tunnels.

“Mary Margaret. David. We’re here.” Killian called, his voice breaking with emotion. She’s safe, now. She will be okay.

§§§§ §§§§ §§§§ §§§§

For every day that Emma did not wake, Killian carved a reminder into Neal’s flesh. For every time she called out Killian’s name during her endless slumber, he would break a bone, heal it, and break it again. The hisses and cries of her tormentor did very little to ease his anger, but even a drop of water is worth collecting if you’re dying of thirst.

He entered the cell holding Neal, for now, ready to claim his flesh as the seventh day passed without any change. They had healed her with his venom, the bones in her hand knitted together days ago, her body was healthy but her mind was still out of reach. He felt like he was slowly losing parts of himself every day she stayed in this state. Perhaps, it was why he was enjoying taking parts from Neal so much.

Neal looked up as Killian entered, the fear behind his eyes dulled from the day before, and his posture seemed resigned but no longer hopeless. A dark feeling crept through Killian, his jaw clenching against it.

“How’s Ems?”

“You don’t get to ask.” Killian shut the door behind him, the lock engaging automatically behind him with a quiet click. “I do apologise, Neal, for you seem to have mistaken yourself for a guest in my home. Or a plaything that I intend to keep around for some time.”

Neal’s eyes widened and the sharp acidic scent of fear filled the air as it dawned on him that tonight was going to be different than the previous six. Killian’s smirk was all hungry predator toying with his prey. “I assure you that I intend to rectify those misconceptions most thoroughly before I leave tonight. I am afraid that does mean that you won’t live to see tomorrow, mate.”

Killian smiled when Neal rallied his courage to make a last stand against him. He was hungry for a fight. Neal attacked first, lunging for Killian with his fangs extended as if they would pose any threat to Killian. Killian laughed without humour knocking the weaker vampire to the ground. He put his boot against Neal’s arm, pinning him to the floor.

“She will never forgive you for killing me.” Neal spit out. Killian increased the pressure on Neal’s arm until a satisfying crack split the air. Neal grunted in pain, tears leaking from his eyes.

“She doesn’t like you nearly as much as you’ve told yourself,” Killian said smoothly.

“She’ll leave you. That’s what she does.” Neal’s voice was between a whimper and a whine, a pathetic sound befitting the creature he was.

A light knock at the door prevented Killian from responding. Killian’s heart squeezed in his chest, he knew what that knock meant.

“Goodbye, Neal.” Killian dug his hook into Neal’s chest piercing his black heart. Neal pulled in one last wheezing breath before Killian grabbed a fistful of his hair. “I can’t say you’ll be missed,” Killian growled as he pulled.

Killian kicked the heap of Neal’s body before turning on his heel and leaving the cell. David stood outside of the door. He nodded slightly to Killian, a small smile tugging at this lips, as Killian emerged from the room. Pulse racing, Killian turned to the guard he’d posted at the door, “Will, dispose of the tosser and ensure he is properly turned to ash.”

“Yes, sire.”

“Good man.” Killian made his way back to his room in the best spirits he’d been in all week.

Emma was waking.

#cssns23 #vampire!Killian #witch!Emma #Emma x Killian #Emma Swan #Killian Jones #Captain Swan #CS AU fanfic #CS modern AU fanfic #OUAT AU fanfic #inspired by Stay A Spell #ouat captain hook #killian x emma #cs fanfic #once upon a time #ouat #cs ff #art by cocohook38

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myfearless-love · 3 months

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Fields of Freedom - Chapter 2.

SUMMARY: In a twist that even her inner circle couldn't predict, Emma abandons the urban hustle for the enchanting embrace of farm life, spurred by an unexpected inheritance. Armed with determination but little agrarian know-how, she enlists the help of her mysterious neighbor, Killian Jones. What starts as a simple offer of farming expertise blossoms into a harvest of support that neither Emma nor Killian saw coming. Turns out, amid the sprawling fields, it's Killian who secretly yearns for a helping hand in the delicate dance of life.

Words: 7k

TW: domestic violence

Chapters: 2/2

Buy me a coffee if you like :)

Read on: AO3 or FF.net

Tagging some people who might be interested: @anmylica @elfiola @zaharadessert @gingerchangeling @undercaffinatednightmare @jrob64 @teamhook @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @mie779 @winterbaby89 @tiganasummertree @stahlop @rylieblu @ultraluckycatnd @eddisfargo @booksteaandtoomuchtv @laianely @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke @beckettj @whimsicallyenchantedrose @captainswan-kellie

#captain swan #cs ff #killian jones #emma swan #once upon a time #ouat #ouat ff #emma x killian #captain hook #cs #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #modern au #farmer Killian #city girl Emma #niki writes #FoF

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kazoosandfannypacks · 10 months

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Postcards (CaptainSwan Drabble)

requested by anon

The sun shone on the porch, where Killian's guitar serenaded Emma as he searched for the courage to tell her what was on his heart.

"I like you," Killian blurted, before he could talk himself out of it.

"What?" Emma asked.

"I- you make me feel alive, like every moment is a summer evening like these." he said, "I just want you to know."

"Do you really mean that?" Emma asked.

"With all my heart."

"Good," Emma smiled, "'cause I like you too."

He smiled like a kid on the schoolyard, discovering the rush of first love all over again.

(a/n and tags under the cut)

a/n: this is the fastest I've ever gotten one of these drabbles written. The fic really wrote itself, and the song gave me so much joy as I was writing. Thank you for the excellent request, anon!

taglist: @zahara @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @teamhook @undercaffinatednightmare @gingerchangeling @lonelyspectator @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @cs-rylie @silver-the-phoenix @pawshapedheart [if you’d like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

send me a ship and a song and i'll write a drabble!

#once upon a time #ouat #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #once upon a time season 3 #au #modern au #fanfiction #captain swan fanfiction #cs ff #fanfic #drabble #cs drabble #the ol' kazzle drabble #kazzy writes #kazzy writes fanfic #postcards #james blunt

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iamstartraveller776 · 1 year

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A/N: In jest, @averbaldumpingground challenged me to write all 20 prompts from this fake dating list. Well, joke’s on my friend, I accepted the challenge. I’m doing 500-word ficlets for each, using different fandoms/ships.

I’m taking a bit more artistic license for this one.

2. “I’m easy. Buy me a nice ring and I’ll lie to your parents.” —OUAT/Captain Swan (ao3)

A FAVOR

Killian sits at the bar, spinning his untouched rum in languid circles. He curses the nervous energy sparking beneath his skin. Emma Swan is hardly more than an acquaintance, his best mate’s adopted sister, in fact. And utterly off-limits, even if he were so inclined. Meeting her boyfriend last year—or is it fiancé now?—cured any such budding notions.

But Emma sounded so earnest on the phone when she asked him to meet her.

The front door creaks open, and his pulse ratchets up at the sight of her long blond locks. She shrugs out of her coat, shakes the late Spring snowfall from it before hanging it on a nearby rack. Her eyes catch his, and he offers her a smile—one that dips a tick when he notices the small but unmistakable bump in her belly.

“Thanks for meeting me,” she says as she takes the stool next to his.

He waits until she orders her drink—a club soda with lime—before replying, “Of course, love.” He holds up his tumbler. “I see that congratulations are in order.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” she mutters with a grimace. Before he can question her lackluster response, she says, “So, I have a really weird favor to ask you, and I don’t want it getting back to David.”

Killian raises a brow as he weighs the consequences of keeping this secret from his mate. Curiosity wins over caution in the end. “I’ll be the very soul of discretion.”

She sags in relief. “There’s a company retreat next weekend,” she explains. “I need you to come and pretend to be my husband.”

Killian stares at her. Out of all the potential favors she might have asked of him, this one didn’t even make the list. “I don’t quite understand. Wouldn’t you want…” he trails off, trying to remember the name of her significant other.

“Neal?” Emma lets out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, no. He’s long gone.”

There’s a story there, but she doesn’t seem keen on expounding. It’s not his business anyway. “Even so, why should you need a fake husband?”

She rolls her eyes. “Because the CEO is a traditionalist, and he made a point to tell me to bring my spouse next weekend. The imaginary spouse I’ve been talking about for the last four months.” She downs the rest of her club soda. “I’m pretty sure my promotion rides on it.”

Well, now. That was a fine spot of trouble she’s landed herself in.

She sucks in a breath. “So, will you do it?”

He’s always had trouble resisting a beautiful, tough lass in distress. Bloody hell. He gives her a devilish grin. “Buy me a nice ring, and I’ll be the most devoted husband your boss has ever laid eyes on.”

“Thank you, Killian.” She leans into him for a quick and enthusiastic embrace.

As he inhales the pleasant scent of lavender in her hair, he’s fairly certain that this has disaster written all over it.

~FIN~

#captain swan #cs fanfic #cs ff #killian jones x emma swan #my fic #au #modern non magical

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zaharadessert · 8 months

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Get Your Motor Running

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: cnc

Length: 6k

Summary: Emma Nolan is driving home to Storybrooke having finished college, when her car breaks down. With no cell service the only thing in walking distance is the local biker bar...

Notes: So this has been sitting in a folder for ages, and I was inspired by a drawing from @wild-werewolf that someone shared with me today to post it. So here it is! Art (when I stip Having arguments with the hosting site...) by me, Beta is the lovely @kmomof4

Tagging: @kmomof4 @teamhook @winterbaby89 @jonesfandonfanatic @undercaffinatednightmare @anmylica @elfiola @booksteaandtoomuchtv @tiganasummertree @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @myfearless-love @lfh1226-linda @pawshapedheart @xhookswenchx @wefoundloveunderthelight @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @itsfabianadocarmo @ouatpost @ultraluckycatnd @thepirateandhisson @xsajx @captainswan21 @spaceconveyor @pirateprincessofpizza @sparlecorn93 @hollyethecurious @ammelia

As always, let me know if you’d like me to add you to my taglist for future fics :) Apologies, 90% of my taglist appears to be refusing to tag people and I can't work out why??? ugh.

Complete story on AO3

- - - - -

The coastal road into her home town was picturesque and full of nostalgia, if Emma had been driving it during the day. But it was late and the once familiar, narrow, winding road was instead treacherous and foreboding. She’d hoped to be driving it as the sun was setting, making the most of the view. But with issues getting out of the city due to roadwork, then accidents and uncommonly bad traffic on the interstate, she was running about four hours behind schedule.

It seemed her run of bad luck was far from over. She rounded a particularly tricky corner and the engine started to sputter. By some miracle, there was a view stop she could pull into and she managed to get clear of the road just as the engine died completely.

Emma could have raged and screamed with frustration, only about twenty to twenty-five minutes from her parents house. Instead, she sighed, rolling her grip around the steering wheel and letting her head rest on it for a moment, tears welling in her eyes.

She took a couple of deep breaths and shoved the door open, stepping out of the car and popping the hood on the back of her bug. There was a bit of steam, and some hissing but nothing obvious that she could see. All the fluid levels had read as normal for what she’d expect after a long journey, but maybe this was just a few miles too many for her trusty vessel.

She shook her head and slammed the lid shut. Grabbing her phone off the front seat, she found she had no signal. It was spotty at best out here, but she hadn’t expected her car to die, either… Her battery was super low, and she knew by the time she’d walked far enough to find a signal, it would probably be dead and with no way to charge it because her car was out of commission.

She should have put it on charge when she got stuck in traffic just past Boston, but she had been cut off by that asshole in a Toyota and had completely forgotten. And now, here she was. On five percent battery, with no signal, on a winding road in the middle of the night.

#captain swan #cs ff #zaharadessert writes #apparently i art too #biker!killian #sheriff'sdaughter!emma #modern au

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searchingwardrobes · 11 months

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Scarborough Fair: 8/?

I apologize for the long wait for this chapter! We just moved into a new house, and at first we didn't have internet. I also felt that every spare moment needed to be spent unpacking and getting the house all set up. I finally escaped to Barnes and Noble to write because I just can't do it at home right now! Anyways, I hope the contents of this chapter make it up to you. We're getting to the good stuff ;)

Is the situation Emma is in as a pregnant foster teen accurate? I really have no idea, but it's in the book Impossible that this is based on. I also have no idea if you can make a shirt like that. Again, I'm going by the book Impossible. I'm not following it exactly, but those two plot points were kind of important, so I left them in. Anyways, things are going to keep getting steamier from here on out, though our lovers are far from out of danger. Plus, we've still got Snow, David, and their kingdom out there somewhere, so hang on, folks! It's gonna be a romantic yet bumpy ride.

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Emma Swan has had a charmed life, despite being a foster child. She has a wonderful family who loves her, and the best friends in the world. The only thing that mars her idyllic existence is her birth mother: a homeless woman who mutters nonsensical rhymes and claims to be Snow White. One fateful night, however, Emma’s world is shattered. Perhaps her mother’s rhymes aren’t nonsense after all.

Rated: M for date rape, dubious consent, teen pregnancy, and sexy times (the good kind!)

Words: Over 3k in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging: (let me know if you wish to be removed or added): @snowbellewells @teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @xhookswenchx-reads-blog @thisonesatellite @welllpthisishappening @spartanguard @ohmakemeahercules @tiganasummertree @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1 @jamif @undercaffinatednightmare @onceratheart18 @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1 @jonesfandomfanatic @hollyethecurious

Chapter Eight:

The entire family jumped right in to help Emma solve the riddle that had defeated her mother. Liam dove back into every bit of research he had accumulated about the song Scarborough Fair. He and Ingrid met with the art professor he had mentioned who had done her dissertation on textiles. Elsa talked to the scientists on board ship and zoomed with the family every single day. Even Anna found her niche, taking Emma to the library and helping her check out every book available about pregnancy and childbirth.

And Killian? He was the rock she could lean on. The one who made her smile or laugh just when things got too heavy. He also ran whatever errands he needed to: taking Emma to her first prenatal appointment, shopping for a long list of different types of fabrics at the craft store to make this impossible shirt, and going for a late night ice cream run when Emma’s cravings started. In some ways, nothing changed.

Yet his declaration of love still hung in the air. He hadn’t brought it up again, hadn’t treated her any differently, hadn’t asked her on a date or tried to get physical. He was giving her space to decide what she wanted, and it honestly was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her.

At the same time, Emma was confused. She had always loved Killian, of course. But was it romantic love? She could even admit she had been physically attracted to him at times, but did that mean she was in love with him? Did she even want something like that right now, when she was processing having a kid of all things and still healing from a violent rape? Did Killian fully understand what he would be getting himself into? Did she want to burden him with all her crap?

She was just completely and utterly confused.

Then, as if she didn’t have enough to worry about, Ingrid came home one day from work visibly shaken. The entire family stilled in the process of getting dinner on the table when they saw her standing in the kitchen, her face ashen.

“What is it?” Liam asked, his voice filled with dread.

“Emma,” she said, her voice choking on her foster daughter’s name, “Liam and I need to talk to you. Immediately.”

Killian found Emma later, sobbing in her bed. When she poured it all out to him, he was livid.

“This is absolute shit! I can’t believe they would do that!”

“They would, and they can,” Emma explained as she hugged her pillow to her torso. “Because I’m still technically in foster care, my baby automatically is, too.”

“They can’t just take it away from you!”

Emma shrugged. “Ingrid and Liam are no longer licensed to take in infants. I either have to find somewhere else to live, or my baby will be put in a different foster home.”

“Can’t they just get licensed?”

Emma shook her head. “It’s a year-long process of paperwork and visitations from social workers. I’m due in five months! Killian, what am I going to do? Where am I going to go?”

She began to sob again, and when Killian eased into the bed next to her and put his arms around her, he could feel the small swell at her abdomen where her baby was growing. He felt a strong desire to protect them both.

“We won’t let them take you or the baby away from us. We’re a family.”

“That’s what your brother said. Exactly.”

Killian chuckled. “Of course he did.”

“But Killian,” she choked out, “what happens if I don’t solve the riddle? I was comforted at least knowing my baby would be safe and raised by Ingrid and Liam, but now . . .”

She sobbed again against his chest, and he held her tight. “I won’t let that happen,” he vowed. “You aren’t going to go mad, Emma, you won’t. We’ll solve this. All of it. Together.”

*************************************************************************

The only time Emma’s family ever used the formal dining room was on Thanksgiving. Someone always had to actually dust the table and air out the room, but Ingrid always insisted they “do Thanksgiving right,” even down to the old chipped china plates with the maple leaf border.

So it felt odd to be in here now with the warm summer sun spilling through the window and shining on the ancient area rug. Assorted fabrics littered the table and a sewing mannequin stood in the corner, the headless and limbless torso sending an ominous shiver down Emma’s spine.

“So this one is probably our best bet,” Ingrid explained.

She cradled the bundle of scratchy, thick fabric and held it out to Emma who reached out and ran her hand over the coarse woolen felt.

“That feels like it would make the most uncomfortable shirt in the history of the world.”

Ingrid shrugged. “Does it really matter? You wet this fabric, mold it to that torso over there, and according to Dr. Freemont, when it dries, it will hold together.”

Emma took the fabric and nodded. “So then we have it. A shirt made without needle or seam.”

“Who’s gonna wear it, though?”

Ingrid and Emma whirled around at the sound of Killian’s voice. Emma’s mouth went dry immediately. He stood there, his hair wet with sweat, and his chest bare. Emma couldn’t stop staring at it. She used to think chest hair was gross. She was wrong. Killian’s was thick and dark, and it set her pulse pounding. Realizing just how long she’d been ogling him, she dragged her gaze up to his face. He gave her a knowing grin as he lifted a carton of milk to his mouth and took a swig.

“Where the hell is your shirt?” Emma snapped.

“Where the hell is your glass,” Ingrid added drily. “You’re not the only one who might like some milk, you know.”

“I just got home from work, and I’m hot,” Killian responded, as if that explained everything.

Emma tried really, really hard not to think of the other connotation of the word hot, but she was failing. Killian hadn’t brought up his declaration since that fateful dinner last week, and Emma was still trying to process it. Yet ever since, she was hyper aware of Killian’s presence.

His lack of a shirt didn’t help, either.

“Pour that milk in a glass, Killian, I’m not kidding,” Ingrid said in her rarely used mom voice.

“Sure,” Killian said, sauntering back towards the kitchen. He gave Emma one more backwards glance with a delighted smirk on his face. Emma’s face heated several degrees.

“I think I know what he means, though,” Ingrid sighed.

“What?” Emma asked, her head still a little fuzzy.

“Is it really a shirt unless someone actually wears it?”

Emma sighed in exasperation. “So have someone wear it.”

“I’ll do it.”

They whirled back around to find Killian standing in the doorway again. He had a glass of milk in one hand and a stack of Oreos in the other. He still hadn’t donned a shirt. Emma found herself staring again, admiring the way a summer working in construction had toned his muscles. She dropped the fabric she’d been clutching in her hands and swore under her breath as it rolled across the floor. Killian smirked at her, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to slap it off his face or kiss him senseless.

“Well,” Ingrid said, seemingly oblivious to the sexual tension in the room, “if Killian’s going to wear it, then that makes things a little more complicated.”

“Why?” Emma and Killian asked simultaneously. He had stepped further into the room, and his close proximity almost made Emma lose hold of the fabric she’d just stooped to pick up.

“Well, if we mold the shirt to that torso over there, and it dries, I don’t think it will fit him.”

“So measure me,” Killian said, taking a bite of a cookie. His back was to Emma now as he addressed Ingrid, and it was just as distracting as the front of him. He had freckles across his shoulders, and a few along the small of his back.

“That won’t work.” Ingrid shook her head. “The fabric doesn’t work that way. Not if we’re trying to make it without needle or seam. We’ll have to mold it to your body.”

Emma gave a little squeak at Ingrid’s words and nearly dropped the fabric all over again. To Killian’s credit, he didn’t acknowledge her reaction.

“What would that entail?” he asked casually, taking a sip of his milk.

“I’m not sure,” Ingrid mused, tapping her finger on her chin.

Silence fell for a moment, the only sounds from Killian snacking on his milk and cookies. Then Ingrid suddenly clapped her hands together.

“I’ve got it! Duct tape!”

Killian’s eyes widened. “If you wrap me in duct tape, you’ll never get it off. Not without taking my skin with it.”

“You could wear a shirt,” Emma said.

“You made that clear already,” Killian smirked at her. “I told you, I’m hot.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I mean for the duct tape. You wear a white undershirt, I wrap it in tape, then I can put the shirt, molded to your torso, on the mannequin. Then I make the shirt.”

“You’d need to be wearing the shirt when she tapes it,” Ingrid clarified.

“I figured that,” Killian nodded.

Emma’s throat went suddenly dry. She’d have to put her hands on his body. She’d have to be in extremely close proximity to him. She was equal parts giddy at the thought and terrified. She was light-headed just thinking about it.

“Perfect,” Killian announced with a grin. “When do we start?”

Emma wanted to ask Ingrid if she would do it for her, but she couldn’t risk that. The riddle implied that Emma had to make the shirt herself. She steeled herself and turned to Killian.

“Shower so you don’t stink, and then we’ll get to work.”

“As you wish,” he told her with a mock bow before he turned from the room.

Ingrid, still oblivious to the fact that Emma was practically swooning and trembling simultaneously, turned away from the dining room table and grabbed her purse from a nearby chair.

“Since you’ve got this under control, I’ll head to the supermarket. Anything you need?”

Slightly dazed, Emma managed to shake her head “no.”

“Great, I’ll see you kids later.”

In the kitchen, Killian rinsed his dirty glass and put it in the dishwasher. He smiled to himself as he headed up the stairs. He hadn’t pressed Emma in any way since his declaration. Whether she shared his feelings or not, he’d told himself, he would still be there for her. Yet the way she’d reacted to him just now gave him hope. Maybe he would win her heart after all.

*******************************************************************************************

“Sit right here,” Emma instructed, pointing to the dinner room chair directly in front of her. Killian obeyed, and when he looked up at her, his eyes didn’t hold teasing as she’d expected. They were tender and vulnerable. Emma swallowed nervously.

“Don’t be nervous,” he told her.

“I’m not,” she scoffed.

“You’re holding that roll of tape so hard, your knuckles are turning white.”

Emma scowled at him and pulled a long strip of tape from the roll. He blanched, and she laughed.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” she told him.

He swallowed, and she followed the motion of his adam’s apple. She licked her lips as she drew closer, touching his arm gently as she raised it.

“I’ll start with the sleeves,” she explained unnecessarily.

She had to slip her fingers beneath the fabric to make sure she didn’t accidentally tape his skin. She thought she heard an intake of breath from his throat as her fingers skimmed his bicep, but maybe she’d imagined it. She wound the tape around and around the sleeve of his shirt, but when she began to wrap it around his shoulder blade, she had to step closer to him. He spread his legs to allow it, and she leaned over him, her breasts pressing against his collarbone. The sharpness of breath this time was impossible to ignore. She paused and locked eyes with him - he face was so close to hers . . .

“Did I hurt you?”

He pressed his lips together and shook his head, so she continued. Was his breathing becoming shallow, or was that her? Was that his heart thumping so fast, or her own? When she wrapped the tape around his chest, she could feel a “thump, thump” beneath her palm.

“Um, Emma, give me a second.”

Killian grabbed a throw pillow from the wingback chair in the corner of the dining room then resumed his seat. He clutched the pillow in his lap, and his face flamed all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Oh,” Emma breathed softly.

Killian swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Emma said, her own cheeks warm.

“I just don’t want to freak you out . . . or scare you or anything. You know, because . . . because of him.”

Emma shook her head, tendrils of hair brushing her cheeks where they fell from the messy bun on the top of her head. She bit her lip as she got lost in his eyes; darker than usual and stormy. She stepped close again, between his legs, and she almost laughed when he clutched the pillow tighter.

“Emma,” he groaned, his eyes falling shut.

“I’m glad,” she said, her own voice deep and trembling, “that I have that effect on you.”

“You do?”

He opened his eyes, and she nodded. Her hands shook as she lifted them and rested them upon his temples. She threaded her fingers through his hair. It was softer than she had imagined. He tipped his head back and watched her intently. She thought of him the other night, stating so matter-of-factly that he loved her. He had said it as something unshakable and infallible. Something as predictable and steady as the seasons. Then they had gone on as they always had, with no demands that she respond to his declaration in any way.

“And you could never scare me, Killian,” she clarified.

Then, suddenly, she was kissing him. She was kissing Killian in the middle of the dining room. His torso was half wrapped in duct tape, he was helping her make this crazy, ridiculous, magical shirt . . .

And she was kissing him. He was kissing her back. He was kissing her back after declaring his love for her at the kitchen table. He was kissing her thoroughly, his tongue exploring her mouth, even though she hadn’t said it back. Or maybe it didn’t matter, she wasn’t sure. After all, this was only the second boy she’d ever kissed. But no, she wasn’t going to think about that or him. Not when Killian was kissing her within an inch of her life.

The pillow he was clutching fell to the floor when he wrapped his arms around her, and Emma could feel his arousal through his jeans and pressing into her. For a split second, fear tried to grab hold of her, but it was banished quickly. He wouldn’t just take her; he wasn’t like that.

Killian pulled away, and Emma was shocked to hear a whimper slip past her lips, especially when he stood up from the chair and took a step back. Why was he pulling away, when they - oh.

He was sinking down on one knee, and she suddenly wondered if she were dreaming. It all felt so surreal, and he was still half wrapped in duct tape. Maybe Snow had whacked her in the head with one of those bottles after all, and all this time she’d been in a coma at the hospital. It would explain so much, honestly.

“Emma,” he said, (and were those tears gathering in his eyes?), “I know this is a lot to ask of you, since you haven’t even told me yet how you feel about me. And this is something I think I always knew I would do eventually, just not now.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them and continuing. His words reverberated in her soul, and she knew he was right, they were always going to arrive here, somehow. She knew it the same way she knew her own reflection.

“But with everything going on, I don’t want to wait. I know you face an uncertain future, Emma, but I always want to be by your side. So, will you marry me?” He didn’t even pause for her answer, but plunged ahead. “It makes so much sense, if you think about it. I mean, we’re going to break this curse, Emma, we will. We won’t give up, ever. But, I know you worry, and if I’m your husband, you won’t have to. You’ll know I’ll be there for the baby. It will be mine, legally. It won’t end up in foster care. Not that anything’s going to happen to you, I swear to you it won’t, but if I can ease your burden . . .”

He trailed off, and Emma sank to her knees right along with him, reaching out to cup his face in her hands.

“And if I do go insane -”

“You won’t!”

“But if we don’t break the curse . . .”

“I’ll take care of you,” he said solemnly, “always and forever.”

It would be selfish of her, she knew that it would, to ask that of him. Nevertheless, his vow felt like the sun breaking through the darkest of clouds, and she knew she couldn’t refuse his gift. Her hands slipped down his shoulders, then his arms, and she clasped his hands tightly in hers.

“I love you.”

It wasn’t, she discovered, difficult to say. It was just so true, so undeniable, like how she knew the sun would come up each morning. His smile was bright and blinding, and she smiled too at the sight of his dimples. They had been so rare lately.

“Does that mean yes?” he asked her teasingly.

A tear slipped down her face, and she found she couldn’t speak. She nodded, and he understood. Everyone would say they were crazy, of course. He was nineteen, and she was seventeen. It was absolutely insane. Ingrid and Liam wouldn’t like it, she was sure, but she also knew they wouldn’t stop them.

He dried her tears with his thumb, then traced her lips before kissing her tenderly. The kiss continued as they clung to one another in blissful, shining faith and hope. In that moment, she believed him: They would break the curse.

Emma and Killian were so wrapped up in one another, they didn’t notice the slight shaking of the house or the rainbow colored light that swept through the room.

**************************************************

It wasn’t the first time Robert Gold had entered the Swan/Jones home when the family was gone. He had explored every nook and cranny, flipped through photographs, smelled their clothes. He knew this family; every weakness to be exploited had been sifted and examined.

Yet the house had never protested like it did today, and when he turned towards the dining room, he could clearly see why.

It was a shirt. Hideous, smelly, and dripping wet, but a shirt nonetheless. When it dried, it could even be worn.

“Well, well, well,” he muttered, reaching out a hand towards it.

Almost immediately, he recoiled, the shirt burning him before he’d even grazed it. Magic radiated from it. The glamor spell he always wore faded, and his hands turned a scaly green, nails yellowed and gnarled at each finger tip. It wasn’t just the shirt, he realized. The entire dining room reeked with the magic, and he was in pain from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet.

“Of course you’re in pain, Dark One.”

He writhed on the ground and cried out as a much younger face pulled away from his ancient, twisted one.

“Stop fighting me!”

“I’m doing all this for you, son!”

“Are you, Papa?”

“I got her for you, didn’t I?”

“But I can’t keep her!”

The Dark One could no longer hold onto the shared body, and the younger man stood to his feet, opened the front door, and walked out onto the sidewalk. Neal Cassidy was the name he preferred in this realm, a name that Rumplestiltskin hated. Baelfire was his name: a strong, powerful name.

“Oh Papa,” Baelfire - Neal - whispered, “settle down and cooperate.”

“You know I’ll take over again eventually.”

Neal didn’t argue. Instead he clenched his jaw and gritted his next words through his teeth.

“This won’t work forever. You’re losing, and you know it.”

“They only finished the first task. They’ll never complete the rest. Not in time, anyway.”

“But that magic - you know exactly what that was.”

Ah yes, he did. True love. He wasn’t worried. The Dark One had defeated true love before, and he would do it again.

#cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfic #captain swan ff #cs impossible au #cs au #lieutenant duckling #modern fantasy #angst #cs angsty august #captain swan angsty august #impossible au

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jrob64 · 2 months

Text

Pet for Rent, Chapter 1/4 (The Meet Cute) A CS Modern AU Story

For those of you who read "Sowing Seeds of Trust", you might remember that my dog Zeke had a starring role in it. To my great heartbreak, he died of cancer last June. When we rescued him, the shelter had named him Ernie, and he will be referenced with that name in this story.

Life without a dog proved to be very lonely, so at the end of August, we rescued another dog. The sad story of the dog in this story is what really happened to our new dog. He was named Norman and we renamed him Winston, just like in the story. That's actually him in the pic set with his 'ducky'.

This was supposed to be a short, sweet story, but somehow turned into 4 chapters. Updates will be once a week.

Special thanks to my beta @hookedmom and also to @beckettj and @zaharadessert for helping me understand the football (soccer) system in England.

SUMMARY: Emma Swan tries to cheer up her heartbroken son by 'renting' a dog from the local animal shelter. When she attempts to do it a second time, she makes a mistake, and realizes the dog has been rented by someone else the same day - a very handsome man named Killian Jones.

RATING: M (for smut in the last chapter, which can easily be skipped if that's not your thing)

WORDS: 7754

ALSO POSTED TO A03 & FFN

Story begins under the cut

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Emma Swan flopped down onto her sofa with a sigh. Since their beloved dog Ernie died three weeks ago, she had come to dread her eight-year-old son Henry’s bedtime. Every night when he said his prayers, he ended with, “God, please tell Ernie I love him and miss him, and please send me another dog. Amen.”

Her son knew the chances of getting a dog were slim to none because of his soccer practices and games, and Emma’s schedule for her new job at the sheriff’s station. They had no time to train a puppy.

Understanding why he couldn’t have a dog didn’t make his heart hurt any less. Her heart was just as broken, knowing the sadness and loneliness Henry was experiencing.

After decompressing for a few minutes, Emma’s searching hand located her phone on the end table. She unlocked it and opened her Discord app, selecting the icon representing the parents’ group of Henry’s second grade class. Sitting up a little straighter, she typed a message: Does anyone have ideas of how to help Henry get over the loss of his dog? He keeps praying for a new one, but it wouldn’t be fair to the dog to get one with our busy schedule.

She watched the screen intently for a couple of minutes, but when no names appeared to show that someone was answering, she tossed the phone onto the couch and went into the kitchen to load the dishwasher.

Forty minutes later, after cleaning up the kitchen, going through her nightly routine and changing into her pajamas, she went back into the living room. Television held no interest for her, and realizing she finished her last library book the previous evening, she picked up her phone to mindlessly play a game. Upon unlocking it, her screen opened to the Discord page and she saw three replies to her question.

The first two simply expressed sympathy for the loss of Ernie, but the third one offered a helpful suggestion. Have you thought about ‘renting’ a dog for a day? The animal shelter just outside of town offers that option. We did it for my mother when her Maltese died. The post ended with the web address for the shelter.

Emma immediately pulled up the site and, after searching the homepage, clicked on the tab for ‘services’. Scrolling down the list, she saw ‘Rent-a-Pet’ and selected it. As she read the description of how the program worked, she idly twisted strands of blonde hair around her index finger.

It sounded like a great compromise for their situation. For a donation to the shelter in the form of money, bags of pet food, treats or toys, one of the available animals could come home with them for several hours. The dogs and cats were guaranteed to be docile and house-trained, and could be adopted by the ‘renter’, if desired.

Clicking on the link taking her to the bios of the pets currently housed at the shelter, she filtered it to include only canines. Pictures of nearly two dozen dogs filled the screen, each more adorable and aww-worthy than the last.

Quickly ruling out any that were guaranteed to shed fur all over her house or were bigger than her son, her search was narrowed to nine prospects. She knew her rambunctious son would be keen to play outside with the dog and walk him or her to Storybrooke’s dog park, so a tiny fru-fru pup was out of the question, too. That left six.

She selected one at a time, reading about their breed and temperament. When she brought up the picture of the fourth candidate, the big, chocolate brown eyes and happy expression nearly made her heart melt.

‘Norman’ was a mixed breed and very little was known about him, because he was found tied to a stop sign in the middle of Portland, Maine. He was guessed to be a cocker spaniel mix and was approximately 1-2 years old. His black fur looked sleek and Emma knew he probably wouldn’t shed. A short video showed him romping and playing with another dog in the fenced play yard of the shelter.

Saving the page, she brought up the calendar on her phone and checked their schedule for the rest of the week. Henry had an early soccer game on Saturday, which would be over by 10:30, leaving the rest of the morning and afternoon free. Switching back to the shelter website, she hit the ‘Rent-a-Pet’ button again and began filling in the information, selecting ‘Norman’ when it gave her the choice of animals.

She decided not to tell Henry about the plan, opting to surprise him with it instead.

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“Great game, kid,” Emma complimented her son, ruffling his sweaty hair. “Your pass to Avery was a nice assist. That goal turned out to be the game winner.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Henry grinned around his mouthful of granola bar. “That’s the first time all season we beat the orange team.”

“I know, and I think that calls for a celebration, don’t you?” Emma fished her car keys out of her jeans pocket, before picking up her lawn chair and water bottle.

“Are we gonna get ice cream?” he asked, before cramming the rest of his snack into his mouth.

“You just ate a granola bar and a banana, and lunch will be in just an hour or so,” she laughed. “I have something else in mind.”

“Whaisit?” he queried, the unswallowed food muffling his voice.

“Well, I know how much you miss Ernie, and Violet’s mom told me about a program at the animal shelter that lets you rent a pet for a few hours,” she answered slowly, watching his reaction out of the corner of her eye. “So, I signed up to get a dog for you to play with until three o’clock this afternoon.”

Henry stopped in his tracks, swallowing down the rest of his snack as his eyes grew wide. “Really? You can do that?”

“Yeah, we’re scheduled to pick him up at eleven. What do you think about that?”

His exuberant shout of joy and sprint to the car was all the answer she needed.

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Emma couldn’t keep up with her son once he unstrapped his safety belt, exited the car and bounded toward the front door of the shelter. He was already ringing the little bell on the counter for service before she made it inside and chided him lightly for not waiting for her.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with sandy hair and light blue eyes entered through a door, the barking of dogs stifled when it clicked shut behind him. He gave them a dazzling smile and greeted them warmly with a hearty ‘good morning’.

Emma reached forward to shake his hand. “Hi, I’m Emma Swan and this is my son, Henry.”

“David Nolan,” he responded, shaking her hand, then doing the same with Henry.

“My teacher’s name is Mrs. Nolan, the same as yours,” the boy told him.

“You wouldn’t happen to be in second grade at Storybrooke Elementary, would you?” David asked.

“Yeah,” Henry confirmed.

“Ah, well, that means your teacher is my wife!”

“Wow, cool!” Henry exclaimed. “She’s the best teacher I ever had!”

David’s grin grew even wider. “That’s good to hear. She tells me all about her students every evening and she thinks yours is the best class she’s ever had!”

“It’s quite a coincidence, meeting you here,” Emma commented with a smile.

“I’ll be sure to tell Mary Margaret I met the two of you. Now, what can I do for you today?”

Emma pulled her phone out of her purse, unlocked it, and tapped on the screen a few times. Then she laid it on the counter and turned it to show David. “I signed up for the Rent-a-Pet program. Here’s the email with my confirmation.”

David peered down at the screen and used his finger to scroll down a bit. “I see you chose Norman,” he commented, looking up at her.

“Um, yeah. Is he a good dog? I don’t want any messes in my house or car.”

“He’s a great dog,” he assured her, reaching back to the wall behind him to lift a leash off of a hook. “Gets along well with other dogs, seems to love kids, and is generally a very happy little guy.”

Henry bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. “Can we take him to the dog park? Ernie always loved going to the dog park.” His countenance dropped, a small cloud of sadness passing across his features.

David shared an understanding look with Emma. “Of course you can take him. I’m sure he will love it! Would you like to come back with me to get him?”

The boy turned to look at his mother. “Can I?”

“Sure, kid. I think I’ll come back, too, if Mr. Nolan doesn’t mind.”

“The more, the merrier,” David said cheerfully.

He waited until they joined him on the other side of the counter, then opened the door to the large room full of animal cages. Immediately, the sound of barking, howling and meows filled their ears.

“They get very excited when they know someone is coming back here. I think the animals closest to the door are spies and tell the others,” David joked, raising his voice to be heard over the din.

Emma walked behind Henry, watching him turn his head left and right to peer at the occupants of all of the pens.

“Aw, Mom, look at that little puppy! He’s so cute! Aw, that dog seems sad. I bet he doesn’t like being in a cage. Look Mom, they have cats here, too.” His litany was continuous as they slowly walked down the aisle between the enclosures.

Finally, David stopped in front of a pen and turned to them, gesturing toward the dog inside. “This is Norman. He has a sad story, but he’s kept his sweet temperament, haven’t you, boy?”

As if in answer, the black dog stood up, his tail starting to wag as he realized the man was talking about him. Henry dropped to his knees in front of the cage, placing his hands against the wire. “Hi, Norman! My name is Henry. Would you like to come home with us for a little while?” The dog’s tail was wagging so fast, his entire body wiggled. “I think he understands me, Mom!” Henry said excitedly.

As David slipped inside the pen to clip the leash to Norman’s collar, Emma asked, “Has he ever been rented before?”

“Several times,” David answered, straightening up once he had the leash attached. “He’s always done really well.” Opening the door of the kennel again, he allowed the dog to go ahead of him, out to where the boy still knelt.

“Hi, boy,” Henry crooned, running his hands over the dog’s head.

Emma bent down and stroked the sleek fur on Norman’s back and sides. “He’s so soft,” she commented.

“He appears to have the coat of a cocker spaniel,” David said, “but he’s definitely a mixed breed.” He watched the boy and dog interact for a few seconds before holding out the looped end of the leash. “Would you like to lead him out to the lobby, Henry?”

He looked up at Emma with hopeful eyes. “Is that okay, Mom?”

“How is he on a leash?” she asked David. “He won’t pull my kid’s arm out of the socket, will he?”

David laughed. “He does fairly well, but if he gets excited, he can get pretty rambunctious. He’ll be fine just going to the lobby, but you might have to walk him out to your car instead of Henry.”

“Sounds like a deal, kid,” she said, giving him a nod of approval.

Henry eagerly accepted the leash and started off down the aisle. “Come on, Norman. Come on, boy. You’re gonna like it at our house. We still have some of Ernie’s toys and balls.”

Emma and David trailed behind. “How long ago did you lose your dog?” he asked.

“Almost a month and Henry is really struggling with it. He and Ernie were best buds.”

“I’m sorry. That’s rough, especially for a kid.”

“And his mom,” Emma added. “I never realized how much I loved that dog, until he got sick and I knew we were going to lose him.”

“Hopefully, Norman will give you both a few hours of enjoyment and help ease the heartache a bit,” David said, before hurrying forward to pull the door open for Henry and the dog.

While David printed off the paperwork, Norman sniffed around Henry, who sat cross-legged on the floor, giggling when the dog licked his ears. “Ernie used to do that too, remember, Mom?”

Emma smiled down at him. “Yeah, you must have very tasty ears. Maybe you should start washing them better.”

“I won’t need to, after Norman washes them!”

She turned back to finish signing the papers. “It’s nice to hear him laughing again. He hasn’t done much of that lately,” she confided to David.

“I think this will be good for both of you and Norman. He really likes being around people. I’m very surprised he hasn’t been adopted yet.”

“Do you think there’s a reason for that?”

David shrugged. “This tends to be a slow time of the year for adoptions. Summer is over and school is back in session, so people don’t have as much time to welcome a new dog into their house.”

“That’s the boat we’re in right now,” Emma commented.

“Once it gets closer to Christmas, people will come in looking for pets to give as gifts. That’s good, but also bad, because about a quarter of them are brought back when they realize a pet is more work than they anticipated.”

“We got Ernie from the shelter when Henry was two. He was already five years old, house-trained and had all of the annoying puppy behaviors out of his system.”

“Most people want puppies instead of adult dogs, but there are a lot of advantages to getting an older dog.”

“Norman doesn’t seem to be very old.”

“I’d say at least two, but he’s pretty chill. Once he runs out of energy, he becomes a couch potato.” David collected the paperwork and tapped it on the counter to straighten it. “Well, that’s all I need from you. Norman is yours until three o’clock.”

“Yay!” Henry shouted, causing the dog to start barking.

Emma reached down to take the leash. “Don’t get him all riled up right before we put him in the car, kid.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Henry apologized. “I just can’t wait to get him home! Can he sit in the back with me?”

“Sure, but first you need to thank Mr. Nolan.”

Henry popped up from the floor and looked back at David. “Thanks, Mr. Nolan! I’ll take good care of Norman, I promise!”

“My pleasure, Henry. Have fun!” David grinned.

Mother and son exited the building, with Norman leading the way, tugging excitedly on the leash. “Slow down, pup,” Emma laughed.

Henry ran ahead to open the door of the yellow Volkswagen Beetle, sliding the front seat forward and clambering into the back. As soon as Norman reached the car, he hopped in and sat on the seat beside Henry like he’d done it every day of his life.

“Well, that was easy,” Emma commented, removing the loop of the leash from her wrist and tossing it beside the dog. After closing the door, she circled around behind the car to get into the driver’s seat. She looked into the rearview mirror and choked up at the sight meeting her eyes. Henry had his arms wrapped around Norman’s neck with his eyes closed and his head resting against the dog’s.

Emma was sure the time with Norman was going to be good for both boy and dog, but she couldn’t help but worry about what would happen when it came time to bring him back to the shelter.

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Emma was barely able to get Henry to eat when they got home, and had to reprimand him for sneaking Norman bits of his sandwich. The dog, for his part, sat politely while they ate, not begging or whining. She was impressed with his behavior, remembering how she had to break Ernie from begging at the table when they first adopted him.

Henry and Norman bonded quickly as they chased each other around the small backyard, playing with a tennis ball and squeaky toys from Ernie’s toy basket. Emma sat on their small patio, thoroughly enjoying the sounds of happy barking and her son’s laughter. She pulled out her phone and took a picture, posting it to the Discord group and tagging Violet’s mom to thank her for the idea of renting a pet.

Just after two o’clock, Emma suggested taking Norman to the dog park before going back to the shelter. They played there for forty minutes, then the three of them returned home and piled back into the car. Once again, she caught sight in the mirror of her son hugging the dog and sighed, but instead of dreading Norman’s return, she decided to enjoy every minute of happiness it was bringing to Henry…and herself.

Their time with the dog was over all too soon. After Emma parked the car at the shelter, Henry got out of the car and trudged to the door with the leash gripped tightly in his hand. Norman seemed to sense the boy’s mood and walked slowly beside him, his head hanging low.

David was at the desk to greet them again, an understanding look at his face at the dejected look of all three of them. “Was he good for you?” he asked.

“He was great,” Emma answered, rubbing her hand soothingly over her son’s back. “Wasn’t he, kid?”

“Yeah,” Henry quietly agreed, his eyes trained on the floor.

“You know, you’re welcome to rent Norman, or any of our other dogs, anytime you want,” David said.

Henry looked up. “But what if someone adopts him?”

“Well, that would be a good thing for Norman,” Emma reminded him.

“I guess,” Henry sighed. He knelt down beside the dog, wrapping him up in another hug. “I’ll miss you, boy, but maybe I’ll see you again.” The dog licked his cheek, eliciting a small giggle. Then Henry stood and held the leash out to David. “Thank you, Mr. Nolan. I had a lot of fun with Norman.”

“I’m happy to hear it,” David said, accepting the leash and moving around the counter. Patting the dog on the head, he added, “I hope we’ll see you again, soon.”

Henry turned pleading eyes to his mother. “Can we do it again next weekend, Mom?”

“You have Avery’s birthday party next Saturday, remember?”

“Oh, yeah,” Henry nodded, then bit his lip in contemplation. “The next weekend, then?”

Emma laughed. “We’ll see.” She leaned down to pet the dog’s head. “Be a good boy, Norman. You’re welcome at our house anytime.”

After saying their goodbyes, they watched David take the dog toward the door leading to the back. Norman turned and gave them a sad look before following the shelter worker through it, tearing at Emma’s heart even more.

She swallowed hard and said, “Come on, kid. Let’s go home.”

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The sadness soon wore off and for the next several days, Henry talked almost incessantly about all of the fun he had with Norman. Emma checked their schedule and saw that Henry had another early game three weeks later, which would be the last game of the soccer season. She relayed that news to Henry, asking him if he wanted to rent Norman again that day, and was answered with a very enthusiastic ‘YES!’

She nearly forgot to make the reservation, only remembering three days before, while waiting to pick Henry up from practice. Quickly, she pulled up the website and filled out the form, glancing up often to see if Henry was coming off the field because she always liked to meet him as soon as he did, instead of waiting for him in the car.

Emma was especially glad they decided to rent Norman Saturday, since Henry’s soccer team lost their final game by one goal. His downcast look was soon replaced with excitement when she reminded him that they would be going to the shelter.

When they arrived, he bounded out of the car and waited impatiently for his mom to join him, before practically sprinting to the door. It took a couple of minutes before David emerged from the back, beaming a smile when he saw them waiting at the counter.

“Henry! Emma! I’m very happy to see you again!”

“We’re here to get Norman,” Henry said excitedly.

A puzzled look crossed David’s face. “I’m sorry, but Norman is already being rented by somebody else today,” he informed them.

“What?” Henry asked, a slight tremor in his voice. Then he turned to Emma. “But Mom, you said we would be getting Norman.”

Emma was already pulling the email up on her phone. “There must be some mistake, Mr. Nolan. I reserved Norman when I filled out the form. See?”

She turned her phone for the worker to see it. David looked at it carefully, then pointed to the screen. “It looks like you didn’t ask for a specific dog.”

“I didn’t?” she questioned, then looked at her phone more closely, her heart dropping when she saw the blank space beside the ‘requested animal’ inquiry. “Oh, Henry. I’m so sorry. I was in a hurry when I filled it out and I must have missed that question.”

“We have several other dogs,” David consoled. “I’m sure you’ll have just as much fun with one of them.”

“No I won’t,” Henry pouted. “I only want Norman.”

“Henry…” Emma started, but was interrupted when the door behind her opened.

“Good morning, Dave,” said a deep voice with a distinctive British accent.

Emma turned to see the newcomer and nearly swallowed her tongue. The man standing before her had to be a mirage, because surely someone that handsome didn’t really exist. He had a lean physique clad in dark jeans and a maroon henley, with a tantalizing view of chest hair peeking out of the unbuttoned neckline. A black leather jacket completed his ensemble. His chiseled jawline was covered with a pleasing amount of scruff and his dark, windblown hair was falling over his forehead. He sported a wide grin and, between that and his deep blue eyes, Emma was mesmerized.

She was suddenly very aware of her own appearance. Henry’s early game meant she had thrown on a pair of sweatpants, donned an old hoodie and stuffed a beanie over her barely brushed hair that morning. Her face was free of makeup, unless you counted a few stray flecks of mascara that stubbornly refused to come off when she washed her face the previous evening.

“Hey, Killian,” David greeted.

The man’s - Killian’s - eyes had settled on Emma, a glint of curiosity evident in them.

“Oh, um, come on Henry,” she said, after several moments of silence. “Let’s get out of this man’s way.”

“But Mommmm…” he whined.

Emma put her hand on his shoulder and guided him away from the counter. “We’ll figure something out, kid.”

“I’m in no hurry, Miss,” Killian began.

“No, it’s okay,” she hurried to assure him. “I’m afraid I created a problem that might take a while to straighten out, so please, go ahead.”

“In that case, thank you very much,” he smiled. Turning his eyes to David, he asked, “Is Winston ready?”

Emma was surprised to see the genial shelter worker furrow his brow at the other man. “Why do you insist on calling him that?”

Killian shrugged. “He looks like a Winston to me, and he answers to that name when he’s at my house.”

David glanced at Emma and Henry and opened his mouth to say something, but apparently changed his mind. Grabbing a leash off of a hook, he said, “Give me a minute,” then he pushed the door open and disappeared into the back.

“Are you adopting a dog today?” Henry asked Killian.

“Alas, no. I just moved into a small apartment here three months ago and am still trying to get everything organized and put away. Being in a new town has been a bit lonely at times, so I’ve been coming here now and then to borrow a dog for a few hours.”

“That’s why we’re here, but somebody is taking the dog I want,” Henry grumbled.

“Henry, that’s enough,” Emma reprimanded. “You haven’t even looked at any of the other dogs.”

“None of them will be as good as Norman.”

Killian’s brows raised. “Did you say Nor-”

Just then, the door behind the counter opened and David came through, trying to control a very excited dog.

“Norman!” Henry cheered, dropping to his knees. The dog started jumping toward him, wildly licking his face as soon as he reached the boy.

“I thought you said he was already rented today,” Emma questioned David.

“He is,” he replied, looking pointedly at Killian.

Emma followed his gaze and saw the other man watching the interaction between Henry and the dog with a sheepish look on his face. The pieces began to click together and she asked, “Wait a minute - is Norman the dog you’re renting today?”

“Aye,” Killian confirmed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Looks like we’re here for the same dog.”

“But you called him by another name,” Emma continued.

“He’s the dog I’ve rented every time and he just doesn’t seem like a Norman to me, so I started calling him Winston,” Killian explained.

All three adults stood looking at the whirlwind of fur jumping all over Henry, who was giggling so much, he could hardly catch his breath.

Finally, Killian spoke. “It seems as though Win-, I mean, Norman, has made his choice. Please let Henry and…his mother have the dog today, Dave.”

“Emma,” she informed him. “My name is Emma Swan, and you don’t have to do that. You had him reserved first. Besides, Henry needs to learn he can’t always have his way.”

“I wouldn’t be able to enjoy my time with the dog, knowing how sad it would make Henry,” Killian responded. He took a step forward and offered Emma his hand to shake. “I’m Killian Jones, by the way. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma.”

As they shook hands, David cleared his throat. “Um, I have an idea of how to work this out. It’s a nice day, so why don’t all of you take Norman to the dog park together?”

Emma and Killian both whipped their heads around to stare at him. He seemed to shrink back a bit before stammering, “I mean, that way you could all spend time with him and get to know each other at the same time. You’ve been saying you’d like to meet more people in Storybrooke, Killian, and that’s where Henry and Emma live.” Looking at Emma, he added, “I’ve gotten to know Killian pretty well because he sings in the church choir with me and Mary Margaret. He’s a good guy.”

Emma slowly turned her eyes back to the very handsome man whose hand she suddenly realized she was still holding. She dropped it quickly, as she felt a blush heating her cheeks. Then she looked at Henry, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor with Norman sprawled across his lap. He was looking up at her with hope in his eyes.

Meeting Killian’s gaze once again, she asked, “What do you think?”

“I don’t want to put you in an uncomfortable position, Emma.”

“You wouldn’t have to go all the way back into Storybrooke,” David said. “There’s a small dog park at the end of the walking path, where a lot of people take dogs they’re thinking of adopting.”

“Please, Mom?” Henry pleaded. “Norman would like that, wouldn’t you, boy?”

Emma took a look at the pair and groaned, “It’s bad enough when you use the puppy dog eyes on me, kid. Now you’ve got the dog doing it, too.”

Killian chuckled lowly, the sound of it making Emma’s stomach flip in a very pleasant way. “I would hate to disappoint the two of them, so I’m game if you are, lass.”

Emma chewed her lip in contemplation for a few seconds, before saying, “Okay, but on one condition - you let me pay half of the rental fee.”

“I already paid the fee online,” Killian said.

“So did I, so I guess that takes care of that.”

“Not really,” David said. “You both paid, but you’re only renting one dog. I should reimburse each of you half of the fee.”

“Keep it,” Emma and Killian answered at the same time, then both laughed.

“The shelter can always use a little extra money, can’t it, Mr. Nolan?” Emma asked.

“Please call me David. And of course we can, if you’re both sure you don’t mind.”

As soon as they affirmed their answer, David walked around the counter and picked up the end of the leash. Handing it to Emma, he said, “In that case, Norman-slash-Winston is yours for the next four hours. You can bring him back sooner, if you like, but I’m sure he’s going to love getting out for a while. Oh, and if you get hungry, there’s usually a couple of food trucks near the dog park on Saturdays. Have fun!”

Emma and Killian thanked him, then went out the door with Norman straining at the leash, and Henry skipping along beside him. They quickly found the sign marking the path and started walking it.

After several paces, Killian turned to Emma and asked, “Is it me, or do you feel like David just set us up?”

“One hundred percent,” Emma laughed.

“How long have you known him?”

“David?” she questioned. At his hum of affirmation, she said, “Henry and I rented Norman three weeks ago and that was the first time I met him. David, I mean, not Norman. Well, it was the first time we met Norman, too. His wife is Henry’s teacher. Again, I mean she’s David’s wife, not Norman’s.” She knew she was rambling, but the thought of spending several hours with the gorgeous stranger was making her nervous.

Killian laughed. “That’s a relief. I borrowed Win-, uh, Norman three times and he never once mentioned being married.”

It was Emma’s turn to laugh - mostly because what he said was funny, but also in relief that he responded to her embarrassing prattling with humor, instead of judgment.

“So, if Dave just met you, he probably doesn’t even know if you’re married or dating anyone. That was a little presumptuous of him.”

“Are you fishing for information, Mr. Jones?” Emma teased.

“Killian will do,” he grinned. “And…perhaps?”

Before she could answer, Henry ran back to join them. “Can I take Norman, Mom? He’s walking really well on the leash, so I don’t think he’ll yank my arm out of the socket.”

She looked at Killian, who raised an eyebrow with a bemused look on his face.

“That’s something I said when we picked Norman up the last time,” she explained. Handing the loop of the leash to Henry, she said, “Don’t get too far ahead of us, kid.”

“We won’t,” he tossed over his shoulder.

Emma turned her attention back to the man beside her. “To answer your non-question Killian, no, I am not married or dating anyone. It’s just Henry and me, and always has been. When I told his father I thought I might be pregnant, he didn’t even stick around long enough to find out if I was or not.”

Killian absorbed this news for a few moments before responding, “If you don’t mind me saying, it sounds as if the two of you might be better off without someone like that, anyway.”

“Oh, definitely. Henry is more mature at eight than his sperm donor was as an adult. I was young and foolish, but I had to grow up fast once I became a single mother.” She watched her son trying to get Norman to walk beside him, then turned to look at Killian. “Sorry, that is a lot more information than I’m sure you wanted to know.”

“No need to apologize, Emma. I did ask, in a roundabout way.”

“So what’s your story? Did you move here from England, or am I misreading your accent?”

“You got it right,” he chuckled, then took a deep breath. “There was nothing left for me in England. My brother moved here soon after our mother died two years ago, and once I found out my girlfriend was actually a married woman, I needed a fresh start.”

“Ouch,” Emma commented.

“Aye, and now I’ve probably shared more than you wanted to know.”

“We’ll call it even, and promise to talk about much lighter subjects for the rest of the day,” Emma said.

“Deal.”

“You said your brother moved here. Does that mean he lives in Storybrooke?”

“Aye, he followed his heart and it led him straight to this quaint little town.”

“Who does he date, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“He’s engaged to the town librarian, Belle French.”

“Liam is your brother? I guess I should have figured that out since your last name is Jones.”

“It’s a very common name, lass. Yes, Liam is my brother. I gather you know him?”

“Belle is one of my best friends, so I know him through her. She used to babysit for Henry quite often, when I was a waitress at Granny’s.”

“Ah, the famous Granny’s Diner!” Killian exclaimed. “I visit that establishment frequently. She makes the best lasagna.”

“I think you meant to say the best grilled cheese and onion rings,” Emma grinned mischieviously.

“I’ve yet to try those particular delicacies,” he smirked.

“Try them,” she advised. “I guarantee you’ll love them.”

Looking ahead, they saw they were nearing the dog park and picked up their pace. They caught up with Henry and Norman just before reaching the entrance. There were about a half-dozen dogs running around the park, some loose and others on leashes.

“I think it would be a good idea for Mr. Jones to take Norman before we go in,” Emma told Henry. “He’ll be able to control him better if he gets too excited.”

“Okay,” Henry said, willingly handing over the leash.

“Thanks, lad,” Killian smiled.

Henry went through the first gate, holding it open for his mom, followed by Killian and Norman. When they were all in the buffer zone, Henry opened the next gate leading into the main part of the park.

“You’re raising quite the gentleman, Emma,” Killian commented, after he entered with the dog.

“He has his moments.”

They all watched Norman as he began sniffing around excitedly, then pulling on the leash when he noticed the other canines sharing his space. He nearly yanked Killian off of his feet with his enthusiasm to meet new friends.

The next twenty minutes were spent chasing the dog and trying to settle him down. After a few of the other owners left with their animals, Henry found a tennis ball and engaged Norman in a game of fetch. The adults sat on a bench to observe the pair, laughing at the clumsiness of the dog.

Emma noticed Killian rubbing his shoulder. “Alright there, Jones?”

“I think he might have pulled my arm out of the socket, Swan,” he quipped.

“Very funny, smart guy,” she said, making him laugh again. They watched for a few more minutes before Emma asked, “Do you have a job in Storybrooke? I started working at the sheriff’s station three months ago and I don’t remember seeing you around town.”

“I’m an architect. I was able to keep my job with the firm in England by working online and attending meetings with clients and my colleagues via Zoom. All of my time is spent in my office at home. It’s not ideal, but I appreciate my boss being willing to make concessions for me.”

“Do you plan to get a job here eventually?”

“Aye, if I decide to stay.”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“I’m used to the hustle and bustle of a big city. Living in Storybrooke has been quite an adjustment.”

“I get that. We moved here from Boston when Henry was two. Granny’s granddaughter, Ruby, was our neighbor there, and when she decided to move back, she talked me into coming with her. At first, I had a hard time getting used to the peace and quiet. That was one reason why I adopted Ernie - just to have a little more noise in the house.”

“Ernie?” Killian questioned.

“Oh, he was our dog. We had him for six years, but he died a couple of months ago.” She pulled her phone out of the pouch of her hoodie and swiped to reveal her lock screen. “This is a picture of Henry with him.”

“Beautiful animal,” Killian commented sincerely, taking in the photo of the brown and white spaniel. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” Emma sighed, locking her phone and returning it to the pocket. “Henry grew up with him and he’s had a really hard time with it. Someone suggested renting a pet from the shelter to help him work through it, and that’s how we ended up renting Norman.”

“They seem to really like each other.”

“Yeah, they got along great the first time. That’s why I signed up to get him again, but I was in a hurry when I filled out the form and forgot to ask for a specific dog.”

“Ah, that explains the mix-up,” Killian remarked.

Another half hour passed while they chatted easily, until Henry came over and flopped down on the ground, quickly joined by Norman. “I’m hungry, Mom. Can we get something to eat?”

“Sure, kid. Put Norman back on his leash and we’ll go find those food trucks Mr. Nolan mentioned.”

They soon located the food trucks just down the sidewalk from the park. After discussing their options, they decided to get pulled pork sandwiches from the barbeque place. It was obvious that people who took their pets to the dog park frequented the food trucks, because each one had bowls of water set out in front of them and containers of dog biscuits on their condiment tables.

While they waited for their food, Henry tried to teach Norman to sit, rewarding him with pieces of the biscuits when he obeyed.

“He’s very good with him,” Killian noted.

“He prays for another dog every night, but our schedule is so busy right now. Plus, it’s such a big responsibility and I’m not sure Henry is ready for it. I might be wrong about that though, seeing how he is with Norman.”

After eating, they followed the sidewalk a little further and spotted a playground. Emma and Killian sat on a bench, with Norman sitting between them as they watched Henry play on the equipment.

“You know, we’ve lived in Storybrooke for six years and I never knew this playground existed,” Emma commented. “We don’t come this way very often, because whenever we go out of town, we take the road going south.”

“It appears to be fairly new,” Killian observed. “Perhaps they constructed it when they built those apartments over there, because they don’t look like they’ve been there very long.”

“Yeah, that makes sense. I remember when they were being constructed a couple of years after we moved here, which means they’re less than five years old.”

They lost sight of Henry for a few seconds when he climbed a ladder up into a tower. Suddenly they heard him shout, “Hey, Mom! Look what I found!” and saw him coming down a twisting slide with his arms over his head, clutching a tattered looking soccer ball.

He landed at the bottom and came running over to them. “Someone must have forgotten this at the top of the tower. Wanna kick it around with me?”

“Sure, kid,” Emma answered, hopping up from the bench. “It looks a bit deflated. Are you sure it’s even going to roll?”

“It’ll be fine,” he assured her. Placing it on the ground, he gave it a kick and watched it roll across the grass. “See?”

A black streak flew past him, with Killian following close behind shouting, “Wins-, I mean, Norman! Come back here!”

The dog ignored him, but stopped when he got to the soccer ball. He was trying to pick it up in his mouth when the three humans reached him. Killian was able to kick it away from him, directly to Emma, who stopped it with her foot, then booted it over to Henry. Norman ran from one to the other, in hot pursuit of the elusive ball.

The ‘keep away’ game kept them entertained for a long time. They ran, shouting instructions to each other and laughing until all of them were completely out of breath. Norman was able to intercept some of their passes, but they always managed to get it away from him before he was able to pick it up and run off.

Finally, Emma declared that she had to take a break. Picking up Norman’s leash, she said, “I think we should take him back to the food trucks to get a drink and buy a couple of bottles of water.”

“Aww, Mom,” Henry complained. “I’m not ready to go yet. Can’t I stay here? Killian will stay with me, won’t you, Killian?”

“First of all, you should call him Mr. Jones, and secondly, you’re putting him on the spot, which isn’t cool,” Emma admonished.

Henry looked appropriately chagrined. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jones.”

“Thank you, Henry, but if I may be so bold, I don’t mind you calling me Killian. That is, if it’s okay with your mother.”

Henry looked to his mom, who considered for a few seconds, then gave him a nod of approval.

Killian put his arm across Henry’s shoulders and walked him the short distance to where Emma was standing. “I’d be happy to go get the water, Emma.” He took the end of Norman’s leash from her. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” she agreed. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

While he was gone, Emma sat on the bench watching Henry continue to kick the soccer ball around. Killian and Norman returned a few minutes later, handed her a bottle of water and sat down beside her.

“Do I owe you anything for this?” Emma asked, unscrewing the lid.

“Not at all. I think I can afford to buy a lovely lass a bottle of water.”

She refrained from rolling her eyes at his use of the adjective, still rueing the fact she met such a handsome man while looking like she just rolled out of bed. As she was getting ready to take a drink, Henry kicked the ball and sent it sailing over their head, causing Emma to duck and spill some of the water in her lap.

Henry ran over, stopping in front of her. “Oops. Sorry, Mom. I was trying to kick it at the teeter-totter.”

Emma brushed at the water droplets, looking around to locate the teeter-totter, which was at least twenty feet away from the bench. “Not even close, kid.”

Killian stood up. “Perhaps I could give you some pointers, lad. I was a rather good football player when I was younger .”

Henry’s forehead creased in confusion. “I play soccer, not football.”

Killian chuckled as Emma explained, “Killian grew up in England and over there, soccer is called football. They call what we play ‘American football’, don’t they, Killian?”

“Aye, lass. Sorry to confuse you, Henry.”

“Oh, I never knew that. So, how good were you?”

Killian rubbed a finger behind his ear, ducking his head a bit. “I played in a semi-professional league for a couple of years and actually tried out for a professional club, before I decided to go to Uni and become an architect instead.”

“Wow! Cool!” Henry exclaimed. “You probably know even more about soccer than my coach!”

Emma laughed. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure he knows a bit more than a volunteer coach for a youth league team.” She took the dog’s leash back from Killian. “Norman and I will sit this lesson out.”

Killian attempted to wink at her. “As you wish, Milady. Come on, lad. We’ve got work to do.”

She smiled fondly, watching the two of them passing the ball back and forth for a while, before pulling out her phone to catch up on her social media apps.

When she looked up a few minutes later, she saw Killian giving Henry instructions for controlling the ball as he dribbled it down the field. Apparently, they were using two trees as the goal and Henry was moving toward them quickly, while trying rather unsuccessfully to keep the ball under control. When he kicked it from quite a distance away, the ball hit one of the trees and ricocheted away.

Killian went to retrieve the ball and took it back to where Henry was waiting. He squatted down in front of the boy and began talking to him, gesturing now and then to different parts of the field.

Henry listened intently, nodding once in a while. When Killian finished speaking, he stood up and did a short demonstration of how to move the ball back and forth from foot to foot. Then he patted the boy’s shoulder, walked the ball further away from the trees and set it down.

Henry lined himself up behind the ball and looked up at Killian. After getting a reassuring smile from him, Henry started dribbling the ball across the ground with shorter, more controlled kicks, while Killian jogged beside him, shouting encouragement. This time, he got the ball much closer to the trees, before giving it a powerful kick that sent it shooting right between them.

Killian whooped as Henry raised his arms in victory, giving a triumphant cheer. What Emma saw happen next put a lump in her throat. Henry flung his arms around Killian’s waist, hugging him tightly, and Killian returned the hug, rubbing his hand over her son’s head as he looked down at him with a proud smile on his face.

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

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#pet for rent #jrob64 #csff #CS fluff #CS smut #CS modern AU #captain swan fanfic #art by jrob64 #ouat Captain Swan fanfic #Captain cobra

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iverna · 1 year

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Holiday Subterfuge (CS one-shot)

Emma has been using her imaginary boyfriend as an excuse to get out of work-related socialising all year. But people are getting suspicious, so when it's time for the Christmas party, Emma makes a deal with a friend: he'll call, wearing his scrubs, pretending to be her boyfriend. It goes reasonably well until Killian Jones shows up. (Based on several prompts that sort of coalesced into... whatever this is. Yes, I wrote modern AU. 'tis the season, and all that.) rated G | ~ 2,700 words | read on ao3

This was a mistake. Emma suspected it was a mistake the second she agreed to it, but call her naive, she still had hope.

The plan was simple. She’s been using her non-existent boyfriend who works odd hours as an excuse to get out of after-work get-togethers, team-building trips, invitations to lunch, and every other bonding activity she hates. And it worked perfectly—he’s a doctor, so everyone is always full of understanding and admiration.

Until the annual Christmas party. Which she has known about for weeks in advance, and which they planned especially so that everyone could attend.

And Emma does not have a doctor boyfriend. She doesn’t have any boyfriend.

Enter Victor Whale, a friend of a friend, a man who is more than willing to accept a bottle of whiskey in return for pretending to be her boyfriend via FaceTime. The plan was simple: he calls wearing his scrubs, makes a bit of small talk, and she gets another year of peace and quiet.

Emma is holding her phone, watching Victor chat to her boss, Ingrid, when she becomes aware that someone’s watching her.

She turns—right into Killian Jones.

For a moment, she doesn’t quite register it. She’s used to seeing Killian in jeans and a sweater down at the docks, or in a t-shirt and loose pants at fencing practice. She’s never seen him in a suit before. It’s not a bad look—she’s pretty sure that no outfit in the world could make him look bad—but it doesn’t quite look like him, either.

“What are you doing here?”

He looks just as off-balance as she feels, but as she watches, he pulls himself together. “I was invited,” he says, and she realises that there’s someone standing next to him. A petite brunette, dressed impeccably in a blue blouse and corduroy skirt. Belle.

Belle, who has also begged off various work engagements due to her boyfriend.

She’s dating Killian?

Emma’s stomach is dropping, something that feels horribly like loss plummeting through her. She thought he was single. He flirts like he’s single. And yeah, she always rebuffs him, because that’s been their dynamic ever since they met.

And maybe, just a bit, because she wants to know whether he’ll keep trying.

So far, he has. Or so she thought. And it’s not like she thought he really means everything he says to her, but she did think—she assumed—well. She didn’t know he was taken.

By Belle.

And then her brain catches up to her, and she takes a closer look at him and the expression on his face and the guilty, trapped set to his shoulders and she realises two things: one, he didn’t expect to see her here either. And two, he’s lying.

He’s not dating Belle. Belle is doing the exact same thing Emma is, except she clearly didn’t think of the video-call compromise.

He meets her eyes, and he seems to realise that he’s giving the game away, because he straightens his spine and relaxes his stance, a smile on his face. Another lie. She’s caught it now, and he’s not fooling her. She smiles back blandly.

Belle is not quite oblivious to the byplay. “Hi, Emma,” she says brightly. “You two know each other?”

“Aye,” Killian says, a heavy, almost resigned note to his voice despite his apparent efforts. “Emma is in the fencing club.”

“Oh.” And then Belle’s eyes widen, and she stares at her ‘boyfriend’. “Wait, you mean this is the—?”

Killian clears his throat loudly. “I didn’t know you worked here, Swan.”

Belle closes her mouth, though her eyes are still wide, as if she’s processing some kind of revelation.

Emma has no idea what that’s about. What she really wants is to call Killian out right now, but that means giving Belle’s game away, and that wouldn’t be fair. She’ll get him later. For now, she just shrugs. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Truer words,” Killian mutters. Under his suave exterior, he still looks unsettled. Maybe he knows that she knows. Or maybe he’s worried that she’ll figure it out. He can almost never fool her during practice either. She can always tell when he’s feinting.

Granted, that goes both ways, but still.

“Emma?” a voice comes from her left.

She’s forgotten about her phone. The video call. Victor.

Crap.

“Uh, yeah.” She forces a smile as she turns her attention back to the screen. “Sorry, I got—uh, a friend just showed up.”

Victor smiles back. “Do they wanna say hi?”

“Who’s that?” Belle asks.

And that’s when Ingrid leans in with a bright smile and says, “This is Victor! We finally get to meet Emma’s mysterious boyfriend. He’s on call at the hospital tonight.”

Belle’s eyes widen. She glances at Killian, who has gone rigid. Emma, fighting back a renewed feeling of dread, angles the phone so Belle can see. “Victor, this is Belle.”

“Ah, yes.” Victor is all smiles and charm. “Emma’s mentioned you. She didn’t mention that you’re gorgeous. Wow.”

Belle blushes, though she looks rather like she wants to sink into the ground and disappear. “Thank you.”

“So what do you do exactly, Belle?” Victor asks oh-so-smoothly. Emma resists the urge to roll her eyes. He was bad enough with Ingrid; if he keeps this up, he is not getting the whiskey. He’s supposed to be her boyfriend, not trying to score with her colleagues.

Killian is glaring at the phone, and for a moment, Emma doubts her own assessment. There’s something in that frown, in his stance now, that looks… not possessive, but definitely protective. Is he jealous? Maybe he really is dating Belle.

But no. Killian can play the charmer with the best of them, but he’s a romantic at heart. There’s no way he wouldn’t have mentioned a girlfriend. And there’s no way he’d be dating someone if he wasn’t besotted. And if he were… she would know. Everyone would know, the same way everyone knows that David is madly in love with Mary Margaret.

She’s never imagined Killian dating anyone, but now that the thought has occurred, she can’t imagine him being anything other than devoted.

Even though she really has nothing to base that on.

But the idea of him dating Belle and flirting with her like he has been just doesn’t fit. It goes against everything she knows about him.

Until now, she never realised just how much she knows about him.

Victor is still flirting with Belle, oblivious to the daggers that Killian is glaring at the phone, and Emma has suddenly had enough. This wasn't part of the deal. “Okay,” she says, turning the phone so Victor’s looking at her. “I think I’d better go. Don’t want to keep you from your work, honey.”

“Always so considerate,” he drawls. “I’ll catch you later then, sweetcheeks.”

“Yeah.” She almost—almost—rolls her eyes, but that wouldn’t exactly help sell this relationship to her audience, so she manages a smile instead. “Bye.”

She ends the call. When she looks up, Killian is watching her with narrowed eyes, and Belle is still looking mortified. She seems to gather herself, and takes Killian’s hand. “I need to talk to you,” she says. “Excuse us a moment, Emma?”

“Uh, sure.” Emma stands there as they walk off together, feeling a little thunderstruck.

There’s no way. This is a ruse, the same thing she’s doing.

He’s not even Belle’s type.

“He seems very nice,” Ingrid says. Emma looks at her. She’s watching Killian and Belle walk off too, smiling. Emma clenches her fists. “You know him from fencing, he said?”

“What?” Emma forces her hand to relax. “Oh. Yeah. He’s, uh.” She can’t call him nice. Nice doesn’t even begin to describe Killian Jones. “He knows how to leave an impression.”

“I’ll say.” Ingrid turns her smile on Emma. “As does your Victor. I’m so glad I finally got to meet him.”

Emma can’t help hearing and confirm that he’s real behind the words.

And then her stomach lurches again, because… now Killian thinks she’s dating Victor. Meaning that pretty soon, David and Mary Margaret are going to think that she’s dating Victor. And probably August, and Ruby, and… crap. She’s going to have to confess before this goes any further. She can’t lie to her friends. This whole thing was never supposed to extend beyond work.

Which means she’s going to have to tell Killian that she essentially hired a guy to pretend to date her. Which is pathetic. She’s never going to live it down.

At least her colleagues are finally satisfied that Emma’s boyfriend is in fact real. She’s never liked work get-togethers; they always feel like an insincere waste of time. Hence the whole pretend-boyfriend thing. But at least the conversations don’t feel like a minefield tonight.

Eventually, she finds herself standing alone at the buffet table, and there’s a whisper of movement beside her as Killian joins her. “Swan.”

She feels her mouth twist. “Jones.”

He has opened the top two buttons of his shirt, his tie nowhere to be seen. Better, she thinks. More like himself.

“Enjoying your evening?” he asks, the picture of politeness as he takes a glass of champagne.

“Oh, yeah,” she says, unable to help the sarcasm. “You?”

His mouth quirks just before he takes a sip of his drink. “What’s not to love?”

“Uh-huh,” she says. “That why you agreed to come? You just love work parties?”

He looks momentarily taken aback, like he’s not quite sure what she’s getting at. “I came with Belle. Though, I wanted to—”

“You’re not dating her,” she says, and maybe she’s a little smug about it because she caught him out and that’s not easy to do.

He opens his mouth, closes it again. “Pardon?”

“You,” she says, poking him in the chest, “are not dating her. There’s no way.”

She expects him to deny it, to give her whatever story they came up with. But he lets out a sigh, bows his head, and looks up at her through his lashes. It’s the look he always gives her when he’s guilty and trying to persuade her to go easy on him, and she knows she’ll be in trouble if he ever figures out just how well it works.

“Guilty as charged, I’m afraid,” he says. “What gave it away?”

She shrugs. “You’re not her type. And there’s no way you wouldn’t have mentioned it before now.”

His eyes are sharp on hers. “You know me too well.” She can’t tell whether there’s something intimate in it, or whether that’s just wishful thinking.

She shrugs again. “I told you, I’m pretty good at knowing when people are lying.”

“I was going to tell you,” he says. “And in my defence, I didn’t know you’d be here. I had no idea you worked here too.”

“Right.” She never talks about work. She never talks about anything personal if she can help it.

“And speaking of things I didn’t know,” he says, and he sounds casual, but there’s something tense behind the words, “why have you never mentioned this man of yours? Victor, was it?”

“Oh.” Emma just about suppresses a wince. She should tell him. She has to tell him. It’s only fair. “Yeah. It’s, uh. Long story.”

“I’d love to hear it,” he says, and there’s a glint in his eyes that she recognises from practice. She was wrong. He’s not tense. The word is predatory. “I would love to know how you came to date a man who calls you ‘sweetcheeks’.”

She’s going to kill Victor. “That was—he doesn’t call me that.”

Killian raises his eyebrows. “I was there, love. I heard him.”

“Yeah, well, you call me—that.” Not the best comeback, in hindsight, but by then it’s too late to think of a better one.

He laughs, looking amused now. “If you prefer ‘sweetcheeks’, I can always—”

“No,” she cuts him off, annoyed.

She spots Walter and two of the other tech guys wandering over towards the buffet table, and hastily turns away. Killian follows her as she walks away from the table, with no aim other than avoiding people.

There’s no avoiding him, of course, not now that he’s smelled blood.

And she can’t even complain, because she started it.

“At first I thought I owed you an apology,” Killian says as he falls into step beside her, “for misreading the situation so badly and pursuing you when you were spoken for. But then, you never so much as mentioned the man, so how was I to know?”

Emma comes to a stop, staring at him. Pursuing? What does that mean? Pursuing implies catching, which implies… more than just idle flirtation. Right?

“And now,” Killian goes on, “having seen the man you’ve allegedly broken your golden rule for, I can’t help but think that either you’ve taken leave of your senses, or something else is going on here.”

That… sounds like something she should be offended by. “Excuse me? What rule?”

“The one about no relationships,” Killian says.

He’s right. She did say something about that. Once. Shortly after she met him.

And she did set that rule for herself, years ago, but… she almost forgot about it. It hasn’t seemed very important lately.

Weird.

(Not really that weird.)

“Oh,” she says. “That.”

“You’re not telling me that you, Miss Love Will Leave You Brokenhearted, broke that rule for him,” Killian says, his eyes narrowed as he studies her. That predatory gleam is back, the one he gets when he knows that something’s going on and he’s determined to get to the bottom of it. “I don’t know that I’ve ever met a more obvious candidate for breaking a woman’s heart.”

He’s right. He’s so right that it’s kind of scary. He’s got no business being that perceptive.

And what the hell did he mean by pursuing?

“I know,” she admits. “It’s—like I said. Long story.” She looks around to make sure nobody else is within earshot. “Kinda pretty much the same as Belle, I guess.”

“Ah.” It’s a long sound, and it seems to release the last bit of tension in his stance. He grins at her. “I had a feeling. It just seemed like too much of a coincidence.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” she says quickly. “Please.”

One eyebrow quirks up. “And what do I get for keeping your dirty little secret?”

She mirrors his expression, although she has to use both eyebrows. “Oh, blackmail, is it?”

“Don’t try to claim the moral high ground, love.” He looks like he’s enjoying himself now. “You want to make me, an honest man, party to your lies and deceptions. Surely that calls for some kind of recompense.”

“You’re already party to lies and deception,” she points out, “or have you forgotten why you’re here?”

“Belle has already promised me a favour in return.”

She is not going to ask what that favour involves. She is not. They’re clearly just friends. “Fine. What do you want?”

He considers. “I want you to give me a fair chance. If the answer is still no, that’s fine, but no treating it all as a joke or hiding behind the past.”

She feels her eyes widen. “A chance, as in… you and me?”

“Not a date or anything of the sort,” he says quickly. “I’m not going to blackmail you into that. I just mean… you always laugh it off. You don’t let yourself consider it.”

Right again. And if Emma is perfectly honest—something she can admit she struggles with—there have been times when she almost knew that he wasn’t just joking around. When she felt the maybe hovering between them. It’s just a lot easier to laugh it off than consider the possibility of… anything else.

But it’s Killian. She knows him—better than she even realised. She’s been right about him every single time so far.

“Like I said, if the answer’s still no, I’ll accept it,” Killian says, and she knows that he means it. “And you have my word that I won’t bring it up again.”

“No, that’s—” Emma shakes her head. “I mean, yeah. Okay. Deal.”

He beams at her.

* * *

He smiles more widely still just over a week later, when she ends their last training session before Christmas by asking him out.

(Once he's recovered from his shock, that is.)

* * *

Tag list (shh I didn't forget again) - @optomisticgirl @mariakov81 @courtorderedcake @tomeandflickcorner @spartanguard @snowbellewells @karl0ta @heavenlyjoycastle @queen-serena88 @stahlop @inkerii @bubblegum1425 @elegies @winterbaby89 @kday426 @sals86 @superchocovian @pirateherokillian @laschatzi @scientificapricot @kmomof4 @thisonesatellite @ilovemesomekillianjones @last-tsarina @thesschesthair @the-darkdragonfly

#cs ff #ouat ff #cs one-shot #cs crew #merry christmas etc #modern au #cs au #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #cs fanfic #ouat fanfic #fanfic #mine

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shady-swan-jones · 17 days

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“How about italian?” And thus it begins, without ceremony or preamble. The work day ends, dragging the last poor souls into overstaffed trains and bouncy buses and Killian swings by her office waiting for her to gather her things and they go to dinner.

It becomes their unspoken tradition. Until he leaves.

Read on Ao3

#captain swan #ouat #cs ff #cs fic #cs au #cs modern au #ouat ff #ouat fic #emma swan #killian jones #my fics

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snowbellewells · 1 month

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CS Fic Rec Monday: "Of Thieves, Smugglers, and Reformed Hearts" by: @lenfaz

Oh my goodness!! I read this short MC of @lenfaz's last evening and could do nothing but smile and chuckle and feel my heart swell all the way through! It's so lovely and just a joy from start to finish. I love the divergent Storybrooke setting with Granny helping along the well-meaning rogues in need of a fresh start. (Will and Belle are particularly priceless - though of course our pirate and princess are adorable as well! ;)

If you, like me, had missed this story until now, do yourself a favor and check it out!!

"Of Thieves, Smugglers, and Reformed Hearts" by: @lenfaz

#cs fic rec monday #csfrm #ouat modern au ff #ouat short au mc #captain swan ff #scarlet beauty ff #of thieves smugglers and reformed hearts #major cs fic rec #such a talented shipmate

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captain-mj · 1 year

Note

Please oh please may I have a crumb of more swan-maiden Graves?

Of course! Poll at the end (it is mostly a joke... or is it?)

Price looked at the feathers a long while. He went through all of the people on base, trying to pick someone to hand them off to. He really, really wished he could blame the feathers for the way he was feeling. That it was some magic spell that made him want to keep them to himself. But Price knew himself better than that. He just didn’t want anyone else to have control of Graves.

Graves was currently sleeping. Price had left him in the bed to do so, so he better be asleep. Little bastard.

Price also needed to sleep. Which meant like Alejandro told him… he needed to give someone the feathers. He kept staring at them.

Ghost was out. Price trusted him normally, but Graves had shot Soap and he knew he hadn’t gotten over it quite yet. He had temper issues on the best of days and with the best of people.

Alejandro was out for similar reasons. Price didn’t fault him for being angry, it just wasn’t the best strategy for now.

Rodolfo… maybe. Solid maybe. But he was the one that blew Graves up, so maybe not.

Soap also participated and Price was worried the concept would be hard on him.

That left Gaz. Gaz had a necklace he needed and it was a little more akin to Graves’s feathers. Plus, he knew Gaz. He wouldn’t take advantage of this situation, even if he was angry about what happened. So Price reluctantly gave Gaz the feathers before heading to bed.

Price had odd dreams. He didn’t like them very much. Dreams of all white rooms. Feathers and smoke.

Waking up was a blessing.

Price found Gaz in his room. The feathers spread over the table. He was doing paperwork next to them, but clearly was trying not to touch them.

Price patted his shoulder. “You’re a good kid, son.”

Gaz smiled at him and looked at them, hand going for his necklace. “I’ve talked with Soap. I know you did but… I get it more, ya know?”

“What did he say?”

“Not much.” Clear code for nothing Soap would want repeated back to Price, so he didn’t push. “I felt the same way. If someone got my necklace…”

“Never going to happen.” Price promised. He looked at the small pendant. It had water in it, just a small amount from Gaz’s spring. If he had it taken from him, it would be a death sentence for him. Price would make sure it was a death sentence to whoever touched it too.

Gaz smiled at him. “Thanks, Captain. I’m not too worried about it. Feel a bit bad for Graves but… necessary evils and all that. At least we’re not hurting anyone innocent.”

“Still thinking of Nik’s truth serum thing?”

“Yeah.” Gaz laughed. “Harsh as hell, but it got us what we needed. Just… gotta remember that.”

Price smiled at him and slowly took the feathers. He walked downstairs.

Rodolfo had a notebook. Graves had a split lip. Price watched quietly.

Graves looked pained and he had a feeling he was hurt more than just where he could see. But he was talking. He told them a few things that he knew about and Rodolfo wrote it down.

“Shepherd has a few safehouses. I only know about them because I found a file I wasn’t supposed to. Didn’t get all of the addresses.”

“Name the ones you do.” Rodolfo ordered and Graves nodded. It was a small handful, but it was a lot better than the nothing they had before.

Rodolfo hummed. “Anything else useful?”

“Not right now.”

He nodded and put the notebook away. “All yours Captain.” Rodolfo brushed past him, walking with the same unnatural grace he always possessed.

“He rough you up?”

“That is one scary bastard.” Graves mumbled, spitting blood on to the floor.

Price watched and took a deep breath.

Smoke and C4.

He leaned down and cut him free. “Get up.”

Graves got up slowly and nodded. He followed Price slowly.

Clothes. Price was positive there would be uniforms in Graves’s size but that would require either walking Graves through half the base, ordering someone to grab clothes or leaving Graves unattended.

He changed directions, making a detour to his room and grabbing clothing. Then they went to the showers. The ones on this side of the base were usual abandoned and today was no exception.

Graves perked up before side eyeing Price. Back with that thick accent. “Not going to peep on me are you?”

Price gave him an unamused glare and Graves shrugged, taking the clothing. He went in and Price heard the shower a moment later.

Price may think Graves is pretty, he’d never stoop so low as to watch him bathe. He found himself touching the feathers. Part of him was curious on if Graves felt everything that happened to him or just the pain. Gently, he ran his fingers over one. They were so soft.

Graves finished cleaning up and dried off. He felt the gentle petting and huffed a little. Once he pulled on his shirt, he peeked out. “Can you stop doing that?”

Price quickly let go so he was just holding him by the string again.

Graves finished getting dressed and was a bit miffed that the clothes were so big on him. He rolled the pant’s legs up and then tucked the shirt into the pants. Drawing the drawstring tight, he managed to look somewhat passable, even if he looked like he was about to go to sleep.

Finally, Graves stepped out and Price paused, examining him. “There weren’t any weapons in there for me to grab, Price. No need to stare me down.”

Price nodded and looked away. “Right. Come on.”

“Can we get food? I didn’t get a chance to eat this morning.”

“Rodolfo interrogate me all morning?”

“Yeah…” Price watched Graves’s put his hand to his ribs. “Mostly using magic, but he did hit me a few times. Scary…”

“He definitely earned Sergeant Major.” He led him to the mess hall, Graves following right on his heels. Price got him food and quickly went to put him back in his cell. Graves quickly glanced around first, cataloging everyone.

“Looking for someone?”

Graves glanced at him. “Just in case, ya know?”

‘Just in case what?”

“One of my shadows are here.” Graves said it so softly.

Price thought he looked gorgeous.

#cod #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare ii #Phillip graves #John Price #Captain John Price #Price x Graves #Graves x Price #Swan maiden au

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booksteaandtoomuchtv · 5 months

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Witchy Woman (7/10)

0.5 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | AO3 | 8 | 9 | 10

LOOK AT THIS STUNNING ARTWORK BY @cocohook38

When Emma’s jilted ex-boyfriend returns to town and Emma goes missing, Killian will stop at nothing to get her back and ensure that nothing can ever separate them again.

Rating: E

CW: Mention of domestic abuse, blood and blood drinking (vampires), threatening situations, minor violence, death, mention of parental death

Entry for Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2023 (@cssns)

Lifting her gaze from the seemingly endless lines of tiny, irregular text in front of her, she let her eyes rest on the sight of the gorgeous vampire studying a similarly old and yellowed text. He toyed with his pen, cleverly manipulating it between his fingers, as he read unaware she’d stopped her own research. Her heart almost hurt as she took in features too perfect to be real, his cheekbones had been carved by a particularly gifted angel doing their best work, the perfection of his jaw was highlighted by deep amber scruff, and his eyes were the deep, rich blue of a clear winter sky.

He was focused, his tongue running under this sharp canine as he read. His fangs weren’t elongated now as they’d been when he ran them along her neck this morning. He had held her tight, thrusting deep into her, as she rocked against him chasing her pleasure. The scrape of his fangs had sent shivers straight to her core. The memory crept up on her all morning in vivid detail while they worked distracting her completely from the dull, ancient texts.

Emma heard so many things about the bite from a vampire. Connections between vampire pairs and vampires and their mates were deepened by the bite. Some claimed it was the most intimate connection any supernatural pairs could share - and werewolves could communicate telepathically with their mates. Most who were bitten by vampires agreed it was the most pleasurable experience they’d ever had - some even became obsessed, addicted to the bite. Emma wondered how enjoyable it would have to be to cause people to stalk vampires, seeking another hit of the venom. Older vampires were said to cause more pleasure. Killian was one of the oldest she’d ever heard of. What could his bite do to her?

“Does it really…” Emma felt her face heat when those stunning eyes looked up to meet hers. The intensity of his gaze heated her more than the question she had started to ask.

“Does what really what, Swan?” His voice was hardly more than a rumble. When he took in the deep blush blooming on her features, his lips quirked up in a heartbreakingly beautiful smile.

“Your bite, does it really enhance things?”

“Enhance things?” Killian’s eyes danced with humour. He clearly knew what she was asking and was enjoying her embarrassment entirely too much.

“Never mind,” she snapped and returned her attention to the book before her.

“Do you want to know what a vampire’s bite is like? Because you can read that in any of your many books on the subject.” Killian asked keeping his voice in that low villainous timbre. His eyes were rolling with that starlight of magic. “Or, are you asking what my bite, specifically, would do to you?”

“What would make your bite different?”

Killian’s gaze flicked away as he chewed over his next words. He turned his attention back to her and hesitated for a moment - his tongue wetting his bottom lip followed quickly by his teeth grazing over the spot. Why is he nervous?

“If I were to bite you, Swan, I believe it would transform our relationship completely.”

“Because you’re such a powerful vampire and I won’t be able to stay away from your allure after one bite?” Emma teased.

“No. Because when a vampire bites their mate, he gives her more of himself. You would see memories some memories as with most bites, but you would also know what I am feeling so long as my venom is in you. Since you are a witch, I expect there would be some exchange of our powers. I’ve heard powerful conduits,” he looked at her pointedly before continuing, “share an even deeper connection with their mates after their bond is solidified in this way.”

“You believe that I am your mate?”

“I know it to be so.”

“How?” Her voice was hardly above a whisper. “Don’t you have to taste my blood before you can be certain?”

“When your blood is fresh, I can smell it.” His cheeks were rosy at the admission as if it were something embarrassing to admit. “The night before you ended things, you had cut your hand while we were cooking together.”

“You’ve known all this time?” Emma murmured. “We’ve wasted all this time?”

“What’s a decade or two when you live forever?” He answered with a smile before adding softly, “For an opportunity to hold you again, I would have held out hope for us until we both ceased to exist.”

Tears pricked at her eyes. How did she come to have a love like his? Of one thing she was absolutely certain, she’d spend the rest of their infinite lives showing him that he was loved just as deeply and unconditionally as he loved her. She’d prove to him that his faith in them, his hope over all this time apart wasn’t wasted.

§§§§ §§§§ §§§§ §§§§

The Supernatural Gala held on the first night of the festivities was, Emma was certain, a form of torture banned by several governments. The dress that Anna had produced for her to wear tonight clung tightly to her form. She supposed it was fashionable and exquisite in its own right, but it made her skin itch and she felt a bit like she was playing dress up with her mum’s clothes, wanting to be the elegant grown-up that the finery suggested she should be.

Anna had transformed the dated ballroom into a scene that rivalled something from the Fae Courts. The high ceiling had become a clear night sky, twinkling with stars. The old wooden columns had been transformed into large, sprawling trees that reached toward the night sky. Their trunks were wrapped with cloth that shimmered as if it were woven from moonbeams. Flowers with petals so deep a blue that they might have been black bloomed on some trees, while others were filled with leaves the colour of freshly fallen snow. Music from an orchestra that Emma could not find drifted into the room and muted the conversations between guests. A few couples were dancing to the music, their movements impossibly complex and graceful. Most of the guests were standing in tight groups exchanging hollow pleasantries while they sipped endless glasses of wine.

“Amphitrite would envy how well you wear her waters.” Killian appeared by her side with a glass of wine and the warmth she hadn’t realised she was missing until his arm was wrapped around her waist. His perfectly tailored suit was the same fathomless blue as the ocean at night kissed by the moon, the same colour as her gown, the colour of his eyes when they darkened with need.

Emma rolled her eyes at him - as if his words and his muscular legs in those tight slacks didn’t affect her - and she plucked the glass out of his hand. She leaned into his side and he tightened his hold, his hook resting on her hip. She sipped at the wine gratefully before resting her head against his shoulder. “I hate these things.”

“I know, love.” He pressed a kiss into her hair. Emma adored that he didn’t press her further, didn’t try to convince her these were fun or necessary events, and didn’t brush off her comment with a dismissive, “It isn’t that bad.” Rather, he stood by her side making the whole stuffy night more bearable with his steady presence (and the wine - of course).

He took the empty glass from her hand and set it on a nearby table and offered his hand to her. “What do you say, Swan, would you dance with me?”

Emma smiled, laying her hand in his. “Why not?”

“That’s the spirit.”

She followed his confident movements in a complex dance that many of the other guests seemed to know the steps to as well. She knew the music must indicate the moves that were expected of the guests, but it all sounded like background music to her.

“It’s a waltz,” Killian murmured, answering her unasked question.

“Of course, you know how to waltz.”

“Mum was fascinated by balls and masquerades,” Killian spoke softly as he led her in a series of turns and complex steps. “She told Liam and me these fanciful, romantic stories of men and women falling in love as they danced together in ballrooms filled with magic and wonder. She danced with us, her little princes, humming the songs that she overheard from the ballrooms she was never invited into.”

The sadness behind his eyes at the memories tugged at her heart. She wanted him to know that he was not alone any longer and she was glad he’d shared such a precious memory with her. She wasn’t quite sure how to tell him just that, so she pulled him close to her, interrupting the graceful movements of the dance to kiss him.

He kissed her back as though she were the only thing that had ever mattered.

A cloud of white haze surrounded them, magic swirling, gently pulling and twisting until it wrapped them up tightly and transported them away from the noisy gathering. Killian raised an eyebrow when he saw the familiar walls of his bedroom surrounding them. Emma smiled back at him with a mixture of pride and mischievousness on her features. “That’s quite a trick, Swan.”

Smile still in place, she wiggled her fingers and his jacket and shirt were tossed carelessly onto the floor. He pulled her to him and kissed her again, nipping her bottom lip and soothing the sting with his tongue. She moaned lowly as his tongue tasted and teased her. He swallowed her moan. “You taste divine.”

“You’ve never tried a bite,” Emma teased.

Killian tensed in her arms. “Emma?” The emotion behind that one word cracked his voice as he searched her features for an answer to a question he didn’t dare ask.

“I want you to.”

“You’re certain?” He kept his eyes focused on hers, ensuring there were no traces of doubt or hesitation hidden somewhere in them. “Once we do this, we can’t take it back.”

Emma lifted to her toes to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. His stubble was rough on her lips, but it made her smile. Everything about this moment felt right. Her magic hummed and stirred around them as if it, too, agreed she was making the right decision. The fear she expected to accompany this decision was notably absent. Instead, she was filled with a pleasant hum of anticipation and an absolute certainty that this was going to be a wonderful thing for them to share. “I want to be yours in every way, Killian. That includes the way that vampires are together. I want you to mark me.”

“As you wish.” His voice was more growl, more vampire than she’d ever heard it before. Excitement spread through her - her chest and cheeks flushing a deep red. “You look absolutely delicious when you flush like that for me.”

Quicker than she could track his movements, he was behind her unzipping her gown and dragging his lips along her neck. The gown flowed to the floor, pooling at her feet. Killian sucked in a breath at the sight of her naked before him.

“So bloody perfect, Emma.” He told her as he carried her to his bed and laid her down almost reverently. He tugged off his trousers and pants in a quick motion. He kneeled before her. “I love having you laid out before me with your cunt dripping.” His warm breath flowed over her sensitive flesh, pulling a moan from her. “I haven’t even touched you yet, love.”

“Needy witch.” Then, his tongue was on her. He ran the flat of his tongue slowly up her slit, savouring the taste of her. He nipped lightly on her clit before licking and sucking at her folds again. He slipped two fingers into her, stroking her and building the tension up, while he sucked at her clit. Her hips lifted from the bed, desperately trying to reach her peak quicker.

“Impatient little thing,” he admonished softly, pulling his head away from her as retribution for her trying to take control. He trailed kisses along her thigh, smirking at the whines and curses flowing from her at his cruelty. She grabbed his hair and pulled him back to her centre. A low laugh escaped him, vibrating against her clit in the most wonderful way, and he returned his full attention to pleasuring her with his clever fingers and tongue.

He twirled his tongue around her clit in a motion that made her buck against him once again “Fuck, Killian.” She could feel him smile even as he continued devouring her. His rough stubble provided her with additional friction carrying her even closer to the edge.

The tension was almost too much, the release a moment away, when he sunk his fangs into her thigh. Warmth spread through her as he drank, she felt like she was floating away, a blissful haze welcoming her as she shattered around his fingers.

Pictures flashed through her mind, moments Killian had captured and held dear of them working together of her smiling at him of the yearning he’d felt over the years. Something deep, something eternal flooded her system as he smoothed the wound over with sweet kisses, murmuring praises into her skin as he watched her intently as if he expected her to regret it.

The words rushed out of her before she could think about it and stop them.

“I love you."

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