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donteattheappleshook · 3 months

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(not so) young, drunk and alone 1/1

“Swan, it’s me. ‘M so sorry I ‘avnent called for… September, October, Nov… three months. Shit that’s too many months. ‘M sorry but I need your help. The sherrffeff won’t let me leave. He says you have to pick me up - well not you but ‘ynow someone. I don’t know anyone else. Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.”

(We'll give this a light M)

Oh hey, it's me, neglecting all the WIPs for something new.

This fic is a little birthday present to myself. It's completely ferral and I had very little control over it but I listened to Dial Drunk on repeat for 3 days and then this happened. This fic is unbetaed but thank you @the-darkdragonfly for answering all my texts and rambling calls while I was writing it!

A Silver hook story because apparently everything I write is now...

Read it on Ao3 (where my italics work)

******

(not so) young, drunk and alone

She shouldn’t be allowed to look at him like that. Not with a smirk caught between her teeth in a way that makes his throat dry and his pulse race. Not with the barely restrained promise of a laugh he’s sure would come out in different company that makes his face burn and and his eyes unable to meet hers. He can’t look at her when she looks like that, and she’s looking at him like that, and he looks - he assumes not great.

So he focuses on the floor instead. The floor is safe. The floor doesn’t stir up conflicting and confusing feelings he’s managed to ignore for the better part of a year. The floor doesn’t make him question every terrible decision he’s made in his life that led him to this exact moment. The floor is… moving. It’s not supposed to do that. Although that’s likely the booze, he rationalizes. But the floor isn’t interested in being rational so Killian lets his forehead fall against the bars he’s already holding onto in an attempt to stay upright. The bars are nice, they’re cool and solid and it slows the spinning in his head a fraction.

“Big night?”

He takes a full ten seconds, counted slowly, and a few deep breaths before raising his head again and facing that smirk. It doesn’t help. The absolute delight in her eyes delivers the same gut-punch it always does - even if it’s at his expense - and the soft blonde curls that have fallen from her probably hastily pulled up bun make him ache to reach out and brush them away from her face just so he can feel the strands between his fingers.

He shouldn’t have called her. He knew it was a mistake when he did it. He should have just let the sheriff keep him in this bloody cell. It’s not as if he hadn’t slept it off a night or two in another cell in another town throughout his youth. But he’s not so youthful now and the sight of the cold, hard bench, the thought of his aching back and the copious amounts of rum still coursing through his blood had been enough to send him over the edge into madness apparently. So he’d pressed the blurry little “absolutely not” in his contacts and called the only person he knew in this whole bloody city.

“Swaann.” He attempts a smile but it turns into a wince as he manages to slur the single word. When he works up to meeting her eyes again - so green, like the sea glass he used to collect on the beach when he was a boy and that takes his breath away every time - there’s a bit of pity mixed in with the amusement.

He feels pretty pitiful. Forty-five and so stumbling drunk that he’d been tossed out of the pub and into a police car, only to be forced to face the one person he’d hoped the rum would chase from his mind. He’s too old to be acting like this. Even with his wits sloshing around in the drink he’d tried to drown them with he knows he’s too old to be acting like this. When you’re young, it’s funny, an anecdote for another time - spending the night in the drunk tank. When you’re his age, it’s just pathetic.

“Alright, let’s get you out of here.” Her voice is sweet, with a laugh still hiding somewhere behind it, and it’s the first sound since he was brought here that hasn’t made his head feel like it was being scratched at from the inside.

“You shouldn’t’ve come here. S’the middle of the night,” he tells her. She doesn’t belong in this sad little room in this sad little jail with the lightbulb that keeps flickering in and out. Still, he can’t stop the stupid smile that finds residence on his face whenever she’s near - because she is here. She came to get him.

Emma raises a brow in a way he thinks she may have picked up from him. “You called me three times.”

He blinks. Fuck. He doesn’t remember that. He looks at the sheriff waiting a little ways back who nods in confirmation, giving Killian his own pitying wince like he tried to stop him. Killian sighs. “‘Mm usually much more charming.”

She rolls her eyes but smirks again as the sheriff slides a key into the ancient looking lock. “Yeah, I know. Come on, Graham’s going to let you off with a warning -”

He nearly falls flat on his face when the door he’d been leaning against swings open.

“You sure you’re gonna be okay with him, Em?”

Oh great, they know each other. He’d be more annoyed at her cozy relationship with the unreasonably attractive sheriff if he wasn’t a little bit grateful to the man who caught him and is still holding him up now. If he can just get his legs to go back under him where they belong…

“I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

Killian feels himself being passed from the man who smells strikingly of the forest, to the woman with the irreplicable scent of honey and drugstore soap that overwhelms him with the memory of every time he’s had his mouth or his hand on her skin. The fingers of his one remaining hand burn with the urge to feel her under them again so he balls them into a fist as she drapes his arm over her shoulders. “What about you?” It takes him a moment to realize that he’s who the question is directed at. “You going to be okay to walk out of here?”

Sheer determination not to make an even greater fool of himself than he already has in front of Emma Swan is the only thing he can attribute to both not falling right over with the nod of his head, and the steadiness of his first step as she leads him out the door.

He stumbles three times between the building and her car. She catches him every time with a hand on his chest, her head turning so that her hair brushes his cheek and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t do it on purpose after the first time - though he can’t really trust his own thoughts at this point since they have to be yelled at him through an ocean of rum.

“It’s your bug!” he beams at the old, yellow car. “I love your bug.”

“You hate my bug.”

Oh, right. He does hate the car that broke down every other time they drove to his hotel in the middle of the night, the one that had broken down the night they met. ‘I swear I’m not trying to stand you up. It’s just my car is literally on the side of the road right now and the tow won’t come for another hour at least and there’s… smoke.’

It had been an interesting night, getting an Uber in a strange city to go pick up a stranded woman from a dating app who'd been on her way to his hotel for anonymous sex - a woman he found out had lied about her age when she pointed out that the 1993 beetle was older than she was. ‘I didn’t think you’d swipe right if you knew there was a whole high school senior between us.’ ‘Anything else I should know about?’ he’d teased when they were back at his hotel room where she’d managed to get him out of his shirt with impressive speed. ‘Is Anna even your real name?’ ‘Uhhh, about that…’

She leans him up against the aggressive yellow of the door as she fishes in her pockets for her key. Her cheeks have gone red from the cold and it reminds him of the flush that would sometimes come over her skin if he found the right words or the right touch.

“You’re so lovely.” His thumb is tracing over her cheek though he doesn’t remember raising his hand or reaching for her.

She snorts. “Yeah, okay, Jones. So not gonna happen tonight, but nice try.” This time her smirk is wicked and if he had any real control over his body or his brain he would kiss it right off her smug mouth.

“I wasn’t trying to do anything!” he swears, prosthetic on his heart as she unlocks the passenger side door. “I’m just grateful you came all the way out here to rescue me. My knight in awful yellow armour.” He gasps. She rescued him from a dungeon. “Bloody hell, Swan -” He speaks slowly, managing to get almost every word out coherently. “I’m the princess.”

He’s waiting for her to come to the same mind-blowing realization as he has, but she just shakes her head and rolls her eyes. “Get in the car, your highness.”

It takes an impressive amount of self-control for him to sit still and keep his hand to himself despite his racing heart and thoughts as she leans over to help him secure his seatbelt. Because he’s not supposed to have those thoughts. And his idiot heart can keep its cruel reminders to itself. He shouldn’t have called her. He hasn’t called her - not in months. Not since he realized his mistake and knew this thing between them had to come to an end.

He’s missed her so bloody much.

“Killian.” She’s beside him now in the driver’s seat and saying his name like it’s not the first time she’s asked him this question. “Where are you staying?”

“Oh, I…” Shit. He knows this. He’s got this. Think. There was a hotel. A big hotel with really good room service. Maybe they could go there and he could buy her room service. She always liked that. ‘Listen, I know I came over here for sex and that was great and everything, but there’s a freaking lobster grilled cheese on this menu so do you think I could be here for sex and room service tonight?’ She’d looked at him with that same wicked, eager smile and he was already reaching across her for the phone. ‘I feel like I should be concerned that you seem more turned on by this sandwich than you did by anything else tonight.’ ‘Well, it’ll probably take them a little while to deliver it if you want another go at out-seducing bread and cheese.’

“A hotel,” he tells her finally.

“Yeah, I kind of figured. Which one?”

“Which what?”

“Which hotel, Killian? Which hotel am I driving you to?”

“Oh.” He knows this one! “Mine.”

She sighs, forehead falling against the steering wheel for a long moment. He waits, not sure what he did wrong but positive that he did something. “Okay,” she says, sitting up and starting the car. “It’s late. You can sleep it off on my couch for tonight and I’ll drive you back in the morning when you’re less… wasted.”

She sounds frustrated and he thinks it might be his fault. He looks at her carefully as she turns out of the parking lot, really looks at her for the first time since she walked back into his life a moment ago. Holding his breath against the eyes and hair and skin that always try to steal it away, he takes note of her messy hair, the lack of any makeup, the grey sweats he knows she likes to sleep in. He looks at the clock next, the late - or rather early - hour shining angry, bright and orange. He can figure this out.

“I’m sorry.” He’s an idiot. She glances at him before turning back to the dark highway ahead of them.” “I shouldn’t have called you.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” He hangs his head, hoping he looks sincere and not just as pathetically pissed as he is. “I woke you up.”

“Really, Killian, it’s fine. I was just going to bed.” He looks at the clock again and he envies her youth not for the first time since meeting her. He supposes he’s up this late as well, but that wasn’t by choice. That was the rum’s decision. The rum always makes bad decisions.

“But it’s cold.” She must be cold. She’s always cold and he made her go outside. She hates outside. She probably hates him now. ‘Listen, I’m all for this whole hooking up when you’re in town no strings thing.’ She waved a hand in his general direction. ‘Big fan of everything you’ve got going on here. But it’s cold as balls outside, so from now on you can come to mine and I can stay inside where it’s warm, or I’ll see you in the spring.’

The smirking curl of her mouth tugs at her cheek but he doesn’t reach for it again. “Yeah, it’s November.”

November. The last time he saw her it had been the dead of summer, both of them hot and sticky and barely dressed, stretched out in front of the single standing fan by the bed in her little apartment with no bloody air conditioning.

He misses that apartment. Misses being there with her and letting her make him boxed mac and cheese while he complained about her eating habits. Misses the ridiculous sheets with little Millennium Falcons on them that she’d found when he was running late to meet her that one time. He’d made her wash them before putting them on her bed - ‘fine, mom’ - and then listened to her make Star Wars puns from between her thighs until they tightened so hard against his ears he couldn’t hear anything at all.

And he misses the way she would smile at him when she opened the door, just before she dragged him inside, asking about his flight between heated kisses and frustrated hands. ‘I hate your stupid ties’.

He’s a bloody idiot and he should have never stopped calling. Or he should have stopped calling a long time ago, before there was anything to miss. They had a good thing going, an understanding, no strings. He’d reach out when he was in town for work and they would meet for one or however many nights he was staying. No expectations or dates or sleepovers, none of the complicated stuff. And he’d screwed it up.

His feet slip dangerously against the icy ground - at least he’s pretty sure there’s ice, or the ground isn’t staying still again - as Emma practically hoists him out of the car. “You remember the stairs right?” she asks, ducking under his arm again to steady him. She fits well there with her arm wrapped around his waist.

He hadn’t remembered the stairs. Though he should have, he’d complained about them enough times. ‘What’s so wrong with an apartment with an elevator?’ ‘Aw, can your old knees not handle it?’ He’d caught her as she bolted up the last few flights at his glare, laughing the whole way, and he’d spent enough time on his ‘old knees’ to make her take it back. This time, he’s not so sure he can handle it as he looks up at the rotating stairs that seem unable to settle on a height.

“It’s either that or you’re sleeping in the lobby, Jones.”

He considers it. “Is that David guy still your landlord?” The one who was particularly hostile to the man in his forties coming over at random hours of the night to visit his twenty-eight year old tenant. ‘Give him a break, he still thinks I’m the sixteen year old kid he illegally rented to when I first moved here.’

In fairness, Killian would probably judge himself too if he were in the landlord's shoes. He has judged himself many times for becoming a stereotype of Dicaprio-sized proportions. But the alternative would have been resisting Emma Swan, something he’s incapable of doing - or at least had been until that morning he ruined everything.

“Okay.” The stairs are still moving.

“Hold on.” She takes out her phones - there’s definitely two of them - and holds them in front of his face. “I just want to get you on camera saying that I’m not liable if you fall down these stairs and break your neck.”

“Is that really necessary?” He got that whole sentence out in one try.

“I know you have a lawyer.” ‘You have a what? Wow, I knew you were older but I didn’t know you were like, old old.’ ‘I don’t think it counts if you’ve stolen from parent’s liquor cabinet.’

“Fine. Don’t sue Emma if I die. She’s very nice and doesn’t have any money anyway.”

“Thank you.”

“It’ll never hold up in court.”

“That would be way more convincing if you could pronounce all your consonants.”

The climb takes twice as long as it should and he’s forced to stop once when he makes the mistake of looking down and his stomach rolls violently. ‘I swear to god if you puke in my hallway I’ll leave you here to sleep in it.’

“I don’t remember there being this many floors.”

“It’s four floors. You’ve done two.”

He might die.

He doesn’t die, but just barely, and when Emma leads him through the door and into the studio, she practically drops him onto the old couch. It’s not her fault; he’d made himself very droppable in the last few minutes. At least he landed on the couch and not the collection of wooden crates she’s glued together next to it. ‘That’s not a coffee table, Swan.’ ‘Oh, I’m sorry, is that or is that not your coffee cup on it right now?’

He doesn’t see her for a few minutes, his head too heavy to lift, but he can hear her moving around the apartment and he can picture her, walking through the kitchen on her toes. ‘It’s not weird, shut up.’ ‘I just thought you’d like to know that most people use their whole foot.’

When she finally comes back, he forces his eyes open, unsure who exactly glued them shut or how they did it without him noticing. Fuck she’s beautiful. Even through the boozy marinade he’s made of his head he can see that, and he wants to tell her. He could. He could blame it on the rum. But that would be a bad idea. Complicating things between them would be a bad idea. They’d already gotten complicated enough. God, he’s such a fuck up. Things were good, they could have stayed good. He just had to go and ruin a good thing with his stupid, greedy heart.

“Here.” Two little pills and a frighteningly large bottle of water are set down in front of him. He’s not sure what the pills are but he’s also pretty sure she wouldn’t try to poison him even if he is an asshole who called her in the middle of the night after ghosting her for months. Pretty sure. The water sounds like a good idea.

“Have you eaten anything or did you have rum for dinner?”

“There were peanuts at the bar,” he tells her after guzzling down enough water to drown himself with. She shakes her head and walks out of his line of sight again. This time she comes back with a bag of crisps and he thinks maybe she doesn’t hate him as much as he thought because they’re the kind he likes most.

“Eat that, drink that, and take those,” she orders, pointing to each with a stern look. “And then lie down on your side so I know you won’t choke to death in the night, and get some sleep.”

“Yes ‘mam,” he salutes.

“Don’t get cute with me.” He wasn’t trying to be cute. But it makes him unreasonably happy that she thinks he is. She rolls her eyes at his probably once again dumb smile and repeats, “eat,” before disappearing where he can’t see her again.

When she comes back this time her hair is down, falling over the shoulders of her oversized Jonas Brothers t-shirt she’s apparently had since she was twelve, and he wants to whine or cry at how desperately he wishes he could reach for her and what an idiot he is for being the reason he can’t. She’s carrying an empty garbage can, a blanket draped over one arm.

“Do not puke on my rug. It’s the only new thing in this whole apartment and I love it more than I’ve ever loved anything in my life.”

Killian leans over from where he’s stretched out on the couch that’s too small for him, running his fingers over the blue and white pattern and nods. “It’s lovely, very soft.”

She’s silent for long enough that he looks up again, only to find her with her lips pressed so hard together against a laugh that he can see her chest lurch with the force of containing it. He frowns, looking from her to the rug and back again before realizing that he’s been stroking the rug with his prosthetic hand.

“Emma… I might be drunker than I thought.”

The laugh that bursts out of her is loud and horrible and obnoxious and it’s the best sound he’s heard in a long time. He’s missed that sound, the one that had shocked him so completely the first time he heard it that they’d both ended up on the floor, stomachs hurting and eyes tearing, neither able to remember what had set her off in the first place and unable to stop giggling like teenagers.

“Aw, babe,” Emma crouches down in front of him with a pitying look before beginning to work the straps of his false hand loose. Her hand settles soft against his cheek once it’s free, smirk still lingering on the corner of her lips. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been as drunk as you are right now.”

Her face is so close to his that his heart forgets how it’s meant to work, stopping and racing of its own accord. He wishes she would close the distance, that he could feel her mouth against his for the first time in months, or that she’d simply stay here with him for the rest of the night because the distance and the silence between them has been more than he can take. He doesn't know how he ever convinced himself that staying away would eventually make the ache for her fade.

She smiles at him again, giving his cheek an affectionate pat before draping the blanket over him, the soft one he knows had been her prized possession before the rug. “Get some sleep, Killian. I don’t think anyone’s ever been as hungover as you’re going to be tomorrow either.”

He’s not sure whether or not the way his fingers close around hers before she can pull away was his idea or the rum’s, but she’s looking at him, waiting for him to say something and he doesn’t know what he was going to say or what he was thinking. He just knows that he missed her and he screwed it up - and then he screwed it up again, possibly beyond repair the second time.

Being in this city that he managed to avoid for months in the hopes that he could forget about her has been one of the worst decisions he’s ever made. To think he really believed that he could live here, that he could take the job that was offered and not be haunted by her every waking moment, not dread and hope to see her around every corner.

Being naive enough to think he could ignore the draw of her is how he ended up in that bar tonight. He’d tried to figure out how many shots of rum it would take to make him forget that he loves Emma Swan, but it seems there isn’t enough rum in the world for that - or at least not enough in that bar.

She’s still looking at him and he wishes she wasn’t watching him with a hesitation and a carefulness that hadn’t been there before. It had always been so easy between them; he’d never felt less self-conscious with another person in his life and now it’s all consuming. She’s lost the carefree warmth he used to see in her eyes, like he took it with him when he left that morning and didn’t come back.

“I’m sorry.”

He can’t tell if it’s relief or disappointment in her sigh. “I already told you, it’s fine.”

He shakes his head. “Not for calling you tonight. For not calling you. Every other night. I’ve been an ass and I’ve been a coward. You didn’t deserve that.” By the grace of whatever gods might be listening to his poor apology, he doesn’t slur a single word.

Her pause is long enough that he worries he said the wrong thing, and he can’t read her expression through the haze of booze and exhaustion swimming around in his head. He should let go of her hand, but he’s painfully aware that this could be the last time he gets to touch her and she’s not pulling away.

She sighs again. “Why don’t we talk about this when you’re feeling better?”

He lets go. “Aye, Swan, whatever you want.”

She walks away. Beyond repair then.

***

Killian jumps, heart pounding. He feels like he’s woken from a coma, body so heavy with sleep that parts of it aren't responding to him and never having been more confused than he is in these first few moments. It’s daytime, but it’s not morning, the light is too dim, and he’s asleep but not in his bed or in his hotel room, on a couch he recognizes but can’t really place. He has a vague recollection of things that may or may not have happened while he lay here; the sound of someone moving around the room, someone saying his name, a door shutting, an angry car somewhere far off and the bark of a dog somewhere close, the sound of keys and the strange sensation someone poking him in the face - hard.

All of it feels like a fever dream now as he looks towards the tinny sound of the belligerent man’s voice coming from the phone in her hand.Oh no. Oh god what the hell had he done last night? He recognizes the room, the soft blanket he’s under, the long legs clad in grey sweatpants perched on the table in front of him. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to look at her.

“Oh! It’s Killian by the way. Killian Jones. I don’t know how many Killians you know but I’m that one. The dickhead who ghosted you. ‘Nway, if you could call me back that would be just - awesome. Yur prolly not gonna call me back. I wouldn’t call me back. ‘Nway… yeah. It’s Killian. Thanks.”

If you’d like to save this message, press - there's a loud beep before another message begins to play. Bloody hell. He remembers the pub, and the cop - sort of - and he remembers that little line on his phone screen. ‘Absolutely not’. From the looks of it, he absolutely did.

“Heey, isme again. I don’t think I told you where I am. Is’not great, Swan. They put me in the jail.”

He winces, sitting up carefully, head still light and disoriented. “Did I…”

“Mhm.”

Another wince. “Are they all-”

“Oh yeah.”

“‘M not even that drunk. The sherfs just got a commpelex or something.”

“Swan, we really don’t have to -”

“Shh, this is my favourite part.”

Killian hangs his head. “I - Oy, I’m on the phone, sherirff! Don’ they teach you manners at cop school? The cops in your city are rude, Swan. Hey! No - iss my phone. I can call whoever I want.” There’s a shuffling sound that stirs up a faint memory of trying to back deeper into the cell, then a small shout and he remembers why his ass hurts and that he’s probably got a bruise on his hip the size of the one on his ego. Emma has her lip caught between her teeth again, flashing him the same look she had when she arrived at the station.

“Hello? Swan? Oh, right. Yur prolly asleep. You should be asleep, that’s good. I jus’ called ‘cus I…” For a blissful minute he thinks he might have had the sense to hang up, the silence on the other end dragging on and he almost breathes a sigh of relief. But then the message rings out again. “I can't remember why I called you. I think somethin’ made me think of you.” His voice gets softer and so does her expression for just a moment.

“That happens a lot. I been thinking ‘bout you a lot, all the time, really. And not just in a sexy way and not just yer face.” Killian hangs his head. “Even though I’m a fan of your face. And all your other parts too.”

He wishes he could just perish right here and now, wishes the dull ache in his head would become an aneurysm and take him out without a fuss.

“I been thinking about those ridic’lus tiktoks you used to send me and when I was in meetings ‘n I jus’ wanted to be with you. I don’t know anything about Taylor Swift anymore, Swan - I don’t know how to find those myself.” There’s another pause but he knows better than to hope this is over, much of this coming back to him now in mortifying waves.

“I’ve too many shirts in my closet now - It’s so many shirts. I always brought extra ‘cause I knew you’d steal ‘em an’ then you’d walk ‘round your kitchen in ‘em with no pants like yur a sexy Winnie the Pooh or somethn’ and I had to watch you climb yur counters while I had a heartattack ‘cuz you wouldn’ jus’ let me get things off the top shelf for you. Bloody stubborn.” There’s a sigh over the machine. “I don’t want this many shirts, Swan…

‘Anyway I - What? Who does? Sorry, Swan the sherf is being rude again. He wants to know if yur picking me up. Are you picking me up?” There’s so much hope in his past self’s voice that he almost feels bad for him. But he also knows what a bloody idiot that man is and it’s hard to feel anything but the overwhelming urge to disappear into this couch and not have to listen to any more of his drunken rambling. “That would be nice. But it’s okay if you don’t want to. I’d understand. Gnight, love.”

To delete this message press - She hits a button. Message saved.

Killian braces himself for the next one. Gods, how many of them are there? But this time it’s not his voice that comes out over the speakerphone, it’s another man, Irish and vaguely familiar through the sleep and the unfortunately returning memories.

“Hey, Emma, it’s Graham.” Killian’s heart drops into his stomach at the sound of another man calling her in the middle of the night. Of course she wouldn’t have sat around pining like he did, not for a man who treated her as carelessly as he had. Of course - “Listen, I don’t know who this guy is but he says he knows you. I thought maybe he was one of your clients but when I asked him how he knows you he just asked me if I’ve ever been in love...”

The brow Emma raises at him is equal parts question, challenge and amusement and he feels the blood rush from his face. Fuck. He wonders whether four floors would be high enough for him to end this misery if he just went out the window.

“Anyway, just let me know if this is another Walsh situation and I’ll make sure he stays in here, alright? Goodnight, love.” Killian can’t even begrudge the man or the endearment he adds to the end of his message when he’s only looking out for her. Probably a good thing she has someone to keep old, drunk dickheads away from her.

He hears another beep of her mailbox and braces himself for whatever’s coming next. “Hi, love, ‘m sorry for calling so much. I know I made too many ms’takes to be ‘loud to say this, but… I miss you, Swan… And I’d jus’ really like to see you again.”

End of messages. To -

Emma shuts the phone off, setting it down next to her on the coffee table. She tilts her head to see his face which he’s currently trying to bury in his hands. “Sounds like you had quite the night.”

“I thought I’d be more hungover.” His head hurts and he’s tired and his mouth is dry but he expected to be near death after the way he threw them back last night.

“It’s four in the afternoon.” Oh. He does the math of how long she’d let him sleep in her apartment after everything he’s done - after she picked him up.

“At one point I had to make sure you were alive. But I figured if you were able to leave such eloquent voicemails last night that you probably weren’t in danger of alcohol poisoning.”

“Swan, I…” He’s fully aware that he deserves her mocking but he’s too humiliated to even begin to try and explain his behaviour last night. How can he without explaining everything right down to that morning in July where he messed up the best thing in his life.

She takes pity on him, giving a small shrug. “Forget about it. Everyone says stupid stuff when they’re hammered. Everyone calls people they know they shouldn’t.”

“No, Emma -” He finally lifts his head to look at her. “That wasn’t…” He needs her to know that wasn’t what this was, she wasn’t just some drunk dial in the middle of the night. He thinks of how many times in the last three three months he’s looked at that contact in his phone, her name replaced with a reminder that he should not and absolutely could not go there. She mistakes his hesitation.

“You okay?”

“No.” He needs to talk to her, to apologize and beg her forgiveness. But he can’t find the words in his tired, muddled head to tell her without telling her everything. “I’m a bloody idiot.”

Emma smirks. “Yeah, we established that last night - a bunch of times.”

“I mean it. It wasn’t -” He rubs at his eyes, trying to clear the sleep and avoid looking at her. “I didn’t just call you because I was drunk. I’ve wanted to call you. For months. Last night just gave me an excuse.”

“You needed an excuse to call me?”

He sighs. “I was coward enough to convince myself I did.”

When he finally forces himself to face her, he finds her watching her phone, fingers wrung in her lap and lips pressed together tightly the way they always are before she asks something that’s answer matters to her.

“How much of last night do you actually remember?”

“Most of it, I think.” It’s been coming back to him in increasingly horrifying details since she played that first voicemail.

“You said a lot of stupid stuff.”

“I know.”

“How much of all of that was true?”

“All of it.”

She raises a brow. “All of it?”

“Aye.”

“Sexy Winnie the Pooh?”

A smirk tugs at his mouth. “I stand by what I said.”

He wonders which parts of what he said she’s focusing on as her silence stretches between them, heartbroken when he sees a little wall go up. This is why he stopped calling. He knew this would happen.

“It’s fine. It’s not like you owed me anything. We weren’t -”

“Don’t do that.” His hand reaches out for her, fingers playing carefully with the fabric of her too-big sweatpants. “We may not have been in a relationship but we weren’t nothing.” He won’t let her excuse his behaviour, not after they spent over a year in each others’ lives only for him to disappear from hers. “I shouldn’t have acted like we were.”

“So then why did you stop calling?” It’s the most vulnerable he’s ever heard her sound even though she hides it well and he can’t bring himself to look at her. “I liked what we had going. I liked spending time with you.”

“Aye, so did I.” Too much.

“I guess I thought - I guess I thought we were friends at least.”

“We were.” His fingers dance along her calf through the fabric he can’t stop fiddling with and he feels the muscle tense but she doesn’t pull away from him.

“So then what gives?” The anger in her voice makes his gaze snap up to hers. Finally. He’s been waiting for her to be angry with him, she deserves to be angry and he deserves it too. It gives him that small flicker of hope he’d been unable to find until now, a hope that if she’s angry, it’s because she cared enough to be hurt. “Why did you just…” She gestures vaguely with her hands. Disappear.

“Because I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“Do what? Hook up? Jesus, Killian, I’m a big girl. You didn’t have to run away because you were over the benefits part of this friendship.”

“I wasn’t. I left because I broke our rules.”

“What rules?”

The ones they’d so carefully established when they decided to continue this arrangement beyond the first and second time he saw her. The ones that were meant to keep either of them from getting hurt like they both were now.

“The last time I was here, we fell asleep and woke up in the morning still in your bed and I…”

“That’s why you freaked out? Because you accidentally slept over? That’s a bit dramatic don’t you think?” He can hear the disbelief in her voice and also the relief but he’s not done. “It wasn’t like a hard and fast rule -”

His fingers curl around the back of her knee, squeezing as he draws her attention. “That’s not why.” He traces his thumb over the fabric covering her shin and he knows he has to tell her because he can’t do this anymore without telling her and he can’t go back to how things were.

And he thinks that just maybe, she’ll want to hear it. Because as small and insignificant as it may seem, those aren’t her sweatpants, they’re his, lent - stolen - after a rather frantic afternoon in his hotel room six months ago where he may have torn her skirt in his haste to get it off. ‘You need better quality clothes, love.’ ‘Is this you finally offering to be my sugar daddy?’ They have his bloody initials on them - a strange gift from his lawyer friend. And she hasn’t gotten rid of them, didn’t toss them away when he did the same to her. She still sleeps in them.

“I freaked out because I liked waking up with you, and I started thinking that I’d like to wake up with you every morning.” He’d been hot and sweaty and sore from sleeping on her old mattress but he’d looked down at the woman wrapped around him despite the stifling heat, her cheek pressed to his chest and her hair in his mouth and he knew that he wanted this, wanted her, maybe forever. He hears her small intake of breath, his thumb still stroking her skin though the fabric as though it’ll give him the strength he needs. “And I hadn’t felt that way about anyone since…” He can’t finish and so she does for him.

“Milah?”

“Aye.” His reason for never wanting anything more, love lost in the same instant that cost him a piece of himself. He’d told Emma about her, one night when they’d lingered a little too long entangled in the aftermath. He didn’t know the details of her reason, only that she’d been far too young and that he’d hurt her deeply enough to make her wary of anyone who claimed love or devotion.

“I hoped that if I stayed away for a little while that it would fade away and that we could go back to how things were because I knew that if I told you I would lose you. But the longer I stayed away, the more I missed you and the more I wanted you and I realized it wasn’t going to go away - because I loved you.”

Killian watches her for a reaction as he tells her the truth he’d been hiding from her for months and from himself for far longer, but she remains unreadable, fingers still wringing nervously in her lap, breathing a little shaky. But there’s no abject terror in her gaze as she waits for him to finish.

“And by then I’d avoided you for too long and it was too late to tell you or try to go back to how things were and I lost you anyway. Then I managed to convince myself that it was for the best because this wasn’t what you wanted and you deserved better anyway.” Better than an old widower with a used up heart who’d run the moment things became real. “But I thought you had the right to know that I didn’t leave because I didn’t care about you. I left because I cared too much.”

Fabric slips from his hand as she stands, circling the coffee table and leaving him feeling untethered without her and with a barrier set between them. He focuses on the rug, her reaction expected but no less painful, as she paces the length of her glued together crates a few times.

“Okay two things.” Her tone snaps his gaze up to where she moves anxiously and restlessly in the small space. “First of all, that’s the last time you make a decision for me.” He hadn’t expected this reaction. “I don’t need anyone to decide what I do or don’t deserve or what I can or can’t handle. If you want to know what I want, you ask me. You talk to me like the grownup you keep pretending that you are.” That one hurts but he nods. It’s all rightly earned.

“You’re right.”

“Good.” She stops, shoulders squared as she faces him from across the table. “Second.” He waits, the anger from before no longer sustaining her as he sees the wall she hides behind slip just a little. “You said you loved me.”

He’s not sure what answer she wants, but he gives her the truth. “I love you, Swan.” Try as hard as he did not to, he knows it’s not going away. And he’s not willing to attempt another eight shots of rum a second time to make sure.

She nods. He waits, or she waits, he’s not sure who’s supposed to speak here only that he needs to know how she feels and he’ll wait as long as he needs to.

“Well? Are you going to ask me what I want?”

“What do you want?” He’d give her whatever she asked for at this point as he watches her bite her lip and definitely doesn’t wish he was the one biting it.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Fair enough.

“Look, I get running away from feelings - I’m very familiar with the concept. But the way you did it was really shitty and -” Her voice goes quiet, arms wrapping around herself in a move so full of self-preservation that it breaks his heart a little. “It hurt, okay?”

Her words, thick with betrayal and rejection, pierce sharp through his chest, painful and deserved as she avoids his gaze as determinantly as he’d avoided hers. God, he’s an ass. He’d pieced together enough about her past from the small glimpses she’d given him late on those nights where they were still tangled naked in her sheets and the dark lent them the boldness to be vulnerable to know that she’d been left before.

He joins her on her side of the table, reaching to touch the soft, golden waves that he’s spent months wishing he could tangle his fingers in again. “I’m sorry.” He pushes them behind her ear, thumb stroking over her cheek like her skin could break beneath his touch.

When she looks up at him her eyes are red and wet he pulls her to him without thinking. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, Emma feeling fragile in his arms for the first time since he met her. She’s a force, his Swan, a tempest that could devour a thousand ships and it hurts to see her storms wane.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, quieter, pressing a kiss to her temple as he brings a hand to stroke the hair at the base of her neck, feels her lean into him. “I’m sorry,” he speaks against her brow. “I’m so sorry, love.” His lips brush over the crown of her head and he feels her arms slip around his waist, holding tight to the back of his shirt. He holds her just as tightly, nose settling in the crook of her neck where he presses another kiss and whispers a thousand more apologies. “I’m an ass.”

“Yeah, you are.” Her voice comes muffled from where her face is pressed against his collarbone and he laughs in relief to hear her tease him. He pulls back enough that she can lift her head to face him, eyes still red as he wipes at the dampness left on her cheeks. All he wants is to kiss her and spend the night and the next day and every day after that making this up to her, but he knows better than to push her.

Her hands slide from his back to his chest as she meets his gaze and takes a steadying breath. “I still don’t know what I want. You’re not the only one who’s bad at dealing with feelings and you just put some pretty big ones out there.”

“I know.” He doesn’t expect to hear the words back, not after three months of silence. But if she gives him the chance to stay and try to win her heart then he’ll spend forever earning back her trust.

“But maybe, if you’re still in town for a bit, you could stay for dinner.”

It takes everything he has to contain the ecstatic smile that wells up from his chest, afraid he’ll scare her off. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.” He’s not leaving her again. Not unless she sends him away.

***

“When do you go back?” she asks when they’re sat at the kitchen island. ‘What, exactly, do you have against real furniture? Especially tables. They seem particularly discriminated against.’ ‘Do you see any room in here for a twelve-piece dining set?’ He swallows the bite of the boxed mac and cheese she’d made him cook ‘Because I’m still pissed at you and I’m going to enjoy watching you suffer through this.’ ‘Sadist. Can I at least add -’ ‘No.’

Killian looks at his watch. “My flight was an hour ago.”

“What? You should have said -”

“And miss all the delicacies that Maine has to offer?” he asks, lifting his mismatched bowl. “It’s fine, Swan,” he adds when she looks genuinely concerned. “I’d rather be here.” He can get another flight at the last minute before he’s due back in New York on Monday. Getting his things back from the hotel, however, may be a tad more difficult.

“That’s sweet and all but I think you’d also rather be employed.”

“Aye, well, I may not be employed there much longer anyhow.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh god, don’t tell me you left them voicemails too.”

Killian snorts. “No, I’ve just… had another offer.”

His heart pounds frantically as she asks, “where?” terrified that he’ll scare her off.

“Here.”

“Here?”

He nods. “I wasn’t going to take it, not after realizing how much I’d miss you if I was here. But, well, that was before I drank a full bar. And this town does have its benefits.”

She gapes at him and he can see the thoughts racing behind her eyes. “You’re not moving for me, right? You want the job? Because I told you I don’t know what I want or if I can even do… whatever this maybe is and I -”

He reaches for her hand, calming the rambling that had started. “I do want the job, but of course I’m moving for you, Swan. And I know you’re not ready to decide anything, and I’m not asking you to. But whether you do or don’t decide that what you want is me, I’m going to be right here while you figure it out. I’m not going to leave you twice, Emma. I don’t want to miss you like that again.”

Emma just stares at him, mouth opening and then shutting with questions that don’t find voice and he sits, stewing in the worry that he said too much, asked for too much. He swallows as she jumps out of her seat, his turn to ramble now as she rounds the island.

“I mean, I will have to go home and get my things and resign but I -”

“Shut up,” she tells him, hands sliding into his hair and mouth colliding with his.

He’s more than happy to do exactly that, wasting no time in gathering her up in his arms and pulling her close, returning the kiss he’d missed so damn much all these months, missed the feel of her soft and warm against him like this, for the little sound she makes when his own hand tangles in her hair just hard enough that he can keep he there a little longer.

“Wait,” he breathes and her hands pause where they’d been working the buttons of his shirt free. “Maybe we should slow down.” There’s a part of him screaming at his stupid mouth right now for the words falling out of it. “You said you don’t know if this is what you want. So maybe we shouldn’t rush things.”

She barks out a small laugh. “You’re moving to another city for a ‘maybe’ and you don’t want to rush things?” He doesn’t really have an answer for that.

Her brow and mouth quirk up in one devastatingly attractive motion that has him ready to go back on everything he just said. “This was never our problem,” she reminds him, fingers tugging the buckle of his belt loose. “We’re good at this part. Everything else is where we get messy.” She works the button of his jeans open next. “So just try not to make any more big confessions while you’re inside me…” She runs her teeth over the skin below his ear as she slides her hand into his jeans and he nearly chokes. “And we should be fine.”

“Bloody hell.” His rational self may judge him later, but his current self has Emma Swan with her hand around his cock trying to get him out of his clothes and he’s already established that he’s not a very smart man. “I promise.”

***

It’s a strange feeling to be laying here, wrapped up in an old duvet and Star Wars sheets with Emma’s head on his shoulder and her fingers drawing patterns over his chest. They’ve never done this part, never lingered beyond the time it took them both to catch their breaths before untangling themselves from one another and going about their day - or tangling themselves again. He likes it, but it’s strange, new, something he hasn’t done in a long time. Not with anyone.

“This is kind of weird right?” she asks, breath warm against his neck.

Killian laughs. Bloody mind reader.

“Aye, a bit. I think I’m out of practice.”

“I never practised in the first place.”

He presses a kiss to her hair. “But, it’s not bad, right?” She can probably hear his stupid heart racing as he waits for her answer.

“No,” she shakes her head, sliding her arm around his waist and fitting herself more snugly against his side. “It’s not bad.” He can feel her smile against his skin, glad she can’t see the absolutely ridiculous one stretched across his own. They lay there a little longer, the room darkening with the earlier and earlier nights as he begins to dread the fast approaching hour where he’ll have to leave, until Emma shifts. “My neck hurts.”

“My arm’s asleep.”

She sits up and his arm is flooded with the sudden relief of no longer being squished, but he misses the warmth and the closeness of her immediately. He has two arms. Who really needs both? He’s done fine with one hand. “Where are you going?” he asks when she rises from the bed, reaching for his shirt that she tossed on the floor and he made himself leave there. ‘Do not fold your clothes while we’re in the middle of having sex or I swear I’ll put mine back on you fucking weirdo.’

“Thirsty,” she says as she finishes buttoning it. “You?”

“Aye, thanks.”

“Water? Or would you prefer rum?”

“Hilarious.” His stomach rolls, not finding her so funny. She certainly seems to think she is, smirking as she fetches two water bottles from the fridge. “You know you’re going to have to give me my shirt back this time. It’s the only one I’ve got.” At least until he finds out if the hotel hung onto his suitcase when he missed his checkout. “Unless you have the others squirrelled away here somewhere.”

“I thought you had ‘too many shirts, Swan,’” she reminds him in a poor imitation of his accent and he rolls his eyes. She hops back onto the bed, climbing into his lap to sit astride his hips. His hand and wrist settle on her waist, the shirt in question riding up and making him groan at the feel of her pressed against him.

“Aye well I’ve only got the one to wear out of here tonight and while you look infinitely better in it than I do -”

“Like a sexy Winnie the Pooh, would you say?”

He sighs. “I’m never living that one down am I?”

“You want to show me your hundred acre wood?” Killian lets his head fall back against the headboard as she laughs herself silly. “I have another solution,” she tells him, hands wringing nervously in the sleeves of his shirt. “I was thinking, maybe, since you’ve already missed your flight, and you probably don’t have a hotel room anymore, that you could stay here tonight. And maybe we could give that whole waking up together thing a shot.”

Her cheeks are flushed, freckles bright against the soft pink as she looks up from her hands to catch his eye. He kisses her hard enough that she’d have fallen right off his lap were it not for his arms holding her steady and close to him.

“That a yes?” she asks, mouth curling against his and he catches that smirking bottom lip between his teeth like he’s wanted to since she showed up at the station.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

She nods and it’s him smiling against her mouth now. “For tonight at least. But I think there’s still a lot of grovelling in your future before it becomes a regular thing.”

He kisses her again, rolls her onto her back beneath him. “Then I’d better get started right away,” he says, lips finding the length of her neck as he begins to work free the buttons of his stolen shirt.

“Well, you did promise you would write poetry about my boobs.”

“I what?” He looks up only to see her wearing the same confused frown as himself before her eyes widen with laughter and she covers her mouth with her hands.

“Oh my god. You haven’t seen your texts have you?”

Fuck.

*******

Tagging the usual people but let me know if you want to be removed or added!

@kmomof4 @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @undercaffinatednightmare @jennjenn615 @dramioneswan @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @kazoo5480 @lfh1226-linda @csalltheway @xsajx @xarandomdreamx @onceratheart18 @ownedbycaptainswan @teamhook @pirateprincessofpizza @lostintheskyfaraway @zaharadessert @thejollyroger-writer @ultraluckycatnd @justanother-unluckysoul @spartanguard @jonesfandomfanatic @deckerstarblanche @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @wefoundloveunderthelight @sailtoafarawayland @tiganasummertree @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @stahlop @superchocovian @snowbellewells @xellewoods @sals86 @karlyfr13s @ouatpost @skairipakomtrikru @lonelyspectator12 @anmylica @alexa-fangirl-forever @inspiredbystardust @marcella2727 @paradiselady19 @koryandr @killiansprincss @goforlaunchcee @motherkatereloyshipper

#captain swan #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #cs angst #but also just a lot of funny drunk Killian #killian jones #captain hook #emma swan #this thing is ferral guys #I don't even know what this is but I hope you like it #silver hook #silver killian

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laianely · 5 months

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This is the idea that I've been putting off for so long. And this is some kind of trailer for my fanfic - "Hooked Swan"! Finally made it!

#captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #captain hook #ouat #once upon a time #captain swan fanfic #cs fanfic #laianely's edits #laianely’s fanfics

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booksteaandtoomuchtv · 9 months

Note

Let's spread some love 😘. What are some of your top five favourite cs fics?

Oh, Nonny... This is so difficult!!! There are so many incredible fics out there. So here is a list of the first five that came to mind because I rarely stumble on one that I don't love...

(1) @kmomof4 has a host of incredible fics. (It is kind of fun reading her backlog because her first few fics include author notes along the line of 'I am not a writer, but I had this idea. I will probably never write again' but she has 39 strong CS fics. I say all that to say... her recent Bridgerton-inspired fic A Mistress to No One is at the top of my list.

(2) @the-darkdragonfly was one of the first CS authors I read and I have yet to find a story of hers that I don't instantly fall in love with. I love her voice and style so, so much. She is single-handly responsible for my love for Will Scarlet. My current favourite of hers is Tempest - be warned it is incomplete-ish (it is a rewrite of an older story), but kudos and comments feed the muse... so, go read it and let her know how amazing it is.

(3) @nachocheese-itsmycheese will break your heart, bring tears to your eyes, and have no mercy for you while she does it. And, if that doesn't make for some amazing fics... I honestly don't know which of hers to recommend. Read them all? Currently, I cannot get enough of Between Waking Life and Our Dreams but that Darkness Series is also so good. And, I cannot forget the Captain Cobra story...

(4) @hollyethecurious and @winterbaby89 also have an entire bookshelf of amazing fics. Their joint effort Dark Hook Comes to Storybrooke is bloody brilliant.

I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT I HAVE ALREADY REACHED....

(5) @donteattheappleshook is another of my first CS fic authors and, again, has a host of incredible fics for you to read. Not Broken at All is one of my favourites of hers, but seriously the other ones are so, so good that it is a favourite by the finest of margins.

But, seriously, this misses so many fantastic authors and amazing stories...

#asked and answered #cs fic rec list #major cs fic rec #captain swan #once upon a time #killian x emma #ouat #cs fanfic #cs ff

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piinfeathers · 3 months

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the scars we bare

it's a mid-january miracle, i actually wrote something. after threatening to finally start writing captain swan fics, i actually did it. thank you to all my beautiful friends on discord who encouraged me and to @dykelilypage i'm so glad you liked your gift <333 this is chapter 1 of 2, second one should be up tomorrow probably maybe who knows? :)))

summary: emma swan came to the underworld with one purpose; to rescue the man she loved from hades' grip. and she would do anything, sacrifice everything in order to that happen. when hades offers her a deal, a test of their true love, she takes it. in the end though, the bargain might just take more for them than they have to give. S5B canon divergence

tw: minor moments of gore and torture, also pregnancy and child birth

✨ ao3 link ✨

***

Emma had made plenty of bad decisions in her life. Big, catastrophic decisions, she could admit that. If she were to rank them though, willingly letting herself fall under a sleeping curse to rescue the man she loved from hell, probably would have ended up pretty high on the list.

She stared at him, across the wide airy field of middlemist flowers that wasn’t actually there, but felt nearly as real as she remembered, and wondered if he would feel the same.

“Swan.” Her name sounded like a prayer, rasped from his too-dry throat.

She was running then, or maybe she had started running before, she wasn’t sure. Her arms circled him when they met, his own grip nearly crushing as he lifted her off her feet. Frantic kisses and searching hands probed each other as incomplete pleas stuttered out of each of them.

“You alright?”

“-m fine. You can’t be here-”

“-made a deal. Hades, he had a deal.”

“-have to go back. Please, you have to go back.”

“I can’t.”

The last two words dropped like a stone between them and Killian jerked back. His face was the same as it had been when she’d last seen him alive. It was no longer the swollen mess of throbbing bruises Hades had left it in, when he’d shown Emma her lover’s broken body that was being torn and burnt and flayed apart until she had screamed to make it stop. Killian’s hand, the fingers still intact and no longer snapped and broken, cupped her face. He was trembling. Or maybe that was her. It was hard to tell at this point.

“Emma,” her name came out as a whisper. “Emma, where are we?”

She smiled as something huge and terrifying in her chest threatened to burst open.

“Somewhere... Somewhere in my mind. I think? Maybe,” she glanced around again, trying to focus. “A memory. He kept saying something about memories. Our memories.”

“Love, you aren’t making any sense.”

She laughed and it sounded like a watery hiccup. “Hades. Hades and I made a deal.”

The hand on her face tensed as she watched his expression grow brittle. “Emma-” his throat bobbed. “Emma. What kind of deal? What did you promise him?”

She held up her right hand, her index finger raised. A small droplet of blood welled up in the sensitive pad of flesh at the tip where she had pricked it only moments earlier.

“Sleeping curse,” she tried to keep her voice calm as she risked another glance at him. His face was ghost white, completely drained of colour. “I think he thought he was being funny. Something about “the old Charming family tradition.””

Killian’s head was shaking, his eyes darting away from her as he scanned the edges of the tree line behind them, looking for a way out. “We have to wake you up. Emma you don’t understand, Hades he-”

She watched his gaze go unfocused, the nerve in his jaw popping.

“Hey,” she said quickly, her hand curling around his neck, pulling him back to her. “He can’t get you, not here. Not unless he feels like breaking our deal.”

His eyes were still nervy, and she could feel his pulse jumping beneath her palm, but he focused on her again. God she had missed him. Missed the way he smelled, the way his scruffed jaw felt when she held it. It suddenly seemed so hysterically unfair that they’d only had a few months together. They deserved a lifetime.

“This deal,” he rasped after a moment. “Tell me exactly what he asked of you.”

“He wanted…” she trailed off, trying to remember what he had said. “He said he wanted to test us. To see if what we shared was true love or not. That we needed to really see every part of each other before we made our decision.”

Killian was holding very, very still, his expression unreadable. “And for us to do this test, you needed to be cursed, is that right? Am I cursed as well? Is that how I’m standing here with you?” His voice sounded calm, almost reasonable, as if they were discussing the rules to a complicated board game. But Emma could still feel his panic, could see it starting to edge into the corners of his eyes, turning them glassy. Another one of her huge, catastrophically bad decisions alright.

“No. No you aren’t under a sleeping curse,” she tried to make her voice comforting, but doubted it had much effect. “He said that souls without a living body don’t need curses to be moved to the dream realm, as long as they’re tethered to someone alive they just sort of- “hitch a ride,” or something.”

A smile started to spread across his face, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “So I’m tethered to you then?”

“Seems that way,” she said, her heart feeling like a dead weight in her chest. “I’m not exactly sure about the next parts, he was talking about memory magic, about old wounds needing to be opened up. He said the dream realm made the magic more…” she waved her hand. “Potent or something. Made it easier to find old memories.”

Killian’s hand dropped to her shoulder, his hook resting against her hip. “Why does he want us to explore old memories? Which memories? What does he gain from that?”

“I have no idea, I’m pretty sure he was just talking to hear himself speak at some point.”

“I don’t like this. Hades wouldn’t make a deal unless it was to punish or to trap you here. Emma, please,” his tone was growing frantic and it was making her own nerves start to fray. “Try and remember exactly what he said. Every word. If he’s trapped you here-”

“I don’t remember all the specifics! I was a little distracted watching you get tortured. Hades didn’t exactly have my undivided attention.”

Killian’s eyes shuttered and Emma could feel the slight tremor in his hand as it fell from her shoulder. She wished she hadn’t mentioned the torture. The second she had, she’d seen his face go blank. When this was over, she would kill Hades. She wasn’t sure how exactly, but she would get creative. Somehow she would figure out a way to make the god of death hurt in the same way he had made Killian hurt.

“Look,” she said, her voice thick. “All you need to know is that he can’t hurt us. I made him swear it. He can’t touch you here, and he can’t kill me. Everything that happens now is up to us.”

He looked up, staring at something far away from them, like he was remembering something he’d rather forget. “And if we fail? What then? Does he get both of us to torture for eternity?”

“We won’t fail,” she told him. They wouldn’t. She couldn’t let that happen. Even if it killed her, she would never let Hades touch Killian Jones again. “I got down here didn’t I? And I found you. The hard part’s already done.”

He huffed out a laugh that sounded wrong to her ears. “Your confidence is admirable, Swan. But you don’t know what Hades is capable of. What he does to you once he has you.”

She could feel him slipping from her, could feel the despair coming off him in waves, and it killed her. “There’s a fail safe,” she told him quickly. “I can call off the deal at any time.”

He jerked his attention back to her, suddenly alert.

“But Killian, if I call it off, if I choose to end this, you go right back where I found you. Back to Hades,” she said, a world of meaning in her words.

“But you’ll be safe?”

She looked at him. She should tell him. Tell him the entire truth. Tell him exactly what she had promised to keep him safe, to bring him back home. What she had signed away. But if she told him, if he knew everything, he would never agree to it. He would refuse and send her back and all this would be for nothing. He would go back to the endless, screaming pain that Hades had cleaved into him until there was nothing of him left. She couldn’t let that happen.

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll be fine. But you won’t. Please Killian. Please just let us try this first. We have to.”

He blew a breath out of his nose, looking down when she grabbed his hand in both of hers and squeezed. “Alright,” he said. “Alright, we'll try.”

She grinned as she wrapped her arms around him, kissing him, holding him. His hand moved up to her hair, cradling her head, his forehead coming to rest against hers.

“So. How exactly does this trial work? What do we have to do?”

There was a quick burst of magic to the left of them, and a door twisted into existence a few feet away. The carved wood groaned slightly as it seemed to sway towards them, rocking on its frame, before coming to a stop. They both stared at it.

“Well. Guess that answers that,” she said.

“Indeed,” he sighed, turning back to look at her. She saw a question, huge and all consuming in his stare that went unasked. Right, this was her deal. Her curse. He would follow her lead. Like he always did. Whatever happened, no matter how much it took from her, she would do whatever it took to make sure he got out of this.

“C’mon,” she nodded towards the door. “Let’s get this over with.”

He grimaced as they walked towards it, reaching down to grip the brass handle and opening it for her. “Any idea what’s awaiting us on the other side?”

She squeezed his hand, raising her brows. “Nope.”

They walked through. And the ground beneath their feet vanished.

***

She was falling. Her hair was whipping around her head while the wind rushed up and made her eyes water. Images and noise strobed past like flickering television screens as she plummeted down towards a huge, white nothingness. If she focused she thought she could make out faces, blurred and half formed, but they streaked past her, faster than her eyes could follow. She tried to reach out, tried to find something to grab a hold of, something to slow her fall, but it was like falling through light and sound and a great vast emptiness eager to swallow her whole.

Was this it? Was this what Hades had planned all along? No harm to her physical body sure, but trapping them in some fucked liminal space for eternity? Well. That was a different story.

She tried to look up, or whatever passed for up in this space and suddenly felt something grab her arm. Killian, his grip tight on her, was falling beside her. His mouth was open, mouthing something she couldn’t hear over the roar of noise and wind and her own frantic heartbeat. She tried to reach for him, her fingers outstretched-

When everything slammed to a sudden stop.

Her mind lurched, feeling like the contents of a car with its brakes hit too hard. The tunnel of noise, whatever it had been, was gone, and a blindingly blue sky stretched out in front of her. She tried to blink and turn her head, but her body was locked in place, no longer listening to her.

Only…only it wasn’t her body.

She heard someone call for her, but it wasn’t her name she heard, it was Killian’s. She twisted and when her mouth opened it wasn’t her voice that boomed forth, but a man’s, low and accented, and oh-so familiar to her.

She’d dealt with memory magic before, had stayed up long, magic-drunk nights as the dark one weaving dream catchers together in order to snare memories. She’d been expecting something closer to that, where memories played like snippets of old tv reruns. This was something completely different. She wasn’t just watching Killian's memories, she was living them. In his head.

“What news do you bring me then?” he called.

He sounded happy, and Emma could feel it then, he was excited about something. Somehow, inside his head, she could feel thoughts, could almost reach out and touch them.

He stood on the top deck, near the massive helm. Below him, near the rigging of the sails, a woman with dark hair and seafoam eyes grinned at him. Even before Emma felt the sudden rush of love and recognition, she knew exactly who she was looking at. Milah.

“No news that can safely be shared among mixed company, captain ,” Milah called with a wink. She had Henry’s smile, Emma realized distantly.

The crew around Milah laughed uproariously, and her wide grin was a twin to the one stretching across Killian’s as he swung round the deck to go meet her.

Just as Emma was greedily drinking in the image of the image of the woman who had her son’s grin and Killian's heart, the world suddenly melted and shifted around her. It was as if the memory smeared, all the unimportant bits forgotten and discarded. She moved through short, foggy glimpses of old points in time. Moments alone with Milah, the sound of her laugh, the feeling of her eyes watching him, her laugh lines fanning out from the corners. At the core of it, his love for her was like a warm, even glow in his chest. Emma was suddenly sad that she would never get to meet this woman. This woman with the sharp wit and an easy laugh. She thought she would have liked her.

She kept floating through memories until they solidified all at once into sharp focus. Killian was back on the deck. Only he couldn’t move, something tight twisted around his chest and pinned him down. In front of him, Milah was on her knees. A man stood before her. His hand was buried into her chest.

Emma recognized Rumpelstiltskin as blind, frantic panic tore through Killian, choking her. Killian had never told her explicitly how Milah had died, only that Gold had killed her. But she knew this moment. She knew what happened next.

Rumpelstiltskin's hand tore free, Milah’s beating heart in his grip. He stared at it almost hungrily. Emma heard Killian shout, felt him pull himself free from the ropes binding him and dive for Milah as she slumped back. He caught her, begging, pleading words stumbling from his lips. She felt so light in his arms, a hollow empty shell. They shared a look, Milah’s gaze full of an unspoken farewell.

She heard, rather than saw the crunch of the heart as Rumpelstiltskin crushed it. Milah gasped, dead even before the ashes crumbled and fell to the deck.

Rage built in Killian, blinding and useless. It pushed him to his feet, surged him forward. He cursed Rumpelstiltskin, his hands in fists, desperate to drive them into the scaled skin and rotting teeth of the man who took his love. Rumpelstiltskin's grin was sharp. A blade flashed. Men shouted. A horrible, exquisite pain erupted from Killian’s left wrist and drove him to his knees. Emma wanted to scream.

Everything started moving too fast. The memory grew blurry again, every part of it dulled by the all consuming pain and rage boiling in Killian. He was screaming, driving a hook into Rumpelstiltskin's chest, mocking laughter meeting his ears. Then hands were grabbing him, pulling him back. Pain. Oh god there was just so much pain. Emma felt herself being dragged down with it, Killian’s vision growing black. But even in the darkness she felt the agony, unable to escape it. All alone in his head, she ached.

The memories came and went. Bright flashes of faces crowding into his vision, frantic voices and bloody rags. Blood. There was so much blood. She could smell it, the sharp, copper tang of it. It felt like it coated his tongue, filled his nostrils and tried to drown him. He was being moved, every bump and bounce he felt sending jolts of pain through his system and forcing him back into blank unconsciousness.

Then heat. It was so sudden and sharp it brought him back to bleeding, screaming life. The world around him was thrown into abrupt focus as molten heat was pressed against the agonizing, throbbing stump of his wrist. He looked at the white hot blade being forced against his skin, watched as it melted his flesh and made it bubble around the edges, cauterizing it. He was screaming. It filled his head, an endless bellow of animalistic pain that crashed into Emma like a blow.

When the darkness came for him again, Emma welcomed it with a sob.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when he started to wake again. She didn’t care. Every part of his body was one, long, endless agony. She couldn’t breathe from the force of it. Above him, it grew dark, then light, then dark again. Time moving on with or without him.

A noise woke him at some point. She blinked the grit from his burning eyes, trying to look at where Killian's hand had been severed. His wrist was an angry, mottled thing, the skin around it too pink, too tight. Thick blisters, fat and stretched taunt, seemed too shiny in the pale light below the deck of the ship where they had left him.

Her head lolled, their shared vision turning syrupy around the edges as the pain rose up again and smothered her in burning heat.

She could hear voices, pitched low, all whispering with a panicked edge.

“Fever.”

“ Infection…”

“The amount of blood he lost-”

“No one could survive that.”

Emma writhed inside the shell of the memory. Killian , she sobbed, unsure if he could hear her. Was he in here with her? Was he reliving this too and she just couldn’t feel him? Or had Hades taken him away from her again? It was so quiet now. Killian. Killian. She repeated it again and again, his fever touching her own mind, choking the air from her lungs. How could he bear this? How could anyone bear this?

Fresh pain shot from his wrist and Emma threw her head back and screamed. Tears rolled down her cheeks when it was Killian’s voice, Killian’s pain she heard echoing endlessly in her head as she was pitched sidewise into another memory.

He was vomiting, heat and misery burning him, leaving him feeling feverish and delirious. He was fading in and out of consciousness, through the days, maybe weeks, he could no longer tell. Food and water had to be forcibly shoved into his mouth until he swallowed it, all the while he cursed at them for daring to try and keep him alive in his grief.

Emma watched it all, helpless inside his head. Killian had been right. Hades had found a way to torture them after all. Because this? Watching Killian break apart, unable to help, was agony. She wanted to fight, wanted to scream at the unfairness of it. But she could do neither. She could only sit and witness it all.

More memories faded in and out. In his rare moments of lucidity, the image of Milah, her heart torn from her chest, burned across his brain. His heart felt empty, like a hollow burden, sinking his body down deeper. His love for her burned itself away, twisted and malformed from grief. In its place, only one thought remained. Revenge.

The word repeated itself, over and over, until it became a mantra. As his body healed, as the scar tissue on both his wrist and his heart thickened, he swore it to himself, again and again. He would have his revenge. No matter the cost.

Trapped inside his tortured mind, Emma mourned for him.

***

Killian woke in agony. Pain snaked around his spine and sank into his bones, leaving him too weary to move. For one, terrifying moment, he thought he was back in the underworld. That all this had been a ruse. Emma had never come for him, Hades had simply split open his head and planted the idea of her, giving him hope and then taking it. Yet again.

But this place didn’t feel like his hell. There were voices around him, low murmuring, distinctly human voices.

He tried to open his eyes, but they stayed stubbornly shut. Another wave of pain twisted inside him, washing over him as his back arched and a low, sobbing moan filled his head. Emma. That was Emma’s voice.

“You’re doing great Emma, just a little longer now,” a strange voice near his feet comforted.

He felt her then, Emma. She was scared and exhausted and so, so heartbreakingly sad that it nearly swallowed her.

He wasn’t here, he realized as her emotions buffeted him and surrounded him from all sides. This was Emma’s body. Her memory.

Her eyes opened and Killian looked across the room through tear blurred eyes. She was on her back, doctors and nurses standing around her, their faces hidden with masks and hair coverings. Blinding, overhead lights seemed to beat down on her, making her even more uncomfortable. She tried to move and Killian felt something tug on her wrist.

She let out a small sob of annoyance and pain, looking down at the silver cuff that chained her to the bed. They’d restrained her. She was in pain, she needed help, and they’d restrained her.

Fury raced through him, though he couldn’t tell if it was his or hers he felt, or a combination of the two. She felt so small in the bed, and so completely alone.

Another rush of pain, this one stronger than the first two, sent stars across their shared vision and Emma fell back.

“Okay Emma, you��re ready. It’s time to push, alright?”

She was shaking her head, and Killian felt her panic and his own bleed together. She was giving birth. He was about to witness her giving birth inside her own mind. For some reason the complete invasion of it flooded his brain, made him want to climb out of her head and simply hold her. This was her memory. Hers. He had no right to witness this and Hades certainly had no right to take that choice from her.

But he was here. There was no taking back what had been started. So he sat in the mind of the woman he loved and felt her body tear itself apart.

She was screaming, her body bearing down, the act of giving birth overwhelming her rational brain and simply taking over, trying to push. Sweat poured down her face as she strained, her pain now just a constant steady stream of misery. She wanted it to end. She needed it to end. She just wanted to lay back and sleep and never wake up. She’d fought so hard her whole life and now she had no fight left. She was done.

“You've got this Emma,” a nurse soothed from her left side, her gloved hand rubbing circles on her back. Emma liked her, Killian could feel it. This was a kind person, the only person who treated her like a patient and not a prisoner. A good person, a decent person. Someone who would make an amazing parent. Unlike her.

“Emma, I need you to work with us,” the doctor positioned between her legs called. “You need to keep pushing, your baby is ready to come out.”

Her baby. Killian felt a spark of something light inside her. Emma was too scared to give the feeling a name, but Killian recognized it instantly. Love.

Oh how she loved this little baby. She adored it. She sang it songs in her head and read to it in the bed of her prison cell when everyone else was asleep. She would give anything to her baby if it asked.

So she pushed. She pushed even as she felt like she was tearing in half, when the pain grew knife-sharp and carved her open. Voices blurred around her, all speaking over each other, telling her to take deep breaths, that she was almost there, that it was almost over. She gripped the sides of the bed, shoving forward and pushed until she thought her bones would crack and she would break apart until there was nothing of her left.

“Big push now Emma! Big push!”

She screamed and it was like the ozone in the room ignited, the lights in the room glowing white hot and shattering. Killian felt a punch of raw, primal magic explode from within her and then-

A baby’s cry, small but strong, broke through the silence. Henry. He was here. Killian wanted to look at him, wanted to see the boy's face, the feeling nearly overwhelming him. But Emma didn’t turn to look. She squeezed her eyes shut, and sank into the mattress.

“It’s a boy Emma,” the doctor said, a smile in his voice.

A boy. She had a son. A beautiful, perfect son. He cried out, and Killian felt it drive into Emma's heart like a knife. Every part of her wanted to turn, wanted to take him in her arms and hold him, to soothe his cries and protect him from every bad scary thing in this world like it was her only job in this life.

But…she couldn’t. She loved him more than anything. She would give him anything to make him happy, to keep him safe. And because of that she knew that meant he had to go away. As far away from her as possible. He deserved so much, he deserved the whole world. And she couldn’t afford to give it to him. All she had to give him was a chance. A chance at a better start. Without her. She couldn’t be a mother, couldn’t be his mother. She would ruin him. Taint him somehow. She wouldn’t do that to him.

Killian felt the decision form in her mind, felt her shake her head and grit her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut as tears spilled down her face. He heard the doctor tell her that she could change her mind, that it wasn’t too late. But he knew. He knew what happened next. He wanted to beg her to change her mind, to see that she already was a mother, he wanted to be there and tell her over and over until she believed it. But he couldn’t change the past. He could only watch it.

“No. I can't be a mother,” her voice was so small, it broke him.

He felt her heart tear itself in two. When the doctors carried her baby away from her, when Henry’s small, searching cries faded down the hall into silence, Killian felt as a piece of Emma’s heart went with him. Heartbreak didn’t come close to describing this feeling. It was as if a huge, yawning emptiness split open in her chest where her heart had once sat and consumed her.

***

Killian woke with a start, jerking up and dragging air desperately into his lungs. Beside him, Emma shot up, panting, eyes darting until she saw him. Her face was pale, her hair damp from sweat and sticking to her face. She opened her mouth, her eyes rapidly moving over his face, before flinching away from him and vomiting into the tall grass. He shot forward.

“Emma, breathe. It’s alright, it’s over. What did you-?”

“Probably a good idea to give her a minute,” a taunting voice called from behind them. “She had a hell of a ride in there.”

Killian’s head spun, white hot rage spilling into his blood. Behind them, Hades sat back in a plastic lawn chair, one ankle crossed over his knee, grinning.

“You bloody bastard,” Killian was on his feet, his hand clenched. The overwhelming urge to stomp the heel of his boot into Hades’ cold, dead smile, nearly blinded him.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Hades warned, a single finger raising in the air. “We wouldn’t want to do anything rash now, would we Emma?” He leaned over, calling to her. From her kneeling position, she shoved her middle finger over her shoulder without turning and spat in the grass.

“Hades if you’ve hurt her-”

“Me? Oh no, I didn’t do anything,” he said with mock innocence. “All I did was show her your memory.”

Killian felt his blood run cold. What memory could he have shown her for her to react like that? He knelt back down when Emma moaned, wiping the back of her hand against her mouth.

“Ignore him,” she rasped. “I’m alright. It was-it was just intense.”

“Emma love, call off the deal. I won’t have you in pain like this, I can’t-”

“No!” her eyes burned as she reached up to grip him. “Killian, no, I can handle it. Please. I promise.”

Killian blew a sharp breath from his nose, trying to keep his composure. “Emma,” he tried to make his voice gentle but it still carried an edge. “Love, what memory did he show you?”

Her eyes went distant for a moment, and Killian felt his stomach tighten. He had lived centuries, had done countless brutal things. Any of them were enough to have her react like this. The question was, which one had Hades chosen?

“It was Milah,” she said after a pause. “The moment Rumpelstiltskin killed her, and took your hand.”

Killian went still, staring at her. Hades had shown her that moment? Milah’s face, frozen in fear, floated in front of his eyes, there and gone in seconds. A phantom twinge of pain jolted from his wrist reflexively.

“How much-” he swallowed. “How much did he show you?”

“Oh, I showed her everything, don't worry!” Hades's cheery voice called. “No gory detail left out. Gave her the full surround sound experience, didn’t I Emma?”

Beside him, Emma's face turned pale, her tongue darting out to wet her dry lips. Killian remembered the pain he had felt trapped inside her memory of Henry’s birth, the agony she had gone through, and felt dread turn his skin cold. She had experienced him losing his hand. Even in his most lucid recollections of that day, Killian had never managed to remember that pain in anything other than hazy, blurred-over recollections. He had pushed it so far from his mind to protect himself from reliving that brutal torment.

And Hades had just made her experience it in full, merciless detail.

“You bastard Hades, there was no bloody need to show her-”

“Show her what? The moment you decided to dedicate your life to avenging your one true love?” Hades asked, his eyes growing wide with mock innocence. He turned to Emma and grinned. “No offense of course. No shame in being the runner up.”

Killian surged to his feet, blood pumping, hook raised. He would bloody end him. Here and now.

“Don’t let him get to you.” Emma said, pushing herself up on shaky legs, to grip his arm. “He's not worth it.”

Killian spared her a glance. “He doesn't have the bloody right. He doesn’t have the right to reach into our heads and pull out our pain just to torture us with it.”

“Oh I’m pretty sure I do though. After all,” Hades steepled his hands together, his gaze locking on Emma. “We made a deal.”

“The deal was to test our true love, not whatever twisted game you’re playing at Hades,” Killian snapped.

“And that’s exactly what I’m doing,” Hades said, his tone taking on an edge of false sincerity. “True love isn’t just some cheap card trick, it’s the most powerful magic that exists. To have it you need to love so fully and completely that it’s like second nature. And you can’t have love like that when you don’t really know a person, now can you?”

The god of death gestured with both hands, like a demented talk show host. “Seriously this is a once in a lifetime opportunity here! I really wouldn’t pass this up if I were you. You,” he pointed to Killian. “Get to finally see inside the head of the saviour, finally learn what makes her tick. And you,” his hand swung to Emma. “Get to learn what kind of man Killian Jones really is.”

His words felt ominous. A promise and a curse all at once.

“Ignore him,” Emma said. “I already tried to tell him earlier that this whole test was pointless.” She turned to look at him, her mouth turning up at the corners as a fire lit behind her eyes. “I already know exactly what type of man you are.”

“Mmmm, do ya though?” Hades asked with a hiss of breath, tilting his head to the side. “See, I'm not so sure about that. I mean you two have known each other, what, a few months at most? He’s got a whole three centuries worth of history before meeting you. Entire lifetimes lived before you were even born.”

His gaze sharpened, the edge of his smile growing pointed. “Are you really sure he’s even worth it?”

“Yes.”

Killian sucked in a sharp breath at her sudden certainty. She turned and looked at him, her eyes holding promise. “Yes, I know he’s worth it.”

“Touching,” Hades said dryly. “Really. And for your sake, I hope you’re right. We’ve got a hell of show left to get through.”

Killian could feel the magic starting again, could feel the rush of it start to build, and shook his head. He still didn’t trust this, any of this. He knew how Hades made deals, and he knew there was no way he would give either of them up so easily.

“Emma said you agreed on a fail safe, a way out for her if she needs it. How do we know you’ll honor that?” He asked, stopping the god from conjuring another door.

Hades turned to give them a bored look, as if the question was barely worth his time. “Emma isn’t dead, not yet anyway. I don’t have any way of keeping her bound in the underworld with me. She has the ability to leave whenever she wants.”

“Yeah sure…one small problem though,” Emma glanced between the two of them. “I can’t exactly get up and walk out while I’m stuck in a sleeping curse, can I?”

Hades’s smile turned wolffish, his eyes lighting as if she’d finally said something interesting. “Well now, how funny you bring that up. I was wondering when you would.”

When they both only stared at him, the god’s face fell.

“Hello? Sleeping curse?” he said, gesturing to Emma with a flicking hand. “True love’s kiss? Big flashy light show? Thought this was all sort of obvious? Gods you two really are slow. Here.” he jumped to his feet, hands tucking into the pockets of his pants, and stalked towards them.

“Let me break this down for you. You have two options, one; you see my test through to the end and test the strength of your love, or two;” he held up two fingers on his left hand. “If at any point you want the trial to end, all you have to do is kiss her. She goes back home, no hard feelings, thanks for playing, and you,” he turned to Killian, his grin predatory. “Stay here with me. And we go back to our fun little games.”

They were still for a moment, Emma hand in his squeezing tight. They could. They could just end this now. He could end this now, and save her. He turned to her, caught her tortured gaze. Her head gave one, barely noticeable shake, no.

“Unless, of course,” Hades continued, taking a step towards them. “You’re worried it won’t work?”

Killian blinked. An old, nearly buried dread rising in him like ocean water in a sinking ship. That old fear that Hades was right. That it wasn’t true love at all.

Oh he loved her of course. He had never loved anyone the way he loved Emma Swan. Even the way he had loved Milah had been different. Not any worse or any less but…different. Loving Emma Swan was like loving the sun. It came as natural to him as breathing.

But in his weakest, most torturous moments of doubt he wondered. He wondered if she ever felt the same. She loved him, of course, in her own quiet way. And he had taken that love and cherished it, held it closely to his heart and lived off it, satisfied with all she gave him.

But. True love? In the depths of her heart was it really true love? The uncertainty of it killed him. And he knew that Hades was perfectly aware of that fact. He had practically split Killian’s head open, torn out chunks of him. Every fear, every doubt, every agonizing thought that Killian had ever felt, Hades knew. And now he planned to torture both of them with it.

“We’ll keep going with the trial.” Emma said, breaking Killian’s thoughts apart and scattering them. “But we need real memories this time, not whatever sadistic thing you find in our pasts that you feel like torturing us with.”

“Ugh. Fine then, since you two want to be boring, we’ll do this your way! Let’s start at the beginning.” He flicked a hand through the air and another door appeared before them. “No more skipping to all the fun bits first. Off you go!”

They stared at it for a moment. It seemed to pulse with magic, threatening and inviting all at once. In his hand, her fingers were cold, the knuckles white where they gripped him tightly. He shifted, lifting his hook and brushing a lock of hair from her shoulder. Her eyes found his and locked on, a question in her eyes. He waited.

“What memory did he show you?” Emma asked finally, glancing up at him. “I’m guessing it was one of mine. Which one?”

Killian debated not telling her. Did she really need to know how Hades had stolen that moment from her? But her face was resolute, her gaze steady. There was no point withholding this from her.

“You were in the hospital,” he said, watching her face. “Giving birth to Henry.”

“Oh.” she said, so quietly he barely caught it. Pain flashed across her face, fast and sharp, before her walls went up again and her expression grew blank.

They both turned to look at the door as it swung open, the hinges squeaking slightly. He gripped her hand tighter, felt her hesitation before she squeezed back. Side by side, they walked through together.

#captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #there is probably a lot of spelling mistakes in this #i wrote all of this on my phone 💀 not a joke #steph writes #cs fics #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfic

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rueitae · 1 month

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For @playerappreciationweek 2024, alt prompt 3: Hacker

Trigger Warnings: none

Summary: The day started out normal for Player. He hacked into the security cameras in a museum in Vancouver at 2AM EST (11PM Vancouver time) so that Carmen could sneak in and steal an artifact before VILE could (they're a global criminal organization, this is important for later), and deleted the footage so that no one would ever know Carmen was there.

It ends abnormally, with Player having dinner with his parents, about to confess everything about his secret vigilante life to them.

#carmen sandiego #carmen sandiego 2019 #carmen sandiego netflix #player bouchard #cs fanfic #Rueitae #csplayerweek2024

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jrob64 · 4 months

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Hitting a High Note - A CS Modern AU Christmas Story

Merry Christmas everyone! While looking through my library of stories, I realized I've never written a Christmas story and decided to remedy that.

Special thanks and a very Merry Christmas to my loyal beta @hookedmom who has already agreed to stick with me and my muse through the New Year.

SUMMARY: Emma Swan talks her friend Killian Jones into going Christmas caroling, but she gets more than she bargains for when she hears him sing.

Rating: G (pure Christmas fluff!)

Words: 6227 (one-shot)

Also posted to Ao3 and ffn

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Killian Jones buttoned his black pea coat, then wrapped a festive green and gold scarf around his neck. After pulling a red knit cap onto his head, he checked his reflection in the mirror above his dresser and arranged his hair so that a few strands fell artfully over his forehead.

“I can’t believe she talked me into doing this,” he grumbled under his breath, but in truth, he absolutely could believe it. Emma Swan would be able to talk him into just about anything, seeing as how he was utterly and completely in love with her.

If only he was brave enough to tell her.

It wasn’t love at first sight for him. The first time he laid eyes on her was at the end of his second week in Storybrooke. She was tucked into her boyfriend’s side at The Rabbit Hole, a local hangout. That boyfriend happened to be Walsh Osterfeld, one of the most arrogant and irritating men Killian ever had the misfortune of meeting. He made the assumption then and there that the blonde who looked happy to have Walsh’s arm wrapped around her was just as bad as him.

But you know what they say about assuming.

In the weeks following that initial introduction, Emma frequently visited the library where Killian had just begun working. It turned out she was quite the bookworm, dispelling his theory that she wasn’t very intelligent, formulated solely because of who she was dating.

Usually, Killian politely waited on her while speaking minimally, but when she checked out a book written by his favorite author, he complimented her choice. Looking up at her when he handed her the receipt, he was frozen in place by the sparkle in her emerald eyes as she gave him a rather shy smile.

“Thanks,” she replied. “My ex told me he hated this author, and since he and I ended up not having much in common, I figured it was worth giving one of these books a try.”

“Your ex, huh?” Killian couldn’t stop himself from asking.

“Yeah, we recently broke up.”

“Sorry to hear that,” he mumbled, though he was not at all sorry.

“Don’t be. We dated just long enough for me to figure out he’s very annoying.”

“So, just a few minutes, then?” Killian quipped, then realized his mistake.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why would you say that?”

He felt his face heat with embarrassment as he reached up to scratch nervously behind his ear. “Oh, um, I…I saw you at The Rabbit Hole a while back and you were, uh, pretty cozy with Walsh Osterfeld. I’m not a fan of his.”

Emma looked surprised. “How do you know him?”

“When my brother was setting up his accounting office, he and I went to Osterfeld’s store in search of furniture. He tried to sell Liam the most expensive pieces on display and when Liam said he wasn’t interested, Walsh treated him like he wasn’t worth his time. I convinced Liam to leave and we hired Marco Booth to make everything he needed for half the price of what Osterfeld was asking.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Emma responded. “He treated all of my friends pretty much the same way - like they didn’t measure up to his standards. I got tired of it rather quickly.”

Killian hummed, then leaned forward to tap his finger on the cover of the book she held. “Well, I truly think you’ll like this. Hopefully, I’ll be working when you return it and you’ll be able to give me your review.”

“Chances of that are pretty good, because you seem to be here nearly every time I come in lately. You haven’t worked here long, have you?”

“Only a few weeks. My brother and I moved here after I recuperated from surgery.” He held up the prosthetic at the end of his left arm. “Liam hated living in a big city and since I no longer had a job, I decided to make the move with him. Once tax season was over in April, he quit his job at an accounting firm in Boston because he was planning to open an office here. The bonus is that Storybrooke is a harbor town. Liam and I both like being near the water.”

“How did you find out about Storybrooke? It’s a pretty obscure place.”

“Do you know August Booth?”

“Yeah, he goes to my church. Marco’s son.”

“That’s the one. He’s my brother’s friend and former college roommate. He told Liam there weren’t any accountants in this town. ”

“I’ve seen your brother’s office. I’ll probably be requiring his services on April 14th next year.”

He chuckled. “Even though he’s very good, we hope not everyone in town waits until the last day of tax season to employ him.”

“You’re good at what you do, too,” she commented.

“Well, it doesn’t take a genius to work in a library.”

“Maybe not, but it does take someone who is helpful, knowledgeable about books, and treats people with respect. I’m Emma Swan, by the way,” she said, offering him her hand.

He shook it. “Killian Jones, at your service.”

That was the beginning of their friendship. He started to look forward to her frequent visits to the library and their impromptu discussions about books and other things. He found himself telling her about the accident that cost him his hand and job in construction. He explained that with the settlement he received from workman’s compensation, combined with his savings, he was able to afford to move and take a job that, although it paid less, was far more enjoyable.

Soon, they were meeting in the mornings for coffee before she left for her job at a flower shop, and watching movies at each other’s apartment on evenings when he didn’t work. Her friends became his as they hung out together at The Rabbit Hole on the weekends, and attended the same church.

When the announcement about Christmas caroling appeared in the church bulletin, Killian didn’t give it a second thought. Singing in the shower was one thing, singing in public was quite another. But when Emma asked him to come along, explaining how much fun it was to sing to people who were shut-ins, lonely, or just needed some Christmas spirit, he caved. Now he’s a man in love with a woman who liked him only as a friend, doing something that took him way out of his comfort zone.

He had never been Christmas caroling before, so he wasn’t sure what to expect. He did know it would only be a small group of them singing though, which made him a little nervous. He felt more comfortable fading into the background in the middle of a crowd.

When he was growing up, his vagabond father moved their family often, not staying in any one place longer than a year or two. Liam took it as a challenge, making new friends and trying to fit in at every new school and neighborhood, but Killian grew more withdrawn and quiet. Even as an adult, he avoided situations which would draw attention to himself.

His phone buzzed on the dresser. Pulling himself out of his morose thoughts, he picked it up and read the message.

E: See you in 10 if you don’t chicken out.

The gif of a squawking chicken accompanying the text made him laugh. Emma had a knack for finding funny gifs and memes, which always brought a smile to his face. His thumb hit the microphone key and he spoke into his phone to record a return message.

K: I won’t chicken out as long as there are donuts & hot chocolate afterwards, as promised.

E: There better be, or I’m gonna be one cranky caroler.

After sending a laughing emoji, he stuffed the phone into the front pocket of his jeans, checked his reflection one more time, and left the small house he shared with Liam.

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Emma fluffed out her blond hair over the collar of her red winter coat and adjusted the buffalo plaid scarf around her neck. After tugging a gray beanie onto her head, she checked her reflection in the mirror, applied some tinted lip gloss, and gave herself a small nod of approval.

She felt a little guilty being so concerned with how she looked, because the idea of Christmas caroling was to make other people feel good. Besides, she was going with a group of her best friends, so it wasn’t a matter of trying to impress anyone.

Except Killian Jones.

“You are such an idiot,” she quietly admonished herself. “He’s just a friend and you’re not supposed to be looking for someone to date. Remember the promise you made to yourself after you broke up with Walsh?” she asked her reflection.

Just thinking about her ex-boyfriend made her cringe. She kicked herself many times over agreeing to go out with him. He was pompous, domineering and snobby, all things she despised in a person. Although, to be fair, she didn’t know those things when she first started dating him. They came to light gradually as she spent more time with him, leaving her with the feeling that she wasn’t a very good judge of character.

She didn’t think she was wrong about Killian, though. He was sweet, sincere, considerate and humble; any woman would be lucky to date him. Maybe she should try setting him up with someone. He was still fairly new in town, and hadn’t met all of her friends yet. Belle had just gotten out of a bad relationship, and Mary Margaret’s teacher friends, Aurora and Jasmine, weren’t seeing anyone.

She wondered if he was even interested in dating. In all the time they’d known each other, he never mentioned a significant other. Maybe he had a girlfriend back in Boston and just didn’t talk about her. Or maybe, like her, he’d been in a bad relationship and swore off dating.

Regardless, she was going to be late if she kept musing about him. Grabbing her purse off of the bed, she dug through it for her keys, then left her apartment and hurried outside to her car parked along the curb.

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Emma and Killian pulled up to the church simultaneously and parked beside each other. After unbuckling her seatbelt, she swung her car door open, got out and slammed it shut. She might love her little yellow bug, but it had some issues, such as the door popping back open if you didn’t shut it hard enough.

“Hey, Jones,” she called, walking around the back of her car to meet him. “Went with a sock hat, I see.”

“Pardon me?” he asked, puzzlement apparent on his stupidly handsome face.

“Your hat. I thought you would wear something different.”

She watched him scratch behind his ear, a habit she found quite adorable. “What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Maybe a top hat with a sprig of holly?”

“I agreed to Christmas carol, not to look like I belong in the ‘Christmas Carol’,” he replied, rolling his eyes.

Emma giggled. It seemed nobody could make her laugh more than Killian Jones, with his dry but sharp sense of humor.

“Are you ready to do this?” she asked, beginning to walk up the sidewalk to the church.

He fell into step beside her. “Uh, I guess.”

“You don’t sound very sure.”

“I’ve never gone caroling before,” he admitted.

She threaded her arm through his left elbow. “Well, there’s a first time for everything. It’ll be fun, you’ll see.”

He hummed and patted her arm with his right hand. “If you say so, Swan.”

“I do.”

They entered the church lobby and saw that most of the other carolers were already there. Ashley and her husband, Shawn, Mary Margaret and David, Ruby, Belle, Elsa, Anna and her fiancé Kris, and a few other people from their church - around fifteen in all.

“We’ll be singing to eight elderly church members and then going over to a nursing home,” Mary Margaret informed them as soon as they joined the cluster of people. “Since they’re spread out all over town, we’ll need to drive from place to place. We’ve already determined who is driving and who will be in each car. The two of you will be with us in my car. David will drive.”

“Why can’t I drive?” Emma asked.

“Perhaps because we all value our lives,” Killian teased, tongue in cheek.

“Hey!” Emma protested. “I’m an excellent driver!”

“It’s not your driving skills we question, Swan. It’s that dodgy excuse for a car.”

She glared at him. “Insult my car at your own risk, Jones.”

“I just did,” he assured her.

They realized the rest of the group had started to file out of the church, so they followed along, still arguing about her car. In front of them, Mary Margaret and David shared amused looks.

Just as Emma and Killian were settling into the back seat, there was a knock on Emma’s window. She looked over to see August peering in at her. “Got room for one more?” he asked, loud enough to be heard through the glass.

“Uh, sure,” Emma said, opening the door, then sliding over to the middle of the seat. August squeezed in beside her and she scooted even closer to Killian.

“Thanks,” August said. “I lost track of the time and was afraid I would be left behind.”

“It’s good to have you with us,” David commented as he put the car in drive and followed Kris’s vehicle out of the parking lot.

“Hey, August,” Killian greeted, leaning forward to speak around Emma.

“Hey, yourself,” August smiled. “Is Liam in one of the other cars?”

“No, I invited him to come, but he’s an old Scrooge and said it was too cold. It’s probably for the best, though. He’s a terrible singer.”

Emma elbowed him sharply. “Be nice.”

“Ouch!” Killian exclaimed. “Are you trying to break a rib, Swan?”

“Stop being so dramatic. You probably didn’t even feel it through all your layers of clothes.”

He continued to rub his side. “Once you hear my brother sing, you’re going to realize I was right, and then you’ll owe me an apology for bruising me.”

“I hate to say it, but I agree with Killian on this one,” August piped up. “Liam and I were fraternity brothers at college, and hearing him sing the Alma Mater had me wishing I could transfer to another university.”

Everyone in the car began to laugh. “Poor Liam,” Mary Margaret said when it died down. “We shouldn’t be making fun of him when he’s not even here to defend himself.”

“Liam is plenty talented,” Killian said. “Just not in singing.”

“Oh, don’t forget to buckle your seatbelts,” Mary Margaret stated, ever the designated mom of the group.

Killian felt Emma’s hand reach down between their hips and brush against his butt as she searched for hers, and he leaned toward her to say, “Um, that’s not your seatbelt, Love.”

She jerked her hand away quickly and he chuckled when he saw color fill her cheeks. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Think nothing of it.” He reluctantly moved closer to the door and pulled the buckles between them free so they could fasten their belts. “Maybe someday I can return the favor,” he continued, flirtateously waggling his eyebrows at her.

As he expected, she rolled her eyes at him playfully, then turned to ask August a question. Killian rubbed his gloved hand and prosthesis against his jean-clad knees, and looked out his window toward the sideview mirror, only to see Mary Margaret’s face reflected in it. His eyes widened and he felt himself blush when he saw the sly smile and sparkle in her eyes as her gaze bounced between himself and Emma.

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The first stop was a learning experience for Killian. He stood in the middle of the group and sang along softly, but mostly just watched the rest of the carolers and the recipients of their songs. Observing the smiles on all of their faces, his heart filled with the joy of the season

Marco’s house was the next stop and after they piled out of their car, August went inside to get his father. While they waited for him to bundle up and make his appearance, Killian edged closer to where Emma stood chatting with Mary Margaret.

When the dark-haired woman noticed his presence, she gave him a conspiratorial smile and subtly took a step to the side, leaving a gap beside Emma, which Killian filled immediately. He always liked listening to her voice as she sang the hymns in church and wanted to hear her sing the beautiful Christmas carols.

He watched her bounce on her toes and rub her upper arms briskly, breath coming out in steamy clouds. “Cold, Swan?” he asked.

“A little, but I don’t mind. It just makes me look forward to the hot chocolate even more.”

“I’m sure Marco will appreciate our caroling,” he said, stepping closer to her, hoping to block the wind a bit.

“Yeah, he will. He appreciates everything. I love his cheery outlook on life.”

“Aye, he’s a sweet soul…”

At that moment, the front door opened and Marco stepped out, followed by August, who descended the steps to rejoin the group. Mary Margaret began singing “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing” and everyone else joined in immediately.

When the song ended, Marco applauded, a smile lighting up his weathered face. “Now don’t be afraid to sing a little louder,” he said. “These old ears don’t work so well anymore!”

They appeased him by adding more volume to “Jingle Bells” followed by “Up on the Housetop”, complete with all the hand motions.

“Let’s do one more,” David said.

“Dad’s favorite carol is ‘The First Noel’,” August shared.

Everyone nodded their agreement and once again, Mary Margaret started the song. By this time, Killian felt more comfortable and confident in his singing, his clear tenor voice gaining volume. Every now and then, he saw Emma glancing at him, giving him a somewhat quizzical look. He briefly wondered what she was thinking, but he was enjoying himself and didn’t dwell on it.

When he hit the high note on the final ‘noel’ of the song, he was watching Marco’s beaming face, so he failed to see the look of awe on Emma’s.

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After bidding Marco goodbye and returning to their cars to travel to the next place, Emma sat wedged between August and Killian, trying to evaluate the feelings washing over her. Of course she liked Killian, and of course she found him attractive. She was a heterosexual female, after all. But after months of convincing herself that he was nothing more than her friend, suddenly her eyes were opened to the truth - she had feelings for him that went much deeper than simply friendship. It was as if that high note he sang hit her right in the heart.

“Alright there, Swan?”

She startled at his question and shook herself out of her musing. “Oh, um, yeah. I’m fine, just a bit chilly,” she replied, not looking at him. She didn’t want to risk him reading her thoughts.

Killian reached over to adjust the temperature setting on the console in front of her. His arm brushed against her leg, causing a rush of warmth through her that had nothing to do with the car’s heating system.

“Thank you,” she murmured, wondering why she hadn’t thought of doing that herself, while at the same time knowing it was because her mind was elsewhere. For the rest of the ride to the next location, she engaged August in conversation.

As the evening progressed, Emma somewhat successfully redirected her thoughts to the fun and joyful activity. Whenever they gathered to sing, she intended to put some distance between herself and Killian, but was magnetically drawn to him and his melodious voice.

After caroling at all of their scheduled stops, they made their way back to the church, where volunteers had coffee, hot chocolate and donuts waiting for them in the community room. Emma picked up her warm beverage and snack, then busied herself talking to Elsa and Anna. She saw Killian sitting with David and Mary Margaret, but didn’t join them as she normally would. Once her conversation with the sisters was over, she noticed Killian heading her way and quickly tossed her trash in the bin, then ducked into the restroom.

When she emerged several minutes later, Killian was leaning against the wall beside the door. “Swan, are you avoiding me?” he asked.

“What? No!” she immediately responded. “What makes you think that?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seems like you’ve been talking to everyone except me this evening. Have I done something to upset you?”

Her fingers began toying with the chain around her neck, a nervous habit of hers. “No, Killian, you haven’t done anything wrong. I just…I guess I was busy catching up with some of my other friends.”

Killian scratched behind his ear, a nervous habit of his own. “Sorry, Swan. I didn’t mean to accuse you. Of course you have other friends and want to talk to them. I shouldn’t have been so sensitive.”

Emma felt bad. Here he was apologizing when she had been avoiding him most of the evening. “Don’t worry about it, Killian. Like I said, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Looking around, she realized many people were getting ready to leave. “I think I’m gonna say goodbye to Mary Margaret and David and call it a night.”

“I think I’ll do the same.”

They walked together to the table where the couple still sat. After chatting with them for a few moments, Killian helped Emma into her coat and donned his own, then they exited the building. There was an awkward silence as they walked side-by-side toward their cars and she knew it was her fault. They usually spoke so freely and easily to each other, but now, her discomfort and confusion over her newly discovered feelings was driving an invisible wedge between them.

They reached her car and Killian yanked the driver’s side door handle, but it wouldn’t budge.

“You have to have the magic touch,” Emma stated. After breathing on the side of her balled fist, she rapped it on the doorframe just above the handle, then grinned at him triumphantly when she pulled on it and it instantly opened.

He was unimpressed. “I don’t think you need the magic touch, I think you need a tow truck,” he said dryly, rolling his eyes.

Giving a little huff, she settled behind the steering wheel. “My car might not be as fancy as yours,” she said, eyeing his Chevy Chevelle parked beside hers, “but it gets me where I want to go.”

“If you say so, Love,” he sighed. “Drive home safely.”

“I will,” she promised, then closed the door and fastened her seat belt. The VW’s engine roared to life, she pushed in the clutch, then shifted into reverse. After backing out of the parking space and putting it into gear, she waved at him and pulled out of the parking lot.

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Killian watched the dilapidated bug until it turned the corner, before he got into his own vehicle. As he traveled home, he wondered about Emma’s behavior throughout the evening. Everything seemed perfectly normal for the first couple of stops, but after caroling to Marco, she hardly said another word to him.

He racked his brain to figure out what he did to upset her, but couldn’t come up with anything. When they were in the car, she was either talking to August or appeared to be lost in thought. After arriving back at the church, he thought she would join Mary Margaret, David and himself at their table. He didn’t think anything of her talking to Elsa and Anna instead of sitting with them, until he was walking over to ask if he could get her another hot cocoa. She still had a small piece of donut left, but when she saw him coming, she tossed it in the trash and hurried into the bathroom.

It was at that point that he realized she was avoiding him for some reason. Even though she walked with him to her car, she still hardly said anything to him.

The Christmas caroling was fun. He thoroughly enjoyed the fellowship with the other singers and seeing the obvious pleasure the caroling brought to the recipients, but as he drove home, he had a hollow feeling in his gut. He wished he knew why Emma suddenly seemed uncomfortable in his presence.

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Emma couldn’t sleep. Once she got home after Christmas caroling, she soaked in a hot bath for a while, then tried to read, but her thoughts kept drifting, so she finally gave up and went to bed. Now, she was lying wide awake, while memories of the last seven months ran through her mind.

When had she developed romantic feelings for Killian Jones? And more importantly, what was she going to do about it?

She never had any luck with dating. Oh, she’d been asked out plenty of times, but it usually ended up being a one time thing. The only two guys she went out with more than once were Neal and Walsh, and both turned out to be losers. Maybe the problem was that she set her standards so high, nobody could meet them.

Killian Jones might just prove her wrong…if she gave him a chance.

Rolling onto her side, she stretched to grab her phone off of the nightstand and checked the time. Seeing that it was only a few minutes after eleven, she sighed. She felt like she had been in bed for hours, tossing and turning, trying to clear her mind of the swirling thoughts.

Almost subconsciously, she tapped on her messages app and scrolled through until she reached the thread with Killian. They sometimes texted late in the evenings, so she was sure he wouldn’t mind.

E: Are you awake?

K: No. Sound asleep.

E: Liar.

K: What’s up?

Emma hesitated before answering, debating whether or not to take a risk. Killian had become a good friend and she had no idea if his feelings were anything like her own. If she admitted them, would it ruin their friendship, or lead to something wonderful?

Finally, she made a decision.

E: Can I call you?

Within seconds, his name appeared on her screen as an incoming call. Taking a deep breath, she steeled her nerves and answered, “Hey, I hope you don’t mind me texting you so late.”

“Not at all, Swan. What’s on your mind?”

“I, uh, I wanted to apologize for tonight. You were right - I was avoiding you.”

There was a long pause before he replied in a quiet voice, “May I ask why?”

It was her turn to pause as she tried to establish what she wanted to say. “I didn’t know you had such a great singing voice.”

“My voice is what caused you to avoid me?” he asked incredulously.

“No, I…it’s just that I…” She heaved a sigh. “I’m screwing this all up.”

“Screwing what up?”

“My apology and my…confession.”

“Confession?” he asked, his tone heavy with confusion. “What are you confessing?”

“I…you know what? Just forget it. This is a conversation I’d really rather have in person.”

She heard him clear his throat. When he spoke his next words, she had to strain to hear him. “I can be there in fifteen minutes, Emma.”

“Killian, I’m not asking you to come over in the middle of the…”

“I know you’re not asking, but I’m offering. Is that alright with you?”

Emma plucked at her blanket, knowing she probably wouldn’t get any sleep until she talked to him. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Positive. I’ll change clothes and be there as soon as possible.”

“Thanks, Killian. Drive carefully.”

After his assurance that he would, she hopped out of bed and tugged a hoodie over her pajama top. Then she began pacing the floor as she waited, trying to compose in her head what she was going to say.

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Killian was never so glad that Storybrooke was small, since Emma lived on the opposite side of town. It also worked in his favor that the streets were nearly deserted and the town sheriff was likely snoozing in the police station, because he couldn’t help going a little over the speed limit to try to get there quicker.

His mind was racing, replaying what Emma said over the phone. A confession. What could that mean? Was she going to confess she didn’t want to be his friend anymore, or maybe she was dating someone? Engaged? Secretly married?

Stop it, he commanded himself. Of course she wasn’t married or engaged, or surely he would have found that out in the last several months.

Still, a confession usually meant something that was hard to admit. Could she possibly have feelings for him that went beyond friendship? Dare he hope for that?

Finally arriving at her apartment, he pulled up to the curb, cut the engine, and took a couple of deep, calming breaths. In a few minutes, he would find out whatever it was Emma wanted to confess. He just hoped he could handle it.

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Emma was still trying to figure out what she was going to say, when she heard a soft knock on her door. Always the gentleman, she knew Killian wouldn’t want to wake her neighbors by knocking too loudly.

She gave herself a quick pep talk as she crossed the living room, then turned the knob and opened the door. If she hadn’t been so focused on the upcoming conversation, she would have laughed at her friend’s untidy appearance. He wore a pair of baggy gray sweatpants and a navy blue hoodie with ‘Adidas’ emblazoned on the front in white letters. His usually neatly combed hair looked like he’d run his hand through it numerous times and she saw a bit of toothpaste at the corner of his mouth.

Stepping aside, she waved him into the room. “Thanks for coming over.”

“Not a problem, Love,” he said.

She closed the door and turned to face him. It was obvious he was just as nervous as her by the way he rubbed at the nape of his neck. “Do you want to sit down?” she offered.

“Uh, sure.”

He sat on the edge of the sofa and she dropped down onto the other end of it, fidgeting with the drawstring of her hoodie. After several moments of tense silence, she said, “I guess I owe you an explanation for why I acted the way I did tonight.”

“You don’t owe me anything, but I’ll listen if you want to tell me.”

She gave him a small smile and he encouraged her with a slight nod. “I…we, um, we’ve known each other for over seven months now, right?”

“We met in May, so that sounds about right.”

“You’ve become a good friend to me, Killian. You’re easy to talk to and you always make me laugh, no matter how bad of a mood I’m in. But tonight, when I heard you sing, it was…it was like a switch flipped and suddenly I realized I feel…different towards you.”

When she paused for a few moments, he coaxed her to continue. “What do you mean by different, Swan?”

Slowly, she pulled her eyes up to meet his, and the gentleness she saw in the blue depths gave her the courage to go on. “My feelings have gone beyond friendship. I…I think I’m falling for you.”

Holding her breath, she awaited his response. The stunned expression on his face had her rethinking her decision to tell him, but the grin that slowly stretched across his handsome features soon pushed that thought away.

“I’m really happy to hear that, Emma, and I must say that it’s about bloody time!” he blurted, his eyes sparkling with happiness.

It was her turn to be stunned. “Wha-...does that mean that…that you…”

“I’m falling for you?” he said, completing her question. “I already did a long time ago.”

“Y-you did? But why didn’t you tell me?”

He nervously scratched behind his ear. “I didn’t think you were ready to hear it and I was afraid my confession would drive you away.”

“That’s why I was hesitant to tell you, too.” She paused and squinted at him. “You said a long time ago. Just how long?”

“Remember that day in August when you talked me into going to the beach with you? I was so self-conscious about taking my prosthesis off and letting you see my stump, but you grabbed me by the wrist to lead me out to the water like it didn’t bother you at all.”

“Of course it doesn’t. I’m a fan of every part of you, Killian,” she said, reaching out to take his prosthesis in her hand. “That was a long time ago. You kept your feelings hidden really well.”

“It wasn’t easy, but now,” he said, moving closer to her on the couch, “I don’t have to hide them anymore."

“No, you don’t,” she agreed, moving easily into his arms and peering up into his face; the look of pure adoration he wore melting her heart, while at the same time, making it beat faster.

Without a doubt, she knew she made the right decision.

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It has to be a dream, Killian’s mind was telling him. Emma just confessed having romantic feelings for him and now she was in his arms, looking for all the world like she wanted to kiss him. This couldn’t really be happening, could it?

There’s only one way to find out, he reasoned. Closing the distance between them, he brushed his lips against hers, then pulled back enough to see her chasing after him, clearly wanting more. Who was he to deny her?

The moment their lips connected in a deeper kiss, the sparks flew. What he had been thinking for months was confirmed; he truly was in love with Emma Swan.

He would have happily continued kissing her for the rest of the night (or of his life), but a need for oxygen superseded his plans. Slowly opening his eyes, he took in the look of complete bliss on her face. “Emma?” he whispered.

When her beautiful green eyes blinked open, he saw the same happiness he was feeling reflected in them. “Yeah?” she breathed.

“I’m way past falling for you. I’m in love with you.”

It was his turn to hold his breath as he waited for her response, but not for long. Immediately, she surged forward to kiss him again. Then, as her fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck, she replied, “Good, because I love you, too.”

Another breathtaking round of making out followed their declarations. Since neither of them was ready to let go of the other yet, they stretched out side-by-side on the couch, cuddling and kissing under a fleece blanket, while listening to Christmas music set to a crackling fire video on TV.

Soon, they were asleep in the arms of the person they loved. When Killian woke up In the morning with a crick in his neck from sleeping in an awkward position, he considered it well worth the pain.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Emma sat in the church on Christmas Eve, listening to Killian sing a solo of ‘O Holy Night’. It had been a year since she declared her love for him and a lot had happened since then, not the least of which was him asking her to marry him.

When he hit the high note towards the end of the song, Emma felt the now familiar tingle run down her spine. She was sure his smooth, mellow voice would always have that effect on her. As the final notes of the song faded away, she met his eyes and knew he would see all of the love and pride shining in her own, even in the dimly lit sanctuary.

He rejoined her in the pew and she entwined their fingers, then leaned in to whisper, “It was absolutely perfect, my love.”

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

A year ago, Killian didn’t want to sing loud enough for other people to hear; he never would have been brave enough to sing a solo in front of the whole congregation. Having Emma’s love changed that, along with so many other things in his life.

One thing that hadn’t changed was the fact that Emma is his best friend and soulmate. Having so few friends growing up, he cherished having someone with whom he could share everything. She is always there for him - listening, discussing, and cheering him on. Proposing to her was the easiest decision in the world.

It was her idea for him to sing a solo for the Christmas Eve service. As he prepared for it, he once again asked himself how she talked him into it, but the answer was the same as it was last year, when he made the momentous decision to go Christmas caroling.

He was utterly and completely in love with Emma Swan.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Wishing all of you a very Merry Christmas and a New Year that hopefully has lots of new Captain Swan content!

Tagging: @hookedmom @kmomof4 @cs-rylie @qualitycoffeethings @grimmswan @wyntereyez @the-darkdragonfly @ultraluckycatnd @paradiselady19 @xarandomdreamx @motherkatereloyshipper @julesep3026 @courtorderedcake @lfh1226-linda @pawshapedheart @vampcoffeegyrl23 @tiganasummertree @captainswan4life85 @bluewildcatfanatic @eleveneitherway @elfiola @kday426 @julieenchanted-swans @gingerchangeling @andiirivera @djlbg @jonesfandomfanatic @snowbellewells @huntressandlioness1 @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @ilovemesomekillianjones @laschatzi @zaharadessert @jennjenn615 @yasbio2015 @lyssapup27 @nachocheese-itsmycheese @singersdd @mie779 @undercaffinatednightmare @winterbaby89 @xsajx @jackieorioncat @teamhook @bdevereaux-blanche @soniccat @searchingwardrobes @jarienn972 @apiratewhopines @softkilly @goforlaunchcee @kymbersmith-90 @captainswan217-blog

#csff #CS Christmas #CS modern AU #Hitting a High Note #jrob64 #art by jrob64 #cs fanfic #Christmas fluff #Christmas caroling #friends to lovers

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statustemporary · 8 months

Text

and we'll put on a show

SUMMARY: “I get everyone else doesn’t want to go back, I get it. It’s nice being together and having the comfortable mattress and soft pillows and literal palace. But, actually, no, you know what unsettles me the most about being here?” she rants one day while she paces her bed chambers. Hook casually lays on the chaise lounge under the window, spearing grapes with his hook before sliding them off with his mouth, a sight that becomes more and more dangerous the more she sees it. His shirt is unbuttoned to a staggering degree and his chest hair is more of a distraction than she ever thought such a thing could be.

“Ogres? Flying monkeys? Genies?” Hook offers without any real thought.

|| Emma didn't mean to alter Pan's curse. She just wanted to keep her family together. The Enchanted Forest is interesting and all, but it would've been great if her alterations kept them together in Storybrooke where there's hot showers and a McDonalds just past the town line.

RATING: Teen

WORD COUNT: 6,572 words

TAGS: Captain Swan, Fluff, Humor

AO3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was going to be a quick, fun, ridiculous kind of one-shot and here we are 6k+ later. also, apparently i have 187 different writing styles so i call this one "no backstory necessary".

sorry not sorry for what you're about to read.

heh :)

***

When Pan’s curse was coming and Emma tapped into her deep well of highly untrained, incredibly powerful, and equally chaotic magic, she didn’t know what to expect. All that had been on her mind was staying together – her, Henry, her parents, Regina, Neal, Hook… She didn’t care how it happened or where they were, all she focused on was not being left alone again.

Wish magic, Mother Superior had told her when the smoke dissipated and they were all in the Enchanted Forest. Wish magic is already powerful but paired with your magic, and the wish magic in your heart, it is something I’ve never seen before.

The prospect was daunting. As if being the Savior wasn’t enough, every time she turned around, she had more power than before and even less of a mind on how to use it.

It would’ve been nice if her magic worked well enough to keep them in Storybrooke with hot showers and cars and food already meal prepped. Instead she’s back to chomping on chimera when she’d kill for a bear claw or some Pringles.

“I get everyone else doesn’t want to go back, I get it. It’s nice being together and having the comfortable mattress and soft pillows and literal palace. But, actually, no, you know what unsettles me the most about being here?” she rants one day while she paces her bed chambers. Hook casually lays on the chaise lounge under the window, spearing grapes with his hook before sliding them off with his mouth, a sight that becomes more and more dangerous the more she sees it. His shirt is unbuttoned to a staggering degree and his chest hair is more of a distraction than she ever thought such a thing could be.

“Ogres? Flying monkeys? Genies?” Hook offers without any real thought.

“Wait. Genies are real too?!”

“Is there anything about this realm that doesn’t surprise you, Swan?”

Emma groans and stomps over to her bed, falling back onto it and letting her legs dangle off the side. Her trousers ride up her backside in the most uncomfortable way but she’s too focused on her frustration to bother fixing it. The clothes in the Enchanted Forest are surprisingly soft and durable with even more flexibility than she’s used to. But she misses jeans and sometimes she wants to wear a nice heel that makes her ass look great and gives her an extra two inches of height. The ball gowns are definitely not her thing, at least not the first fifteen dresses that resembled more puff balls than evening wear. The red dress that her mother pulled out for her though – that is an exception.

“Ugh, what really pisses me off is I’ll never know if the last Game of Thrones book ever gets finished and I’ll never know if Derek dies and I won’t get to watch the new Star Wars trilogy with Henry.”

Hook sits up, eyebrows raised high. “Who is Derek?”

Emma groans again and covers her face with her hands. “I can’t even complain to you because you don’t know.”

“It would be helpful if you explained it to me, love.”

His words are soft and gentle and the verbal equivalent of him offering a hand to stand up. It makes her shiver in a way that reminds her of when she was in middle school and Zackary Theed kissed her behind the bleachers when they should’ve been running the mile. The excitement of something so innocent and sweet.

Leaning up on her elbows, she catches the quick glance of Hook’s eyes on the sliver of stomach her shirt exposes with her movements. When his eyes meet hers a moment later, he smirks but holds back the usual heat, giving her his undivided attention.

The dynamic between herself and Hook has been… interesting, to say the least. Especially with the entirety of Storybrooke’s impromptu return to the Enchanted Forest. Her parents, as much as she loves them – because she is accepting that she’s starting to love them – are overwhelming. They’re trying to be comforting and supportive but they’re so excited to finally live this life with her that they’ve always imagined. They’ve talked of balls and suitors and learning to rule when all Emma wants is a nap and some alcohol.

Henry is taking everything in stride, happier than he’s ever been in all the time she’s known him. Not only does he have both moms in the same palace but he also has his dad, a whole stable of horses to choose from, and archery and sword fighting lessons are part of his curriculum now. All in all, it’s every kid’s fantasy come to life and he hasn’t thought once about Storybrooke.

Emma wishes she could say the same but she didn’t grow up here. This isn’t who she is and finding a happy medium to settle at gets more and more exhausting by the day.

She spent her first week in the castle putting her feelers out and trying to gauge the reaction to the town’s sudden relocation. While some townspeople missed the conveniences of Storybrooke, many of them were happy to be home.

Hook kept himself sparce during that first week. Not only did he want to give Emma time with her family and to begin to acclimate but he also needed to find his ship. She wasn’t sure if he’d come back once he got it. His confession in the Echo Caves and their exchange at the town line laid heavy on her mind and played in circles when she tried to sleep the first few nights. He had been honest from the start and never pushed her to reciprocate his feelings. Feelings which, though he might not believe it, are there.

But the pirate spent centuries on the sea and she doesn’t know, when it comes down to the sea or her, who the more satisfying temptress is.

It was during Hook’s absence that stretched from one week to three that Emma accepted her feelings for him ran deeper than pure attraction. She’d find herself in meetings with the council, looking around for his face only to not find it. A comment would slip just under her breath and his resulting chuckle was nowhere to be found. Loneliness crept over her shoulders like a rolling fog.

Everyone else here had… someone. And once again, Emma did not. Henry bounced around between all his parents and was doted on endlessly by everyone, and her parents divided their time with her and their many duties. Even the friends she made in Storybrooke didn’t feel like they were still hers as they fell back into the roles of councilors and advisors for the crown.

Then Hook came back after three weeks with his ship in the harbor and a bottle of spiced rum from a far-off land for them to share in secret and she felt the loneliness ebb away bit by bit. Rum wasn’t the only thing he returned with. No, he had bundles of fabrics and clothes from the far reaches of the realm and trinkets like seashells for her and Henry to use to replace their cell phones.

He promised her at the town line with a curse coming for them that a day wouldn’t go by that he didn’t think of her. The curse never came but the promise stayed true, his acquisitions showed.

Even now, as they lounge in her bed chambers in the high tower of the castle, his attention remains solely on her. The thought makes her cheeks warm and his gaze, when she meets it, churns a longing low in her stomach.

“Derek is from a television show called Grey’s Anatomy and it’s been rumored he might die this season but I’ve been so far behind that I don’t even know if he did and now I never will!” she groans. The lid has been lifted and now she can’t stop even as she watches Killian’s eyebrows rise higher and higher. “The new Star Wars movie coming out this year was supposed to be a special thing for me and Henry to do together and now we can’t even do that! We used to watch Brooklyn 99 and Law & Order: SVU and reruns of Fresh Prince of Bel-Air together because those were our things but now we don’t have a thing! How do I compete with sword fighting and horses and freaking Robin Hood?!”

“You can always bring the lad to the beanstalk.”

She bites back the urge to say the beanstalk is theirs and instead shakes her head. “I want something we can do where one of the potential risks isn’t plummeting to our deaths.”

Killian smirks and stabs another grape. “I did prevent your fall, love.”

Not quite, she thinks to herself before the thought immediately overwhelms her and she feels her walls reinforcing themselves. She likes Killian, like-likes him and all that grade school crush stuff. But she doesn’t love the guy. Their friendship is still on new ground having only become allies in Neverland. And that kiss…

That kiss is as indescribable now as it was then and her hand twitches in an ache to touch her lips at the memory.

Attraction and chemistry burning red hot is what exists between them. But love? No way.

Emma sits up as straight as the walls she’s reassembled around her heart. “You also hit me in the head with your hook.”

“You survived, didn’t you?”

I might not.

“The point is, while this move to the Enchanted Forest is great and all, we all get to be a…” she struggles to find the right word. Family should be easy to say but she’s still struggling on that front. Mary Margaret and David still don’t quite understand but they’re trying. She’s just not there yet. Emma swallows. “A unit. But this wasn’t my life and I just miss some of that stuff from the real world.”

Killian pauses in his grape escapade and eyes her carefully. “The world is just as real here as it was in your realm.”

Emma sighs and rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Would you have stayed?” he asks after a moment of silence. “If you had the choice between Storybrooke and the Enchanted Forest – would you have stayed in Storybrooke?”

“What does it matter?” she says. “I didn’t have a choice.”

His tone edges on sad but he tries to keep it neutral, interested. “Humor an old pirate.”

“I don’t know, okay? There’s a lot that answer depends on.”

Hook eyes her. “What does it depend on?”

“A lot of things!” she fights back. He presses the question again and Emma erupts from her spot on the bed, angry that he won’t let this go, and starts to pace. “Things like where Henry would be, where my parents would be, where you –”

She cuts herself off fast, eyes wide and heart pounding through her chest. Hook stands slowly from his spot on the chaise and licks his lips in anticipation.

“Emma –”

“Mom!”

Henry comes barreling in the open door of her bedroom like a force of nature. Hair windswept and toothy grin on his face, Emma’s always glad to see her son so joyful but especially now when his appearance offers her an escape. “Hey, kid. What’s got you so happy?” She smiles softly at him while ignoring the holes Hook burns into the side of her head.

“I want to show you what Grandma taught me during archery today. It’s so cool, you have no idea.” It’s easy to agree to her son’s request and she moves to follow him out the door when he stops and turns to her companion. “Hook, do you want to check it out too? I bet you probably haven’t seen this in the last 300 years.”

The pirate in question must read the panic on Emma’s face and smiles sadly at Henry, coming close enough to drop his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Unfortunately I have some business to attend to but if you don’t mind, I’d like to watch another day.”

“Aye, aye, capt’n!” Henry grins, salute and all, before he tugs Emma’s hand out the door. “Come on, we’re losing daylight and you won’t be able to see it in the dark!”

She feels the ghost of Hook’s fingers brushing her arm but she doesn’t look back.

Emma skillfully avoids Hook for just over two weeks. In all honesty, he might even be avoiding her with how little she’s seen him around the palace. Then again, she’s thrown herself wholeheartedly into learning her parents’ duties for the kingdom.

But then his ship is gone from the harbor and David has suddenly taken up Mary Margaret’s pastime of sending birds with notes so all evidence points to him leaving. Not that she blames him, no, after all, everyone leaves her eventually. Their relationship is confusing enough for her, she can only imagine he’s gotten fed up with her walls stacking themselves higher with every step forward.

Still, she thought his words before the curse would’ve lasted a little longer than this.

Loneliness sneaks up on her quick but this time she welcomes it with open arms. She has no right to Hook’s heart, not when she keeps pushing him away and hurting him. No sane man would stick around for more of that torture. No sane man has that kind of patience.

Then again, he did stay alive for over 300 years to exact vengeance on his enemy.

Nevertheless, the chaise in her bedchambers stays empty and all she has to rely on is the memories of his mouth fitting perfectly against hers in Neverland and how his breath puffed against her cheek and the absolute fuckstruck expression on his face as he was ready to dive in for more before she put a stop to it. His innuendos and never-ending confidence in her abilities echo inside her mind in the silence of her room and his presence haunts the halls as she leaves enough space to her left for where he would’ve walked.

The first time she lays eyes on him after she ran out of her room is nearly four weeks later and she only catches a glimpse of him from afar.

His ship isn’t in the harbor, that much she knows. Her bedchambers have the perfect set of windows to overlook the water and she’d lie if anyone asked but her morning routine has consisted of checking each ship docked below.

That doesn’t have to mean much, she rationalizes. His ship could be out in the water and he took a dingy to shore so he could make an easy getaway. Afterall, he did leave on the Jolly Roger four weeks ago without a single farewell to her.

Whatever the reason for his probable short stint back in Misthaven, David greets him far from spying eyes and listening ears. Even the roll of her wrist and warmth of magic bubbling in her palm does nothing to reveal the secret conversation between the two men as they travel far from the castle.

They don’t return for hours, which piques her interest. One thing she’s learnt about David, especially since coming to the Enchanted Forest, is that dinner is a requirement for all. To miss dinner means you better be sick or dying. So for the man of the hour to miss the meal completely and for Mary Margaret to not raise a single eyebrow at his absence has her mind whirling.

Emma corners David later that night when he sneaks to the kitchens for a midnight snack. Her nerves have been unsettled all evening and she falls back into her typical stakeout habits which includes eating terrible food while lying in wait for her prey. Of course it’s the Enchanted Forest though and junk food consists of a few sweets and maybe bread.

God, she misses McDonalds.

David jumps in fright when he spots her at the prep island in the main kitchen. He smiles tiredly a few moments later, steals some bread, swipes her butter knife, and closes his eyes contently as he eats.

“Are the ogres angry? Are they going to start another war?” she finally blurts out when the wait gets too long and the silence eats at her center. “Did you send Hook to prepare the troops?”

Silence answers her at first. David looks at her in confusion before a deep understanding settles so serenely on his face that Emma’s instinct is to run. Instead, she swallows it down and focuses on the part of her being nagged by Hook’s abrupt absence and silent return recently.

Shaking his head in amusement, David says, “Everything is peaceful here. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“So where did you send Killian?”

“Killian?” David replies, eyebrows raised but his amusement not flagging in the slightest. He looks like he wants to talk, or maybe just tease her about her slip-up, but Emma rolls her eyes in return and speaks before he gets a chance.

“So where did you send Hook?”

“I didn’t send him anywhere.”

She presses, barely able to keep the frustration out of her voice. “Then where did he go?”

The air in the kitchen shifts. There’s a prickling starting on the back of Emma’s neck and her senses go on alert as David gives her his full and undivided attention.

“Since when have you started caring where Killian goes in his free time?”

She fumbles. Her mouth refuses to function and her brain can barely think of a coherent response. “I – I don’t.”

“Mhmm…”

David’s stare bores holes into the side of her head as she darts her gaze elsewhere. She feels like she just got caught lying by her father which… she guesses is accurate on all accounts. Even if the admission is only to herself, her stomach clenches uncomfortably and her throat dries.

When did she start to see Killian – Hook – as someone to care about? Was it when he turned his ship around and brought them to the one place he swore he’d never return to just to help her save her kid? Was it their kiss, hot and heavy under the humid jungle leaves, a magnetic connection that called to each other so strongly it took a herculean effort for her to walk away?

Or maybe it was when they were at the town line and he told her he’d think of her every day and, when her magic decided to do its own thing, he stuck by her side. He never asked for more than what she was willing to give, every day learning more and more about her limits, her likes and dislikes. Instead, they found refuge in one another. For as much time as he spent around royals, first under their command then stealing from their stores, he felt as uncomfortable as she did within the palace walls and the pomp and circumstance surrounding it all.

He suddenly became one of the most important people in her life without her even realizing it and the thought takes her breath away.

David gives her a soft smile before stepping up to her frozen frame, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and pulling her close to press a firm kiss to the top of her head. She allows him without a fight, subconsciously leaning into his warmth and fatherly comfort, closing her eyes briefly. His whispers act as a soothing balm to her broken soul. So many breaks, so much pain. Yet his presence begins to fill the cracks.

“It’ll be fine, Emma. Just talk to him.”

She listens to his words, soaking in her father at her side. For once, it’s not overwhelming or uncomfortable. It almost starts to feel like coming home.

Of course, because she’s Emma, she doesn’t actually make an effort to talk to Killian the next day. Or the day after that. The conversation that’ll ensue requires courage she’s struggling to find.

Instead, she watches from windows and around corners as he is friendly with Henry and Neal, strikes up long conversations with Granny and Ruby, and even shares in a secret joke with Leroy, clapping the dwarf on his back as they chuckle and grin at each other.

Everyone but her.

He doesn’t even attempt to look for her, doesn’t make an effort to come by her side even after their eyes connect across the courtyard. He merely turns back to his conversation with Marco while Emma pulls Henry closer to her side and continues their walk along the palace grounds.

She refuses to say that jealousy kicks her in the ass to actually do something but when she sees him four days later with that stupidly attractive smirk on his face being directed at Tinkerbelle before Regina joins their secret meeting, she’s had enough. Since he’s clearly too cowardly to approach her, she’ll pull up her big girl panties and do it herself.

It’s not as if she didn’t already know that she’s been running from her own feelings the entire time. Reality only sets in, however, that she’s just as cowardly when she’s strolling down one of the palace hallways and stops short at the sight of him at the other end.

He looks good.

The black leather duster shines from the sunlight streaming through the palace’s stained-glass windows. His dark hair gleams and looks softer than it felt between her fingers in Neverland. Glowing skin, straight back, confident set of his shoulders. The pirate looks like a model at ease in the middle of a clothing commercial, all carefree and beautiful. She bets that if he grins, big and wide and all his pearly whites showing, a fucking sparkle will appear with a quiet DING! to accompany it like a fucking toothpaste ad.

Un-fucking-fair.

Air leaves her lungs at the sight of him and that causes her a delay in retreating. Too substantial a delay, it seems, as Hook chooses that moment to turn on his Emma Radar and look straight at her. His face lights up and he calls out her last name, looking as if the heavens are personally highlighting him with a pitch perfect song.

Seriously?!

She turns on her heel and makes a hasty retreat. She is so not ready for this conversation. If she can even keep it together enough to not pull on that stupid vest – a deep red color that looks to be made of velvet and probably soft to the touch – to drag the pirate into a nearby closet to kiss or kill him. The jury is still out on that decision.

“Swan!” he calls again, rushing to reach her. The cool metal of his hook encircles her elbow and turns her his way. “I’ve been looking all over for you!” he exclaims, relief in his voice and clear in the way his forehead relaxes.

“Really?” She snorts so unladylike she’s sure both Mary Margaret and Regina would be annoyed if they heard. “Because it seems like you’ve been avoiding me since you came back from who knows where.”

“I –” he starts before sighing. “Not exactly.”

Hmph. So he was avoiding her. The truth tugs at her chest in such a painful way that Emma only barely resists the urge to rub at the area over her silk shirt.

“Whatever, Hook.” Anger wraps around his moniker like a hot iron. He can hear it, the slight drop of his head and the glow fading from his features when it’s said, but he doesn’t allow her to run like she so desperately tries. “What?!” she hisses.

“Just come with me, love. I promise, you can be angry and hate me again after but… just let me show you something.”

Hook has only ever looked so earnest once before and her mouth drops open at seeing the sight again. Blue eyes plead with her as his eyebrows raise in encouragement. Emma feels herself nodding before she realizes what she’s doing and suddenly he’s ushering her down the hallway and towards the wide garden space behind the castle.

“I – I don’t hate you,” she says when the silence gets too much for her. Even when they fought on opposite sides and he annoyed her to hell, she never hated him. The thought he could believe such a thing unsettles her to the core. “Just because I’m upset with you doesn’t mean I hate you.”

“Your anger is well deserved. My apologies, love.” He shakes his head, pulling them to a stop before they enter the gardens. Ocean blue eyes stare into her meadow green and her breath hitches as he comes closer. The torches that line the hallway dim as her focus zeroes in on Hook. It’s been a struggle in the past keeping her eyes off of his mouth whenever he deemed personal space to be a nonentity. But this time his gaze keeps her locked in and she doesn’t even dare to blink. “Consider this part of my apology,” he whispers. “Your heart’s desire, Swan. That’s all I want.”

He steps away before she even comprehends the enormity of his statement and pulls her into the gardens.

The wide expanse of grass is freshly trimmed, the smell filling her nostrils and reminding her of summers at foster homes wishing for a family to laze around a backyard with. The flowers and plants that border the gardens are in full bloom offering an array of colors. Red roses, yellow shrubbery, pink Middlemist flowers. She’s been in the gardens a number of times since their latest return to the Enchanted Forest but now the colors seem brighter and more vibrant.

Hook gently presses his namesake to the middle of her back. Emma’s gaze shifts forward at the touch and she chokes out a gasp.

Down the center of the gardens sits a newly built wooden stage. Wide and made of a dark mahogany that sheens under the sunlight, it takes up nearly the entire width of the flat grassy area. Deep red curtains are pulled across the front of it, hiding whatever stands on the stage. They rustle slightly from movement behind it and Emma lets out a soft giggle at the sound of Hook cursing under his breath beside her.

Six rows of chairs divided down the middle face the stage and she recognizes many of the occupants to be folks working within the castle, or the Misthaven townspeople she used to see in passing around Storybrooke. They all greet her with a smile and nod as Emma is guided to a chair in the first row with a nearly center view of the stage.

“What is going on?” she asks Hook as he stands beside her seat. Her head turns on a swivel looking for a hint of what kind of performance they’re about to see.

“Patience is a virtue, love.”

“Seriously?!” she nearly whines, earning a chuckle in response. She huffs, eyeing him with a small upward tilt of her lips before she looks away.

Chatter is quiet behind her but there’s an excitement thrumming in the air. Voices whisper from the stage but they’re too soft for her to listen for any familiar inflections. Instead, she examines the corners of the stage and the gaps in the curtain that appear every few moments.

Her eyes are still soaking in everything around her when Hook drops his duster on the chair beside hers and grins mischievously at her. “Back in a moment.” He winks at her, slow and smooth and so unlike his terrible attempt when they climbed the beanstalk. She bites her lip to keep the grin from exploding on her face.

Hook stands on the wings of the stage with her father as they whisper in a tight huddle. The two of them duck behind the curtain for a moment before Hook exits and strolls back to her side, taking the seat he reserved for himself. Before Emma can fire off her questions, David emerges from between the curtains.

She watches in awe at how her father captures the attention of the crowd, how he spreads his thanks to Marco and Pinocchio for the stage and scenery, to Jaq, Gus, and Blue for the costuming. He leads into enthusiastic applause with each announcement and she finds herself just as enthralled as the rest of the crowd.

“Finally,” David says and Hook tenses beside her. “You all may know him as Captain Hook but I know him as a friend. None of this would be possible without him.” Her father looks at Emma for a long moment before he looks to Hook and she looks on in confusion as tears build in his gaze. “Killian Jones,” he says through heavy emotion and her companion shifts uncomfortably beside her. “I thank you.”

David steps aside and the curtains pull away to show the stage. It looks like a replica of Storybrooke General Hospital but a large banner hung centerstage says Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital. The entire set reminds her of Grey’s Anatomy.

And that’s when it hits her. David’s words finally sink in and Emma turns to Hook – Killian – in shock. He avoids her eyes, raising his hook to gently scratch behind his ear as he looks up at the stage from a lowered gaze.

Leroy stomps on stage talking about an urgent medical case and Granny joins him a few moments later. The two of them bicker back and forth in a way that borders on flirty, their voices sounding far away and drifting into her ear, leaving Emma confused for all of a few moments before it’s revealed that they play Derek and Meredith respectively. She probably would’ve laughed at the casting – she never would’ve pegged Leroy for McDreamy but he’s honestly incredible on stage – but her focus is set on the man beside her who organized a fucking theatre troupe so she wouldn’t be left wondering about one of her favorite shows.

“Don’t make all my hard work go to waste, love,” he mumbles, cheeks red as he glances at her before quickly averting his gaze again. He nudges at her thigh with his hook and nods towards the stage. Emma doesn’t even realize her mouth is still hanging open until she tries to swallow and finds her throat dry.

With little else to do, she turns her attention to the stage and is immediately wrapped up in the story they’re telling. It’s clear that someone within the troupe is a hardcore Grey’s Anatomy fan and was clearly all caught up on the show while she fell behind due to Neverland. The mannerisms, the dramatics, the dialogue – all of it makes her feel like she’s actually watching it.

The forty-five-minute performance goes by in a flash and she’s amongst the loudest cheers when the troupe takes their bows. Her grin is wide and it’s nearly impossible to take her attention away from the stage.

Until Killian sticks his fingers in his mouth to give a loud whistle and Emma can look at nothing but him.

The ruthless pirate who has continually proved her wrong. The scoundrel who came back to help her get Henry even if it meant returning to Neverland. The lost soul who promised to think of her every day they were apart, even if that meant forever. The man who listened to her frivolous whining and delivered her all she had wanted for and more.

Killian tries to stay behind to speak with the troupe about some matter or another but Emma grabs him by the hook and pulls him to an alcove in the garden hidden by prying eyes.

“Swan, what’s – ”

She backs herself into the alcove, pulls on his vest, and crashes her lips against his, effectively stopping his sentence. Emma feels his sharp intake of breath before he sighs into the kiss, hand coming up to cradle her head against the stone of the palace. Their mouths move over each other slowly, stroking the heat in their stomachs to a blazing inferno.

When Emma pulls away, they breathe heavily in each other’s space, swaying closer together as their eyes remain shut.

“Thank you,” she whispers, biting on her swollen lip when she finally opens her eyes. His are still shut, a small smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

“I quite like the way we show gratitude.” He cracks an eye open and grins, her own smile widening to match his.

Suddenly they’re courting.

Instead of Netflix & Chill, they have Storybrooke Storytellers & Garden Make-outs. A date night at the movies is equivalent to sitting in the garden as her family reenacts the original Star Wars trilogy, her parents as Han and Leia, Henry proudly swinging a lightsaber as Luke, and Neal fittingly as Darth Vader.

Killian whispers tidbits in her ear during each performance, like how Leroy and Granny fought over who was correct regarding one of their Grey’s Anatomy performances, Leroy winning at the end. “He’s got the bloody show memorized, love. Knows the whole thing front and back. Absolutely obsessed.”

Or how Henry assigned everyone’s roles for Star Wars and how it was unanimously decided that Whale would be the dead victim for their recent rendition of Law & Order: SVU, or even how Killian’s curious about the romantic comedies that Belle has brought to his attention. “The lad wants to do everyone’s fairytales as well,” he says, grin pressed against the back of her neck one afternoon. She laughs at the ridiculous image her son’s aspirations create for her, her soul feeling lighter with every moment.

It’s a little bit of the home she created in Storybrooke, right here in the Enchanted Forest. For a girl who’s searched for that all her life, it makes Emma’s heart race ahead of every performance they watch. No one has ever done something like that for her before and she tells him as much through tears one evening as they look at the stars from her balcony. He holds her close, murmuring sweet nothings into her hair and Emma realizes she wants to give him everything.

“Let’s go to the Jolly,” she says. Her head rests on his chest from their stargazing and she feels him tense under her. Eyebrows pinched together in uncertainty, she tilts her head up to look at him. “If that’s okay with you?”

He shifts uncomfortably, not at all in the way she wants him to be, and her confusion mounts. “There’s no need to go to the Jolly,” he answers with a tight grin.

She rolls her eyes, sitting up from her spot and steadies her focus on him. She says point blank, “I am not having sex with you under the same roof as my parents.” Killian sputters and Emma enjoys rendering him speechless for all of two seconds before doubt creeps in. “Do you not want to?”

At her hesitancy, he surges up to capture her mouth in a kiss that takes her breath away and leaves her dizzy. “There’s nothing more I would like to do right now than take you as you are, wherever you desire.” A growl comes from low in her throat as she threads her fingers in his hair and nips at his bottom lip. She whispers again for him to take her to the Jolly Roger only for Killian to halt everything and pull away with a grimace.

“Killian, what’s going on with you?”

Her pirate ducks his head low to his chest before he gathers the courage to meet her gaze.

“The Jolly Roger is no longer in my possession,” he confesses. A low swoop in her stomach causes her to fumble forward in her haste to press against his side. There’s pain in his eyes, the telltale sign of loss and grief that she knows so well. But it’s small and non-consuming, like a detail of life he just lives with now.

“Did someone destroy her?” she asks after a moment, her touch cautious and her gaze searching. Killian shakes his head.

“No, I – I traded her away.”

Her body is suddenly made of concrete, refusing to move despite her mind screaming at her legs to stop Killian’s restless motions. “Wh-what? Why would you do that?!”

Killian smiles softly then. The pain is miniscule but present even as his gaze softens and he reaches his hand out to cup her cheek. “Your heart’s desire, love. That’s all I want.”

Despite the late hour, the moon shines high in the sky and lights their way. Her fingers clutch tightly to his metal appendage, the weight of his admission weighing heavily on her, and she stumbles after him as he leads her to the old farm fields.

The area was abandoned before the Dark Curse, her father told her one time. It suffered from barren soil after years of overuse and needed time to recover. More time than thirty years’ worth offered and yet, as Killian leads them through a gate, the fields are sprawling with greenery. Vines trail along the ground and large leaves the size of their heads sprout so intensely that it’s difficult to see the soil beneath.

“What is all this?” she asks in wonder.

Killian grins and reaches down to pull up the end of one vine, a sparkling, translucent item hanging from it. “Look familiar, love?”

A magic bean glimmers under the moonlight, ripe for the taking. It is just one of what could probably be hundreds if not thousands of beans growing on the vast vines before them.

Amazed, she asks, “How is this even possible?”

She loves this man. Before he even starts to explain everything that’s been happening – taking his ship after their conversation in her bedchambers to trade it with Blackbeard for a magic bean, organizing the troupe to give her what she was missing while they waited for the beans to grow and mature, crafting a way to make the near impossible travel between realms into something as easy as tossing a coin into a fountain – she knows deep in her soul that she loves him.

All consuming, heart racing, fingers thrumming, glowing kind of love.

“Perhaps you can finally show me that Red Lobster you rave about?” he offers cheekily.

Emma huffs out a watery laugh, words abandoning her as she looks around. When her eyes lock on his, she swears he outshines the stars.

“You gave up your ship for me?” she asks quietly, hoping to convey everything she can’t verbalize in the way her hand reaches for his and grips it tight.

You gave up your home for me?

“Aye,” he says, just as simple but just as deeply meaningful, squeezing her hand in return.

You are my home now, Swan.

They come together slowly but the passion igniting between them is stronger than it’s ever been before. Her heart is bursting with so much joy that she could cry and it takes her all to keep the tears at bay, wishing to sink into the kiss forever. Her smile, however, is another story and so is his, as they grin against each other’s mouths more than they kiss.

She loves him and he loves her.

Theirs is the kind of love they write movies and shows about.

Theirs is the kind of love they write fairytales about.

#my writing #captain swan #temporarystatus #cs fanfic #my fics #captain swan fanfic #captain swan au #season 3 au #cs au #cs ff #and we'll put on a show

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pirateswhore · 6 months

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Carve your name into my bedpost 🔞

one-shot drabbles written for cocktober 2023. most will be under 1k words. following the prompt list from @cs-c-ocktoberfest2023

Ch XVIII - Mutual Masturbation : Read on AO3

Ch XIX - Sensory Deprivation : Read on AO3

Ch XX - Toys & Lingerie : Read on AO3

Ch XXI - Threesome : Read on AO3

Ch XXII - Authority : Read on AO3

Ch XXIII - Post Partum : Read on AO3

Ch XXIV - Phone Sex : Read on AO3

Ch XXV - In Front of a Mirror : Read on AO3

Ch XXVI - Food Play : Read on AO3

Ch XXVII - Edging : Read on AO3

Ch XXVIII - Shared Dream : Read on AO3

Ch XXIX - At Work : Read on AO3

Ch XXX - Instant Attraction : Read on AO3

Ch XXXI - On a Ship : Read on AO3

well !! can't believe october is over ! came and went in a heartbeat. I had SO much fun writing all these prompts ! I hope you guys had as much fun reading them.

a HUGE thank you to the event organisers (cs-c-ocktoberfest2023), everyone that has commented consistently on every chapter & my dear friends on discord & tumblr that encouraged me to continue !

if you're interested, do check out my other works ! smut wheel will resume updating with weekly-ish chapters n prompts and I have more stuff planned ! :) if you're interested in requesting something, my tumblr ask box is open

thank you for reading & reblogging ! <3

- andjie

#killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #ouat #emma x killian #cscf23 #chantecler writing #smut #cs smut #ouat smut #cs fanfic

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deckerstarblanche · 9 months

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Welcome to Chapter 1 of my CSSNS23 entry: “An Offer She Can’t Refuse”!

Huge thanks to @undercaffinatednightmare for the gorgeous art, and to @ultraluckycatnd for being the perfect hand-holding beta ❤️.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48705193/chapters/122860717

An Offer She Can’t Refuse

Chapter One

Emma was standing alone in her dorm’s communal kitchen area when it happened. The first sign of trouble was a prickling feeling from head to toe, causing her whole body to break out in goosebumps.

She was shaking a jumbo box of Milk Duds, impatiently waiting for her popcorn to finish popping so she could combine the two into her favorite salty sweet comfort snack.

The microwave dinged, so she ignored the fine sheen of sweat covering her forehead, calmly pouring the chocolate and caramel drops over the hot popcorn and watching it melt together into gooey goodness.

How is it possible to be both hot and cold at the same time? Emma wondered, willing herself to believe that it could just be a cold — just last month, she had missed out on a spring break trip with her girlfriends because of the flu — so she hurried back to her room, eager to get under the covers and chill out.

That evening, her friend Killian had come over for a long-awaited movie night, which they usually did as a foursome with their respective roommates, Mary Margaret and David. Their friends had been a couple all year, completely smitten since they met on the very first first weekend of the fall semester, and stayed glued at the hip ever since.

Luckily for Emma, they tended to have their sleepovers in David’s room; wherever Killian spent the night, she didn’t really want to know.

That particular evening they’d had to cancel, in order to answer nature’s call: David’s rut arrived three days earlier than expected. The college provided free, on campus Safe Houses for exactly this purpose, but their reservation system was fully booked, leaving them no choice but to pack quickly and speed over to his family’s nearby vacation cabin to ride it out. Emma helped her nervous, excited roommate pack that morning, lending her a large tote bag to fill with all of her most treasured comfort items: a baggy navy hoodie that David presented to her on the first blustery day of fall, a hand-sewn quilt passed down from mother to daughter for five generations, and a small fluffy pillow Emma got her as a birthday present. It was a sunny yellow (Mary Margaret’s favorite color), and had “What’s Up Buttercup?” printed on top.

So four became two, and since Killian won first film pick in a coin toss, that night’s selection was The Godfather.

Her sweaty shakiness had ebbed by the time Emma got back to her dorm room, and she sighed with a deep sense of relief. But when she opened the door to the 12x19 foot space that she and Mary Margaret called home, already dark and movie-ready except for the glow from Killian’s iPhone, she was hit by a wave of scent so intense that it made her feel weak in the knees. It was woodsy, grassy and musky, with a virile boost of testosterone. Despite her crappy mood, it calmed her, sweeping all of her stress away.

Calmed and aroused simultaneously, as it turned out. The air around her felt thick with masculinity, and Emma’s stomach swooped in anticipation.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

One of Storybrooke College’s biggest selling points was their commitment to making the finest education accessible for Alphas, Betas, and Omegas alike, regardless of designation and gender. Part of that promise involved the school's state-of-the-art filtration system, which neutralized the air in all of the co-ed facilities, including the dorms. The level of scent surrounding Emma shouldn’t have been detectable.

One of the reasons she had chosen this tiny liberal arts college, four hours away from her home in Boston, was so she could focus on her work and finish her undergraduate degree in three years. Emma had big goals: she wanted to become a Social Worker, focusing specifically on advocacy for foster kids who had the chance to avoid growing up like she did. If she intended to stay on track and on-budget (tiny schools weren’t cheap), she needed to keep her head on her work, and away from distractions.

That was why the situation she found herself in that night was so strange; after nearly a year spent living in that dorm, Emma had never picked up such a unique, personal scent other than her own, and damn it was good.

“About time you got back, Swan! I was going to start without— hey, are you alright?” Killian asked, sitting up on her bed as the grin on his face shifted to a concerned look. The deep, raspy timbre of his unused voice caused a shiver to race down Emma’s spine, almost making her drop the bowl. She ground her jaw shut, willing the ventilation system’s scent blockers to kick in.

“Yeah, it’s nothing… Please, just hand me my blanket and pillow backrest thingie, and you try my famous caramel chocolate popcorn,” she muttered, shoving the bowl into his lap in exchange for her stuff. He whined a little at the loss of her comfy bedding, but he knew better than to cross her about it.

Emma did not mess around when it came to pillows and blankets: last September, when the girls on her floor had a “best nest” competition, Emma and Mary Margaret won first place in a fierce competition by completely transforming their room into a scene from 1,001 Arabian Nights. They went all out, decorating the room with gauze-covered hanging lanterns, and nearly covering their floor with colorful lounging pillows and soft cushions. They even served Moroccan Mint tea in glass cups, poured from an authentic-looking tea set Mary Margaret borrowed from the theater department.

Climbing onto Mary Margaret’s bed, Emma cocooned herself in the huge fleece blanket and set her backrest against the wall, sighing peacefully as she sank against the support.

She tried not to notice how the blanket seemed to have absorbed that irresistible, masculine scent into its fibers, surrounding her and overwhelming her senses. But Emma knew she could hold steadfast against the urge to give in to her hormones. Back in high school, she spent too much time kissing frogs: worthless boys who thought dating an Omega meant that she’d be a submissive, sex-crazed robot.

If nothing else, those experiences made Emma Swan an expert at hiding her true feelings and stuffing them deep down inside.

The fact that her entire body was literally and figuratively burning with desire had nothing to do with Killian, who was an Alpha himself. From what she could see in the dark room, he was unaware of her meltdown. She just needed to get through the movie. If she could keep up the charade that all was well, she could see to her own needs once he was safely back on his side of the dorm.

Besides, Emma had heard enough chatter about Killian’s adventurous love life to know that she should steer clear. They had built a good friendship over the school year, and she valued it far too much to ruin things; exactly what would happen if she became another notch on his headboard.

While she couldn’t fully control her body’s reactions at the moment, her brain helpfully reminded her about what he’d told her back in September. Killian wasn’t looking to become a one-woman guy anytime soon, and Emma had no interest in being anyone’s plaything ever again. There was no reason that she couldn’t make it through tonight.

Somehow.

“Shall we watch, then? I still cannot believe you’ve only seen The Godfather once! That’s a bloody crime, Swan— you have to see it as many times as possible in order to really appreciate Coppola’s genius,” Killian quipped smugly, and she glared at the outline of him shaking his head and chuckling at her expense.

Good, she thought to herself. He hasn’t even noticed that I’m freaking out over here, and he doesn’t ever have to know. I can resist this...

“Yeah, ok, Roger Ebert. The deal was that if I watched the whole movie, you’d give the Milk Dud-melted popcorn a legitimate try, so eat up!” Emma sassed, trying to deflect attention from her shaky voice as he clicked through the dvd’s menu.

“You’ve certainly gotten the better end of the deal, love. This popcorn concoction of yours looks fucking disgusting. Do I really have to eat it?” he asked with an exaggerated groan, and Emma almost bit through her lower lip to keep herself from reacting to the sound.

The speed at which her symptoms intensified made Emma’s head spin. In a few short minutes, her world had shrunken down to fit on the head of a pin. The deep-seated Omega instincts within her screamed for what only an Alpha - or the perfectly good silicone toy hidden in her underwear drawer - could provide. Worse, it seemed like her hormones didn’t care if the guy in question was her best friend— as long as both partners were attracted and consenting, Killian had what she needed to get the release she craved.

“Oh, pardon me for sharing my grubby American snack food! You come from a place where they eat stewed tomatoes and animal intestines for breakfast, so do me a favor and shut up so I can concentrate on ‘really appreciating’ Coppola’s genius,” Emma drawled in a terrible impression of his accent, rolling her eyes. He just snickered and clicked the play button, scooping a handful of popcorn out of the bowl.

As the familiar opening music played, Emma focused intently on the screen. She wouldn’t think about the Alpha lounging on her bed, and how his presence was causing her heart to beat so fast that it felt ready to burst right through her chest, Aliens style. Nope, she wouldn’t let herself fall victim to the urges rippling through her body; it was too risky. She couldn’t lose him.

########

The Godfather really was Killian’s favorite movie, but he would’ve suffered through an 24 hour marathon of *The Three Stooges* if it gave him a chance to be alone with Emma Swan.

They had only known each other for a few short months, but from the moment they met — placed in a group together at freshman orientation last August — the two of them just clicked. When their brand new roommates got hot and heavy with each other that first weekend, they both found themselves banished to the common room on Emma’s floor, where they wound up talking for hours. It was one of those friendship-cementing, life-story-sharing bonding sessions that happen so often in college.

As the weeks flashed by, they settled into a reliable, platonic friendship. During their epic talk, Emma confessed that she was on a self-imposed vacation from relationships — a messy breakup with a Beta, some hometown loser called Neal — and to mask his disappointment, Killian embellished his 19 year-old teenager’s fantasy of being a ladies’ man.

He instantly regretted his words when her beautifully expressive face shut down, so he quickly changed the subject and cracked cheesy jokes to get a smile out of her. From then on, Killian made sure they never broached the topic again, and by the fall semester’s end, they had developed a platonic bond that he treasured far more than any hookup.

Of course, that didn’t mean he’d ever stopped wanting her.

Emma never had to know that she starred in his dreams every night, but Killian wasn’t sure she’d even care. At first, it really wounded his inner Alpha’s pride that she never seemed *into* him, but Emma was complicated like that: combative one day, and cuddly the next.

Besides, he could never stay away from her for long, especially when she drank just enough to get tipsy, and she’d snuggle into his side, sliding close enough to scratch her fingers through his hair. Pathetically, he lived for these brief intimate moments, when he could inhale her fruity shampoo and a wisp of her muted scent, imagining that she was his.

One thing was for certain: she wasn’t like other girls at school, nor was she like any other Omega Killian had known in his life. Emma Swan was in a class all her own, and full of contradictions: she possessed uncommon beauty and fierce intelligence, but she could be stubborn as a mule and prickly as a pineapple. By earning her trust, he’d become one of the few allowed to know that beneath her tough exterior beat an incredibly soft and generous heart. The more time he spent in her company, from late night diner study breaks to pre-party drinking sessions with their group of friends, the more enamored he became.

Most of their fellow freshmen were living away from home for the first time in their lives, so they were more than happy to unleash, experiment, and play. Killian, along with his buddies Rob, August, and Phillip, partied almost every weekend of the fall semester, and more often than he cared to admit, he’d wake up the next morning in a random girl’s bed.

That ladies’ man lie he’d told Emma had become his reality, but he didn’t feel good about it, and he was damn lucky he hadn’t called anyone by her name. Yet.

Since there were seemingly no secrets at Storybrooke College, when word spread that Killian Jones knew exactly how to please a lady, a legend was born all on its own.

All of that female attention, along with his self-proclaimed “dashing rapscallion” nature, had earned him admiration from fellow Alphas at SBC, but it was all a ruse. In private, he tried to keep a careful distance from the women he slept with, paying more attention to their satisfaction than his own, and never engaging with an Omega in heat. Part of him felt guilty, like he was leading them on; after all, it wasn’t their fault that was hung up on Emma Swan.

Killian was raised to always strive to be a man of honor, so he never promised anyone more than he could give.

So he waited, caught in a holding pattern between the undeniable pull of Alpha ego-stroking and his lovesick puppy dog feelings for Emma, unsure if she would ever return them. In the meantime, he contented himself with her friendship, hoping that eventually she’d see him in a different light.

######

For a solid half hour, everything was normal, and the Corleone family wedding unfolded on Emma’s small, battered tv screen like it always did. As the sequence ended with father and daughter waltzing to the movie’s theme music, Emma suddenly seized up with a burning pain deep in her pelvis. Struggling for breath, she tried to hide her discomfort by burrowing further into her blanket.

Immediately, the film paused and her tiny bedside light clicked on, illuminating Killian’s worried expression in the otherwise dark room.

“Swan? Are you alright over there?” he asked, and she tried to say something to reassure him, but another flash of pain made her dig her fingernails into her palms to keep from crying out. She couldn’t speak without sounding desperately needy, so she clamped her mouth shut and breathed through her nose.

Killian was aware that something was off about Emma from the minute she walked into the room that night, but now the problem was glaringly obvious: the ventilation in her room was on the fritz. Her sweet scent, usually muted by the system, beckoned— the sudden seismic jolt of lust that rolled over him meant that Emma was starting an intense heat phase. If he was truly her friend, and a man of honor, he’d get out of her way as soon as possible.

Why couldn’t he tear himself away, then?

Suddenly, Emma sat up with a shocked expression on her face. Her eyes squeezed shut and then she shook her head, as if she was trying to clear the fog from her brain.

“Shit, no wonder I’m feeling all out of whack…I left my pills in the bag I lent to Mary Margaret for the weekend!” Emma yelped with embarrassment, as a flush crept from her chest all the way up to her face. Quickly, the sweaty-shivering feeling was back, and it continued to increase in intensity right alongside a narrowing of her focus to one thing: Alpha.

“I don’t mean to pry, love, but are those pills of yours suppressants?” Killian asked her gently, and even though she was purposefully looking away, she could still feel his gaze burning into her.

“Um, I’m not exactly sure? I’ve been taking them since I was 13, and I was too embarrassed to ask anyone at the group home — even the doctor who gave them to me — about woman-type stuff. I never missed a dose before!” Emma admitted, feeling flustered and ridiculous.

She sucked in a breath when it dawned on her: the medicine she thought she was only taking to regulate her cycle had also dramatically reduced the intensity of her quarterly heats for the past six years. Most of the other Omega girls at school constantly complained about symptoms and urges that drove them mad, but Emma figured she was just lucky.

Apparently not. How could she have been so clueless?

“Six years? That’s an awfully long time, Emma. Maybe you should call the health center, you know, check in with them about side effects and erm…” he trailed off, his face heating up as he searched his brain for the right words.

She shifted uncomfortably on her roommate’s bed, full of nerves in Killian’s presence. Most of their guy friends were Alphas too, but Emma didn’t usually give it much thought. David was around so often that she considered him more of a brother figure, or an extension of Mary Margaret. It was similar to her neutral feelings about Rob, or August, or any of the other guys in their circle; they were only friends, nothing more.

“Ugh Jones, you know I don’t like that place! The doctor over there is always so creepy,” Emma deflected with a pout, pulling her hair up into a messy bun.

With Killian, everything had always been different, in the best way. Emma wanted to be with him: they could spend hours in each other’s company, talking about anything under the sun without getting bored, or just studying together in comfortable silence. Now that she thought about it, she was always happier when he was around, more open and affectionate than she’d been with anyone else in her life.

It wasn’t until tonight that Emma knew she’d have no problem letting him help her through this little hiccup in her cycle.

At the same time, he was probably the closest thing she’d ever had to a best friend, other than Mary Margaret. They just understood each other. How could she ever risk that friendship over something as trivial as sex?

But oh…imagining what it would be like to be together in that way, sharing that physical and emotional connection with him, made her tremble with a heightened sense of anticipation. She needed him to quench the flames rising inside of her.

Unbidden, an image of them in bed, sweaty and sated and intimately tied together, formed in her mind.

It was simple biology: Statistically, Alphas and Omegas had the best chance of conceiving children together. Omegas were born with enhanced fertility, and when combined with a natural lock binding them together (aka: an Alpha’s knot) was Mother Nature’s way of stacking the deck.

Advances in birth control made it possible for couples to decide when they wanted to have children, but no method was guaranteed. Emma didn’t want to leave anything to chance, so dating Beta men exclusively was her way of decreasing biology’s advantage.

With such a jumble of thoughts crowding her brain, Emma almost missed that her sharpened sense of smell picked up another pheromone overload in the room.

Could it be possible that he felt the same way about her?

She licked her lips at the thought of kissing him for real, causing her gut to clench. What would it be like to be with him? Emma played it out in her mind; surely it would be more than satisfying. From the gossip she’d heard, Killian was a sure bet, always knowing what women wanted. What would his hands feel like on her body? His presence loomed large in the tiny room, and it took all of her self control not to jump onto her bed and kiss the hell out of him.

How would he react? She had a feeling she would soon find out.

####

“Earth to Emma! Will you say something, please?” Killian asked, the alarm in his voice pulling her out of her reverie. At some point during her freakout, he had crossed the twelve feet of space between the beds and pulled out her roommate’s desk chair, sitting close by but not invading her space. Emma was instantly relieved by the gesture, reminding herself that Killian was the guy she’d grown to depend on, not some brute who only saw a sweet-smelling Omega he could use to satisfy his basest urges.

“I’m scared, Killian,” she admitted, feeling so hot and sweaty that she had to force herself to unwrap the blanket from her body. “This has never happened to me before! What if I can’t control myself, or some random Alpha picks up on what’s going on, and he tries to force me to — ugh, I don’t know! Maybe I should call Mary Margaret, and see if I can just pick up my pills from her,” she fretted, twisting a corner of the fleece in her grip nervously.

“I understand,” he soothed, interrupting her anxiety spike. “You’ve got to breathe, though, because you're going to hyperventilate if you keep this up. Can you do that for me first, Swan?”

Emma listened to him, closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths. Soon enough, her heartbeat slowed back to its regular rhythm, and even though the warm hand he’d tentatively placed on her back sent electric sparks down her spine, his reassuring touch made her feel safe and grounded.

Once he was sure that the worst had passed, Killian began to speak again, unsure of how she’d react.

“The trouble is, Emma, that David and Mary Margaret are about an hour’s drive from here. If you still want to go and get your pills, I’m happy to drive you. But if you’d rather stay here and ride it out, I’ll say it right now: I won’t leave you unprotected,” Killian told her bluntly. Emma looked utterly confused until her muffled brain picked up his meaning. She was livid.

“Oh, are you going to stand outside my door and defend my honor? Believe me, I can handle myself just fine, Jones,” she seethed, spitting his name out like poison as she launched herself to her feet. He watched, speechless as she tugged on the doorknob, exposing their private little world to the whitewashed concrete and fluorescent-lit hallway.

“I think you should just leave for a little while.”

He flinched at her cold tone, but Killian had enough sense to risk trying to dominate her. Clearly, Emma needed her space — he knew she’d want to get back in full control of herself as soon as possible — but there wasn’t a chance in hell that he’d stand by and watch her drive alone, especially in her disoriented state.

It didn’t help matters that they’d been in her room for a while, so he was completely surrounded by Emma’s lovely scent, which had always reminded him of the summer sun, mixed with sweet melon and tart strawberries. That night, it had a more sensual, muskier edge than he was used to, so instead of feeling happy and comfortable like he usually did in her presence, he could barely resist the urge to bury his face in her neck.

In general, Killian was pretty confident in his ability to control himself, but he had no idea how much longer he could physically stand being in the same room with Emma that night. His purely Alpha desire to possess and mark her could send them spiraling down a friendship-ending path.

“If that’s what you really want, I’ll go,” he said quietly, lifting himself up off Emma’s bed. He waited for her to say something, but she just gestured toward the door, her green eyes unreadable.

“I’d really appreciate that, at least for a little while,” she admitted, and the shaky breathiness in her voice both raised his protective hackles and sent a jolt of lust surging through his blood.

He needed to leave the room.

“Of course, Swan. I won’t go far, so if you need anything, just text or call and I’ll come right back. And if you decide that you’d like to drive out, just say the word and I’ll pick you up, ok?” he assured her calmly as he walked through the open door, even though his insides were churning with nervous energy. She just nodded, sagging against the wall. Her eyes were glassy, like she’d been drugged.

Killian had been with enough women of Emma’s type to know that when they got that glazed look, their instincts could overrule their rational brains at any time. There had to be at least a hundred other Alphas in their dorm alone, and he knew he wouldn’t hesitate to kill any one of them if they dared to take advantage of her in such a vulnerable state.

He needed to call Elsa, and quickly.

———-

The phone seemed to ring forever, and by the time someone picked up the line, Killian was practically tearing his hair out.

“Little brother, why are you calling so late? Everything alright?” Liam’s voice, usually so welcome to his ears, sounded like nails scraping against chalkboard to someone as keyed up as Killian was at that moment.

“I’m fine, just put me on with your wife. Please,” he begged through gritted teeth, hating the pathetic cracking in his voice.

“You don’t sound fine,” Liam observed casually, as if he was across the room and not 3,000 miles away. “Are you on drugs?”

“LIAM! I called Elsa, not you. If she’s there, put her on the bloody phone,” he growled. Moments later, his sister-in-law’s calming voice came onto the line.

“Killian? Tell me what’s wrong,” she soothed, and the buildup of adrenaline began to drain from his bloodstream as fast as it had rushed in, leaving him feeling depleted and foolish. He sagged down onto a park bench, head in his hands as he cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear.

“Elsa, I need your advice. I have a very close friend who needs my help, you know? Problem is, she’s a skittish lass, and I don’t know if I can give her what she needs without ruining the friendship. On the other hand, the thought of anyone else touching her makes me feel sick. What should I do?”

A soft chuckle floated across the line, and he exhaled with relief, knowing that Elsa needed no further explanation.

“Well, it sounds like you care about this girl quite a lot. We’re talking about your friend Emma, right?” Elsa guessed, the gentle teasing in her voice already helping to calm his anxiety.

“Yes, h-how did you know?” he asked, his voice stuttering in disbelief.

“Besides the fact that Emma is the only woman I’ve ever heard about for the entire time you’ve been at school? If your roles were reversed, and she offered to help you through a rut, would you take the risk?”

Killian didn’t even need to think about his answer. “In a bloody second! It would be amazing, but I already know that I’m mad for her. Emma hasn’t ever wanted anything but friendship from me, and it feels an awful lot like I’d be taking advantage.” he told his sister-in-law, as his heart pounded with uncertainty.

“Killian, I know that time is of the essence here, so I’ll be crystal clear: Calm down, give Emma the space to decide what she wants, then follow her lead! Trust me, her reaction will clear up any questions about where you stand in her mind. It doesn’t sound to me like she’s going to freeze you out,” she assured him, and after thanking Elsa profusely and apologizing again for calling them so late, he hung up.

Almost immediately, his phone buzzed with a new text from Emma:

*I’m really sorry for kicking you out. If you’re still ok with driving up to David’s place, then I’d like to go with you.*

Killian clutched the phone in his hand, almost giddy at the thought of finally being free to kiss and touch and care for Emma the way she deserved. Self doubt still plagued his soul, and he knew that getting this close to her without knowing how she felt about him was a gamble, but it was his choice. The privilege of being there for Emma was its own reward, and it would be worth the risk.

####

As his truck barreled down the uneven road that marked the final leg of their journey to David’s cabin, Killian winced every time the rocky terrain made Emma gasp or cry out in discomfort. He couldn’t read her expression since she was still curled up in her fleece cocoon, but each agonizing sound tore into his soul.

Killian knew how simple it would be for him to relieve her pain, but he was still worried that she’d interpret that offer as a violation of their friendship, and hate him for even suggesting such a thing.

“I’m so sorry, love. We’ll be there soon, I promise,” he assured her, reaching his right hand out to give her what was meant to be a comforting squeeze. The moment his hand made contact with her blanketed body, with the cool touch of his fingers so close to her heated skin, Emma tore the blanket away, breathing heavily. Her blonde hair floated around her like a gorgeous mess, her skin was flushed crimson, and the look in her eyes nearly made him slam on the brakes in the middle of the road.

“Killian, you’ve got to pull over, right now!” she heard herself tell him, but her voice sounded like it was detached from her being. The strange, searing pain actually freed her from all inhibitions, leaving her in a puddle of feelings and primal urges that blew common sense right out the window.

All she knew for sure was that Killian was right there, and he was all she could think about. The way their scents mingled together in the truck’s cabin caused all of her other senses to light up, like she was a fuse ready to blow at any second.

“What’s wrong, love? Need some fresh air?” Killian asked as he pulled off to the side of the road and turned on the hazard lights. He knew that she probably felt extremely vulnerable, but had no idea what was going on inside that head of hers.

He did not expect to see Emma sizing him up with that lusty Omega stare, her eyes blazing a brilliant shade of green. The sight made him gasp in astonishment, a sound that he tried, unsuccessfully, to cover with a cough.

Emma spoke in a clear, confident voice.

“Killian, listen to me. I’ve been trying to ignore or will these feelings away, but every cell in my body is telling me exactly how to take care of the pain. It’s telling me that I need you…Alpha,” she admitted. Her voice shook as she used his title for the first time.

Her words stoked a fire in his belly that could easily turn into an inferno.

Killian hadn’t expected to hear her say those words…ever. He put the car back in drive, veering further off from the track-marked road, and parked. As the engine idled, Killian squeezed his eyes shut, wracking his brain for a solution that didn’t end with him giving into temptation. *This isn’t some random hookup, it’s Emma. If she was in her right mind, this wouldn’t be happening, mate* he told himself, cracking his eyes open as he took a deep breath to get his wits about him.

It wasn’t his best idea. The sweet scent from her heat had intensified, awakening a primal instinct in his brain and making his head swim with lust. He shifted in his seat, instantly hard as a rock. When she looked at him, he could tell that she knew exactly what he was thinking. Emma just smirked as she licked her lips.

“You can feel it too, can’t you, Alpha? I know you want me…I can practically taste it in the air. I want you too,” Emma told him breathlessly, in what was probably the most seductive whisper he’d ever heard.

“I’m honored that you’d consider me worthy of that kind of trust, Emma, truly,” he said gently, taking one of her hands in his and threading their fingers together.

“But are you certain? Completely sure?” Killian’s voice, while still quiet, sounded raspy and more urgent, like he was ready to do anything she desired of him.

“Yeah,” she breathed, nodding, and before he knew it, Emma had unlocked her seatbelt and closed the gap between them, pressing her lips to his for the first time. Her lips were softer than he could have ever imagined, and their mouths fit together as perfectly as he had always hoped they would. Adorably, she still tasted like popcorn and chocolate.

By the time they pulled apart for air, Emma had somehow straddled the console, getting halfway across and into his lap. They were pressed even closer together by the truck’s oversized steering wheel.

With a growl, Killian wrenched the seat back an extra couple of inches and lifted her the rest of the way, touching his forehead to hers as their breathing slowed.

“I guess we don’t need to bother David and Mary Margaret after all!” Emma giggled, brushing her hair out of her face before setting her hands on his shoulders.

“Trust me, they wouldn’t want to see what I have in store,” Killian replied with a devilish grin, reaching for her yet again. Their kisses grew deeper, and Emma raked her fingers through his hair while Killian’s hands roamed over every square inch of her body that he could reach, squeezing her ass with a satisfied groan. She responded by grinding herself against his lap, looping her arms around his neck as she went faster.

“Please…oh God, I want to come. Touch me, talk to me,” she moaned against him, bucking her hips faster to increase the friction. He nodded, kissing her exposed neck all the way up to a spot behind her ear that he had already chosen as his favorite.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this, Emma…I can’t wait to see you fall apart,” he whispered harshly against her ear, sliding his palm up her thigh and under her shorts before slipping two fingers into her heat, pumping and curling them in rhythm with her gyrations. She felt so perfectly tight and wet with slick that he had to restrain himself from rutting against her, choosing instead to press his nose against the flesh of her throat, breathing her in while focusing on her body. Emma mewled with pleasure, clawing her fingers across his back.

“Yes…Keep talking, Alpha, please!” she urged, riding his fingers in the narrow space.

“Feeling you against me makes me want to rip all your clothes off... I can see it right now, you naked and writhing against me while I’m deep inside you, filling you up. Is that what you want, Omega? Because I want you, have always wanted you, so badly…” he rasped, and she exploded seconds later, clenching hard against his fingers and coating them in her essence. She was unrestrained, shouting his name and his title as she shivered and shook in his arms.

It took a while for Emma to float back down to reality, so while she rested, he gently withdrew his fingers and licked them clean, unable to resist getting a taste of her sweetness. As she came back to herself, she could feel the soft press of Killian’s lips against her collarbone, near the scent gland all Omegas had right under the skin. It felt like the gland itself pulsed with its own energy, and when Emma pressed her fingers there, the whole patch of skin was raised and surprisingly fiery to the touch.

“Killian, I don’t know what’s going on! Feel here— it’s really hot, so be careful,” she fretted anxiously, cringing when he touched the pad of his index finger gently against her skin.

Instead of freaking out, he just waggled his eyebrows and flashed her a cheeky smile. But when the fear in her eyes didn’t go away, Killian’s expression softened.

“All that it means, Emma, is that your system is functioning exactly as it’s supposed to,” he told her, stroking her cheek. She smiled and nuzzled into his touch, but as she tipped forward to kiss him, the slight shift of her weight in his lap caused a deep groan to rumble up from Killian’s throat.

“Shit! I’m so sorry, Killian, I was caught up in the moment and I didn’t think-” she started to apologize, guilt written across her face.

“It’s not a problem, love. I’m the one helping you, so I’ll likely not go without,” he teased, and the look on his face — a bit of sheepishness disguised by a rogue’s smile — made Emma giggle, sighing with relief.

“That’s very true, although I might have put it a little differently!” Emma chided him with a playful smack on his chest, and they grinned dopily at each other, hair hopelessly mussed, and still reeling from the high of their new bond.

“So, while you’re still sated and lucid, we should talk about where we’re going to spend the next couple of days,” Killian suggested, reaching past her to grab his phone from the console. Feeling a bit self conscious now that the urgency had passed, Emma gave him a peck on the lips and scrambled back over to her seat.

“Killian, are you crazy? You can’t just drop everything for me!” she exclaimed, her eyes widening in surprise.

“Of course I can, Swan!” Killian scoffed, but when he looked up from his phone, the welling of tears in her eyes reminded him of how vulnerable she was feeling and how big a step this was for them both. “To be there with you, to aid you, would be my honor.”

She smiled, pressing her lips together as a rosy blush bloomed on her cheeks.

He reached over, taking her hand in his. “Emma, unless you send me away I will always be by your side, whenever you need me. Please, don’t ever doubt that,” he told her, bringing her knuckles to his lips without breaking their eye contact. She held his gaze, nodding as a shy smile played across her lips.

“I won’t, I promise,” she said quietly, almost in a whisper, but an intrusive chiming sound sent her scrambling for her purse. Killian was dying to know who had interrupted them, but not wanting to seem overprotective — even though his skin practically itched with the desire to knock the phone out of her hand, carry her into the back of his truck, and claim her as his own — he turned his attention back to his online search.

“Oh, it’s Mary Margaret! Guess the reception in this area isn’t so bad after all, buddy,” she teased, gently poking him in the ribs with her elbow. He grunted in reply, her light touch reigniting the spark of desire he no longer had to hide from her.

“She said that she’s got my stuff, and that we can come right over. What do you think?” Emma asked, her tone sounding conflicted.

“Honestly, I’d rather keep you right here, and preferably much closer,” he teased, squeezing her thigh with a wicked grin. “But will you need your pills for any, ahem, more amorous pursuits?”

Emma snorted at his euphemism, like she always did when teasing him about using big fancy words.

“Amorous pursuits, huh? No, I have an IUD for that, but I’ve never been off those pills,” she said, furrowing her brow as she thought it over. “But if they’re meant to suppress, wouldn’t they mute the things I’m feeling now too? I don’t think I want to go back, not if it means giving this up,” Emma said saucily, taking a moment to tap out a quick reply to her roommate before grabbing his face and pulling him toward her for the most aggressive kiss she had ever given anyone, tangling her tongue with his, and catching his lower lip with her teeth so she could nip it playfully.

Giving herself over to the desire to possess him, like he was hers, seemed to unlock an entirely new world to explore. Every touch and kiss felt more intense, and knowing that he trusted her enough to let her play, testing his boundaries, was more of a turn-on than either of them expected. “Did you know that this truck has a fully collapsible backseat?” Killian told her, sounding absolutely wrecked when they pulled apart to catch their breath. Emma chuckled, running her fingers through his already messy hair.

“Exactly what kind of girl do you think I am, Jones?” she asked wide-eyed, pulling herself out of his embrace. Killian opened his mouth to reply, but all words flew out of his mind when Emma rose up to kneel on her seat, reaching back to unclasp her bra. He watched, entranced, as the white straps began to slip down her shoulders.

“I think,” he began slowly, choosing his words carefully as he hooked his thumbs through each strap, tugging them the rest of the way down her arms as she gasped. “I think that I’m one lucky bastard to have such a sexy, gorgeous woman in my truck. And you’ve got your Alpha all alone in the woods, willing and ready to do your bidding. That means you should feel free to share every dirty little desire you can imagine, so that I can do whatever it takes to keep you satisfied,” he told her huskily, gratified to see her shiver.

Emma just stared at him hungrily, letting her bra drop down onto the seat. Her white tank top left barely anything to the imagination; it was just a flimsy piece of nearly sheer cotton that barely concealed her taut nipples, straining against the fabric as they were.

“Like my own personal, hmm...boy toy?” she teased, leaning against the console on her elbows to give him an eyeful of her cleavage. His jaw slackened at the sight of her heaving chest, all of that flushed, soft skin pushed up by her forearms.

He wanted to bury his face right there and her smirk confirmed that she knew it, so he raised one cocky eyebrow. “I assure you, love, I am anything but a boy…”

She chuckled, hopping into the back and beckoning for him to join her. Emma barely had time to grab her blanket to spread over the backseat before he opened the door and lunged for her, nearly ripping her top and shorts off in his urgency to feel more of her. She yelped, dragging him forward so he could shut the back door and release whatever mechanism was responsible for flattening the backseat rests. They toppled back with a bang, and Killian clutched her to his chest, an overwhelming instinct to protect her overriding every other thought in his head.

“Killian, it’s starting to hurt again,” she whimpered, looking at him with wide eyes full of desire and fear. He couldn’t help himself, bending his head to kiss her gently, trying to chase away even a fraction of her discomfort.

“Don’t worry, love,” he murmured tenderly, helping her to lie down comfortably before shucking his shirt and jeans off and throwing them into the front seat. “Just let me take care of you first, and then we’ll decide what happens next together, yeah?”

She nodded as he settled next to her, silently placing her trust in his hands as she cupped his face in hers. The look in her eyes caused his heart to swell with pride, but the jumble of anticipation and nerves made him freeze up for a moment, unsure of what to do first. Luckily, Emma acted on instinct, parting her thighs and panting his name, and Killian was drawn in like a magnet, tangling his fingers in her hair as he kissed her. Tongues dueling for control, their kisses grew frantic and he pressed even closer, groaning at the feeling of her breasts pressed against his bare chest.

“You’re so warm, Alpha. I want you inside me so badly…” she crooned, hooking her thigh over his hip, her desire to be joined clear from the slick that soaked through her underwear to run freely between her thighs. Killian clenched his jaw, trying to hang on to a scintilla of control instead of mindlessly plowing into her. That thread snapped when she reached into his boxers and stroked his cock with a firm grip, tugging the cotton down his hips with her free hand.

“This belongs to me now,” she rasped, continuing to pump his length as she swiped her thumb over the sensitive tip, smirking triumphantly when he shook with a groan he was too far gone to suppress.

“Bloody fuck, Omega, you’re impossible to resist a second longer..” he growled possessively, and with one last nod from her, he ripped her underwear from her body and eased his way inside her, filling her up until they were both left cursing and gasping with relief.

“Oh my God, this is perfect. You feel so perfect,” Emma purred contentedly as unexpected tears gathered in her eyes. Eager to get even closer, she locked her ankles against his lower back, using her legs to draw him in just a little deeper.

“You…you’re the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met, Emma,” he breathed, wiping a few errant tears off her cheeks. He shifted his hips experimentally within the limited range of motion he had available. Every slight movement had her making the most delicious sounds, lubricating his cock in her impossibly warm depths.

Killian wasn’t quite sure if she was holding him in like that for physical or emotional reasons, so he guessed it was probably a mix of the two. Since he had promised to be there for whatever Emma needed, it didn’t matter; he didn’t intend to let her down.

“There’s something I never told you,” she whispered after a few moments had passed, unwinding her ankles and letting her knees fall open. A simple roll of her hips told him that it was ok to start moving, but he kept his thrusts shallow, enjoying the sweetness of her scent and the press of her skin against his.

“You can me anything,; I’m right here, Omega,” he assured her, pressing their foreheads together as their bodies rose and fell in rhythm. The fact that she was letting him care for her this way meant so much more than he could have ever imagined.

Emma began her confession haltingly, trying to find the right words. “It’s just that, well— I’ve never been knotted before. I never wanted it before, but… but with you, it’s like I need it, desperately,” she admitted, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Look at me, Emma, please,” he croaked, going still inside of her. When their eyes locked, he kissed her, gently biting her bottom lip when he pulled away. He began moving again, lengthening his strokes as he gradually increased their pace.

“There is nothing I want more than to give that to you, love, but not in the truck,” he told her, almost apologetically. “I’ve never experienced anything like this before, honestly. Maybe it’s because of you and your insatiable need, hmm….”

She whimpered, grinding her pelvis against his. Her fingers threaded through his hair as she kissed him deeply, eventually dragging him down closer to her chest.

Eagerly, he kissed his way across the valley between her breasts, biting down on a stiff nipple with each pass. His worship of her body nearly drove Emma over the edge again, her pants turning into staccato cries as she thrashed beneath him.

“Fuck, your tits are perfect, just like the rest of you…” he muttered, lowering himself to his forearms so he could squeeze each one, sucking her nipples and gently biting the rounded flesh like he wanted to brand her with his mark.

“Harder, I can take it… I’m so, so close, Alpha!” she cried out, gripping his biceps so hard that her fingernails nearly cut into his skin.

Killian grunted, using the pain to help him concentrate on pounding into her like she wanted, while trying to stave off his knot.

He didn’t want her first experience of that particularly mind-numbing pleasure to happen in the backseat of his truck.

“Are you gonna come for your Alpha? Show me how hard you can squeeze my cock,” he rumbled, feeling his orgasm start to build as a gush of her slick coated his base.

“Ohmigod…Alpha…YES!!” Emma screamed, clamping down tight on his cock as she launched into the stratosphere, her orgasm last longer than she’d ever experienced before.

He followed with a shout moments later, filling her up with his release as her aftershocks fluttered against his sensitive skin.

“Killian, that was amazing,” Emma purred as he rolled to the side, scooping her into his arms. She had a wide, lazy smile on her face as she burrowed tightly against his side, scratching her fingers through his chest hair.

“I think we make quite the team,” he told her fondly, kissing the top of her head. He let his head fall back onto the blanket, looking up at the truck’s ceiling. “I can hardly wait to get you into a nice big bed, and show you all of the other ways I can get you to come.”

The way his voice lowered seductively sent a surge of arousal straight to her core. Emma felt a wave of slick dampen her thighs, surprised that she could want his body again so soon.

“Where should we go? I want to have you again, already — maybe in the shower…” she suggested, grabbing his wrist and brushing his fingers against her brand new wetness.

Killian groaned when he felt the slick between her thighs, almost thrown into a mindless sex haze himself at the thought of how full of their combined releases her channel was.

He allowed himself the indulgence of slipping one finger into her dripping center, dying to find out what they tasted like together.

“We’re so fucking good together, Omega, just like I knew we would be — tastes like nectar from the gods. Take a taste, then we’re getting dressed. There may be an available room back at school by now.” he told her, gently slapping her ass before they sat up.

Emma grabbed his finger and drew the tip into her mouth, sucking experimentally.

She’d given a couple of blowjobs to Neal back in high school, and she remembered swallowing quickly, disliking the bitter aftertaste.

With Killian, she was sure it’d be much better, and she was right; the fluid was sweet and pleasantly salty, like the ocean on a sunny day. She darted her tongue out, and was licking his finger clean when she caught a glimpse of him staring at her, transfixed.

“You’re a real minx, aren’t you, Swan? C’mere,” he beckoned, his lopsided grin making her feel warm inside.

Emma shuffled a few inches over on her knees, and was rewarded with a passionate, mind-numbing kiss. It left her in a daze, accepting the clothes he handed her and dressing herself like her brain was on autopilot.

#####

***CHAPTER 2 COMING SOON***

Thanks and hugs to my CSMM enablers 😏

Tag list (happy to add or delete on request): @kmomof4, @undercaffinatednightmare @ultraluckycatnd @jrob64 @justanother-unluckysoul @jonesfandomfanatic @caught-in-the-filter @hollyethecurious @holdingoutforapiratehero @mie779 @booksteaandtoomuchtv @the-darkdragonfly @sailtoafarawayland @djlbg @eddisfargo

#cssns23 #cs ff #cs au #captain swan #alpha beta omega #omegaverse #a/b/o universe #ouatedit #cs fanfic #cs smut #best friends to lovers #alpha!killian #omega!emma #no werewolves #some angst #cs whump #happily ever after

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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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stubblesandwich · 6 months

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Return To Me - Chapter 4

A/N: It was requested I post this here, as well, so here ya go! (Sorry if I double tagged anyone.) I'd love to hear your thoughts! Thank you endlessly to anyone still following this story. You have all my love.

Summary: Emma Swan is dying. Her last remaining hope is a heart-transplant, and those aren't easy to come by. But, as luck would have it, fate finds her worthy, and on a stormy autumn night, Emma is given a second chance at life.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Boston hospital, Killian Jones has been devastated by the sudden loss of his wife.

Inspired by the 2000 film of the same title with Minnie Driver and David Duchovny. Find on A03 here

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Chapter Four - Don't Get Around Much Anymore

Three Weeks Post-Op

Emma had been called a cynic plenty of times in her life. As it turned out, being pushed through the foster system for a decade and a half hadn’t exactly turned her into a beaming optimist. Like most cynics, she claimed she was actually a realist. She planned for the worst, because things tended to not work out that great for her, and hoped for the best. Sometimes she was pleasantly surprised.

But in the litany of potential outcomes Emma had been preparing herself for, a new heart had never actually made the list. It was akin to winning the lottery, in her mind. Life had not been particularly kind to her. Yet, she had always taken her blows in stride, and she never took handouts. And the prospect of finally making it to the top of the transplant list at the age of twenty-six, after almost a decade of waiting, felt like a handout from life.

Emma Swan had never been one to sit around waiting for handouts.

There were other things she had prepared herself for. Increasing the handful of pills she took each day to keep her body from failing on her any faster. Moving from her full time job and supporting herself completely on her own to working part time, then very part time, to not at all. Getting on a government disability program. Each new punch to the gut from life she took in stride, as best she could.

And through it all, righting her each and every time she stumbled, were David and Mary Margaret. They were some of the best, most genuine and caring people ever to be placed on planet earth. She didn't deserve them—there was a small, cruel voice in the back of her head that affirmed this for her every day. But they just kept showing up for her, and they wouldn’t leave, and they wouldn’t let her quit.

As it turned out, after the first week, getting a whole new vital organ sewn into her chest wasn’t as bad as she had thought it would be. By the third week, the pain was starting to subside, transitioning into a residual soreness, and her biggest struggle currently was not clawing at her incision every time it itched. When the skin itself didn’t feel like an odd mixture of both tight and numb, it felt ablaze with itchiness. It was all she could do not to scratch at it. (Every time she did, Mary Margaret would bark at her to stop it, or David would throw a random item in her direction. Most recently, it had been a box of tissues that had narrowly missed her head, and he threatened to get an extendable fly swatter to swat her with, as needed.)

For the first time in her life, Emma was well and truly doted upon. She had family members who inarguably refused to leave her side. That is, of course, until Mary Margaret was forcibly removed by way of her impending school year start.

She’d had almost a month left of her summer break when Emma had had her operation, and she had been able to push almost all of her classroom prep off until the very last minute. David helped her ready her room when he could, but Emma knew her friend was fraying at the seams from trying to do so much in such a short span of time. Mary Margaret had a handful of vacation days, but she hoarded them like a dragon for true emergencies, and worried constantly that if her students started off the school year with a substitute teacher, they would just end up watching movies all day instead of actually learning something.

This was their last weekend before the new school year started and Mary Margaret went back to working full days. Emma was lounging on the couch, dozing, lidded eyes half focused on the episode of Friends quietly playing on the living room TV. She and Mary Margaret had just finished putting together twenty-five “Welcome back!” folders for her incoming students, as well as a second set for their parents.

“Why couldn't they have been ready for you to have the surgery during the start of summer?” Mary Margaret lamented, as she plopped her last folder down on the pile. “I would have had three months off to be here with you!”

David glanced over at them from the pile of pans he was washing at the kitchen sink and gave his wife an odd look. “You do realize you're wishing the woman whose heart Emma has now had died earlier in the year instead of later, right?”

Mary Margaret looked aghast. “No! Of course I don’t wish that. I didn't... I just meant...”

David raised his eyebrows at her, but by now he was smiling gently at his wife. Mary Margaret huffed. A slightly awkward silence settled between the three of them. The fact that another person was dead and Emma was still alive because of it was something they all knew but typically left unsaid. David had said it out loud, and now the strangeness of that fact settled over them all heavily.

“I wonder what she was like,” Emma murmured from her spot on the couch, puncturing the silence. “They couldn't tell me much. Well, couldn't or wouldn't, not sure which. All they said was that she was older than me, but not by too much, and in great health. Obviously we had to have the same blood type. But they couldn't tell me how she died, just that it didn't affect her heart.”

“Probably head trauma,” David said sagely. Emma winced at the thought, but he was likely right. He had seen enough as an officer to know. Especially working night shifts, when the majority of car accidents took place in the area.

“That sounds awful,” Mary Margaret said quietly.

“I'd never say I was glad someone else died,” David said after a while. “But I'm glad Emma's still with us.” The fact that these things were one in the same went unsaid. Mary Margaret reached over and squeezed Emma’s arm in gentle agreement with her husband. Emma glanced over at her and offered her sister-in-law a small smile, trying to convey to her without having to say it aloud that it was okay.

But in truth, Emma was uncomfortable. It just made her feel so strange, knowing that for every happy moment she now got to have here with her family, someone out there was living new moments, making new memories, without their own loved one to share them with. Someone out there was grieving a tremendous loss—had lost a daughter, a sister, a mother, a wife. The woman whose heart Emma now had could have been any one of those things, or all of them at once. She was presumably loved, adored, missed dearly. And Emma just didn’t know what to do with that information, how to carry these feelings with grace and proper gratitude. Often they \manifested in the form of guilt. David and Mary Margaret were quick to talk her out of that whenever it came up. That woman’s death meant something, they assured her. Part of her lives on, and part of her saved a life. That has to mean something to her family, right?

They were right, Emma knew. David saw so much meaningless death in his line of work that she inherently believed him when he told her that it was a gift, her being able to use someone else’s heart. (She didn’t have the courage to ask him how he would feel about any of Mary Margaret’s vital organs going to someone else, if she died.) It was a guilt she carried nonetheless, and she carried it poorly. It was an awkward shape, this guilt, and heavy, and she didn’t know how to carry it well. It all too often made her fumble.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” she said Mary Margaret looked over at her sharply, instantly suspicious that Emma was still feeling off from the previous conversation, but Emma was quick to wave away her worry. “I’m fine,” she assured her. “Really. I just feel grimy, and I don’t want to taint the epicness of Last Dinner with my stink.” This was their last evening—Last Dinner—before Mary Margaret returned to work full time, and they were marking the occasion with David’s mother’s famous lasagna recipe, a favorite from David and Emma’s semi-shared childhood (and coincidentally the only meal David really knew how to make, but that was beside the point).

“I second the vote for a shower,” David said, raising his hand in mock vote.

“You would,” Emma said with a roll of her eyes that David didn’t even need to see to know was there. Mary Margaret started to rise with her, as if about to help her to her feet. “Relax, woman,” Emma said, putting her hand on her friend’s shoulder gently to stop her. “I’ve got it. I’m not a complete invalid.”

“Jury’s still out,” came David’s response.

Emma looked at Mary Margaret, half expecting her to admonish her husband, but Mary Margaret just stared up at her with poorly veiled anxiety. “I’m not!” Emma said. “Guys, it’s been almost a month.”

“Three weeks,” Mary Margaret corrected. “Since you got a new heart. Not since you got your tonsils removed.”

“Okay,” Emma said, stretching out her back a bit as she stood there, chasing a kink out between her shoulder blades. “Sure, it was a big surgery.” David scoffed from his place by the sink, and Emma shot him a warning look. “But the doctors even said I have to try to do more on my own. I think it’s safe to say that includes showering.” There was no argument from David on that one. Mary Margaret, on the other hand, looked unconvinced.

“What if you slip and fall?”

“I’ll be sure to have my Life Alert button handy,” Emma retorted wryly. “Seriously, guys, it’s okay. I can handle showering.” Before they could argue any further, Emma slipped away, locking herself in the bathroom.

“Let me know if you need any help, okay?” Mary Margaret called through the door in a singsong voice only a few moments later. Emma swore she heard the doorknob jiggle, like her friend was testing to see if it was locked or not. It was, thankfully. Emma was already halfway undressed, and the last thing she needed was for her brother to get an accidental peep show because his wife thought Emma had already gotten stuck behind the toilet and died or something. “Emma?”

Oh, my God, Emma mouthed to herself. “Thanks,” she called out. “I will!” That seemed to appease Mary Margaret. But the faint squeak of the bar stool at the kitchen island assured Emma she hadn't gone far. It was endearing, how much they worried about her. At least, that's what she told herself in the moments like this, when it was almost impossible to find even just two seconds of privacy. Sometimes, she really did feel like she was a little kid again. Only now, she was re-living a much different version of her childhood. A sweeter, kinder version wherein people actually wanted to take care of her and didn't think of her as a monumental burden.

The tub's faucet squeaked shrilly as she turned on the water. When she’d first gotten home a week ago, just that motion, gripping the handle and giving the antique metal a yank, had left her arm feeling like a limp noodle. She was doing much better now, but she still felt pathetically weak and exceptionally out of shape. At one point, long ago, she had been fairly strong. A thin child, but always scrappy. Now she was a pale waif, muscles atrophied over the years as she'd gotten sicker. She vowed to herself that was going to change. Despite how frail she was, at the same time, she legitimately felt like she could take on the world now, with this new heart. She could finally breathe, take a breath fully in and out, without feeling lightheaded. That alone was a miracle.

Gingerly, she lifted her tank top up over her head. Her scar, where a surgeon had cut into muscle and bone and forcibly ripped open her sternum, stood out, an angry red slash against alabaster skin. For the first few weeks, it had been concealed by gauze. By this point, it was still tender, but her doctor encouraged her to air it out often. She even had some skin mobility exercises she was supposed to be doing daily, to help the layers of tissue beneath the scar not permanently adhere to one another. The scar itself stretched from the top of her chest, dropping down in between her breasts, all the way past her sternum bone. It was a thick, gnarled thing, aesthetically ugly; but she found herself overwhelmingly grateful for it the longer she looked at it. As ugly as it was, this scar meant she was going to live to see her next birthday.

Washing herself was still a slow, cautious process, but much easier than it had been when she’d first gotten out of the hospital. She took the time now to do her full, luxury, self care princess shower routine, something she hadn’t had the strength to do in months. The venting system in the loft's tiny bathroom was terrible, and by the time she stepped out of the shower, steam cloaked the room like a fog. The sheer dampness of the air made her cough when she inhaled. Emma didn't care; she felt amazing. It was easy to underestimate how much better a good shower could make a person feel. She felt human again, instead of the fresh-from-the-hospital, invalid goblin she’d been feeling like for the past few weeks. Humming to herself, she dried off, turbaned her wet hair, and started to dress.

David had the water running at the sink, and the apartment’s ancient radiator had kicked on next to the bathroom; when Emma finally opened the bathroom door, her brother and sister-in-law didn’t hear the faint creak of the old wood on its hinge as it started to open.

“But you love your classroom.” David was saying in a low voice. It was clear he was trying to be fairly quiet, but this felt like intruding in on a conversation that had been going on for several minutes. Possibly the whole time she’d been in the shower.

Emma didn't hear Mary Margaret sigh, but she could tell by the tone of her voice that her words had come on the end of one. “Of course I do,” she said, “And I really do miss my kids. But Emma needs me here. I can't just leave her! She just got a new heart, David. A heart. It's not like she had her wisdom teeth removed and just needs a day or two to get back on her feet.”

The aforementioned heart skipped a beat in Emma's chest. A familiar, sinking feeling of guilt settled low and heavy in Emma's stomach.

“But she will get back on her feet,” David said gently. “You know she will. She just needs time.”

“Exactly! And she needs me here to help her until she does.”

“No, she doesn't.”

“David—”

“Mary Margaret,” David interrupted lovingly. “She's going to be okay. Better than okay. This is the day we've all been waiting for, don't forget. She's getting a second chance at life here.” Unexpected tears welled in Emma's eyes at that. “And Emma knows that,” David continued. “You and I both know she's going to be chomping at the bit to get back out there. It's going to be hard enough keeping her here the six weeks it'll take for her to heal. She's not going to need our help half as much as you think she will.”

Mary Margaret started to respond, but Emma couldn't take it anymore. She took the bathroom's old doorknob in her hand and gave it a good rattle, like she had just started to open it, and the door creaked loudly as she pushed it fully open. David and Mary Margaret grew hush until Mary Margaret piped up with, "Oh, hi Emma!" a little too brightly. David noticeably busied himself with cutting the garlic bread he’d pulled out of the oven moments before. The guilt at having eavesdropped coiled in Emma's chest like a snake ready to spring, and she swallowed around the lump that had grown in her throat. “Hey,” she said, trying her best to sound normal.

“Everything go okay?” Mary Margaret asked. “No dizziness?”

“I didn’t hear the Life Alert alarm go off,” David said dryly, shooting his sister a wink.

“I feel amazing,” Emma said earnestly. “Seriously.” She sidled up to her brother and successfully bumped him out of the way, taking over the cutting of the garlic bread despite his weak protestations.

“Oh, good,” Mary Margaret breathed, and the relief was evident in her voice. She shared a glance with David, which Emma pointedly ignored, and moved to grab the stack of dishes waiting on the island so she could start setting the table.

“I was thinking,” Emma went on, “Maybe I could come help you set up your classroom later today. If you think you need the help. Or I could just come keep you company, get a change of scenery.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” David said, as he watched his wife’s expression.

“That would be great, honestly,” Mary Margaret said, but was quick to add, “As long as you’re feeling up to it.”

“I mean, as long as you don’t have me lugging around twenty-pound carts of Crayons or something,” Emma laughed, “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Do fourth graders still use crayons?” David asked, as he popped open the oven one final time and withdrew the lasagna. The cheese on top was browning and bubbling and a minute away from burnt, just the way his mother had always cooked it, and the whole thing looked wonderful.

“Not really,” Mary Margaret said with a shrug. “But it doesn’t matter. I have a big, handsome deputy to do all my heavy lifting for me.” She batted her eyes at her husband a few times, who grinned back at her.

“All right, lovebirds,” Emma said, as she clicked the salad tongs at them a few times in playful warning. “Let’s eat. I’ve got my appetite back and I’m actually starving.”

“Jeez,” David said, “You’d think she’d gotten a new stomach with the heart. She’s gonna eat us out of house and home now.”

Table set, food out, they took their respective seats. David uncorked a bottle of red wine he’d been saving for a special occasion, which Emma was definitely not allowed to have, but she told Mary Margaret to enjoy it for her.

As Mary Margaret spooned squares of lasagna onto everyone’s plate, Emma took a moment to try to find the right words to say to convey how she was feeling to these people who would seemingly do anything in the world for her. But what she wanted most is for them to get back to living their lives, too. They had put off so much for her sake, and she was more grateful than she knew how to say. But it was time to move on now, to heal, for all of them.

“I know it can suck, having such a huge surgery,” Emma started, pausing to clear her throat. “But this is different.” She glanced up at Mary Margaret, who was watching her closely. “I mean, a month ago, I was dying. I never told you guys this, but it just felt like the end. I was working on drafting a will.”

“Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret said quietly.

“That’s so morbid,” David said.

“I know it’s stupid.” Emma toyed with the end of her napkin as she stared down at her plate. “I don’t really have anything to will to anyone. I was just going to leave anything I had to you guys.” She cleared her traitorous throat again and took a moment to blink back some tears. She needn’t have bothered; when she glanced up at her family, they were both openly tearing up as they looked at her. “Okay, stop,” she said, pointing her fork at them, “Or I’m going to lose it. Absolutely no crying in baseball.”

“Got it,” Mary Margaret said, her voice watery and absolutely unconvincing.

“Just… Thank you,” Emma said, when she finally got her voice back under control. “I don’t want to think about where I’d be without you both. From the bottom of both my hearts,” she said, with a wry little smile she couldn’t keep at bay, “Thank you.”

David chuckled, wiping at his eyes, and Mary Margaret continued to stare at her, smiling and barely holding back the floodgates. “We love you, sis,” David said, and a moment later he raised his wineglass. “To Emma’s new lease on life.” Mary Margaret’s wine glass followed, and Emma clinked her water glass with theirs.

“And Mary Margaret’s new school year,” Emma added.

“Hear, hear,” Mary Margaret agreed. “I’ll take prayers, good vibes, anything you’ve got.”

“You’re going to do great,” David assured her, as he put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer to kiss her cheek. “Those kids are lucky to have you.”

Dinner was splendid, and the company even better. It was the first full meal Emma was able to enjoy without feeling nauseated, which was a win in her book. She literally couldn’t think of the last time that had happened. Mary Margaret did indeed have Emma’s wine, and was perhaps a little tipsy when they later ventured out to put some finishing touches on her classroom, which just made it all the more enjoyable for Emma and David.

And as Emma settled into bed that night, for the first time in a long time, she felt well and truly good. She felt full, warm, strong, and loved. And she knew, felt sure in her bones, that this was the start of one of the best years of her life.

+++++

The funeral went as well as a funeral could--especially considering there was no actual body to bury. Milah had set it up long beforehand that all salvageable organs were to be donated to the nearest hospital at the time of her death, then the rest of her body donated to science. This made planning her funeral and memorial service a unique affair, as there was no body for a wake, no urn of ashes received. That he would receive later, whenever the hospital saw fit. So Killian honored his wife's memory the best way he could.

Everyone who had ever known her in the past few years since she and Killian had moved Stateside was crammed into a small funeral home to celebrate her life and speak well of her. Her parents were long dead, but he had managed to get his hands on some childhood photos from her aunt who still lived across the pond; a small smattering of her extended relatives had sent cards to pay their respects. But the room was filled primarily with her coworkers and friends she’d made in the few years they’d lived in Boston.

Milah had been a truly gifted photographer, both in her work and personal life, evidence of which sat neatly framed and displayed on nearly every available inch of table space in the room. All the best photos Milah had ever taken through her work had been printed and framed and displayed, tucked neatly between bouquets of flowers. One table was so long, it took up the entire back wall.

Killian had almost, almost, completely lost the last tenuous grip he had on his sanity when the wrong flowers had come in that morning. He had distinctly ordered stargazer lilies, his wife’s favorite flower, for the table arrangements. Instead, what had been delivered to him were a rainbow assortment of Gerber daisies, of all things, which he viewed on this particular day as nothing short of an abomination. As it turned out, there had been a mistake with the delivery trucks, and his order had been sent to a birthday party instead. It probably should have embarrassed him, how angry a simple mix up of flowers had made him. But as he had very little pride left, he was literally seeing red, until Robin showed up beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder, and gently steered him out the side door and outside for some fresh air. Will took over, his general belligerence a helpful and actually useful tool that day, and tried to get the flowers sorted out with minimal shouting.

As Killian stood now, gazing down at the myriad of perfect photos his wife had taken over the course of her career, he belatedly realized he had been the star of many of them, unbeknownst to him. His wife had apparently been a ninja behind her viewfinder when he wasn’t paying attention. It should have made him feel awkward, being the focal point of so many of her photographs; the last thing he wanted now was attention. And yet, he couldn’t help but smile at most of them. One of him leaning over the railing of a dock, for instance, staring pensively out at sea, squinting slightly in the light of the sun. Another of him from behind, a shadowed figure standing on the beach with his toes buried in the sand and his hands in the pockets of his shorts, staring out at the red slashed sky of an oncoming storm. He was the blurred, black clad figure in the background or at the helm in several photographs of the ships he and his brother had helped restore.

It was visible, tangible proof of how much she had loved him, how often her camera found itself pointed in his direction, focused on him. And God, if that didn’t make him miss her all the more. His heart was an open wound, and he was never going to be able to staunch the flow from it. Day by day, he felt like he was bleeding out, until soon there would be nothing left of him.

One photo, his favorite, and one that was already framed in his home, stood out prominently. His and his brother, Liam, in front of their first real score for the ship restoration foundation, a beautiful, towering piece of history in the form of a stunning antique merchant vessel. Liam’s arm was thrown over Killian’s shoulders, his face alight with absolute joy (and possibly the buzz from the beers they’d had over lunch). They were both squinting, laughing like fools at having finally pulled it off. Towering behind them, not to be overshadowed, was the ship, herself: the Jewel of the Realm. Milah had been sent by a local paper to get photos of the ship, and her new owners, as a focal point for a story on local maritime history.

Killian felt fortunate he remembered that day so well. It had felt like the best day of his entire life, at the time. Seeing his brother so elated, after everything they had endured together, had been enough to send Killian to the moon. It felt like things were finally, finally going their way. He had taken to Milah instantly, and spent the hour regaling her with the history of the ship. A merchant ship, originally, but thought to have been used for piracy at one point. He leaned heavily into the implications of the latter fact, as he felt—rightly so—that it added intrigue, and Milah had been enamored with the Jewel. He'd joked that day about renaming it the Jolly Roger, much to his brother's chagrin. She’d had other work to get to that day, so she hadn’t stayed long, but she’d given him her business card, which he still carried in his wallet. Liam had been killed shortly after, on one of his last missions with the Royal Navy before his scheduled retirement. Everything had changed, then. But Killian had always felt especially lucky that it had been Milah that day who had come to take their photo. For one short hour, she had been able to meet his brother, before Killian had lost him forever. The stars had aligned, and for one short span of time, the man who had meant the most to him and the woman who would come to mean everything to him had met, briefly. It wasn’t much, in the grand scheme of things, but to Killian, it had to be enough.

And then there were the glorious photos of the rest of the ships he had brought on through the years. He had always marveled at Milah’s skill behind a camera, her ability to find just the right angle, at just the precise time of day, to truly capture the essence of the ships he restored. Through her eyes, even the in-progress pictures never made them look like pieces of floating shit, which some of them very much were at the start of the process. She managed to make them look like hidden treasure, just waiting to be uncovered. Pieces of history waiting to be lovingly restored to their former glory. That’s what he’d felt like, with her. She’d been the one to see past his flaws after the death of his brother, to see something worth loving in him, something worth restoring.

And now what was he, without her?

The frequent looks of sympathy that came his way over the course of the memorial service were one of the worst parts of the day. Each and every concerned glance that flit in Killian's direction was threaded not only with heavy condolences, but something much worse: pity. And he knew he was a pitiable sight, indeed. He was dressed well enough, in a deep black suit Milah had bought for him after his business had another big break. But, his arm with the broken collarbone was still in a sling and had no hand at the end of it. Dark circles cradled his eyes, which seemed to be permanently bloodshot these days. He had given up almost entirely on sleep.

Sleeping felt impossible, an insurmountable task despite its simplicity; the bed was too big, too cold, and too empty when he was the only one in it. He tried—really tried. Each night, he made a valiant attempt to sleep in his own bed. He'd toss, turn, and generally do a lot of staring up at his ceiling. Eventually, he resorted to Netflix. But his “recently watched” list was full of her favorite shows, episodes half finished, series just begun. It was a terrible distraction.

The first week after he arrived home from the hospital, his recliner chair in the living room had been the only place he could comfortably fall asleep with his arm in a sling. It was a lumpy, unsightly thing he had inherited from his brother (it was this reason and this reason alone his wife had allowed him to keep it.) Milah had called it his old man chair. These days, he’d often fall asleep in the chair, wake up with a start an hour later, and make his way to the couch, where he’d try to fall back asleep, but would mostly lie awake, staring into the dark, letting his mind off its leash and letting it wander to dangerous places.

Often these thoughts centered on what he would do if he could track down the driver who had hit them head on, then fled the scene. What he would do when he found him or her varied. Sometimes, he pictured lighting him on fire. The next moment, he'd revel in the thought of running him through with a knife, watching him slowly bleed out on the floor. Or he’d take his hand from him, too. Such thoughts kept him company and carried him through until morning.

Now, with the lack of sleep and the general dissociation he felt, he often didn’t feel cemented in reality. When he looked around the room, taking in the funeral parlor, it felt like this was happening to someone else, and he was merely observing. It didn’t help that he was surrounded by a sea of people who didn't know what to say to him. The moment never came that he was spared the awkward indignity of a conversation with someone who had little else to say other than I'm sorry.

She was a lovely person.

(Each time, he bristled at the use of the past tense.)

She'll be missed.

Pity had overtaken the room, lingering like a dense fog. Everywhere he turned, his friends, her friends, co-workers, even a handful of people he had never seen before in his life, were all wearing the same expression on their faces. It transcended simple pity. It was next-level pity, flashing from their eyes and those slight down-turned corners of their mouths like a brightly-lit billboard in the night that read "YOUR LIFE DEPRESSES ME."

He couldn't blame them. He pitied himself, too, when he wasn't numb, pulled down so deep into his own despair he could no longer think straight.

At least the food was decent—or so he had been overhearing. One quick glance over at Will Scarlet in the back of the room, face stuffed with h'orderves, told him the funeral parlor's appetizers couldn't have been terrible. If there had ever been a time he appreciated his friends more, he couldn't think of it. Of all the people who had shown up to the service, Locks and Scarlet were the only two who didn't make him want to scream. Or run. Or throw a punch. All of it, all at once.

Will and Robin sat apart from the rest, in a pair of wingback armchairs in the corner of the room. Killian hadn't had a chance to speak to either of them, apart from initial hellos and quick hugs when they'd first arrived, and of course the ordeal with the flowers, but somehow, he knew without even asking they intended to stay for the entire affair, likely planning to take him out for a drink when this was all over.

What else do you do for your best friend after his wife's funeral?

All in all, it wasn’t a very hopeful affair, and too often bordered on bleak. Killian had no words in honor of Milah he wanted to share with a roomful of people who didn’t know her very well, and he didn’t trust himself to speak without breaking down. So, people ate, drank, and made a reserved and somber form of merry. They swapped stories back and forth, each offering up little pieces of the woman they had known.

Milah's parents had died years ago, and she had no siblings, so the room was occupied primarily by people she had thought of as friends. That was a nice thought, and in the coming weeks, Killian would be touched by the food, flowers, and cards that continued to arrive on his doorstep in memory of his wife.

But here, in this moment, he couldn't bring himself to find hope in anything.

+++++++

One Year Later

Was a house truly haunted if you didn’t mind the ghost?

It felt like a haunting for months after Milah’s funeral, this limbo state he found himself in, where he couldn’t bring his heart or his brain to fully comprehend that she was gone. They traded shifts in misunderstanding, his heart and brain. There were days where, logically, he understood his wife was dead. And yet, his heart still leaped at the sound of a car door shutting outside, or an imagined creak in the floorboards that sounded like her coming around the corner in the hall. Other days, his heartache was so profound, he could barely muster the strength to get out of bed. All too often, he’d forget, and for a few blissful minutes, reach for his phone to call her and ask her a question. Those were beautiful moments, the forgetting. But the remembering that followed took his breath away.

Then there were the things around the home he couldn’t bring himself to toss. Notes she’d left on the fridge, a grocery list on the table. Leftovers from her favorite meal at their favorite restaurant he couldn’t bring himself to throw away until they were fouling up the whole kitchen. Her phone was recovered from the accident and eventually made its way to him, via the detectives working the hit and run case. He went through her email drafts, texts, anything he could get his hands on that held pieces of Milah. He'd saved every voicemail she'd ever left him, had them memorized, and he'd play them when he missed her most, poking the bruise in his heart over and over until it numbed and didn't hurt so much. It all felt relatively harmless, like doing this to himself couldn’t possibly be a bad thing.

Until he found himself practically sobbing the floor of the shower one morning over a soggy clump of her hair he’d pulled from the drain.

He just couldn’t seem to pull himself together.

How do you bring yourself to purposefully excavate traces of someone from your life, after they’re gone, until it was like they weren’t even there at all, the life you shared existing only in snapshots and memories? How exactly does one get to that place, force yourself to loosen your grip on all you have left of the person you love, the person you’d give anything to see one last time? Killian couldn’t fathom it. He couldn’t picture himself ever ridding himself completely of Milah’s memory.

But he could stop leaving land mines for himself.

He’d always run a tight ship at home, in terms of cleanliness. He had never had much, by way of possessions, and wasn’t sentimental about keeping things. Now he found himself debating whether or not he should keep a note in the bathroom his wife had scrawled out for herself to remind herself to order new contacts. These were the silly, useless things he stared at for minutes on end, debating what to do with. This little scrap of her pretty handwriting he recognized and loved. The thought of it winding up in a landfill somewhere made him ill.

Eventually, he gathered these random scraps and pieces of her he’d found (except the clump of hair from the drain—that one did make it into the waste bin, thankfully) and gently shepherded them into a large Ziploc bag, which he kept in a box on her side of the closet.

Robin and Will called often, texted even more often, and even dropped by now and again. They offered their help constantly, gladly would have helped with menial tasks like this (like throwing away scraps of paper Milah might have touched, God, he was a mess), but he turned them away each time. He just wanted to shut the world out, encase himself in a tomb of his own grief.

He hadn’t even been able to see her, to say goodbye to her, because he hadn’t been bloody conscious for it. He had no memory of Robin telling him of her death; in the week following the accident, he left a slew of traumatized nurses in his wake as people had to tell him again and again for what felt like the first time that his wife was gone.

Milah, bless her ever-loving soul, had signed herself up to be an organ donor. Of course she had. On some level, he knew this. It was marked on her driver’s license, and it was surely something they had talked about at one point. But now he resented it, resented the whole idea of it. He resented anything that didn’t allow him to see his wife one last time. One doctor had had the absolute audacity to tell Killian that he didn’t want to see his wife, anyway; the damage from the accident had been too great, the brunt of which had gone to her head, and that it was a miracle her heart was still beating enough to allow for any organ transplants. Killian, for his part, had an entirely different definition of the word “miracle”.

So he waited to receive her ashes, held a funeral without her body. But he certainly didn’t wait patiently.

He wonders sometimes what she would think of what he's become. No doubt there would be times she'd laugh at how ridiculous he was being, debating on keeping an old, wet clump of her hair like some kind of serial killer, and the subsequent guilt he felt at throwing it away, this gross little piece of her DNA.

And yet, he reminds himself that there is, oddly, more of her DNA out there somewhere. Somewhere, out in the world, a select few of her vital organs are in new bodies, presumably thriving and keeping their hosts alive and well. Presumably, there are people out there who will be forever grateful for these pieces of his wife. Actual, living pieces of her. Killian has no idea how to feel about that, truly. There will come a day, when he is able to pull himself out of this darkness that perpetually feels more crushingly inescapable by the day, that he is able to see the true and abundant beauty in it. Milah, gone, but literal parts of her living on, providing life-giving support to someone else’s body and soul. That's the true miracle, really, and something he’d know she would be proud of.

For now, in the depths of his despair, he feels annoyed, indifferent at best. Her benevolent medical and scientific donation was, for many long months, the thing standing between him and a proper burial for his wife, the thing that stood in the way of closure and him being able to say goodbye to her properly. This is the thing his mind latched onto, chooses as a target for his blame.

Closure arrives on his doorstep one afternoon, boxed and bubble wrapped, in the form of an unassuming black urn. When he finally received her ashes, half a year after her death, he knew what he would do with them, knew immediately what she would want him to do with them. But he can’t yet bring himself to say goodbye, and the urn sat above their fireplace for months. This is the moment it hits him, truly, that she is gone. This is what it takes for it to finally sink in. He spends a long time building up the courage, brick by brick, to do what he needs to do. And as what would be her 37th birthday approaches on a warm July day, he finally gathered the strength to lay his wife to rest and honor her the way she deserved.

What he doesn’t appreciate about the day, however, is the weather, which turns out to be an absolutely perfect New England summer day, which Killian very much resented.

It was almost like it was mocking him. Jabbing a bright, sunshiny finger right into his face and laughing at his grief, which still, even almost a year after the death of his wife, was still a wound that had left him hollowed. When his brother had died, suddenly and with too much life left unlived, he'd felt like the ground itself had been pulled out from under him, and he'd been left in free fall. Now, with Milah gone, it felt as if his heart had been ripped right out of his chest and crushed in front of him.

How did people live like this?

If he were truly honest with himself, Killian wasn't certain what he was doing each day could actually be called living. He was alive, sure. Most days, the only thing that kept that from being true was the unknown lurking behind the veil of death. He had his own theories, his own hopes, for what awaited in a possible afterlife, but of course, no one really knows for sure until their time comes. He couldn't be sure what would happen to him, whether or not he'd see Milah, if he died tomorrow. Hell would be dying and not being reunited with her. And that was a hell whose existence he was not quite ready to test.

The closest thing he had to his wife now was resting in his lap, ashes encased in ceramic. He had taken a small, private sailboat out to sea, sailed until there was no one else in sight, trying to find a good spot to release her ashes to the ocean she had loved so much. It had been close to two hours, now; he knew he was putting off the inevitable. If he didn’t do it now, he feared, with good reason, that he never would.

The best part about giving someone’s ashes to the sea was that there wouldn’t be one particular spot where her body would be laid to rest. The waves would take the dust of her and spread it for him, from shore to shore, just like they had taken his brother’s ashes. There would be no headstone, but the ocean itself would remind him of her, and he could visit her anytime he liked on a sea that had always brought him a sense of serenity.

Killian Jones had never believed in soul mates until he’d met Milah. And he still didn't quite believe in them, in the traditional sense. He didn't believe in a ready-made mate just waiting for him to find her. No, in his experience, life was far from ever that easy or that simple. But things had changed for him when he'd met his wife. Then, with her love, the broken pieces in him, irrevocably shattered the day his brother had died, shifted together into something that could almost be held together again. With her, he’d felt more whole than he could ever remember feeling in his life.

She had been married at the time, when they’d met. Daydreaming of leaving her terrible husband, dreams which grew in intensity with each passing day. And while she hadn't exactly left him for Killian, she may has well have. Everything had changed for her that day, too.

For while Milah had been his partner, they hadn't met each other and been perfectly content. But they had made each other stronger, in all the ways that counted. Now he believed wholeheartedly that soul mates existed. But they weren't found, ready made and prepackaged. They were made, forged through love and hard work working hand in hand.

These were the things he thought, as the gentle salted breeze ruffled his hair and brought stinging tears to his eyes. As he looked down at the urn that held the last physical piece of the woman he’d loved, would always love, was lost and adrift without.

“I love you, Milah,” he whispered to the wind. The tightness in his throat and jaw wouldn’t let him say more, but he knew he didn’t need to. She’d known how much and how fiercely he’d loved her, and he had to think that wherever she was, she still knew the hold she had on him.

He held the urn against his chest with his prosthetic hand, working to unscrew the top. The breeze calmed at just the right moment, and as he leaned over the side of the ship to release Milah to the sea she'd loved, the dust of her settled gently down into the water.

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gonna tag a few folks who I think might care this is up (again, sorry if I already tagged you!) @spartanguard @sunbeamsandmoonrays @caprelloidea @kmomof4 @queen-mabs-revenge @ahsagitarius @galadriel26 @t-tamm-

@lavendersoapsuds @its-imperator-furiosa @midnightswans @cigarettes-and-scotch-whisky @withheartfulloflove @captainswan-middlemist @sarahreadsff @princesseslikepirates @winterbaby89 @pirateherokillian @wordslovedreams

@hannah-mic @thecraftyartist @blackwidownat2814 @once-uponacaptain @kylalovesbabeme @swiftmicheles @emmaswanstlk @captainswanslay

@the-tones-of-wallflowers @kday426 @krystalsficpage

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #cs fanfic #cs au #captain swan fanfiction #return to me

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