#cs hurt comfort

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: “Got My Angel Now”

This week’s re-run is another that I’ve always been pretty fond of (What can I say? I’m a sucker for the hurt/comfort and emotional angst and healing that could easily have fit into canon, but which the show didn’t always take time for) I initially wrote it after 5x03 “Siege Perilous”, and though some of the events were quickly made canon divergent as the Camelot arc went on, I don’t think it’s so far off as to be ruined for enjoyment’s sake. The title comes from a line in “Halo” by Beyonce, and the lyrics included in the scene breaks are from Christina Perri. (Neither of them, nor our lovely Pirate and Princess duo are mine. I just like to give them quiet moments ;p )

Summary: A post-5x03 one shot where the Storybrooke gang learn of Arthur's treachery much sooner, and in much more painful fashion. (Some whump aftermath and definite CS hurt/comfort involved)

Also available on AO3 and ff.net, if either of those are your preference...

By: @snowbellewells 

They should never have trusted Arthur so blindly. Have they learned nothing yet after meeting so many heroes and monsters of myth and legend and finding them the opposite of how they are painted in the tales of old? Oh, aye, the royal had been stealthy – welcoming them to Camelot, throwing a grand ball in their honor, knighting David as a brother-in-arms and seating him in the very Siege Perilous once held by Lancelot himself – but it had made them let down their guard…and now Emma was paying the price.

Standing surrounded in the tower room Regina and Belle use as they research and experiment trying to find a way to communicate with and free Merlin, Arthur’s treachery suddenly comes into sharp focus for all of them. An entire phalanx of Camelot knights – Dave’s supposed comrades – surround Killian, Henry, David, Robin, and Belle (unfortunately Regina is not present to wipe them all out with a wrathful fireball) with swords at their chests or throats, circled closely enough that breaking free or moving to help the last member of their party is impossible.

Arthur himself stands facing Emma, his blade drawn and pointed just above her heart, poised to pierce her chest and make that precious, priceless organ spill its lifeblood and go still. Killian feels himself practically vibrating both with rage at the betrayal and his fear for her; not to mention the bitter anger he can feel radiating off of the prince beside him. He reaches out a hand to clutch Henry’s forearm, feeling the boy nearly jerk forward to his mother’s aid. He doesn’t think these men would hurt one so young, but he is no longer certain.

“Now Dark One,” Arthur spits, his voice harsh with controlled venom, “you and I are going to the tree. Your magic and the mushroom your noble father so kindly procured for me,” here he slants a gaze at Charming, “will show me what to do to free Merlin and to trap you instead, where you rightly belong.”

Killian knows Emma now possesses enough magic in her little finger alone to blow all these men away, but she holds back, as afraid as any of them that magic use will only continue to give the darkness more footholds in her psyche. She slants her eyes from boldly staring Arthur down to seek his. He wants to tell her to fight, to disappear - escape - and he wishes to know what he can do to comfort her, but the words and the knowledge elude him. Instead, his only ease is found in knowing that Emma’s dagger is nowhere near here – not where Arthur can lay hands on it and control his love. Though he does not know where Snow and Lancelot have taken it for safekeeping, it is at least beyond this broken monarch’s reach.

There is nothing to do but watch as Arthur has two more knights bind Emma’s hands and force her none-too-gently from the room behind him, the rest of the guard linger menacingly, to be sure none of them can follow or try to help her until they are well away.

It matters not; he will catch up, no matter where they take her. Emma must only hold on, keep her faith…

I believe in the lost possibilities you can’t see

and I believe that the darkness reminds us where light can be;

I know that your heart is still beating, beating, Darling,

I believe that you fell just so you could land next to me.

So hold on, hold on…

Though naught but a quarter of an hour passes before the rest of Arthur’s men withdraw from them, it is well into the evening before Killian finds Emma in a moonlit clearing of the dense forest which encircles the kingdom. Their group had split up in the hopes of someone reaching Swan that much faster, once word spread of Arthur’s failing to trap the Dark One and how she had used her powers to vanish from his grasp in the courtyard. Killian still does not know what had been done to her before that, but he can only be glad she has outsmarted their treacherous adversary and saved herself. He practically deflates with relief at the sight of her before him, appearing hale and in one piece. He cannot be anything but glad that it is he who will have a moment alone with his love. It does not matter that it has not even been a whole day, his relief upon seeing Emma again is almost too great to bear. The vision of her before him across the clearing is like the first breath of fresh spring air to his weary soul after too long locked away in suffocating winter. The last few hours he has been struggling for breath, consciously forcing his heart not to skip beats in agony and worry for her and what she might be suffering. His joy is great enough to override caution, and he doesn’t take in the raw, unhinged look in her wild eyes, nor the way she fairly vibrates with some unknown strain or injury.

The air around Emma pulses with electricity, and she throws out a hand to ward him off – pulling Killian up short when he feels the force pressing him back. Drawing in a steadying breath and hesitating to truly study her expression of confusion and anxiety, he realizes with a sharp pang in his chest that he is not sure whether she is merely trying to protect him while out of control, or if she truly doesn’t know him in this moment.

Those mesmerizing green eyes which never fail to capture him in their depths, flit nervously from his face, to his hand and hook, to her own trembling fingers outstretched between them, to the trees that surround them, and back again nervously – clearly unsettled and pained. Their emerald depths have never appeared so dark before, as if the forces fighting within to color her very mind and spirit are attempting to spread into even the smallest details of her being. His Swan literally shakes, even as she attempts to hold herself steady, staring at him across the open space. “What are you doing here?!?” she demands, looking shaken and angry, but at the same time as if she wants nothing more than to close the gap, fall into his supporting arms, and hold on for dear life. “I brought myself here for a reason, Killian! I barely got away from them, and I had to use my powers to do it. I can’t risk something like that happening again. I’m too dangerous to be near anyone until I find Merlin – and not when Arthur is waiting. Not until I get rid of this, this…thing inside me. I feel it swirling and clawing… even when it isn’t speaking to me in Rumplestiltskin’s voice, it’s trying to break free. So…y-you can’t be here! I w-won’t hurt you…” Her lower lip trembles, but she looks so firm in her decision and determined to suffer alone in her misery that his heart constricts, breaking a bit more at the sight of her anguish.

He cannot bear to see her hurting this way, to hear the agony in her voice; the yearning loneliness made plain beneath her warning to him makes him continue to inch closer, regardless of the threat Emma thinks she poses. He had known the wretched feeling of hopeless despair she is feeling all too well himself – for years – until she came along and brought more to his life than revenge, brought back the man of honor he once was. He takes another hesitant step forward, cautiously reaching out for her with a gentle hand and equally coaxing voice. “Easy now, Love,” he practically croons. “We can be careful…but you should not – and will not – have to do this alone.”

“Please stop!” she cries out, shooting another regretful look of longing at him.

Killian shakes his head, unwilling to let her go on like this, sure that he can help her, soothe her, and ease her pain if he can only reach her. He watches as Emma continues to tremble, but she remains still, allowing him to approach, even if she does so fearfully. Finally, the very tips of his fingers graze her cloak, then his whole hand rests on her upper arm, gripping gently as if unsure that she won’t still flee.

Just as she did in that circle of stones when their whole party first arrived in Camelot, Emma expels a terribly ragged breath and deflates, falling into him and clutching his shoulders as desperately as he clings to her. Killian breathes again, having barely realized he was holding it, and smooths a hand through her hair. He is not at all deterred by Emma’s moment of weakness, her nearly unhinged power, nor her fear. He is only glad she has finally reached for him in time of need. He will not give her up; he will find a way to help her, show her he will never fear her – whatever betide – and he will not fail to fight for her against any threat or foe. Watching her battle the Darkness within allows him to see, not her faltering, but even more of her strength. His admiration for her has only grown. No one else could understand the allure of the dark and the valor needed to claw away from it as he can.

‘Cause I have been where you are before

and I have felt the pain of losing who you are,

I have died so many times, but I am still alive

So hold on, hold on….

Tenderly, reverently, Killian’s hand travels on – down from the silken waves of her golden hair to trace Emma’s shoulders, then her back, pressing just enough to draw her closer, only to release her quickly when she cries out in pain at even the slight weight of his hands on her back. She tries to swallow her reaction in the next instant – hide it away – but she cannot conceal the wince that escapes as she curls in on herself protectively, nor can he fail to see the stiff way she holds her shoulders now that he is looking for it.

His calloused fingers come to cup her strong chin, tilting Emma’s face to meet his gaze, so she cannot avoid his eyes. “Where are you hurt, Swan?” he murmurs lowly, voice rough with concern. His words might be soft, but they are taut with worry and anger that these brigands would dare to lay a rough hand on his princess. “What did they do to you?”

Emma shakes her head, pulling away from his cautious grip and biting down on her lower lip in that way she has when trying to avoid baring herself to him, especially if the knowledge he seeks might be painful. “It’s nothing, Killian. Don’t worry over it. I…I could have healed it already…if I weren’t worried about using my magic.”

Impatiently, he shakes his own head once, frustrated at her stubbornness and unconcern for her own well-being. “It is not nothing, Emma. Of that I am quite sure.” His words are clipped with the force of his emotion, accent more pronounced, and Emma feels a shiver skitter down her spine that is as much from attraction as foreboding over what he will do when he sees her injuries. Carefully, but firmly, Killian places both hand and hook on her shoulders and turns her around to face away from him.

For a moment, Emma clutches her cloak about her, trying to keep this revelation from his eyes in one last desperate effort, but when pain lances through her shoulders and she cannot bite back the whimper that escapes her, she knows it is a losing battle. Slumping forward, she releases a sigh and ceases to fight against his gentle determination.

“There now, Lass,” her pirate coaxes in that warm burr of his. His hand and hook barely skim over her form as he unclasps and pulls the cloak away. “Let us see, hmm? Everything will be…” However, his voice chokes and trails off before he can finish his gentle reassurance. A strangled noise in his throat and the sudden heavy tension in the air around them tells her without doubt that once the cloak was off her shoulders, the wide neckline and low back of her dress leave the stinging marks on her flesh exposed plainly to his eyes.

Neither of them move for several long, silent moments, and Emma presses her trembling lips together tightly, trying desperately not to let the tears that are welling in her eyes fall. She hisses when the cool metal of his hook gingerly traces the brand burned into her right shoulder, serving to mark her as a witch, and the scattered whip weals she bore rather than admit anything about where her dagger was hidden, further endangering Merlin and the rest of them. The lash marks pulse hotly along with the beat of her heart and the blood rushing through her veins. Somehow, though, the tender care in his touch soothes her a bit, and she relaxes, almost sinking to her knees in relief and exhaustion as he continues. Her eyes slip closed, and she nearly feels safe again until he whispers in a broken voice. “Oh, Love, how could they do this to you? …I am so very sorry, Emma.”

Her tears do fall silently then, and she turns back to him, wordlessly trailing her fingers across his face, up over his cheekbones, wiping his matching tears away. Shushing Killian even as his shoulders shake with silent emotion, Emma leans against his chest and tries for the first time in what feels like ages to let down her guard and catch her breath at the safety she finds in his arms.

Eventually, Killian pulls back slightly, brushing a loose tendril of her mussed hair off her forehead and resting his hand along the side of her face softly. He shifts to take her hand in his and then leads her to the banks of the small river running placidly behind them. Urging Emma wordlessly to sit on a large rock at the water’s edge, he pulls a clean black scarf from inside his long coat, bends to wet it in the cool water, then comes back to crouch behind her. Clearing his throat in a nervous way that warms her heart, Killian asks gently. “Not to be indelicate, Swan, but can you shrug out of your frock for a moment? Hold it up in the front if you wish, but I need to see your whole back if I am to clean your wounds properly.”

Emma dips her head, blushing fiercely, and does as he asks, sucking in a sharp, pained breath once more as she eases the material from her shoulders and the movement stretches the torn skin of her back. Finally, she wraps her arms tightly around her torso, holding the front of the dress up and bracing herself. Hissing as the damp cloth first makes contact with the bloody stripes sliced into her pale hide, she tries not to flinch or wince and make Killian’s task more difficult; however, she can feel Killian’s hesitance and guilt at hurting her more, even in order to help, regardless of how she tries to hold her reactions in.

Slowly, the water begins to cool the enflamed agony, and she eases a fraction, feeling a bit like his ministrations are healing her as well as any magic could. The feel of his fingers ghosting over her back and down her arm as he finishes and tells her she can pull her gown back into place remind her vividly of another time so long ago, when he used another of his scarves to bind a wound to her hand, seemingly reading her mind as he did so and seeing the attraction she had felt for him even then simmering under her skin. His care that day atop the beanstalk had made her ache to trust him, and looking back now, it nearly floors her to realize just how completely she does trust him – so much so that she would place her very life in his hands without question.

Emma feels the warm exhalation of her pirate’s breath on her neck mere seconds before he lightly rests his forehead there, seemingly needing to hold her as he draws in a shaky breath. They are silent for some time; the running water, bird calls, and scuffling of wild creatures in the brush are the only sounds around them. Finally, he eases away and speaks once more, circling to face her as he does so. “Emma, I know you do not want to put yourself at more risk – nor do you want to be forced to use your magic again to defend yourself, or any of us – but you must return with me. We can find some place for you to stay where Arthur and his sorry excuses for ‘gallant’ knights will never know of your return. You must have some salve or medicine and better treatment than I can offer for those cuts, and especially the burn. I fear it could become infected. Regina will be near enough to guard you with her magic this time, and we will not be taken unawares again. I certainly will not be making the mistake of trusting anyone else in Camelot.”

She wants to argue with him, to be strong enough to stay out here alone and in hiding, but she cannot make herself form the words. In fact, she knows with painful certainty that she cannot bear to have Killian out of her sight right now. Weakened and vulnerable, she needs his comfort and his strength, needs someone with some faith and hope that all which has gone wrong can still work out right. Not only will she worry for his safety and the rash action he might take to right the vicious wrongs done to her, but she yearns for his care just now; his steadfast love the strongest thing keeping the darkness at bay, even as her situation grows more dire.

I believe that tomorrow is stronger than yesterday, 

and I believe that your head is the only thing in your way.

I wish that you could see your scars turn into beauty.

I believe that today it’s okay to be not okay…

Hold on, hold on…

This is not the end of me, this is the beginning

Hold on…

Later that night, as moonlight filters into the isolated old hunting lodge that Killian and Henry have somehow located in a far-flung corner of the castle grounds, deserted and dusty from long disuse, Emma wakes from a light doze, still uneasy enough not to sleep deeply, despite her wear and strain. Sitting up stiffly, her eyes search the room, seeking her guardian knight, even as his name escapes her lips worriedly. “Killian?” she asks, a soft, plaintive note in the single whispered word.

He stands quickly from where his lithe form had been curled up on a settee near the window keeping watch, himself bathed in dark shadows and moon glow as he steals across the room to sit on the edge of the bed at her side. “I’m here, Love. Are you in pain? Regina is just outside, I can summon her…”

Emma merely shakes her head, reaching her hand out from under the layers of warm blankets she remembers him tucking around her a couple hours before. Looking up into his fathomless blue, blue eyes, she closes her fingers around his hook, hanging on for dear life. “No, it’s not that,” she assures him, gazing up into his face, drinking in every perfect, adoring feature as he stares back at her. “I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t disappear, that you were still with me…” She trails off, looking sheepish but also honest. They might be more than she would usually say, but she cannot make herself take the words back.

He traces his hand across her forehead soothingly, then lets his fingers tangle gently in her hair, pulling her up to press the softest of kisses to her lips. “Don’t worry, Darling,” he murmurs, his caress easing her pounding heart. “It took me centuries to find you. I won’t be letting go of my saving grace now. We will put an end to this darkness and treachery. Our love story is only beginning.”

And with those words Emma is able to fall back into a healing, dreamless sleep.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl  @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @therooksshiningknight @cosette141 @sotangledupinit @bdevereaux @stahlop @kday426 @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious​ @killian-whump​  @artistic-writer @cocohook38 @motherkatereloyshipper @thislassishooked @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @xsajx @justanother-unluckysoul​ @drowned-dreamer​ @anmylica​ @iverna​ @kazoosandfannypacks @booksteaandtoomuchtv @scientificapricot @tomeandflickcorner @lfh1226-linda

#self promo sunday #ouat canon divergent one shot #cs post-5x03 one shot ff #got my angel now #cs hurt comfort #emma whump aftermath

[booksteaandtoomuchtv]

Burn The Ships (3/?)

A HUGE THANK YOU TO @snowbellewells FOR THIS INCREDIBLE ART. I wish I knew how to best express how amazing it feels to have someone make art for something I wrote. It is just the best feeling in the world. <3

THIS IS/WILL BE MATURE.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | ???

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

Exhaustion did not lovingly pull Emma into a peaceful oblivion where she could rest and forget. Rather, it dragged her into a brutal storm - the howling winds tore at her, the thunder rumbled threateningly deep in her bones, and emotions best forgotten rained down on her. She was alone, abandoned on the edge of a forest. The cold rain seeped into her bones, having already soaked through her clothing, as she stumbled forward toward… nothing. She had no place to call home. 

In the way of dreams, Emma blinked and was on a beach. Her body ached as if she’d been walking for days. She wasn’t sure where she was going but walked on as waves pummelled the shoreline. It seemed she wasn’t alone, apparently, the storm would accompany her through these strange dreams. 

She turned toward the turbulent waters and her next step landed on a wooden board. Her stomach plummeted as the ship was thrown from the rolling sea. Emma desperately reached out, trying to find something to keep her on the deck as the ship leaned dangerously into the water. The boards were too wet, the sea too hungry for new souls… Emma was being sucked under the water, lungs screaming for air. 

I’ve got you. 

Cool, crisp air filled her lungs. She was back on the deck of a ship, once more. The angry onslaught of violent waves had given way to playful swells that lapped gently against the hull. No other soul was aboard the ship, but Emma felt contented rather than alone. A word, a feeling, that had never carried meaning to her wrapped itself around her heart followed by a consuming fear - panic - it would be taken away.

You’re safe, love.

The softly accented voice reached through her dreams again, wrapping around her as warm and comforting as a well-loved blanket. Emma yearned to snuggle into the melody of that low voice. In that strange way of dreams, she suddenly felt certain that the voice could protect her from the painful reality that waited to greet her upon waking. If she could just melt into it, maybe it would prevent her from losing that feeling she’d spent a lifetime chasing. 

Rest now.

And, at long last, with that voice and that feeling wrapped around her heart, Emma rested. §§§§    §§§§    §§§§    §§§§

The white wolf had been stunning, her fur seemed to shimmer with its own light source. But the woman who stormed out of his cabin the next morning was a sight to behold. 

With her blonde waves flowing behind her and her emerald eyes wild, this wild woman charged onto the deck armed with only his letter opener and a lot of swagger. She acted as though she were a rival captain set on commandeering his ship rather than a damsel recently rescued from Pan’s clutches. She had taken the liberty of procuring clothing from his wardrobe before launching her assault, the deep plunging necklines of his shirts and the way his soft leather trousers wrapped around her curves distracting him long enough for her to strike out with her borrowed weapon. 

Killian captured her wrist and forced her to release the letter opener in a quick motion. He’d offer to teach her how to properly wield any weapon of her choosing once they were better acquainted. Perhaps sometime after he was certain that he wasn’t in danger of finding the weapon buried somewhere in his flesh. 

 Sighing at her newest attempts to claw at his leather coat, he pulled her closer.

“I’m not your enemy,” he murmured to her as he wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her side to prevent her from continuing her attack. He tried to focus on calming her and gaining control of the situation rather than the way she felt in his arms and the way her scent stirred something deep within him.

“You’re safe, love,” he soothed. The woman stilled. 

Her frantic breathing slowed and the tension slipped from her limbs. The ocean lapping on the hull and their breathing were the only sounds for a few moments. It could have been romantic…if the situation were entirely different. 

“If you promise to behave, I will let you go.”  

She stared at him with frustration burning brightly behind her eyes. Her wildness and defiance stoked a desire in him - and his wolf - that he was becoming more difficult to ignore with every minute he spent in her presence. 

After a moment, during which she held his gaze with hers as if trying to determine the trick in his offer, she nodded in agreement with his terms. He reluctantly released her. 

The loss of contact left him desperate for any excuse to hold her again. He suppressed the whine his wolf let loose with a clearing of his throat. Then, with a bit of a flourish, he introduced himself to her. 

“I am Captain Killian Jones and you’re aboard the Jolly Roger. You are welcome on my ship for as long as you wish.” 

“HOOK?! You’re Captain Hook?” She wasn’t afraid of him, which seemed promising. Doesn’t mean she will love someone like you. Killian shoved away the taunting voice of his father and smiled at her as if she had said something particularly flattering. 

“Ah, so you have heard of me.”

She looked at him flatly, clearly not impressed with his antics. “Is this ship enchanted?” The abrupt question was a bit unexpected. Of course, the Jolly Roger was enchanted - to keep a course he set, to alert him of guests aboard his ship, to hide treasures from unwelcome eyes - but the enchantments were subtle and not something that should be so easily detected. 

He cocked an eyebrow to conceal his surprise. “I’m not giving secrets away to a lass who hasn’t given me her name.”

“Oh, so it is enchanted.” She looked around as if the spell work would reveal itself to her. She took a few deep breaths, frowned a bit, breathed in again, and turned back to look at him. “Emma Swan.” 

“Why are you sniffing my ship,” he hesitated before deciding with certainty, “Swan?” He smiled, the name fit her perfectly - and felt so right leaving his lips.

“Better question. Why would you use magic to make it smell so… incredible?” 

Killian scratched a spot behind his ear. What was the correct way to tell someone who woke up on a strange ship and wasn’t sure if you were another threat in the never-ending nightmare of Neverland or a possible ally that the scent they thought was part of a strange enchantment was a sign that they were in the presence of their mate? It seemed a lot to ask of anyone without adding that she had been Pan’s prisoner for some length of time before becoming the target of the most recent hunt. 

“The incredible smell of salt and fish?” Smee grumbled. A few of the crew laughed. Emma looked thoroughly confused. Killian wasn’t sure if her confusion was at his comment or at the sudden realisation that they had an audience for this little episode. 

Seeing as he’d completely forgotten his men still on the deck, he figured it was likely a bit of both. He did not want an audience for whatever was to follow.

“That’s enough from you, Mr Smee. There is a deck that needs to be swabbed.” Hook growled out. Grumbling, Smee stomped down the stairs to the main deck. The other crewmen fell into their own tasks and responsibilities understanding the example being made of the first mate. 

Emma watched all of this with a small frown on her face.

Once they were alone on the quarterdeck, she focused her piercing emerald gaze at Killian. “Do you think he really doesn’t smell that…?” 

Killian shook his head and answered softly, gently, “No, love, I don’t believe he smells anything but the sea.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him, “But…you, you smell it?” The words sounded as though she were begging him to confirm that she hadn’t taken leave of all of her senses. 

“Aye.” He confirmed with a small smile. 

Her eyes widened, panic flashing momentarily before several other emotions followed in quick succession. “Oh.”

Killian winced. “Aye.”

#a gift for kmomof4 #Emma x Killian #Emma Swan #Killian Jones #Captain Swan #killian x emma #ouat captain hook #cs fanfic #ouat #ouat fanfic #cs ff #fic by Jas #inspired by songs #inspired by Burn the Ships #werewolves #some horror elements #some hurt/comfort

[jrob64]

Never Leave Me - NOW WITH A NEW ENDING!

I recently reread this story and realized I could write one more, very important scene to add to the end of it. If you've read it before, I hope you like the addition. If you haven't read it, I hope you'll give it a try. It's a CS Modern AU hurt/comfort story and is rated M for a couple of smutty scenes.

Special thanks to @sotangledupinit for the picture manips of Emma & Killian and to @hookedmom for her beta skills.

SUMMARY:  Emma Swan is a firefighter at the same station where Killian Jones works as a paramedic. Their love for each other burns as bright and hot as the fires Emma works to put out, but with both of them having demanding and potentially dangerous occupations, will he be able to keep his promise to never leave her?

Words: 10,003

Also on Ao3 and ffn

The story starts right out with smut, so it's under the cut.

*********

“It’s nice when our schedules sync up,” Emma Swan said, rubbing her foot up and down the calf of her boyfriend’s bare leg, as they lingered in bed.

“Aye, that it is,” Killian Jones agreed, tugging her a little closer and burying his nose in her tangled nest of blonde hair. “It’s even nicer when our shifts don’t start for another three hours.” He turned onto his side and reached down with his right hand to grip her hip, pulling her against his prominent erection, their bodies still naked from their amorous activities before going to sleep the night before.

“I can’t start a twenty-four hour shift already worn out,” she protested weakly, craning her neck despite her words, to allow him better access for the trail his tongue was blazing.

“I’m allowing some time in the schedule for recovery,” he mused, before twirling his tongue around her nipple then sucking it into his mouth.

“You…uh…you're setting a schedule…for sex?” she mumbled through the haze of pleasure he was bringing her.

“Mmhmm, including our shower to clean up afterwards.” His tongue continued its wicked path down her soft skin, briefly dipping into her belly button.

“Fuck, Killian…”

“That’s exactly what you’re going to do, my love. Just give me a few minutes to make sure you’re ready.” His fingers reached the apex of her thighs before his tongue did, finding her already wet and responsive to his touch. “Mm-mm-mm, you woke up aroused as well.”

“Sleeping with you naked…always does that to me.”

“I know. That’s why I do it so often,” he smirked up at her. “Tell me what you want, Darling. You know how much I love hearing your dirty requests coming from that sweet mouth.”

Emma tugged lightly on his hair. “Get me to the edge with your fingers, then fuck me with your cock.”

“Your wish is my command,” he grinned, then slid two fingers through her glistening folds, while nudging her legs further apart. The moan she emitted as his fingers entered her was positively indecent and he tore his eyes away from the sight to look up at his love. Both hands gripped his hair and her head was thrown back against the pillows, giving him a wonderful view of her pert breasts.

The wet sounds he was pulling from her told him she was nicely lubricated and would be ready for his fully erect cock when she gave him the signal. He pumped in and out, willing her to get there soon, since he was more than ready himself.

“More,” she gasped, and he obliged, adding a third digit on the next pass. Seeking friction, he used his left hand to position her calf under him, so he could rub his length against it.

“Play with yourself, Love,” he requested, because her fondling and squeezing her breasts never failed to turn both of them on even more.

She threw him a sultry look and released her grip on his hair to do his bidding. Her movements were seductive and the sounds she was making made him impossibly harder.

“Gods, Emma, please tell me you’re nearly ready,” he groaned, grinding his thumb against her sensitive nub in hopes of getting her there more quickly.

“Almost…”

Unable to wait any longer, he lowered his head and sucked hard on her clit, producing the desired result of her shouting his name and thrusting her hips up at him. He knew from experience that when she did that, she was very close to climax.

He slid his fingers out completely, smirking at her curses, and scrambled to his knees on the bed, reaching behind her to pull her upright against him. She understood his intention and tucked her legs over his hips, gripping his shoulders and lifting her pelvis.

His tongue plunged into her mouth as his cock plunged into her down below. Emma planted her feet on the bed and Killian gripped her ass firmly, giving him leverage enough to drive into her at a punishing, but highly pleasurable, pace.

She came almost immediately with a long, loud moan of his name, causing him to stutter momentarily, before continuing to thrust with rapid strokes into the lava of her center. Emma closed her eyes and dug her nails into his shoulder blades, creating sweet pain that spurred him on even more.

Their frenzied pace reached a peak as her walls clamped more tightly around him, rippling along his member, until it undid him. Streams of his release shot into her, their bodies clinging fiercely to each other as their sweat slickened bodies shuddered and jerked.

Killian eased Emma backwards and collapsed on top of her, licking at the salty moistness in the hollow of her throat. “I…will never…get enough…of you,” he panted.

“Mmm, me neither,” she agreed, sifting her fingers through his damp hair.

They lay tangled together until the rush of blood in their ears abated and their heart rates returned to normal. He knew by now that she relished his weight resting on her after making love. Early on in their relationship, he was always afraid of crushing her and would quickly withdraw and roll to the side, but she soon made it clear she wanted him to stay inside and on top of her as long as possible. It made her feel secure, she confided, like he would never leave her; which he assured her he would never do, but he understood. Her entire life, people had pulled away from her and abandoned her. He would do whatever it took for her to believe him, when he said he would never be one of those people.

“What’s next on the agenda, Babe?” she teased.

He chuckled into her skin. “I believe it’s time for that shower, my love.”

They barely had time to pour coffee into travel mugs and grab a couple of bagels, before running out the door. Leaving him with a quick kiss, she got into her yellow VW bug and backed out, the bagel clenched tightly in her teeth, before waving and heading to the fire station.

He shook his head fondly and hopped into his Chevelle SS, following her out of the parking lot to go to the same destination.

*********

They met nearly two years before, when Emma had just become certified and inducted as a firefighter, assigned to the station where Killian worked as a paramedic. The second she stepped through the door of the break room, he was a goner. She was tough, intelligent, beautiful, and not afraid to put men who gave her any guff, in their place.

He would never forget how she reacted when Will let out a wolf whistle upon seeing her. The next second, she was nose-to-nose with him, index finger planted in the middle of his chest. “Are you and I gonna have problems?” she had asked through gritted teeth.

Will turned eight shades of red, before replying, “N-no, ma’am. I apologize.”

“Apology accepted. Make sure it doesn’t happen again,” she had replied, sweeping her eyes around to encompass every man in the room.

Most of them uttered their affirmation or shook their heads, but Killian just sat slack-jawed, in awe of the blonde fireball.

Weeks of working together reaffirmed his analysis of her toughness. She was perfectly capable of performing all the duties expected of her job, and wouldn’t stand for any of her colleagues jumping in to help her when it was something she could do herself.

Killian’s admiration and respect grew every day he worked with her. He also felt a growing attraction to her, which he tried to tamp down, knowing she probably had a boyfriend already or wasn’t interested in dating someone with whom she worked so closely.

So he nearly had to treat himself for shock five months after she started at the station, when she boldly asked him out. Killian jumped at the chance to get to know her outside of work, and soon they were dating exclusively. A year later, they found an apartment close to the station and moved in together.

Killian had lost his mother and brother, with no recollection of his father, and Emma had been in foster care her entire childhood, until she was adopted as a pre-teen, opting to keep her self-chosen last name of ‘Swan’. They surrounded themselves with friends who became like family, and created a home together, something they both craved.

It wasn’t always easy. Emma was headstrong and stubborn, Killian would become stoic and refused to talk when angered, but what they had was worth fighting for, and they knew it. He understood her abandonment issues and reassured her with his words and actions that he would never leave. She understood his need for nurturing and intimacy, and let down the walls around her heart to allow him in. He was the only person who got to see her soft, vulnerable side and vowed he would never take that privilege for granted.

Their jobs were demanding, but satisfying, and they didn’t let their relationship affect their performance at work. If anything, they were more efficient when on the same rescue runs, because they seemed to be able to read each other’s mind. Their co-workers admired the professionalism they exhibited, and didn’t tease them too much when they snuck in an occasional embrace.

For the first time in both of their lives, they were truly, completely happy.

*********

They arrived at the station ten minutes before their shift started. Killian parked beside Emma, grabbed his travel mug, and met her as she exited her bug. Even though their shift began at the same time, they learned by experience that circumstances could easily keep them from ending at the same time, so they always drove separately.

“Ten bucks says Scarlet is late,” she quipped, as they walked through the open overhead doors.

“Give the guy a break - he’s a newlywed,” Killian replied.

“Yeah, I still can’t believe he talked someone into marrying him.”

“Belle is good for him.”

“You mean she’s too good for him.”

“Oi! I heard that!” Will piped up from behind them.

“Ten bucks. Pay up, Swan,” Killian smirked, holding out his hand.

“You never agreed to the bet, Jones.”

“I’m sure she’ll pay you back some other way. If I were you, I’d insist on sexual favors,” Will said, winking and nudging Killian with his elbow, then walking more quickly to put distance between himself and Emma.

“If you were him, I’d be seriously rethinking my life choices,” Emma retorted, rolling her eyes.

Killian laughed. “I really don’t understand how the two of you work together all the time.”

“She loves me, don’t you Savior?”

“Would you stop with the ‘savior’ crap? I push you out of the way of a falling timber one fucking time and all of a sudden I’m your savior. I should have let it fall on you.”

“It could have done major damage to me head!”

“That hard head? I’m thinking it would have only improved it.”

Will grabbed Killian’s sleeve to halt him in his tracks. “Ya gonna let her talk to me like that, Jones?”

Killian shrugged. “What can I do? You set yourself up for it every bloody time.”

Emma giggled and turned to go into the kitchen, punching Will in the shoulder on the way by. “Shoulda known you’d take your woman’s side,” he groused, rubbing his shoulder as he followed her into the room.

“Aye, you really should have,” Killian grinned.

“About damn time you showed up, Jones,” Mulan Fa greeted him as soon as he walked in.

“You don’t clock out for another ten minutes, so shut it,” he grumbled. “Busy night?”

“Only two runs, nothing major,” she answered. “Car accident and a drunk who fell and knocked himself unconscious.”

“Sounds delightful,” Killian mused, selecting a donut from the open box on the counter.

Emma reached around him and grabbed it out of his hand. “You already had a bagel this morning, buddy.”

“Aye, but if you recall, we worked off enough calories in the past twelve hours to allow me to indulge a little,” he said, attempting to take it back.

“In that case…” she grinned, taking a huge bite before he finally managed to wrestle it away from her.

“Please do not tell us how you worked those calories off,” Regina Mills, Killian’s paramedic partner growled, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“Ew, yuck!” Emma grimaced. “Seriously, how can you like jelly filled? They’re disgusting!”

“Serves you right for trying to eat my donut,” Killian replied, around a mouthful of the gooey confection.

“Good morning, everyone,” David Nolan greeted, strolling into the kitchen. The fire chief was Emma’s brother through adoption and one of Killian’s best friends. After being acknowledged by the assembled firefighters and paramedics, he announced, “I want to remind you that we have a group of third graders coming to tour the firehouse this afternoon at one o’clock, so we need to spend the rest of the morning making sure everything is in tip-top shape.”

“Are they third graders or a bloody group of inspectors?” Will groused.

“Just for that, you can be in charge of rolling hoses today, Scarlet,” David said.

Will dropped his head back and groaned. “I hate that fucking job.”

“That’s what you get for complaining all the time,” Emma commented with a laugh.

The crew going off-duty bid everyone goodbye, while those starting their shift finished their coffee and donuts. Then they left the kitchen to start checking supplies and equipment, and cleaning the vehicles.

*********

“What a boring shift,” Emma sighed, dropping down onto the couch when they got home the next day.

“Boring is good, Swan,” Killian said, opening the refrigerator to check the contents. “We should go to the grocery this afternoon. This is looking pretty bare.”

“I’m sleeping first,” she mumbled grumpily.

“Of course. Do you think I’m insane enough to ask you to go grocery shopping without sleep?”

“You’ve been known to try.”

“Once, and that was enough to learn my lesson. I was afraid I was going to have to bail you out of jail.”

“Wasn’t my fault. People who block the aisles shouldn’t be allowed in grocery stores.”

He closed the refrigerator and joined her on the couch, lifting her feet into his lap. “Dave told me Mary Margaret invited us over for dinner tomorrow night,” he said, beginning to rub her arches.

“Yeah, he told me, too,” she replied, laying her head back against the armrest and closing her eyes. “One less night to cook is always good.”

“As if you do the cooking,” he scoffed.

“You’re glad I don’t cook.”

“That’s because you set the smoke detector off twice the first week we lived together. It wouldn’t look very good for the fire department to have to put out a kitchen fire in the apartment of one of their own.”

“The stupid thing is too fucking sensitive,” she grumbled. “Ugh, that feels so good. You have magic fingers, Babe.”

“So you’ve told me,” he grinned. “Although most of the time, it’s not because I’m using them on your feet.”

“Mmm, very true.” She yawned widely. “Are you gonna get some sleep with me?”

“I’m not very tired. I think I’m going to finish reading that book I borrowed from Dave.”

Dropping her feet to the floor, she pushed herself up to sit beside him. “Suit yourself, but if you change your mind, feel free to join me.” She stood up and stretched her arms above her head, hearing a satisfying crack from her spine.

“Would you please bring me the book from the nightstand, Love?”

“For a price,” she teased, turning to walk into the bedroom.

“I just gave you a foot rub, you know,” he called after her. “Besides, you still owe me from our bet yesterday morning.”

Re-entering the room with the book, she handed it to him and bent down to kiss him. “I told you it wasn’t an official bet, but if you insist, I’ll pay you back after I take a nap.”

“How?” he questioned.

“For once, I agree with Scarlet’s idea,” she said with a wink, then headed back to the bedroom, adding a little extra sway to her hips.

“Bloody woman is going to be the death of me,” Killian mumbled. Her answering laugh let him know she heard his remark.

*********

The next week when they were both on duty again, a call came through in the middle of the night for an injury at a warehouse close to the docks. Killian drove the ambulance, as Regina took down the information while riding in the passenger seat.

A man met them outside the building to direct them inside. He explained that two employees got into an argument, resulting in one of them injuring the other, knocking him unconscious.

As they moved through the cavernous warehouse, Killian smelled smoke. “Is there a fire somewhere?” he asked the man.

“I don’t think so…” he began, then his eyes grew wide as he spotted something. “Holy shit! He wasn’t kidding!”

“What are you talking about?” Regina asked.

“Before Jefferson tore out of here, he said he was gonna burn the place down. Looks like he started a fire,” he explained, pointing to a spot where they could now see an orange glow.

“Where’s the injured man?” Killian asked.

“In the office right there,” the employee answered, pointing just to the left of the fire.

They hurried to the area, realizing there was more than one small fire burning. Regina immediately used the radio to call for the fire department.

Stepping into the small, windowless office, they saw the injured man lying prone on the concrete floor, a large gash to his forehead. “Jefferson bashed Leroy’s head into the wall,” the man explained. “Always did think that guy was mad as a hatter.”

Killian knelt down and opened the medical kit. “Is there anyone else in the warehouse?”

“Just a few guys outside on the docks. There were just the three of us inside.”

“Okay, we’ll take care of Leroy. You need to get yourself out of here.” The man nodded and quickly exited.

After Regina reported the fire, she went to grab the stretcher and brought it into the warehouse. “Let’s get him outside and then we can evaluate him,” Regina said.

“Good idea,” Killian agreed, shining his penlight into the man’s eyes to check his pupils. “Did you bring a neck brace?”

“No, I’ll go grab one,” she threw over her shoulder, on the way out the door.

She was gone for less than a minute when Killian heard a crash, followed by a whooshing sound. His head jerked up to look out the door and was astonished to see the fire was spreading rapidly. “Bloody bastard must have used an accelerant,” he cursed. Getting to his feet, he hurried to the doorway, his heart dropping to his feet when he saw the office was completely surrounded by flames.

“Regina!” he called through the walkie talkie. “Don’t try to come back in. The fire is spreading fast and we’re trapped!”

She acknowledged his statement and told him the ETA for the fire department was five more minutes.

“Fuck!” he growled, trying again to see a way through the flames, but the exit appeared to be blocked. He knew he couldn’t risk pushing the stretcher with the injured man through the fire, and he couldn’t leave him behind.

Slamming the door shut, he looked around the cramped office, searching for something to stuff under the door to help keep the smoke out. When he couldn’t locate anything, he took off his jacket to use it. Knowing there was nothing else he could do for the time being, he knelt down beside Leroy to begin working on him again.

*********

Emma was in the jump seat behind David when the call came through the radio, saying the injured man and a paramedic were trapped by the fire inside the warehouse.

“Which paramedic?” she shouted, trying to make herself heard over the sirens.

David looked back at her over his shoulder, his forehead creased with concern. “Regina is the one who reported it, so I’m assuming it’s Killian.”

Emma felt like she was going to throw up.

*********

By the time the fire trucks made it to the warehouse, flames were shooting through the roof. Wooden pallets stacked outside were smoldering, and thick, black smoke was pouring out through the large overhead doors.

The trucks came to a stop and the firefighters flew into action, donning their oxygen tanks and masks, hooking up hoses, and raising the ladder to get water down on the fire from above.

Emma worked at a frenzied pace with her heart in her throat. As she waited for Will to hook up the hose the two of them would be manning, she approached David, who was speaking with Regina.

“Have you been in contact with Killian?” she asked.

Regina turned to her. “Yes, he’s been on the walkie. He and the injured man are in a small office about fifty yards from the doors, on the left-hand side.”

“Are there outside windows to it?” David asked.

Regina shook her head. “No windows at all. It’s concrete block with a metal door.”

Will came running up with the hose and Emma started to leave to help him, when she felt the sleeve of her coat being grabbed. She looked back to see David eyeing her earnestly. “Use your head and not your heart in there, Emma. Don’t get reckless.”

She swallowed hard and nodded, then pulled her mask into place and picked up the hose.

*********

Despite his best efforts, the smoke was beginning to fill the room where Killian lay on the floor beside the still unconscious Leroy. Regina had reported the fire trucks were there, so he knew help was on the way, but his eyes were burning and he was coughing uncontrollably. He had put the oxygen mask from the medical kit on the injured man, and every once in a while, would take a couple of deep breaths from it.

He determined that Leroy’s injuries didn’t appear to be life threatening, but they weren’t the biggest threat to his well-being right now. Killian knew if the firefighters didn’t get to them soon, they were in danger of becoming asphyxiated from inhaling the smoke.

*********

Emma stood behind Will, helping direct the spray of the water onto the raging flames in front of them. Her eyes strained to see through the smoke, hoping to locate the office Regina had described.

It seemed like hours until they were twenty yards into the building, the sweeping spray of water taming the fire enough to make a little progress. She could see another pair of firefighters to their right and a stream of water coming from above. The entire team was working hard to knock down the flames, but it wasn’t happening fast enough to suit her. Every minute spent fighting the fire was another minute Killian was trapped.

Finally, she could make out a metal door about ten yards ahead of them. “Over there!” she shouted at Will, pointing over his shoulder. He immediately directed the hose where she indicated.

“Hold on, Killian. I’m coming,” she thought.

*********

Killian tried desperately to remain conscious, but he felt like he was fighting a losing battle. Despite laying flat on the floor to stay under the smoke, the entire room was almost filled with it.

“Please get to us in time, Swan,” he begged.

*********

When they reached the door, they hosed it down thoroughly, then Emma rushed forward to open it. As soon as she did, she fell to her knees beside Killian with a strangled cry. She shook him by the shoulders, shouting his name. His eyes fluttered open and she saw him trying to speak over the noise of the fire. Leaning down, she put her ear as close to him as possible and heard him say, “I love you, Emma. I need you to know that.” Then he began coughing deeply.

She took off her oxygen mask and put it over his face, shouting, “Don’t talk like you’re not getting out of here!” Fumbling for her walkie-talkie, she reported, “I found them! The injured man is unconscious. Killian is conscious, but barely. We need to get them out of here!”

As Will continued to spray the flames to keep them at bay, Emma stood and grasped Killian under his arms, beginning to drag him out of the stifling office. She felt someone come up beside her and looked around to see David in full gear. As the fire chief, he usually stayed on the outside to direct operations, only suiting up when it was absolutely necessary, or maybe, Emma thought, when his best friend’s life was on the line.

He started to take Killian’s arm, but she shouted, “I’ve got him! Go get the stretcher with the other guy on it!”

David hesitated for just a second, before nodding curtly and running toward the office.

Emma continued moving backwards, adrenaline propelling her at a faster pace than normal. Looking over her shoulder, she could just make out the outline of the large overhead door, when she heard a loud creaking sound and looked up to see a metal girder breaking away from the catwalk directly above.

She flung herself over Killian’s body to protect him. Seconds later, she felt an excruciating pain and let out a scream. Looking back, she saw the end of the beam across her left ankle. “Fuck it all to hell!” she cursed, attempting to pull her leg free. Suddenly, she felt the pressure decrease, and looked up to see Will lifting the girder off of her.

“I’ve got you, Savior,” he shouted.

“Take Killian!” she directed, as she grabbed her mask to put it back on. “I’ll get myself out.”

Will moved around her to pick up Killian, hoisting him over his shoulder. Emma tried to push herself to her feet, but found she couldn’t put any weight on her leg. Cursing, she looked around and saw a push broom leaning against the wall. Hopping over to it, she used it as a makeshift crutch, hobbling toward the doorway.

When she was finally outside, she saw Regina working on Killian and limped over to them. Flinging off her helmet and mask, she dropped down beside him. “How is he?”

“Alive,” Regina said curtly. “We need to transport him immediately. Another ambulance just arrived and they’ll take Leroy.” She glanced up at Emma. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Might have broken my ankle, but it doesn’t matter, as long as Killian is okay.”

“They’ll check you out at the hospital. You can ride in the back with us. Mulan got called in and she’ll drive.”

Emma bent down to place a kiss on Killian’s forehead. “Hang on, Babe. Please don’t leave me,” she pleaded, her voice breaking.

*********

Killian remained semi-conscious on the ride to the hospital, coughing frequently. Emma allowed Regina to examine her ankle when she was sure the paramedic had done everything she could for Killian. Regina also suspected it was broken and informed the hospital that X-rays would be necessary upon arrival.

Emma sat next to Killian the entire way, brushing his sooty hair out of his eyes. “I keep telling him he needs a haircut, but he hasn’t done it yet,” she murmured, fighting back tears. Regina looked over at her, but didn’t comment, simply patting her knee in sympathy.

“Five minutes,” Mulan called to them from the front seat, sending Regina into action to prepare for their arrival at the hospital.

“I know you’ll want to stay with him,” she told Emma, “but they will have to take him for a battery of tests, so you might as well get that ankle taken care of while you’re waiting.”

Emma gave a slight nod and leaned over Killian. “You know I would stay with you if I could, but as soon as they take care of me, I’ll be with you again. Then I won’t leave your side. I promise.” She pressed a kiss to his temple, above the elastic band holding the oxygen mask in place.

As soon as she straightened up, he had a fit of deep, wracking coughs. She squeezed his hand helplessly, listening to his labored breathing when the coughing finally subsided. Not taking her eyes from him, she asked Regina, “He is going to be okay, isn’t he?”

“You know as well as I do that smoke inhalation is very serious, and people react to it differently,” she answered carefully. “All I can say is, he’s young, healthy and strong, which are important factors for recovery.”

Emma eyed her gratefully. Regina had been Killian’s partner for nearly three years and, even though they constantly made snarky comments to one another, the two of them worked well together. Emma could see the concern in Regina’s face and realized his injuries were affecting her, too.

“Yeah, that’s true. He’ll be okay.” Emma looked back down at him, his skin pale under the layer of soot. “He has to be.”

*********

When they pulled up to the Emergency Room, Killian was quickly unloaded and whisked off to be examined. An orderly helped Emma into a wheelchair and she was taken to Radiology for X-rays.

An hour later, with her broken ankle set and in a cast, she was taken to an area to wait for news about Killian. As soon as she entered the room, Mary Margaret stood up to greet her.

“Oh, Emma, are you alright?” she asked, her voice full of concern.

Emma received her sister-in-law’s hug with a sense of relief, having dreaded waiting by herself. “Mostly. I found out that steel is harder than bone. Did David call you?”

“He sent me a quick text to meet you here. They’re still fighting the fire.”

“They’ll probably be there for a while. We heard on the scanner that it’s now a four alarm fire.”

Mary Margaret parked Emma’s wheelchair between the doorway and a row of cushioned chairs, sitting down in the one closest to her and reaching over to take her hand. “How is Killian?” she asked quietly.

“He…” Emma started, but her throat constricted and she wasn’t able to go on.

Mary Margaret wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulders, pulling her against her side. “It’s going to be okay, I just know it is. That man loves you and he’s going to fight to stay with you.”

“I h-hope so,” Emma sobbed. “But what if…if he…”

“Stop that, right now,” Mary Margaret interrupted firmly. “We’re going to think positive thoughts. Anything negative isn’t going to help him.”

They fell silent for a few moments, before Mary Margaret began telling stories about her pre-school students, obviously trying to distract Emma from slipping too deeply into worry for her boyfriend.

Emma tried to pay attention, but her mind kept straying to what might be happening to Killian. She stared at the door, silently willing someone with news to walk through it, occasionally glancing at the clock on the wall, which seemed to be standing still. She wished she could pace the floor to work off some of her nervous energy, but the cast on her leg reminded her it wasn’t an option.

Mary Margaret offered to locate some bottles of water, leaving the room with the assurance she would return soon. Emma idly pushed the wheels on the chair back and forth, bumping it into the wall over and over.

She didn’t often pray out loud, but in her jumbled mind, she thought maybe God would hear her better if she did. “Dear Lord, please, I’m begging You, please let Killian be okay. I need him, God. Please don’t take him from me.”

She no sooner said ‘Amen’ when a doctor with a shock of bleach blonde hair entered the room. “Ms. Swan?” he inquired.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she replied, sitting up straighter in the chair.

“I’m Dr. Whale. I was told you were waiting for word about Killian Jones. Are you family?” he asked, as Mary Margaret returned with a small bottle of water in each hand. She immediately sat down, dropping one of the bottles into her lap so she could take Emma’s hand.

“He’s my boyfriend. We live together, and he doesn’t have any other family,” Emma explained. “How is he?”

Dr. Whale pulled a chair over and sat down facing her. “He inhaled a lot of smoke. We’ve got him on oxygen and we’re going to observe him for the rest of the night. If he continues to cough and sound raspy like he does now, we may have to do a bronchoscopy later today, to determine how much damage has been done to his lungs, and to suction out some of the junk he has in there. He’s sleeping now, which is good. His body is working hard to heal and a lot of rest is going to help that process.”

Swallowing hard past the lump in her throat, Emma managed to ask, “When can I see him?”

“You can visit him right now, for a little while,” Dr. Whale began.

“No,” Emma stated emphatically. “I’m not visiting him for a little while. I’m going to stay.”

“Ms. Swan…”

“I don’t care what you say, I WILL stay with him, and nothing or no one can stop me!”

“Calm down, Ms. Swan,” Whale soothed, holding a hand up placatingly. “I wasn’t going to say that you have to leave. I was going to tell you that I’ll have him put in a room with a recliner, so you can sleep in there.”

“Oh,” Emma said, a bit sheepishly. “That would be great, thank you.”

“Anything for our first responders.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Mary Margaret asked, looking at Dr. Whale for permission, which he gave with a slight nod.

“If you don’t mind,” Emma answered.

“Of course I don’t,” Mary Margaret said, standing up and nudging the wheelchair away from the wall so she could get behind it.

“It will be a few more minutes until they get him moved into a room on the third floor,” Whale said, also standing. “Someone will be down to get you when they’re done.”

“Thank you and I’m, uh, sorry about…”

“Think nothing of it. I understand the stressfulness of the situation and wouldn’t expect you to respond any differently.”

After shaking both of their hands, Whale left the room. Emma blew out a long, slow breath, trying to keep her emotions under control. “I was hoping he would be awake so I could talk to him.”

“You heard what the doctor said,” Mary Margaret responded, patting Emma’s shoulder reassuringly. “His body is just trying to heal itself.”

“Sometimes people don’t recover from smoke inhalation,” Emma whimpered.

“Killian will,” Mary Margaret said firmly. “You have to believe that, Emma. You have to have faith and stay hopeful.”

“I know. I’m trying. I just need to see him.”

Mary Margaret handed her one of the bottles of water. “Drink this. Oh, and I bought this for you. too,” she said, reaching into the pocket of her cardigan sweater and pulling out a package of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. “Chocolate and peanut butter makes everything better.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but accepted the candy appreciatively.

*********

Ten long minutes later, an orderly came to guide them to Killian’s room, which was right across the hall from the nurses station, giving Emma confidence that he would receive prompt attention. The orderly pushed the door open and held it so Mary Margaret could wheel Emma through it. Killian lay propped up in the bed, his dark hair in stark contrast to the white pillow. The heart monitor beeped softly and oxygen hissed.

Emma brought a hand to her mouth to catch the sob trying to escape. He was so pale and still, it nearly broke her heart. Her Killian was vibrant and energetic, always grinning and laughing. She had trouble reconciling the fact that this man in the bed with an IV dripping into his hand, was the man she loved. Even though their jobs could be dangerous, she never allowed herself to imagine such a scenario.

Mary Margaret pushed her to the side of the bed. “Talk to him, Emma. Even though he’s sleeping, his subconscious may still hear you.”

Emma took his hand between her own, stroking it lovingly. “Hi, Babe. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. The doctor says you need your sleep because your body is trying to heal, but I really need to see those gorgeous eyes I love so much, so hurry up and heal.”

Pulling his hand up, she pressed a kiss to the back, a tear dripping onto it, too. She glanced up at Mary Margaret, who offered her a small smile.

“We all want you to get better very soon, Killian,” she said. “We love you.”

They sat quietly beside his bed for almost twenty minutes, before Emma said, “You don’t have to stay, Mary Margaret. I’m going to try to get some sleep. I think everything is beginning to catch up with me.”

“Okay. I’ll send you a message when I hear from David. I’m sure he’ll want to stop in when his shift is over to check on both of you. Do you want me to help you get changed before I leave?” She brought over the set of scrubs one of the nurses provided for Emma.

“Thanks, but I think I’m going to have to learn to manage by myself. At least until Killian…” Her voice cut off as she looked over at the still form of her boyfriend.

“I know,” Mary Margaret said, “but you’re thoroughly exhausted right now. Why don’t you let me help so you can get to sleep sooner?”

Emma sighed. “Okay, I would actually appreciate that.”

*********

Even though she was completely drained, Emma found it almost impossible to sleep. Nurses came in frequently to take Killian’s vital signs, her ankle throbbed, and it was difficult to get comfortable because of the cast. Most of all, she couldn’t keep from worrying about Killian, wondering how long it would take him to recover, and trying not to let her mind wander to the possibility that he wouldn’t.

Finally giving up on sleep, she slipped from the recliner and stood at his bedside. Bending over him, she pressed kisses to his forehead, eyelids and temple, then whispered in his ear, “I love you, Killian. Please at least let me know you can hear me. Squeeze my hand, or open your eyes - anything.”

She waited expectantly, the seconds ticking by slowly as he remained completely still. Pulling a chair closer, she sat down and rested her head on the bed beside his right hand. “You have to get through this,” she said in a broken voice. “You promised you would never leave me.”

Minutes later, she gave into her exhaustion and fell asleep.

*********

Emma awoke with a start when Dr. Whale arrived mid-morning to examine Killian. “I’m sorry, Ms. Swan. I didn’t mean to startle you. How are you feeling?”

She didn’t answer him for several moments, too busy looking intently at Killian to see if he had woken up yet. He remained still, though she had heard him cough periodically throughout the night.

“I’ll be fine when I know Killian is fine,” she finally answered.

“Well, let’s see how he’s doing then,” Whale said, stepping up to the other side of the bed to check the monitor for the data the nurses entered over the last several hours. “His vitals look good and it says his cough is productive.” He listened to Killian’s lungs and heart, and checked the reaction of his pupils. “His breathing doesn’t sound quite as raspy, so we’ll hold off on the bronchoscopy for now.”

“When is he going to wake up?” Emma asked.

“Should be any time,” Whale assured her. “When a body has been through trauma, sometimes sleep is the way to give itself a break, until it’s a little stronger.”

“Would you say he’s out of the woods?”

Whale gripped the ends of his stethoscope and rocked back on his heels. “As a firefighter, you’re well aware of the hazards of smoke inhalation. It can lead to pneumonia and other problems with the lungs or heart. We’ll continue to monitor him and test his blood, but right now, we just have to wait and see.”

  Emma inhaled sharply. She wasn’t surprised by the answer, but she had been hoping to hear him say he was certain Killian would be alright.

Whale walked over to pat her on the shoulder. “Try not to think the worst. He’s young and in good shape. Those are factors in his favor.”

He left the room and Emma slumped down in the chair. As much as she wanted to hold onto the doctor’s positivity, it was difficult to keep the what ifs from creeping into her thoughts.

She took Killian’s hand into hers, and was tracing the back of it with her thumb, when she felt a slight squeeze. Her eyes shot up to look at his face, but his eyes were still closed. “Do it again, Killian,” she whispered, and was rewarded with a harder squeeze.

Tears blurred her vision and she used her free hand to wipe them away, just in time to see his eyelids flutter open. Pushing herself up to balance on her good foot, she leaned over him. “Hey, Babe,” she said, her voice choked with emotion.

“Hey, beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely.

She could barely hear the words over the hiss of the oxygen and through the mask, but they were music to her ears. Pressing kisses to the areas of his face not covered by the oxygen mask, she couldn’t stop her tears. Pulling back a little, she commanded, “Don’t ever scare me like that again!”

“So demanding,” he said, grinning slightly.

“And you love me for it,” she giggled.

“I do.” He was unable to say anything else because he began coughing. When it ceased, he brought his left hand up to rub at his chest.

“Are you in any pain?” Emma asked, concern etched in her face.

He shook his head, but she could tell by the sound of his voice his throat was raw. She was sure his chest probably hurt, considering the smoke he breathed in and all the coughing he’d done.

Without thinking, she put some weight on her left foot and grimaced with the sharp pain that shot through it. Killian noticed, his brows furrowing. “You hurt?” he whispered.

She sighed, aggravated at herself for causing him to worry. “Just a broken ankle. Nothing too major.” Her fingers smoothed across the creases in his forehead. “It’s really a good thing, because now we can recover together.”

He started coughing again, gasping for air between each bout. Emma stood by, wondering what she could do to help. A nurse entered the room, approaching the bed quickly. Emma noticed her name badge identified her as Ariel.

When his coughing subsided, he opened his watery eyes. “Ah, looks like someone decided to wake up,” Ariel commented. “Would you like a few sips of water, Mr. Jones?”

He nodded, appreciation in his eyes. The nurse left the room, returning soon with a pitcher and plastic cup. She filled the cup half full of water and added a straw.

“May I help?” Emma asked.

Without hesitating, Ariel handed the cup to her and lifted the oxygen mask. Emma held the straw to Killian’s mouth and he took it between his lips eagerly. “Slowly,” the nurse reminded him.

After taking several small sips, he released the straw. “Thanks,” he rasped.

“Feel better?” Emma asked, setting the cup on the tray table.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, then tried to clear his throat, but ended up coughing again.

Ariel did a quick check of his vital signs and entered them into the computer. “It’s going to take some time to clear everything out of your lungs and throat,” she said. “Coughing is actually a good thing to help get it all out.”

“It’s wearing you out though, isn’t it, Babe?” Emma asked him, receiving a nod of confirmation.

“Better get some rest in between your coughing spells, then,” Ariel instructed. “Do you need anything else?” When he shook his head, she added, “Alright then, just push the call button if you need me.”

She left the room, letting the door close behind her. Emma sat back down in the chair, keeping her eyes on her boyfriend as if she was afraid he would disappear. His eyes were closed again, his dark lashes in contrast to his pale skin.

She laid her head on the bed against his hip and felt his hand move to rest against the top of it, his fingers tangling in her hair. “I love you so much, Killian, and I need you. Don’t leave me, okay?”

“I won’t,” he croaked. Very soon, they were both asleep.

*********

Killian remained hospitalized for another three days and Emma barely left his side. David, Will and Regina stopped in to visit, as did Mary Margaret, who tried to convince Emma to go home and get some sleep. She refused, stating it was too much trouble getting around with her leg in a cast. What she didn’t admit to her sister-in-law was her fear that if she left Killian, something bad would happen to him while she was gone.

She was still fearful that he could die, despite Dr. Whale telling her he was steadily improving. Every time she managed to drift off to sleep, she would suddenly jerk awake, heart racing. She could only relax once she determined he was still breathing.

He was discharged with a tank of supplemental oxygen and a list of care instructions. By that time, Emma was getting around fairly well on her crutches and insisted she could take care of him by herself. David drove them home, where Mary Margaret was waiting with a casserole. The married couple departed once they helped Emma and Killian into their apartment and made sure they had everything they needed.

They spent the rest of the day sitting on opposite ends of the couch, binge watching a show on Netflix. Whenever Killian tried to start a conversation, Emma would answer him curtly, then turn her full attention back to the television.

When they went to bed, he expected her to snuggle up against him like she always did, but she stayed on her side with enough distance between them to fit another person. He turned onto his side and encouraged her to move closer, but she explained that her ankle was hurting and she didn’t want to accidentally hit him with her cast.

This went on for two days, and by the morning of the third day, he’d had enough.

After breakfast, Killian dropped down onto the couch and tugged Emma down beside him. He nuzzled into her neck, leaving small kisses there.

“None of that, now,” she said flatly. “You’re still recovering.”

“I think I remember the doctor saying sex will help with that,” he murmured, his voice still rough and scratchy.

She lightly elbowed him, trying not to smile. “Nice try. When you can make it through a whole night without coughing, then we’ll talk about it.”

“Talking isn’t what I had in mind.”

“Have you forgotten I also have a damn cast on my leg?”

“We’ll just have to get creative,” he smirked. “We might find a position we haven’t…” His words were cut off by a bout of coughing.

“See?” she said, once it subsided. “You’re proving my point.”

He flopped back onto the couch, throwing an arm over his eyes dramatically. “You’re killing me, Swan.”

When Emma didn’t respond, he uncovered his eyes to look at her. She was turned away from him, wiping her face with the back of her hand.

“Are you okay, Love?” he asked, gently pulling on her shoulder to turn her toward him.

Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face was pale. “Don’t even joke about being k-killed,” she muttered. “It’s not funny, especially when I almost lost you.”

He pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking when I said that.”

After just a few seconds, she pushed herself away from him and picked up her crutches. “I should, um, I need to…”

“Hey,” he interrupted, grabbing her hand to keep her from standing up. “Don’t brush this off. Talk to me.”

She swallowed hard, not looking at him. He patiently waited, figuring she needed time to process what was on her mind. Finally, she cleared her throat. “You promised you would never leave me.”

“And I won’t.”

“But you almost did. When I saw you laying in that office, barely conscious, I realized I could be alone again. I…you know how hard it was for me to let you into my heart. If something happens to you, it’s going to shatter into a million pieces.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me.”

Her eyes shot up to look at him. “You don’t know that for a fact.”

“No, but you could walk out the door tomorrow and get hit by a bus.” She rolled her eyes and started to speak. “All I’m saying,” he cut in quickly, “is that we don’t know what the future holds, but we can’t live our lives in fear of losing each other. It’s a risk to love someone, but it’s worth it. At least, I think it is.” He paused to cough and take a drink of water. “If it’s a choice between loving you or playing it safe, I’ll choose loving you every day of the week and twice on Sunday.”

She didn’t respond, but he could tell she was thinking by the way she kept dragging her teeth over her bottom lip. “Emma,” he asked quietly, taking her other hand, “is our love worth the risk for you?” He hardly dared to breathe, afraid of her answer. Before the fire, he was sure of her love for him and her commitment to their relationship. Now, he questioned whether she would truly be able to move past her fear of being abandoned yet again.

“Yeah,” she whispered, keeping her eyes on their intertwined fingers. “I know you would never leave me willingly, and I don’t…I don’t want to do that to you. Just,” she raised her eyes to meet his, “promise you’ll be careful.”

He enveloped her in his arms, kissing the top of her head. “You have my word. I love you and will do everything in my power to stay with you. Will you do the same?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I love you, too.”

“I’ve missed having you in my arms,” he murmured.

“I’m sorry about the way I’ve been acting,” she apologized.

“Shh, it’s alright.”

“No, it’s not. I’ve been pulling away when you needed me the most. I’ve been a terrible girlfriend.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Love,” he soothed. “You were dealing with a lot.”

“That’s no excuse. I’m supposed to be with you in sickness and in health.”

He chuckled into her hair. “Those are wedding vows. We didn’t get married while I was asleep, did we?”

She sat up and looked at him. “Would that be so bad?”

The look on her face was one of uncertainty, even though he had been teasing. “What? Being married?” he asked, his brow lifting high on his forehead.

“Yeah. I mean, we’ve never really talked about it seriously. Is that…do you ever see that for us?”

He shifted in his seat so he could look directly into her eyes, wanting to prove his sincerity. “Emma, I want nothing more than to be with you for the rest of my life, so of course I see us getting married someday,” he said, kissing her forehead. “But since I’m not prepared to propose tonight, perhaps we can find another way to express our commitment to each other.”

He leaned forward to kiss her, but she stopped him with a hand to his chest. “The doctor said you were supposed to take it easy.”

“He also said I could resume normal activities as long as they weren’t too strenuous.”

She arched a brow at him. “And you don’t think having sex is strenuous?”

“Not if I let you do all the work,” he grinned.

“Have you forgotten I have a broken bone? That’s gonna make it even more challenging.”

“You know I love a challenge.” When she continued to glower at him, he added, “Emma, I’m fine. Dr. Whale said I could have a cough for several weeks. Do you really want to wait that long to make love again?” He tried, and failed, to stifle another cough.

She hesitated and he nuzzled his nose behind her ear. “I miss you, Love. I promise I’ll take it slow and if I feel any discomfort, I’ll stop.”

“So there’s a possibility you’ll get me all worked up, then leave me unfulfilled?”

“Oh, I would never leave you unfulfilled, my love,” he murmured into her ear. “Have you forgotten that I know plenty of ways to pleasure you?”

He could feel her shiver at the combination of his words and his tongue tracing the shell of her ear, and knew she was about to give in.

Turning her head, her mouth found his. “Fine,” she mumbled, between kisses. “You win.”

“I think you’ll find we will both win,” he grinned.

She laughed as he pushed himself up from the sofa, then reached down to pull her up beside him. “I need my crutches,” she said.

“Not when I’m around.” Killian wrapped his arm firmly around her waist and began moving toward the bedroom, Emma hopping along beside him.

They quickly divested of their clothes and slipped into bed, their hands already beginning to roam over bare skin before they even laid down. It had been less than a week since they were intimate, but it seemed much longer with all that had happened.

Soon, Emma was on her back, writhing with desire, while Killian hovered over her, sucking small marks into her breasts and rutting against her wet heat. “Are you ready, Love?” he asked.

Her glazed eyes tried to focus on him. “Yeah. Are you alright?”

He slowly pushed his cock inside her, before asking, “Does it feel like I’m alright?”

“Fuck, yes,” she moaned.

He chuckled as he leaned down onto his elbows, licking and kissing the sensitive areas on her throat. Her right leg hitched up over his hip and he heard her huff of annoyance that she couldn’t do the same with her left.

“Move, Killian,” she groaned. He obliged, repeatedly pulling back, then pushing in a little deeper each time, adding a grind of his pelvis against hers. He could tell that he wasn’t at full strength and wanted to bring her to climax as soon as possible, even though he hated for it to end too quickly.

Moving his hand down between them, he found her clit and began rubbing small circles over it. Her leg tightened over his back, as her walls tightened around his cock. He doubled his efforts and got the desired response almost immediately.

She cried out his name as she came, her body jerking against his. He thrust into her a few more times, then joined her in bliss. Collapsing on top of her, he coughed deeply a few times. She started to try to wriggle out from under him, but he wrapped his arms around her to keep her in place.

“I’m fine, Love,” he assured her, his voice raspy and his breathing heavy. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I can’t help it,” she replied. “I told you that you shouldn’t overdo it.”

He kissed her cheek. “I didn’t, I promise.” Feeling her body relax a bit, he laid his head on her shoulder, relishing having her nude form pressed against him. “I love you so much, Emma.”

“I love you, too, and I always will.”

Raking his fingers through her hair, he said, “We have a lifetime together, Emma. I have no doubt we’re going to grow old and gray with each other.”

“Well, I may grow old, but my beautician will make sure that my hair doesn’t turn gray.”

He laughed. “I hope you don’t mind if I do. I don’t intend to prevent it from happening.”

She played with the long strands of hair at the nape of his neck. “I think you’ll make a very sexy silver fox, Babe. I just hope I get to see you that way.”

Raising himself up to look at her, he said solemnly, “I told you, Love. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll never leave you.”

She framed his beloved face with her hands. “I’m going to hold you to that,” she said softly. Then she sealed that promise with a kiss.

*********

Both of them were granted two months off from their jobs to recuperate, and despite the circumstances, they savored all the time they had together. Killian had respiratory therapy twice a week and Emma worked out the best she could at the apartment’s fitness center nearly every day, not wanting to lose the muscle tone and strength necessary for her job.

One evening, almost two weeks after the accident, Killian was in the kitchen getting himself a bottle of water, while Emma scrolled through their watchlist on Hulu. “Can I bring you anything, Savior?” he called.

“Dammit, Jones!” she retorted. “You know I hate it when Scarlet calls me that. I don’t need you to start doing it, too!”

He peeked around the corner and smirked when he saw her glaring at him. “You did save my life, though. That makes you my savior.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she huffed, “You can call me Swan, Love, Emma, whatever, but please don’t call me Savior.”

“How would you feel about me calling you Mrs. Jones?” he asked, stepping fully into the living room to see her reaction.

Her eyes grew wide and darted from the televison to land on him. “Wh-what do you…are you…are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Aye, Love,” he answered softly, pulling a ring box from behind his back and kneeling in front of her. “I already call you my lover, my best friend and my life. Will you marry me so I can call you my wife?”

“I should say no since you just made a terrible rhyme.”

One of his brows shot up. “I did?”

“Yes,” she giggled, “but I don’t care. I’ll marry you anyway!”

“Truly?”

“Yes, truly. Now, let me see the ring.”

He grinned and flipped the lid open, revealing a square cut diamond with two small rubies set into the twisted, white gold band on either side of it.

Emma gasped, her hands flying to cover her mouth. “Oh, Killian! It’s…it’s too much!”

“Nothing is too much for the love of my life,” he responded, taking out the ring and putting the box aside. “May I?”

She nodded and held out her trembling hand, watching as he carefully slid it onto her fourth finger. “It’s perfect,” she whispered, her voice filled with awe. “How did you know what size to get?”

“Mary Margaret told me you wear a half-size smaller than her.”

“So David and Mary Margaret know you were planning to ask me?”

“I asked David for his blessing.”

“You’re so old-fashioned,” she laughed.

“Call me whatever you like, Swan, as long as you promise to call me your husband someday soon.”

Emma threw her arms around his neck, pulling him to her. “I can hardly wait to keep that promise,” she said, before kissing the man she could now call her fiancé.

*********

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@captainswan21

#csff #never leave me #jrob64 #art by jrob64 #manips by sotangledupinit #new ending #reposting #cs smut #cs hurt/comfort #ouat captain swan fic #firefighter emma #EMT killian

[cs-rylie]

Chapter 2 of Threads of Destiny, a birthday gift for @jrob64 😘

Tag list below the line - lmk if you'd like to be added or removed!

@kmomof4 @teamhook @undercaffinatednightmare @booksteaandtoomuchtv @herhookedhero @chronicallybubbly @elfiola @zaharadessert @tiganasummertree @hookedmom @djlbg @stardreamer28 @tequedarasavinon @stahlop @gingerchangeling @middlemistcs13 @csadmire @deckerstarblanche @xellewoods @anmylica @huntressandlioness1 @insanelydeadlybookcollector @lfh1226-linda @motherkatereloyshipper @dashingpiratesandswans @momontheice @rapunzelsghosts @paradiselady19 @a-faekindagirl @eddisfargo @julesep3026 @caityrayeraye @bluewildcatfanatic @kday426 @winterbaby89 @jonesfandomfanatic @charmed101 @bg12sofia @ouat-the-hell @xarandomdreamx @zippoluv @flslp87 @captainswan-shipper88 @grimmswan @laschatzi @jennjenn615 @darkshadow7 @pygmypufftattoo @bizquake

#rylieoriginal #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #once upon a time #ao3 #fanfiction #ouat #cs #emma x killian #killian x emma #fanfic #once upon a time fanfiction #hurt/comfort #threads of destiny

[elizabeethan]

Witness

After the worst night of his life, Killian goes into the Witness Protection program and moves to Maine until he can testify against the man who took everything from him. He had resigned himself to living a life of misery, pain, and heartbreak, but that all changed when he met Lily Quinn.

A/N: I finally finished this one!! It's not perfect by any means, but I'm honestly just patting myself on the back for completing it, at this point. It's not beta'ed and I probably haven't proofread it enough, so if you see any typos or notice any continuity errors, no you didn't. 

Also, this is the 50th, yes FIFTIETH, Captain Swan fic that I've posted on Ao3. There isn't much I can say about that other than thank you to everyone in this incredible fandom who has encouraged me to explore writing and discover how much I love it. Thank you especially to @the-darkdragonfly and @donteattheappleshook for always being there for me in every capacity and for supporting me through thick and thin.

Rated E

15,630 words (oops)

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~~~~

The pain is unlike anything he’s ever felt before and is likely to ever feel again, lest he lose another appendage. It burns and stings and throbs and stabs all at once, and it drives him mad as he looks down and remembers that there’s nothing there. There’s no hand to be hurting him as he bites into his bottom lip and doubles over, holding his empty wrist in his one remaining hand. There's no reason for him to be feeling this way, and yet he feels as though he’s lost the hand all over again. 

 He doesn’t remember what it felt like to lose it in the first place, but it must have been something like this. Leaning over his ledgers upon his pathetically small desk, he tries to remind himself that there’s nothing there anymore. He shouldn’t be hurting like this, not now that it’s gone. He tells himself to get over it, snap out of it, he’s being foolish. He lets out a pained gasp as he puts his stubbed arm on the surface of the desk and picks up a pen, staring down at the empty space where his hand should be before taking a breath and sending the pen forcefully through the air, into the grainy wood, missing the hand that he lost months ago. 

 The burning subsides when he does this, as if him telling his mind that it isn’t there, that it doesn’t matter anymore, isn’t enough; as if he has to see it for himself to believe his own thoughts. It happens frequently– frequently enough for him to consider himself crazy on a several-times-weekly basis. He’s just lucky that he doesn’t share this cramped office with anyone, that he’s usually left alone to do his work in peace, just the way he likes it. He’s lucky that he lives alone, that he has no one to watch him go through the lunacy of feeling pain in a hand that doesn’t exist. He’s lucky that he’s always alone. He’s lucky to have lost everything and everyone, because at least he doesn’t have to force someone he loves to live through this with him. 

 At least, that’s what he tells himself as he pulls the pen from the shallow hole he punched into the wood and returns it to the cup where it belongs. 

~~~~

 He’s making an effort not to become the town drunk. 

 His father was the town drunk, and he’s always hated his father. 

 So when he goes to the Rabbit Hole, he likes to keep it to once a week, maybe less. He likes to keep it to two drinks, maybe three. He likes to keep control over himself so that no one in this tiny place starts to see him as the town drunk. They already see him as the strange, handless recluse, and he doesn’t feel the need to move into town drunk-territory. 

 But when he walks into the Rabbit Hole that night, just a few months after his arrival, he considers changing his ways if only in response to seeing the stunning, glowing blonde behind the bar for the first time. 

 She truly is glowing. She emanates beauty and exudes perfection as she stands behind the bar, somehow catching the perfect lighting, her bare arms toned as she pours a beer flawlessly, her hair gleaming under the dim light fixture, her smile shimmering despite the darkness in the bar. She laughs at her patron, Leroy telling her a joke that Killian can almost certainly bet was not funny. She throws her head back and he nearly salivates at the sight of her bare neck. She turns from the grumpy old man and adds the pour to his tab and then she turns again, locking eyes directly with Killian before giving him the most beautiful, sexy, friendly smile he’s ever received. 

 “Welcome in,” she says, her voice like bells as it rings through the bar, cutting against the loud music and the even louder laughter from the party at the pool table. “What can I get you?” 

 He’s almost stunned silent, stupidly standing there with his mouth hung open like a trout until he gets his bearings, tugging on the sleeves of his gray knit sweater and shuffling towards the bar. Get it together, you old fool, he tells himself, cursing as he trips over his own feet but praising himself as the sight draws a soft giggle from the angel of a woman. 

 “Rum,” he says idiotically, and she raises a brow. 

 “Just rum, neat? On the rocks? Or a shot?”

 He clears his throat. What will she think of him ordering just rum, neat? Or a shot? “Might as well throw in some Coke and ice, I suppose,” he chokes out, fighting through the awkwardness that he hasn’t felt since high school. 

 She laughs. It seems genuine, but she must treat all of her customers like this, right? “A rum and Coke then, coming right up. Do you like lime?”

 “Yes,” he says, although he can’t really remember if he does or not. He pulls on his left sleeve as he sits down, far from Leroy. His elbow rests on the bartop, and if he had a hand, it would drop between himself and the surface he leans against. “Sure. Please.”

 She works quickly, and he tries and tries not to look at the way her black tank top hugs her waist. He tries not to notice the way that there aren’t any lines along her back and he tries not to wonder whether she’s wearing a bra beneath it. He tries not to notice the way her jeans hug her hips and flare out just slightly, elongating her legs impossibly. Really, he really tries not to stare. Seriously. 

 “There you go,” she says with a bright smile. “Want to open a tab?”

 He says nothing, dropping his bum arm and using the other to fish his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out the credit card David gave him and handing it to her without a second thought. Normally, he wouldn’t open a tab. Opening a tab is something the town drunk would do– or at least running up the tab is. But how can he say no to the siren standing before him? 

 “Thanks,” she says, looking at the front of the card and smiling. Something about this smile is different; it’s softer, more genuine. “Peter. I like that name.” 

 “What, um–” he clears his throat, not before kicking himself beneath the bar. “Would you tell me your name?”

 “It’s Lily,” she says pleasantly. “And it’s very nice to meet you.” 

 “Likewise.” 

 The exchange is taking a turn, he notices, the awkwardness growing between them because he should probably say something more. He should try to carry on the conversation, get to know her, let her get to know him. But he’s a fool, not used to interacting with anyone, never mind a beautiful woman, and she has other customers, so she smiles at him once more and walks towards Leroy, taking what’s left of his heart along with her. 

 ~~~~

 He returns to the bar the next night. 

 No one here knew his father, so he reasons that no one would assume his identity as a second generation alcoholic. He isn’t an alcoholic, not really. He would know if he was. He’s seen the signs, watched the way it murdered his father and his uncle and his brother. And he reasons, as he leaves his office the next night, that going to a bar two nights in a row does not an alcohol addiction make. 

 She’s here again; Lily. The fallen angel gracing this earth for reasons unclear to him. Her occupation at the Rabbit Hole is enigmatic because he’s certain that she could do anything she sets her mind to. He watches in awe as she mixes drinks and flawlessly pours beer and somehow operates the whole establishment, Ruby lilting through the restaurant and fancifully taking orders when the mood strikes. 

 He watches with as much normalcy as he can muster, not entirely used to the interactions that he’s been avoiding for the past seven months or so. 

 (Well, he says or so, but in reality, he knows exactly how long it’s been since he shut himself out from the rest of the world.) 

 (Seven months, two weeks, and three days since he fled Boston.)

 Lily floats through the bar, smiling at her customers and, he thinks, smirking at him. She walks to her colleague, tucking her head against the other woman’s ear and whispering something he could never make out until the two of them erupt into a symphony of giggles. She glances over at him, her bottom lip caught between her pearly teeth, and Ruby whispers something back. He watches as her cheeks flush, the intoxicating pink spreading down her neck and across her chest. He watches for as long as he can before he recognizes how unsettling it is for him to be staring like this, wondering how much further down the warmth trails along her porcelain skin. She watches him staring, how could she not, and his heart begins to race as she slowly makes her way towards him. Honestly, she probably isn’t even moving that slowly, but the way that his blood is racing through his veins more quickly than ever makes the rest of the world feel like it’s moving in slow motion. 

 “Peter,” she greets with a wry smile, one perfect brow lifted towards her hairline as the other rests beautifully above her glowing emerald eyes. “Did I make your rum and Coke wrong?” 

 “Of course not,” he answers too quickly, then he clears his throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.” 

 “I don’t mind being stared at,” she flirts, at least, he hopes she’s flirting. He thinks she must be if the way she leans against the bar closer to him than he’s seen her get to her other customers is any indication. He tugs on his left sleeve, the knit material stretching easily over his empty wrist. “At least, not by someone who looks like you.”

 Flirting, he tells himself. Honestly, as a grown man of somewhere close to 40, he should probably know when a woman is flirting with him, and yet this woman in particular has his mind in knots. He can’t even help the smile that creeps slowly along his lips, and he can’t help but to notice the way that it makes her own grow. 

 “The drink you made is delicious,” he tells her, as if that matters. “You’re quite talented.”

 She hums lightly, shrugging her toned shoulders and hopping onto the barstool beside him. He turns ever so slightly, hiding his blunted arm behind himself but refusing to pull any further from her than he has to. “Yeah, well… Have you been in town long?” 

 The change in subject, the sudden interest in his life, throws him for a loop, making it difficult for him to focus as if he wasn’t having trouble already. “Longer than you, I'd assume,” he answers ambiguously. It’s something David taught him. Unless someone knows exactly when he arrived, it’s a bad idea to give concrete answers, like I got here six months, one week, and two days ago. 

 “Well, I only got here about two weeks ago.”

 “Much longer than that,” he says confidently, because in the grand scheme of things it hasn’t been long, but in comparison of weeks, it’s been plenty. Clearing his throat, he lies. “About a year.” 

 Her eyes narrow slightly, her smile still playful, and she nods. “Well, you seem to at least know more than me, right?” She presses closer to him, leans in and rests her elbow against the bar, and if she gets any closer, she might be able to see that he’s missing about a pound’s worth of his left arm. But he doesn’t pull away. With her voice low and sultry, with her fingers dancing almost imperceptibly along the collar of his shirt, she murmurs, “Maybe you can show me around.”

 “Don't you, uh– don’t you have a bar to keep?”

 “Eh,” she shrugs nonchalantly, seeming to make herself more comfortable at his side as she shifts. “Ruby agreed to close so that I can shoot my shot with the hot customer who keeps staring.” 

 He blushes. He hasn’t blushed in… he doesn’t know how long it’s been. His eyes widen and she smiles like she expected him to think he was being secretive as he watched her. She takes his hand, his right hand, the only one he has, and it’s like she knows that that’s the right side to choose. She tells him not to worry about his tab, the one rum and Coke on the house. She keeps his hand in hers and guides him behind her until they reach the door, and he realizes that this woman could be leading him to his death and he frankly wouldn’t care. 

 ~~~~

 He doesn’t go back to her place. She doesn’t come back to his. 

 They just… talk. 

 He hasn’t talked to someone– really talked to someone, someone who isn’t his bloody assigned Marshal– in six months. Six months, three weeks, and six days. He hasn’t had the pleasure of getting to know someone in far too long, longer than he can count, because he never really knew Milah. He hasn’t felt such a connection to another person in all the time he can recall being alive. Perhaps he felt connected to his friend Rob in third grade, but this is different. Perhaps he felt connected to his brother before he died, but this is far different. Lily, Lily Quinn, is unlike anyone he’s ever met. She’s bold and brazen and she isn’t afraid to tell him exactly what’s on her mind at any given second. 

 I think you’re hot.

 The sweater look is seriously a turn on.

 I’m not really looking for a relationship right now, but I guess you can never say never.

 She’s right. One can never say never, although he was pretty clear with himself after losing Milah that he’d never let himself fall for a woman like that again. 

 And yet, here he is, standing beside a woman several years younger than he is, buying her ice cream, hoping she doesn’t notice the way his left hand simply no longer exists, certain that he would fall for her if he let himself. It’s almost inevitable, and he realizes it as he watches her skip along the rock wall that lies sturdily between the sidewalk and the ocean waves, ice cream cone in hand, toes pointed out before her as she takes on the stance and confidence of a gymnast or a ballerina and then admits, I’ve never been very coordinated. 

 He feels it in his heart as she hops down with a grin, her steps light and her smile lighter, as if nothing has ever bothered her in her life. It’s intoxicating. He feels envious of her and yet he doesn’t have the painful feeling in his gut that usually accompanies jealousy. He isn’t jealous of her lightness, of her carefree nature; he’s happy for her. 

 He’s known this woman merely a day and he’s falling for her. 

 So when she lets him walk her to the entrance of her apartment building, tells him goodnight and that she doesn’t normally kiss on the first date, he grins. Was this a date? he wonders to himself, and all he can do is hope endlessly that it was. 

 She doesnt give him her phone number, but she tells him that she’ll see him soon. She says it with confidence, with a certainty that she’ll see him at the bar soon enough, and he can’t help but match her smile. Well, match is a stretch, because her’s is glowing and perfect and his is pained and broken, but it isn’t forced tonight like it usually is, and for that, he’s grateful. 

 ~~~~

 He still struggles to find the perfect word to describe her. Sometimes he thinks it’s effortless, sometimes he thinks it’s perfect, sometimes he thinks it’s formidable, but nothing seems exactly right. He knows there must be one word, one phrase he can use to describe the essence of this woman, but as he stares dreamily at her as she works, he can’t think of it. 

 She smiles at him like she always does, pours him another drink, tells him he looks handsome in his slate colored sweater, and he blushes again. He couldn’t think of the last time he blushed before he met her, and now, he’s been blushing nonstop for the past three weeks of knowing her. 

 “You know,” she says one evening when the room is quiet, almost empty, pressing up onto her toes so that she can get closer to him although there’s a bar between them, “I don’t know if I got everything I should have out of our tour.” 

 “That was weeks ago,” he points out. “I think the period for complaints has expired.” 

 She laughs, throwing her head back and letting him see the cords of her neck as they stretch. “You’re funny,” she says easily. “I mean, shouldn’t you have brought me to all the local spots? I heard there’s a diner I’m seriously missing out on and you just took me to the ice cream shop.”

 “Well, ice cream shops are open much later than most diners.” 

 “Ruby says it moonlights as a restaurant at night.” 

 “She would know,” he agrees. “Her granny is Granny.” 

 She gasps, and he thinks it's sarcastic. “The Granny?” 

 He smiles. It’s genuine, real, honest. He can’t think of anything else to say. 

 “Maybe we can try it some time,” she offers after a beat, picking up her rag and wiping at the bar’s surface in front of him. He moves his elbow carefully, desperate to hide his shame from her like he always is, wondering if she’s noticed the strange way he shields his left arm. 

 “Are you… I mean, are you staying in town long, then?”

 She’s quiet for a moment, for the first time since he’s known her appearing unsure of what to say. She looks down at the wooden surface between them and drops her hand towards his, her long fingers playing at the knit fabric that nearly covers his fingers until she tickles the hair on his knuckles. “My plan was to stay as long as I needed to.”

 “How long will you need to?” 

 She shrugs. “I’m not sure. I’ll stay until I find what I’m looking for.” 

 “And what’s that?” 

 She smiles, still looking down at his hand and becoming more bold as she lifts one of his fingers and tucks her own beneath it. “You couldn't handle it,” she dares, looking at him with a playful smirk, and he can’t help but to return it. 

 “Perhaps not.”

 “What are you looking for?” 

 He can’t answer, because he doesn’t quite know. He racks his brain, wondering what will happen to him once he gives his testimony and can go on with his real life without the fear of being hunted or the unease of a US Marshal breathing down his back. He wonders what he’ll want when this is all over, wonders if he’ll want something out of his life other than for it to finally end. 

 “Home,” he tells her after the silence between them has grown cold, and he watches as the look on her face shifts from one of playful indifference and almost discomfort into something that he struggles to read. It’s something like disbelief, her mouth falling open slightly and her hold on his one remaining hand falling weak as she stares into his eyes and into his blackened soul. 

 She lets go of his hand completely, letting it fall against the countertop and moving towards the entrance of the bar, exiting her post as she often tells him she’ll never, ever do. She sidles up beside him, one hand landing softly on his cheek and the other resting against his thigh just above his knee. “Home?” she asks in a whisper, her’s softer than his, voice almost imperceptible over the sounds of the nearly empty bar. 

 “Aye,” he chokes out. “I’m not really sure… what that means. But… aye.” 

 “I want that, too,” she tells him as if it’s a secret, and a part of him realizes that something between them has shifted. This is an admittance, a secret she’s hardly told anyone, and as she moves in close to him and finally, finally captures his lips between her own, he feels nothing but gratitude and a realization that she’s truly letting him in. 

 The gratitude mixes quickly with a tightness in the pit of his stomach, her tongue lightly tracing the seam of his lips until he opens them slightly, allowing her entrance and a pass to explore as she wishes, and the gratitude grows. He breathes her in, inhaling the scent of her as it mixes with the scent of him and feeling the gratefulness growing along with that tightening in his stomach. He hears a soft whimper escaping the back of her throat, barely breaking past her lips before crashing against his own. The hand on his knee slides upwards to his thigh, squeezing his flesh beneath his jeans as her other hand slides into the hair at the back of his neck. 

 He struggles to think of a time where he wished for his hand back more than he wishes for it now, wanting nothing but to feel her beneath both of his palms, but one will have to do as he finds her hip and pulls her close, lets her find her spot between his knees and push her hips against his own. He leaves his empty arm by his side, content to ignore the desires in hopes of avoiding her finding out the truth. Well, this truth. 

 But she’s insatiable, wanton, needy as she tries to get closer, as she climbs up onto the stool precariously to straddle his thighs, as she sends a bolt of fear through him when she almost falls off, and he can’t help but to grab her, or try to and fail. He grabs one hip, has a good hold on her, but it’s not enough to distract her from the way that her other hip is secured by an empty wrist, and he knows by the way she freezes in his arms that she knows. 

 She whispers the name he gave her against his lips; he notes the way the word feels against his skin. He likes the way it feels when she says it, but he wonders if he’ll ever feel the truth falling from her lips. To his surprise, he feels her smile against his mouth and he pulls away, although he can’t seem to open his eyes. 

 “It’s okay,” she whispers. She holds his face in both of her hands and he feels envy. “Are you embarrassed?” 

 He nods without thinking, his forehead fused to hers and the tip of his nose running along the bridge of her own. 

 “You don’t have to be,” she whispers. “I already knew.” 

 “What?” he asks, looking up from her and meeting her deep emerald eyes. 

 Her smile is soft and kind and gentle. “I mean… yeah. It’s been weeks, and I'm good at noticing stuff.”

 “You’ve known for weeks?”

 “Since the first night.”

 “And you didn’t… It wasn’t…?”

 “No,” she whispers, her smile bright and understanding and somehow unchanged. “You're still hot as hell.” 

 He laughs, because what else is he supposed to do? He hasn’t thought of himself as attractive, not even remotely, since that day eight months and two days ago. But here she is, telling him he’s hot as hell even though she’s known since the first time they met that he only has one hand. 

 “How’d it happen?” she asks, lightly touching his forearm but not getting any closer to the scarred, angry skin just below, either because of his fear or her own. 

 He startles slightly. David told him he can’t tell anyone anything about that night, the night he lost his hand, so he shrugs as nonchalantly as he can. “Boating accident,” he tells her. They were at a marina, afterall; perhaps it’s not entirely a lie. 

 “Well, I’m sorry that happened. But it doesn't change anything.” 

 His nose is still pressed to hers and he doesn’t even think before nuzzling it against her own and making her grin, her giggle playful. “Thank you,” he whispers genuinely. “It’s taken a long time to get used to it– I'm still not used to it.” 

 He thinks of the pain. The way that it always hurts, always. He thinks of earlier when he put another small, shallow hole in his desk with the first pen he could find. He thinks of the way it isn’t there, and yet he’s somehow always reminded. He’ll never be used to it. 

 ~~~~

 It’s been two weeks, and he hasn’t gotten used to the way that it feels to kiss her. He can never get used to the way her lips slide against his, the way her fingers slip through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp. He’ll never get used to the way her thighs squeeze around his hips once they finally find privacy, the way her hand grabs his and pulls him until they find sanctuary in the women’s restroom. He won’t ever grow tired of the way she moans his name– the fake one– and grinds her hips against his and clings against him as if she can’t get enough. And he won't ever, ever get used to the way she holds tightly against his blunted forearm as she tells him how attractive she finds him. 

 She giggles when he boldly thrusts, just a bit, letting her get a taste of what she does to him when they’re like this. Ensuring that she knows the effect she has on him when she moans out a name that isn’t his and bites into the soft flesh of his collarbone just below his shirt. 

 “You know,” she starts, panting as she digs her fingers into his shoulder blades. It isn’t exactly easy to be in this position– to hold her up against the sink but also ensure that she’s pressed firmly to him– but it’s worth it. “One of these days I might let you beneath my jeans.” 

 He smirks against her, kissing her again and squeezing his palm against the plump flesh of her ass beneath the denim. “Is that so?”

 “Maybe.” 

 “And what will I have to do to earn such a privilege?”

 She hums and giggles all at once, shrugging and capturing him in another kiss, effectively silencing him. “I’ll know when I know.”

 He laughs. It’s a real laugh. But his arm gets tired, what with him being unable to hold her with one of them, so he rests her weight on the porcelain sink for a moment. It was only a moment, honest, but that doesn’t seem to matter. Apparently, two weeks of making out against a free-standing sink puts a great burden on its structural integrity, and almost immediately as he puts her down, the porcelain shatters beneath her, splintering under her weight and sending her towards the floor. 

 “Fuck!” he shouts, trying to catch her and hoping that her frightened shouts don’t draw any attention from the other customers. The destruction of the sink stems from the basin and into the pipes, the breakage sending water at each of them and they’re soaked through faster than they can even comprehend. 

 At first he’s worried, trying to pull her out of the way and block the spraying pipes, but then her laughter rings louder than the forceful sound of the water and he can’t help but to look up at her with a smile. 

 “Look at you,” she laughs, her hair curling with moisture and the skin beneath her eyes blackening with her running makeup. 

 “Look at you!” he laughs back, shaking out his hand and standing by her side. “You look frazzled. Beautiful, but frazzled.”

 “I’m gonna have to call someone about this,” she says lightly, as if it’s the furthest thing from her mind. “But thanks.”

 “For breaking your sink?”

 “For giving me an excuse to leave early,” she says, pulling him close to her once again, pressing onto her toes so she can press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m gonna have to go home and change. Apparently I’m frazzled.”

 “Aye,” he says softly. “As am I, I'm sure.”

 “You could always come back to my place. I have an energy efficient dryer.” 

 “And what will I wear in the meantime?”

 With a shrug, she tells him, “I’m not sure I’m overly concerned with what you’re wearing. Or what you’re not wearing.” 

 “Bloody hell,” he murmurs, not thinking before he wraps his right arm around her waist and pulls her close. “You’re…” He still can’t find the right word. Enigmatic? 

 “Horny.”

 “Aye?” he whispers. 

 “Yes. I want you.”

 She never hesitates to tell him exactly what she’s feeling and exactly what she’s thinking and exactly what she wants. It’s why he finds it so easy to believe her. Why wouldn’t he believe her?

 ~~~~

 Her apartment is small, and he doesn’t even feel strange when he chooses the word cute to describe it in his mind. It’s nicely decorated, although somewhat bleak, as if she hasn’t had the time to move in since she’s moved in. The space itself is quaint, aged in the best way, and the boxes stacked in the corner of her living room give it character. 

 He isn’t able to see much else, though, the rest of the apartment turning to a blur as she pushes him against the wall by the front door and ravages him with her mouth and hands, lifting a leg to hitch over his hip and grinding against him with as much coordination as she can muster. 

 She must be something of an athlete, he thinks as she maneuvers around him, contorts herself so that she’s as close to him as possible. How else would she be able to maintain a position like this if she wasn’t used to working on gaining strength and stamina? 

 He backs her up suddenly, her back against the wall now, his hips planted firmly against hers, and she hisses. “Fuck,” she chokes out, her head falling back against the wall when he mouth latches to her neck. “Fuck, yes.”

 “This is what you want?” he asks with more bold enthusiasm than he was expecting from himself. 

 “Yes, don’t stop doing that.”

 She’s panting, her breath warm as it washes over his head, and it makes him more wanton. He shifts downward slightly, his mouth finding the top of her breast and sliding along her skin until he reaches the fabric of her tank top. With further exploration, he discovers that he must have been right that second night when he assumed she wasn’t wearing a bra, because she isn’t wearing one now. 

 “Minx,” he bites out, pulling on the ribbed black fabric to expose more of her breast. “Do you always go braless to work?” 

 “You’ve gotta flaunt what you’ve got in my line of work,” she explains breathlessly, and he bites the soft flesh just above her hardened nipple. 

 “Suppose someone should see this one day,” he proposes, licking against the pebbled flesh and drawing a surprised gasp from her, “poking through your top. Is that merely a ploy for more tips?”

 “Maybe,” she breathes. “Maybe it’s a cry for attention.”

 “From Leroy?”

 “From you, you idiot.”

 He silences her when he pulls her hardened nipple between his lips, sucking just hard enough to drag a moan from her throat. It’s then that he realizes that he’s on her left side, and normally, were sex truly like riding a bicycle, he would reach for her other breast. Only he doesn’t have a left hand anymore, so how is he supposed to squeeze her right breast? This thought gives him pause, just long enough for her to notice and to take his face in her hands. 

 “Do you want me?” she asks him, the question surprising. 

 “Can you not tell how badly I want you, love?” he asks, his hips firm against hers, his cock hard in response to her. He thrusts against her gently, watches her eyes fall shut and a soft moan escape her lips. “Shall I show you?”

 She nods with enthusiasm, her chin bumping lightly against the top of his head, and he works hard to hold her tightly with his blunted arm so that he can squeeze her left thigh in his remaining hand. He slides it up, able to feel the soft fabric of her tight leggings and the contours of the muscles she has hidden underneath, and he’s jealous of his right hand for the loss of his left as he feels the roundness of her ass against his skin. 

 “Fuck,” she whispers again. “You’re so fucking hot.” 

 It’s not something he’s used to hearing. In fact, he isn’t sure anyone has ever called him that before– hot. Before Lily was Milah, and before Milah was a slew of unimportant women who warmed his bed. He lived his life that way for years, since losing his whole family one after another started to become too much. But then with Milah– after Milah– it became… not enough. 

 Maybe that was backwards. Maybe the loss of his family should have been more traumatic than the loss of a woman he almost loved along with his hand. Maybe it just goes to show how broken he truly is. 

 But here, and now, with Lily in his arms and her back against the wall and her hips grinding into his, he realizes that he isn’t as broken as he thought he was. Well, maybe that isn’t true– he’s certainly still broken. But maybe he can heal. 

 His hand, or what’s left on the end of his wrist, is healing. The doctor says it’s healing nicely. But he’s gone through the last eight months, two weeks, and three days assuming that his brain and his mind and his thoughts would never be more than the fragments of his shattered life. 

 How Lily calling him hot can change his mind, he isn’t sure, but it drives him forward, convinces him to allow her access to his belt, and then to his button and then to his zipper. It drives him to the waist of her damp leggings, soaked through with water from that blasted sink. It drives him to suck a small mark into her collarbone, eliciting a desperate gasp from her as he tugs at the stubborn fabric until it’s resting at her knees. 

 His fingers find her hot and wet and waiting for him, and he looks her in the eyes and is met with her quick nod, her bottom lip captured tightly between her teeth. Her head falls back against the door when he touches her, her jaw falling slack and making it impossible for him to stop himself from attaching his lips to her soft, pinkening skin on her neck. 

 It’s difficult to hold her up and continue to trace intricate patterns over her clit. It’s harder, still, to keep her pressed against him and suspended from the floor while he slips a finger, then a second, into her core. But as she grows closer and closer to that precipice, as he drags her to the cliff and holds her close as he encourages her towards the edge, he can ignore the cramp in his arm and the tightness in his back. 

 She calls him Peter when she comes. He wouldn’t expect anything else, but it makes him long for the truth. It makes him want to be his true self with her, and he hasn't wanted to be that in a very, very long time.

 He carries her through her half-empty apartment as she catches her breath, her arms around his back tight, her fingers clinging sharply to the sweater he longs to take off. When he drops her onto her mattress, her eyes are hooded as she stares up at him. She reaches for him, seeming unhappy with being apart, and the thought makes him fight off a smile. Once she has her hands on him she finds the hem of his sweater, the one he doesn’t particularly like, the one that reminds him that he’s Peter and not Killian, and pulls it over his head. 

 They’re breathless when they come together. Finally tucking himself inside her is a feeling unlike anything he’s ever experienced or is likely to again. He thought he was beyond any sort of happiness, and having her beneath him is perfection. It’s overwhelming to realize that he’s here with her and it makes his breathing stutter as he drives into her with more force. The change of pace makes her cry out, her knees tight around his hips, and he can feel her squeezing him as she reaches that precipice again. The warm tightness makes him squeeze his eyes shut until her hand finds its way to his cheek, encouraging him to open them, and when he does, it’s like something shifts. 

 He’s loved Lily since the first time he saw her. But now, as their eyes meet and they climax together, he knows he’ll never be the same. And he knows he can’t lose her. 

 ~~~~

 Her head is heavy on his chest, the weight of it comforting against his heart as her even breath washes over the coarse dark hair that she can't seem to keep her fingers out of, even in sleep. He hears her hum softly, her fingers moving just slightly as she seems to drift into consciousness. She nuzzles her cheek against his chest and he feels a soft pressure as if she’s smiling against him. It makes him smile, too. 

 As she starts to stir, she tightens her grip on him, her arm sliding along his chest and hugging him close to herself, and everything is almost perfect until she stiffens. Following a low, deep rumble, she gasps, tensing above him and looking up at him with the widest eyes he’s ever seen. “Excuse me,” she says in embarrassment. 

 “Did you just belch?” 

 Her cheeks are set aflame, her teeth digging into her bottom lip as she fights back a laugh and nods. “Sorry.” 

 “You’re insane.” 

 “Well you just slept with me, so what does that make you?”

 “Also insane,” he agrees with a laugh. Without hardly thinking about it, he finds himself grinning, rolling her until she’s on her back and he can cage her between his arms, the marred one hidden beneath the pillow under her head. She laughs brightly as she stares up into his eyes and he feels his heart racing. “Sleep well?” 

 “Mhmm,” she hums. She lifts a hand and lets it cup his cheek, her thumb tracing the small scar that he thought was unsightly until he lost his hand. “You?”

 “Mhmm. It’s, um… it’s been a bit.” 

 “Since the last time you were with someone?” 

 “Aye,” he whispers. 

 “Me too,” she whispers back, giving him a soft comforting smile. “My last boyfriend turned out to be a major creep.” 

 “I’m sorry,” he tells her. He rolls onto his side and she follows, staring at him in a way that he isn’t used to. “You deserve better than that.” 

 “So do you.”

 He finds it hard to answer. He isn’t sure that’s true, considering everything, so he says, “Well, my last girlfriend turned out to be married.” And then murdered.

 “Yikes,” she cringes, shaking her head. He catches the way her eyes drift off beyond him, her thoughts consuming her for a moment, before she asks, “Was it before… before your hand?” 

 Of course it was. The last time he was with Milah was just before she told him the truth, about her husband, about his treatment of her, about the way that she was prepared to go back to the monster of a man. It was just hours before the last time he saw her alive. Just hours before he saw the life drain from her eyes and felt the blood draining from his wrist. 

 “Yes,” he chokes out, plagued by the memories of a woman who never really loved him but died for him anyway. 

 She touches his forearm again, the one that he thinks he’s done a pretty good job of hiding from her, and squeezes in a way that’s more comforting than he was expecting. His scars are healing, no longer raw or burning or swollen, the stitches long gone, but it’s still the ugliest part of him and having her hand just above the unsightly wound makes him shiver. Her eyes meet his, gleaming in the morning sunlight and reminding him of a shard of sea glass as she stares so deeply at him that he thinks she must be seeing his soul. He wonders what she finds there– wonders if it’s actually his soul, or if it belongs to Peter Harrison, the man she believes him to be. 

 Without saying a word, without her eyes leaving his, she takes his wrist towards herself, her lips still just slightly swollen as she presses them against his tender, broken skin. She gives him a smile, her thumb gently running along one of his longer scars, and kisses him once more, causing a chill to run down his spine. 

 “Are you okay?” she asks in a whisper, and the question, he thinks, goes deeper than just to inquire about his hand. 

 “I think so,” he answers honestly, just as softly as she had asked her question, and his response makes her smile. 

 “I just… obviously I haven’t been in your shoes. But I know this is probably a lot for you to process.” David had said that once, that it’ll be a lot to process. It is; the loss of his hand is only one piece of the puzzle that, when put together, will tell the story of his suffering. His hand being obliterated to the point it could not be saved is only one of the things that haunts him. The horror of watching a woman he could have loved being strangled, watching her take her last breath, will never leave him. 

 He thinks of that night too often, recalling the way that horrible man destroyed every part of him as he took his shots, missing the one he shouldn’t have. Had he not struck Killian two inches too far to the left, perhaps he would have reached his goal of killing him. Perhaps, in that case, Killian would have been put out of his misery and he never would have had to become Peter Harrison. 

 But he doesn’t want to die anymore, at least, he doesn’t think so. With Lily’s fingers sliding along his chest, he thinks he’ll allow himself to live for a bit longer. 

 “What’s this?” she asks after a consuming silence forces its way between them. When he comes back to himself, forcing away the thoughts of pain and suffering, he notes the way her fingers slide along his skin until they find the scar on his back, the one from the bullet that almost missed him and almost killed him, too far to the left to have done any damage. Her fingers circle the small wound that’s all but healed and he shivers again. 

 “A scar,” he answers simply, his voice rough and deep and forced. 

 “From what?” 

 He’s silent. He can’t answer, because for whatever reason, he gets the impression that she already knows. Even if he was allowed to tell her the truth, to tell her that his name isn’t Peter and that his life is in danger but that he doesn't truly care, he knows he wouldn’t, because he couldn’t stand to see the look on her face if he were to tell her what truly happened. 

 So he rolls her over and he kisses her again, and he keeps kissing her until she’s consumed by him as he always is by her, and she seems to forget that she asked in the first place. 

 ~~~~

 He’s unsure of what to do. 

 There’s nothing he really can do, truthfully. For a moment he wondered if physical therapy would help, but then he recalled that there’s nothing there for a physical therapist to work on. 

 All he can do is suffer. 

 The pain is as agonizing as it is disorienting. How can he look at a hand that isn’t there and feel such pain within it? All he can think about as he sits at his too-small desk in his too-small office is recall the feeling of Gold’s bullet penetrating his skin and muscle and bone, shattering it until it was of no use to him. 

 And now there’s nothing there to treat, so all he can do is dig his remaining fingers into the wood of his desk and start digging through his drawer for a pen that he hasn’t broken yet. 

 “Good morning!” he hears as he grips the pen in his fist, the door swinging open and revealing his panting, sweating, cursing form to the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. “Peter?” 

 He grunts as he forces the pen out of his fist, dropping it to the floor and trying and failing to drag in some oxygen. He can’t speak to her, his jaw is clenched too tightly. He hears her hurrying into his office, something dropping onto the desk and something else dropping onto the floor as she kneels before him and takes his fist in her hand. 

 “What’s wrong?” she asks in worry, her thumb running along his knuckles, and it would be comforting if this was the hand paining him. “Peter,” she says more soothingly, voice soft and angelic, and she stands between his knees and takes his face between her hands, pressing his forehead to hers. “Peter, just breathe. It’s okay,” she whispers onto his mouth. 

 He tries, he really does. The breath he takes in is short and forceful, the sound escaping him embarrassing. “Deep breaths,” she instructs gently, her fingers scratching against his scalp. She shushes him and the sound penetrates his thoughts and his agony until he’s able to breathe deeply enough to smell her intoxicating perfume. “That’s it,” she encourages. “It’s okay.” 

 The pain is still there, but it’s lessened somehow, and he didn’t need to thrust a pen into his desk to achieve the same results. “I’m sorry,” he finally forces out when he feels himself able to speak again. 

 “Don’t apologize,” she whispers, and then before he can think or even open his eyes, her soft, pliant lips are pressed to his and his thoughts are erased at last. She stays there for only a moment, not long enough before she pulls away and runs the perfect tip of her nose along the bridge of his. “What happened?” 

 He shakes his head. He can’t possibly burden her with this foolishness, so he keeps quiet and lets his hand hold onto her wrist as her own fingers continue their ministrations along his scalp. “Nothing,” he murmurs, and she feels her breath escaping her lips in a soft laugh that lands against his mouth. 

 “That wasn’t nothing, Peter,” she accuses. The more she hears that names fall from her lips, the more he longs to correct her, and it’s becoming almost as agonizing as his hand that no longer exists. “Is it… I mean, I’ve heard before that sometimes amputations can–” 

 “Aye,” he interrupts. She’s right, of course, but he’d rather not put it to words. He much prefers to ignore it. “You’re right, love. I’m sorry that I ruined your visit– I wasn’t expecting you.” 

 She seems to read him easily, pulling away and smiling as she stands up straight. “I was surprising you,” she tells him with a smile. “The point is that you didn’t expect me. I brought you coffee.” 

 “Well, thank you,” he says, forcing a smile. “I’m sure I needed this.” 

 “Peter,” she says, more serious suddenly, and his face falls at the sound of her voice wrapping around a name that isn’t his. 

 “I’m alright, Lily,” he says, trying to reassure her, although her face falls the same way he’s sure he did. “What is it?” he asks, placing the paper mug on his desk and taking her hand in his. 

 “Nothing,” she smiles, and it makes him think of himself, telling her the exact same thing. “Just… I found out I’m not actually on the schedule for today when I thought I was so I figured I'd pay you a visit. I, um– I missed you,” she admits more shyly, and it makes him smile. 

 “Well, I missed you, too, love,” he smiles back. How is it possible for him to be smiling when he was halfway to wishing for death just moments ago? “I’m glad you paid me a visit; I'm just sorry you had to… to see that.” 

 “I told you not to apologize,” she reminds him, leaning forward and pressing her lips to his in a tender kiss that makes his heart stutter behind his ribs. She leans away and hoists herself onto his tattered desk, able to ignore the tiny holes that little the surface and crossing her ankles as she smiles at him and reaches for the bag from Granny’s. “I also got you a bearclaw.” 

 “Oh dear,” he says, shaking his head at her playfully. “I’m afraid I'm much more of a donut person.” 

 Lily takes in a deep breath and lets it out with a sigh, shaking her own head and then rolling her eyes. “Okay,” she says with a nod. “Well, Peter, it was nice while it lasted, but we’re going to have to break up now,” she teases as she hops to the floor and starts to step away. He catches her, though, his hand reaching into the back pocket of her tight jeans and tugging her towards him until she falls into his lap with a ringing laugh. 

 His lips find her neck, and he finds himself much more playful than he’s ever been after having one of his episodes of pain and self-hatred. “How can we be broken up,” he murmurs against the shell of her ear, smirking when he feels her shudder, “when we never established a relationship in the first place?” 

 He isn’t sure what makes him ask– he’s never been so bold or straightforward, not even with Milah. But her answer makes his boldness worth it. “I thought you knew that you’re stuck with me,” she says, her tone joking and yet somehow completely serious. 

 “My, my. Lily Quinn, are you asking me out?” 

 She stills for a second before turning to face him and nodding. “I suppose so.”

 Their lips meet, and everything else in the room disappears. Every hardship he’s ever experienced melts into the background as she kisses him, her mouth soft and perfect and her tongue tracing along his own in a way that makes his spine tingle. He can do nothing but pull her closer once she’s maneuvered herself into his lap, her legs straddling his and her fingers finding their way into his hair again. 

 “Are you busy?” she asks against his mouth breathlessly. 

 “Yes,” he breathes back, suddenly consumed with need as he picks her up with some difficulty and deposits her on the desk. “With you.”

 She lets out a breathless laugh, the sound cut off by her gasp when he kisses her. Their actions are quick and hasty, their need for each other only mildly outweighed by their need not to be caught. Neither of them bother with their shirts, Lily reaching for his belt and loosening it just enough so that she can undo his trousers and watch them fall to the floor. He steps out of them, though perhaps he shouldn’t. He lets her pull his boxers down, though, and he steps out of those, too. 

 He finds the jeans she wears intoxicating. He loves when she wears them to work almost as much as he loves when she goes to the bar without a bra, but there’s no time to explore the soft skin of her breasts today. Instead, he pushes her jeans off of her ass and squeezes the flesh there with his one remaining hand, the other arm resting at his side and desperate to feel her with his lost fingers. Her tongue finds its way into his mouth as he slides her underwear down, too, the garments landing on the floor beside his own trousers. 

 She gasps when he enters her after just a moment of foreplay, his fingers quickly ensuring that she’s ready for him before his cock slides home inside her. She bites his lip, her fingers clinging to the material of the gray knit on his shoulders. “Fuck,” she breathes into his mouth, a moan escaping her throat. 

 “Okay?” he asks. 

 She nods rapidly, desperately, her hips starting to move and bounce above him, seeking the pressure and the friction that’ll get her to ecstasy. “Harder,” she begs almost silently, and he grips her hips to thrust forcefully up into her, making her cry out too loudly. 

 They both come quickly, their mouths latching together to ensure that they’re silent enough not to get caught by his coworkers. And he holds her, feels her breath panting out against his hot skin, and even though the life he’s presented to her is technically a lie, he’s never felt more like the person he wants to be. 

 ~~~~

 “There’s someone new in town,” she says after a while, her breathing having evened out although her fingers continue to draw small patterns into the skin of his collarbone along the neckline of his shirt. 

 “Is there?” 

 “Yeah. I think he’s from Boston, too; do you know him?” 

 He kisses her temple over the hair clinging to her skin and chuckles. “I’m afraid I don’t know everyone from Boston, love.” 

 “I think his name is Ian, or something.” 

 His hand slips along her back beneath her top, although he slows his movements slightly at her continued inquiry. “You’re rather distracted by this newcomer,” he points out, and she shrugs. With a joking tone, he asks, “Should I be jealous?” 

 “No,” she giggles without a second thought before she presses a kiss to his neck and then drops her head back down to his chest. “No,” she says again with more relaxation. “I’m just curious.” 

 “I know,” he murmurs against her head. “You are quite a curious lass.” 

 “Are you calling me a lass because of how much younger I am than you?” she asks in jest, and he moves his hand so that he can pinch her hip, making her giggle again. 

 He would answer with as much a joking tone as she had given him, but they’re interrupted, the ringing of his phone distracting him from the softness of her skin against his and reminding him that she lies half naked atop him, her jeans lying beside his on the floor of his office, which anyone can enter at any time. He kisses her once more, moving carefully so that he doesn’t disturb her too much as he reaches for his phone in his pants pocket.

 “Is it your other girlfriend?” she asks, and he swats her ass playfully, making her yelp and laugh. 

 It’s not, of course. It’s David– the last person he wants to talk to with Lily resting pantsless on his lap. “A friend,” he explains with unease. 

 She removes herself from him, reaching for the box of tissues on his desk and giving him a look that invites him to swipe the screen to answer. “David,” he says tightly, hoping that his tone gives away the fact that it’s a horrible time for him to be calling. 

 “Killian,” he answers too loudly, but Lily doesn’t seem to notice. “How are things?”

 “Fine.”

 He watches as she struts back towards him, her underwear back on but her jeans still sitting on the floor, and she stops to pick up his boxers and toss them at him. “Good,” David says as he struggles to keep the phone tucked against his shoulder while tugging his boxers back over his legs. She giggles and bites into her bottom lip as she watches, walking around to the back of his desk chair and placing her hands on his shoulders, holding his phone against his ear for him. “I’m probably going to pay you a visit.”

 “That’s no problem,” he answers, although he clears his throat loudly when she bends towards him, her lips dancing along the shell of his ear that isn’t being burned by his Marshal’s interruptions. “When?” 

 “Tomorrow, if not Wednesday.” 

 “Fine,” he says with a cough and a sigh. 

 “Killian, Are you alright?” he asks, and how is he supposed to correct the man on the other line when her mouth trails down his neck and her hands start to scratch through the hair on his chest? “You sound… strange.”

 He clears his throat once more, leaning his head against hers and sighing. “I’ve got to go,” he says with more urgency. “I suppose I'll see you tomorrow or Wednesday.” 

 “Alright, just tell me to bring a pepperoni pizza if you’re in danger right now.” 

 Bloody hell. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’ve plenty of food at home. See you soon, Dave.” 

 He hears her giggle in his ear before he even drops the phone to his lap, and he spins in his chair so that he faces her, pulling her back down into his lap and pinching her hip once more. “You’re a scoundrel.” 

 “Mhmm,” she agrees happily, leaning in to kiss him earnestly. “Are you expecting a visit?” 

 He shrugs. “I suppose I am.” 

 “From a friend?” 

 “An old friend, uh, from school. Certainly not a girlfriend.” 

 She hums and kisses him once more. “Good. And do I get to meet this friend?” 

 He gulps. He doesn’t really know the answer to that, isn’t familiar with the ins and outs of a witness’s new girlfriend meeting their court appointed Marshal. So he shrugs and says, “I’m not really sure. Dave is, well, he’s quite shy.” 

 “But I'm such a catch,” she jokes, pressing a kiss to his nose before standing. 

 “Yes, you are,” he answers with a solid pinch to her bum as she makes her way to her jeans. 

 Once they’re pulled onto her long legs she stands straight before him, picking up her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. “I’m off,” she says. “I need to go grocery shopping.”

 “Just a visit for a quickie, then?” he jokes, and she rolls her eyes. 

 “I guess so. But maybe I’ll stop by your place tonight.” She shoots him a smirk as she walks towards the door and he realizes that he’s still not wearing pants. She winks and walks out the door without so much as another word. 

 ~~~~

 It’s raining when he walks home that night. The roads are slick and although it’s not too cold out, he longs for a leather jacket to keep the moisture from soaking into his back. 

 He hasn’t felt like himself since he’s gotten here, forced to change everything about himself from his name to the way he used to like to dress. He’s not himself anymore, in fact; the Killian Jones he used to know had two hands and less to worry about. 

 But if there’s one thing that makes him feel like himself, or at least a version of himself who he can stand, it’s Lily. 

 She’s bright, and contagiously happy, and hilarious. She’s youthful and energetic, beautiful and intelligent. He can’t get enough of her. He can’t get her out of his head. He had thoughts of hatred for himself when he moved here, and she’s begun to chop away at them all, because if she can stand to be around him, hell, if she can enjoy her time with him, maybe he’s not that bad after all. 

 He loves her. He’s only known her a few months, but it’s been more than enough time for him to fall madly in love with Lily Quinn. 

 He’s confused when he sees her on his way home, though. She had already texted him and told him that she wouldn’t make it over tonight because she found out last minute that she has to work. But here she is, well past the time her shift should have started, sitting in her Bug and staring contemplatively out the window at the building across the street. 

 “Lily,” he says through the open passenger window, and she jumps a mile in her seat and looks at him in complete shock, as if seeing him is the last thing she would have expected. “What… Are you okay?” 

 “Peter,” she says back, placing her hand on her heart that he assumes must be beating erratically. “You startled me.” 

 “Sorry,” he tells her, and he watches her unlock the door and takes it as an invitation to join her in the passenger’s seat. “I thought you were working?” 

 She clears her throat, her eyes darting, looking at everything in her line of sight except for him. They both hear a sound, the front door of the building she’s watching opening, and she jumps again. He looks ahead at the man leaving the building and feels a cold sweat settling over him as a pit forms in his stomach, realizing quickly that something isn’t right. Because even from this distance and even in the dim street lamps, he can tell clear as day that the man they’re both staring at is his old roommate from Boston. “Fuck,” she breathes, looking around again nervously this time and turning to her back seat. 

 That’s when he turns, too, taking in the contents of the box sitting on the floor behind her seat and noticing a jacket. A black leather jacket, useless now with a hole in the torso and a blood stain on the left sleeve. 

 That’s his jacket. The one he was wearing on the worst night of his life. 

 “Where did you get that?” he asks her slowly, and she looks like a rabid dog caught on a leash as she watches August jump into a truck and drive away, obviously wanting nothing more than to follow him. “Lily.”

 “Fuck!” she says again, louder this time, her hand colliding with the steering wheel before she rests her head on it. “God dammit.” 

 “What the hell is going on?” he demands. As he watches her painfully grappling with what to do, with whether she should start her engine and follow the man she’s clearly been watching, the man who could have followed him from Boston and could be about to ruin everything, he feels something shattering. Suddenly everything starts to fall apart, the trust he had for her slipping through his fingers and the happiness he thought he felt seeming to melt away. 

 “I’m… I don’t know how to tell you,” she says, and when he looks at her with anger in his heart, he can see the way that she’s breaking, too. He has no idea what’s going on with her, with the two of them, but he finds it hard to believe that whatever is between them isn’t splitting at the seams. She sniffles and says, “I’m sorry.” 

 “Why are you sorry?” he asks with a bit more tenderness in his voice, finding it impossible to handle seeing tears starting to well in her eyes. “What’s going on? Why do you have my old jacket in your backseat? Why are you following August?” 

 “August?” she asks in confusion, shaking her head. “That’s not August, that’s the new guy from Boston; the guy I was asking you about earlier.”

 “No, that’s–”

 “Wait.”

 “Lily–”

 “Did you say–” Her face falls. Her mouth slacks open. Her eyes grow wide with fear and something else. She whispers into the dark, “Your jacket?” 

 “Aye, mine. I thought I’d lost it; it wasn’t with my personal effects when I left the hospital.” 

 Her hands cover her mouth, her eyes growing more tearful as she shakes her head. “No,” she chokes out before letting out a sob. “No. Fuck, no.”

 “Lily–” he starts, trying to put his hand on her shoulder, but she pulls away.

“Don’t call me that,” she insists through tears before she turns to start her engine. 

 He lets out a sarcastic laugh and asks, “And what will you have me call you, then?” he asks in exasperation, watching on in concern as she peels away from the curb without barely checking her surroundings and rushes towards his apartment, not hers. “Lily, what are you–” 

 “Emma,” she says forcefully, turning to him for just a second before wiping her eyes and looking back to the road. “My name is Emma.” 

 The only word he can use to describe himself is stunned. He’s silent, his mouth hanging slack just as hers was just a moment ago. His brows pinch together in thought as he looks at her, really looks at her, and for the first time, something seems to click. 

 Emma. 

 He can’t even be angry with her. He isn’t sure what reason she could possibly have to make up a fake name, but it dawns on him once more that she’s known him as Peter Harrison since they met almost six months ago. How can he be upset with her for lying about her true identity when he’s done nothing but lie to her from the moment they met? 

 All he can say is, “Why?” 

 She pulls sharply into a parking spot just outside of his building, looking around suspiciously before hurrying out of the car and towards his building’s front door, leaving him to follow. 

 He hurries out of the car behind her, throwing the door shut and taking out his key to open the door for her. “Li– Emma?” he tries, not used to feeling the name on his lips, but she rushes ahead of him, bypassing the elevator as she shoves the door to the stairs open and pushes through, barely waiting for him before sprinting up to his floor. 

 Once they’re inside his apartment, he stands behind her as she locks the door, and then, overcome with frustration and confusion and a need for answers, he places his hand and wrist on the door around her head and forces her eyes to meet his. “What the hell is going on?” 

 “Peter,” she starts, and he almost corrects her, but he can’t get a word in. Tearfully, she says, “Tell me you didn’t live with that man. Please, please just tell me that isn’t your jacket and this is all just a cruel joke.” 

 He stares at her for a moment, consumed with sadness and confusion. “Why would it be? Why would you know that?” 

 She shakes her head, looking down from his eyes. “Then you know… You know Robert Gold, then?” 

 His jaw tightens immediately, his teeth clenching together painfully, and he almost presses his hand to her neck at the threat but chooses instead to dig his fingers into the wood of the door and deny her freedom when she tries to pull away from him. “Why do you know that name?” he asks through his teeth. 

 She glances up for a moment and then back down. “I work for him,” she whispers. 

 He almost hits his hand against the door and pulls away, anger all consuming, boiling his blood and sending it singing through his veins as he tries to catch his breath. 

 But he can’t catch his breath, not as she continues to speak a harsh truth. “I’m a bounty hunter. I was hired by Robert Gold to find the witness to his wife’s murder; a man in his early-to-mid-forties who wears a lot of leather and–” 

 “And what?” he seethes when she doesn’t go on. 

 Her eyes meet his and sadness rim them as she weakly admits, “And had his hand… shot off… a year ago.”

 “Bloody hell,” he curses and while he’s angry, furious, he can’t help but to feel something quite the opposite as he looks at her and realizes he finally knows the real her. Emma. 

 “I’m sorry,” she whispers in anguish, wiping away the tears in her eyes. “I don't– This can’t be happening.”

 “Aye, well, it is,” he says with just a touch of snark staining his voice, and she lets out a sob, dropping her face to her hands. 

 “I thought you were Peter Harrison,” she cries. “You lost your hand in a boating accident. You never wear leather! If I had known that you were the one I was supposed to be looking for…” 

 “What? You would’ve gotten it over with sooner?” he asks with viper shooting through his words. 

 “I would’ve left!” she shouts honestly, desperately. “I would’ve fled.” 

 And that’s just it, isn’t it? She would’ve left. Just like every other good thing in his life, she would have brought this to an end. “If your plan is to turn me in, you may as well just–”

 “No. I’m not going to do that; I would never hurt you,” she says lowly, painfully, her eyes filled with wet tears he’s never seen before. “I swear to you, Killian.”

 He stands before her, eyes widening despite his attempts at staying stoic and angry, and he realizes… she knows his name. She knows the real him. Practically speechless, all he can utter is, “I…”

 “That’s right, isn’t it? You’re Killian Jones. You had an affair with Milah Gold and were present when her husband shot her in cold blood, right? He thought he killed you, too; shot you in the back and in the hand. But he found out the hard way that you had escaped when his clean up crew couldn’t find you.” 

 He shakes off the shock of hearing his story told back to him after hiding it for so many months and becomes defensive again even though the words hurt as they leave his mouth. “The fact that you know this just… I have to call someone. I have to have this taken care of.”

 “Pe- Killian, I’m not going to turn you in, you have my word!”

 “I don’t want your word,” he tells her without thinking, turning back to face her and meeting the tragedy in her eyes. “I– Emma. All this time, we've been lying to one another! All I want now is the truth.” 

 “The truth?” she asks softly, stepping close to him and meeting his desperate eyes with her matching ones. “The truth is that it doesn’t matter to me who you are. I don’t care if you’re Peter or Killian; it doesn’t matter.” She lifts her hand timidly, as if nervous of his reaction, but chooses to place it upon his heart anyway. “I fell in love with you. The second I met you I wouldn’t have hurt you. If I had known it was you, I would’ve run then and there.”

 “Run?” he asks, the word stinging as it leaves his lips and his hand lifting against his will. If he had them both, they would be cupping her cheeks. But all he has is the left side of her face against his palm. 

 “I have to run,” she whispers up to him. “When Gold finds out… he’ll kill me when I don’t–”

 It’s amazing how quickly and easily he makes up his mind, knowing without a single doubt that he’ll do anything to ensure that he doesn’t have to be without her. 

 He cuts her off, mostly because the thought of her leaving, even after all of the revelations and truths, makes him nauseous. But also because, in all the hazy frenzy, he’s just now realizing what she said. And he’s realizing that he fell in love with her, too. 

 And he’s always been the first one to say it. 

 She returns his kiss as if she isn’t even thinking, her hands sliding into his hair easily and quickly and a soft whimper breaking between their lips. Neither of them seem to even breathe before he’s backing her up to press her against the door, gripping her ass as best he can so that she jumps into his arms and locks her legs around his waist. 

 His lips slide down to her neck, latching to the tender skin above her collarbone, and she lets out a soft, intoxicating moan before whispering again, “I’m sorry.”

 “Don’t,” he begs against her skin, sucking a mark into it as he feels her fingers scratching against his scalp. “Don’t say that again. Please.”

 “Peter, I– fuck.” She drops her head back against the door and when he looks up at her and finds her bottom lip stuck between her teeth, tears filling her eyes again, he smiles at her sadly. 

 “It’s okay,” he whispers. His forehead falls to hers and he kisses her softly. “It’ll probably take some getting used to, not calling you Lily.”

 She looks at him for just a moment and smiles sadly before her face shifts, tears returning and her smile flipping into a frown before she looks away. 

 “Don’t say you’re sorry,” he says again. “You love me?”

 “Yes,” she answers immediately, firmly. She’s crying again when she says, “And I’m so sorry that I lied to you all this time, Killian.” 

 “It’s not like I was being entirely truthful with you either, love.”

 “But you have a good reason to lie,” she argues. “Witness protection, right?”

 He nods. “You did, too, though. I’m sure you can’t roll into town and announce your true intentions.” She nods, too, still saddened and struggling to meet his eyes, so he kisses her once more, soft and tender and with as much love as he can pour into her. “What would you have done?” he asks. “If I had been someone else? Just a random bloke from the bar?”

 She’s pensive for a moment, pursing her lips in thought. “I would’ve come back,” she whispers. “I would’ve brought the target in and quit, and then I would've come back. But then… that would’ve been a lie, too.”

 “Then perhaps this is for the best?”

 “What is?”

 With a small smile, he tells her, “I love you, too. It’s probably best that we get this all out in the open now, aye?”

 Her hands find his cheeks, her thumbs running along the skin beneath his eyes, along the scar he’s had for longer than he can recall, and he’s never seen someone look so saddened. “How can you love me, after everything?” she asks in defeat. 

 “The same way you can love me even though a big part of me hates myself.”

 She sighs heavily, shaking her head and frowning deeply. “I hate hearing you say that,” she whispers, tightening her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as if trying to bring him impossibly closer to herself. 

 “It’s true,” he says simply. “I never thought I would feel this way again, after everything with Milah. But… Emma, with you, it’s so much more.” 

 Her forehead is pressed to his as she nods. “For me, too.” 

 “Then don’t run,” he practically begs. “Don’t leave me.”

 She whispers his name, his real name, against his lips and it sends a shiver down his spine. “I need you,” she tells him, the desperation in her voice sending a jolt of desire straight down to his cock. “Not just… I mean, not just now; not just physically. I need you. I don't want to think about what my life would be like without you in it.” 

 “Then don’t,” he begs, finding himself repetitive but not caring. Maybe if he says it enough…

 Her lips are on his in an instant, hot and desperate, the feeling rushing between them like a current as they attempt to sooth the pain they're both in. He can’t help himself now, pressing her firmly against the door with his hips and groaning in response to the needy sound she makes. She angles her own hips just right so that he can feel the heat of her skin through his jeans and it makes him shudder. And she never once breaks her lips away from his as she fumbles with his belt and then his button and his zipper, letting his jeans fall loudly to the floor and tangling around his ankles. 

 “Please,” she breathes into his mouth, the heat of her voice making him thrust his hips towards her. The feeling of her leggings against him is strange but not unwelcome, although he wastes no further time as he starts to precariously tug at the waistband and pull the fabric from her heated skin. “Please, Killian, I need you.” 

 She’s never begged like this before, and something about it drives him even more wild. It’s something possessive and carnal within him that sparks in the base of his spine and in his belly and radiates out to every part of him, his fingers tingling and his cock twitching as she desperately pulls his boxers over his hips and sends them down with his jeans. He tugs at her underwear, the small cotton thong no match for the desperation in his fingertips, and he feels her whimpering against his mouth as he touches her, intent on ensuring that she’s ready for him. 

 Her tongue is dancing against his in a graceful frenzy and then she breaks away, her eyes deep and watery as they look into his and she nods quickly. He watches her teeth sink into her bottom lip as he drags the tip of his cock along her folds, her center hot and wet, and she lets out a breathless whimper and locks her eyes on his when he finally eases himself inside. Their foreheads collide, but it doesn’t hurt. Their noses brush against one another before she captures him in a bruising kiss. 

 She moves with him, eager and intense as she uses the door at her back to ground herself and circles her hips to meet each of his thrusts. Her fingers are tight in his hair, tugging relentlessly before she drops her right hand between them and finds that perfect spot just above where they’re joined. She moans out his name, throwing her head back against the door in what he knows must be a painful collision, but she doesn’t even seem to notice. 

 It’s good like this, quick and dirty and just what they need, but after a moment something tells him that it isn’t quite enough. He braces himself, pulling her body close to his and using his good hand to grip her ass tightly so that she bucks towards him, then he kicks his jeans off of his ankles clumsily as he stumbles his way through the apartment. She protests softly when he breaks his mouth from hers, regretting it too but needing to see where he’s going, and instead of waiting, she busies her mouth with his neck, her tongue dragging from beneath his earlobe down to his collarbone. Her mouth breaks away from his skin with a pop of suction when he pulls out and drops her to the mattress, and she lets out another irresistible moan. 

 Her name falls from his lips as he crawls onto the bed with her, hovering over her and unable to catch his breath before her legs are cradling his hips and her heels are pressing into his ass in a desperate attempt to get him back inside her. With how insistent she is, how needy and hot she is, he finds it impossible to resist giving her exactly what she wants. 

 They stay like that for a bit, with him heavy on top of her as he thrusts in, trying to find that perfect angle that makes her shout. But she’s restless, the emotions flowing between them making her jittery, so she presses against him until they’re rolling over, Killian landing on his back and Emma straddling her thighs over his hips and throwing her head back at the new depth. 

 “Fuck,” she breathes out towards the ceiling, her fingers sharp as they dig into his shoulders. “Just like that.”

 “That’s good?” he asks, finding himself more verbal than usual as he seeks out her approval. She’s moving against him but he finds that he can’t stop himself from thrusting up, too, meeting each of her thrusts with his own and unable to hold in the groan that escapes his throat when she tightens her muscles around him. 

 “So fucking good, Killian. Don’t stop–” she chokes out. She lets her fingers find her clit again, rubbing furious circles as he digs his fingers into her hips.

 “Come on, love,” he begs, feeling unlike himself but not caring. “Come for me; I know you’re close.”

 The sound of his voice seems to have the effect he was hoping for. He feels her core go impossibly tighter, her fingers moving over her even more quickly as her mouth hangs open and her eyes squeeze shut. Then, with a cry of his name, he feels her reaching that precipice, and as she collapses onto his chest and her muscles continue to contract, he lets himself go, too, holding onto her more tightly than he thinks he ever has.

 ~~~~

 She’s heavy on his chest like she usually is when they find themselves in this position, her head resting against the hair that she enjoys running her fingers through. Every now and again, the small ring she wears on her middle finger catches slightly on a strand of hair and makes him jump just a bit, and he feels her lips pressing against his skin in soft apology, her arm tightening around his waist in a soothing hug. It’s what makes him realize that he feels just as she does: he can't even begin to consider how his life would be without her in it. 

 But then, as much as the weight of her over his heart soothes him and calms his rapid pulse, he can’t help the sense of dread that floods through him each time he considers the fact that this can’t last. It simply can't. She’s meant to bring him to his death and he’s meant to die. The two of them can’t be together despite how badly they both want to be. 

 “You’re making me dizzy,” she whispers after far too much silence has passed between them.

 “What?” he asks with a soft laugh despite how much pain he’s in at the thought of losing her. Part of him thinks that this might be the last time he’ll ever hold her. 

 “You’re thinking too hard. Those gears in your head are turning so fast that they’re making me dizzy.” 

 He sighs, unable to fight the small smile that she always seems to bring to his lips. “I just don’t know…” he trails off helplessly. “Is it a coincidence that August should happen to be here, as well?”

 She’s quiet for a moment, her fingers drawing soft circles in his skin, before she softly admits, “I kind of… after you left Boston, I searched your place. One of Gold’s goons broke me in. I found out, I mean, I guess August’s dad is from here, I couldn’t get a ton of information after the Marshalls cleared out your apartment. But I figured it was only a matter of time before you– or he– came here. I didn’t know you had a roommate, and you both wore leather. When I heard he was here, I thought… I thought it’d finally be over, you know?”

 “Aye,” he whispers. “I know it's odd to say about someone who should be trying to kill me, but I don’t want to lose you. I’m… I’m scared.”

 “Me too,” she whispers back immediately, her body stiffening a bit in his arms and making his hand run along her spine. “But I think I have–” 

 The sound of the door to his apartment swinging open makes him jump more than he thinks he ever has, and Emma, too, startles and tightens her arms around him. They each stiffen, fumbling with the blankets and pulling his sheets over their shoulders, but he’s fairly certain that his neglecting to shut the door to his bedroom means that his friend has just caught a good look at Emma’s ass. 

 “We need to get you out of here; there’s a– what the fuck!?” 

 “Dave–!” 

 “Is this your–”

 “Stop, stop! Put some clothes on!”

 “Since when do you have a key?!”

 Chaos. The only word he can find to describe the scene he feels like he’s watching from outside of himself is chaos. He fumbles some more for the blanket, desperate to cover Emma but finding himself so preoccupied with covering her breasts that he exposes himself. And David’s eyes are squeezed so tightly shut that when he turns away from them, he trips over Killian’s forgotten jeans and collides into the wall, shouting in pain. It’s pure, unadulterated chaos.

 Emma’s eyes are wide with shock as Killian clumsily stands up, covering himself with his pillow as he rummages through the room and then tosses a shirt at her, its condition and cleanliness questionable at best, but it’s the best he can do at the moment. Then he finds a pair of boxers to pull over himself, and as the world starts to slow down and his adrenaline calms with a reminder to himself that he isn’t in danger, he sighs heavily, a curse escaping his lips. 

 “Yeah, I'll say,” David mumbles under his breath. “Do you have any idea what you just got yourself into?”

 “I’m sure you’re going to tell me, rather than standing there and saying meaningless things knowing I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

 Maybe he’s being rude, but really, what can anyone expect? 

 “I need to speak with you. Privately.”

 “You can say whatever it is you want to say right here.”

David’s face is stiff as he glares behind Killian, staring daggers at Emma as he says, “I don’t think you fully understand what’s going on here.”

 “I understand perfectly.”

 “She isn’t who she’s told you she is.”

 Boldly, he steps to the side and forces David to meet his eyes, cutting off his line of vision that he casts on Emma. “She told me she’s Emma Swan, and that she’s the bounty hunter Gold hired to bring me in. Does that about cover it?” 

 He scoffs, shaking his head and widening his eyes as he stares at Killian like he’s the stupidest man he’s ever come across. “Do you have any sort of protective capacity at all? Ki– Peter, what you’re doing is grounds for–”

 “I’m going to testify.”

 Both of them turn to the source of the sound that catches them so off guard, Emma’s soft voice cutting through their argument easily if only because of the absolute dissonance that it provides. She’s looking quickly between both of them at first, but once Kilian turns, her eyes meet his and lock in place, her gaze long and deep and completely serious. 

 “Against Gold. I’m not turning you in, and I'm gonna testify against him if that’s what’s going to keep you safe.” 

 There are arguments, mostly from David who doesn’t believe a word out of her mouth, but he’s been predisposed to the idea that she’s this evil huntress with her heart set on destroying Killian. He can see in her eyes how serious she is, though, how truthful she’s being, how dedicated she is to ensuring that her wrongs are made right and that Gold pays for what he’s done. He can see how intensely she’s resolving herself to really doing this, how dedicated she is to making this work, and if there’s one thing that he knows about her, it’s that she won’t let anything get in her way. 

 So even when David tells her that if she testifies, her entire character will be in question because of her profession, even though he tells her that she could face consequences for her involvement, she doesn’t back down. And eventually, after what feels like hours of negotiations, the three of them come to a conclusion. 

 ~~~~

 Being in witness protection had always been something that felt surreal. It had always been one of those things that he had seen in movies, but never felt like it was actually his life. The whole time he lived in Storybrooke, it felt like he was simply going through the motions; go to work, grab a drink, go home, repeat. Now, though, his life is his again, and it finally feels worth it once more. 

 It feels odd to appreciate the events that have led him here. It’s odd to recall the things that took Milah from him, that took his hand from him, and smile. It feels odd to consider the way he spent months and months in hiding, using a false name and living a life that wasn’t his, with fondness in his heart. But at the end of the day, each time he thinks about the things that have brought him to this moment, he has to smile, because despite what he’s lost, he’s gained just as much. More, probably. 

 Because he gets to spend the rest of his life with Emma Swan. And they don’t have to hide anymore, her clever plan granting her protection with him and then her own freedom once she had provided the testimony that put Robert Gold and his entire team in prison for life without parole. And he’s always felt whole whenever she’s with him, even though he really isn’t. She’s always made him feel like a full person, even without a hand. She’s always made it so that he could forget the hardships that he’s been through and just live a life of joy and contentment and love. 

 He loves Emma Swan. She gave him a new lease on life, and he’ll always be grateful for that, especially because a very large part of him had allowed himself to believe that, before he met her, his life was over. After Milah died, after he lost his hand, he didn’t think anything good could come from a life that had treated him so cruelly. 

 But she’s always been different from everyone else he’s ever known, better to him than he’s ever deserved. So once it came time to testify, they returned to Boston hand in hand and they spoke their truths, even with the knowledge that Emma was admitting to some illegal activities. But the immunity she was promised by David in exchange for her testimony made it so that she could leave the courthouse with him that day. And even though they were both wracked with guilt, even though Emma felt like a monster whenever she thought about what they’ve been through, watching the judge call out Gold’s sentence and knowing that it was all over was as therapeutic as meeting with their therapist has been. 

 It’s behind them now, and they never have to worry about it ever again. 

 He still gets those phantom pains, randomly throughout the day or startlingly at night as he’s dragged from sleep, but he hasn’t needed to find a pen to stab into his prosthetic or the surface his arm rests on in quite some time. Whenever it happens now, Emma holds him and she presses soft tender kisses to the tattered skin on his wrist and he heals without the destruction that he had grown so accustomed to needing. As with everything else in his life, she’s taken what he’s destroyed and she’s given it a sense of strange, abstract beauty. 

 So, once they put the final box down on the floor of their new entryway, he pulls her into his arms for a solid, warm hug and he breathes in the calming, grounding scent of her tropical shampoo, and they allow themselves to feel at peace as they process the fact that they can finally move on with a life together. So he slips the modest ring onto her finger quietly; he’s a bit shy as he presents his mother’s diamond to the love of his life, but he finds that he doesn’t really feel all that nervous doing it. Because she pulls away from him and she looks up at him with tears in her eyes and a smile that’s so bright and beaming that he feels that same familiar warmth that starts blooming in his chest and radiates out to every single inch of him. 

 And she nods, her grin contagious but easy enough to wipe off her face with a press of his lips to hers. And his heart grows and the warmth he feels when he’s with her chases away the burning in his hand and in his memories each and every time. 

 He’s come to realize, as his life has fallen back into a place of contentment and safety, after spending months and months (18 months, two weeks, and four days since he met her) trying to figure it out, that the only word he can use to well and truly describe Emma Swan is home. 

~~~~

~~~~

@courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @timeless-love-story @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @eeteeaytay @xsajx @itsfridaysomewhere @alexa-fangirl-forever @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @rapunzelsghosts @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice @batana54 @sailtoafarawayland @deckerstarblanche @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @pirateprincessofpizza @captainswan21​ @hookedmom @lostintheskyfaraway @undercaffinatednightmare @strangestarlighttree​ @emmythedaydreamer​ @killianslefthook​ @sarcasticandromantic @last-tsarina​ @anmylica​ @gloriousfemaleworrier​ 

#captain swan #captain swan fanfic #witness #witness ff #cs ff #captain swan ff #cs smut #smut #cs angst #angst #cs fluff #fluff #hurt/comfort #finally finally finished this one #it only took like a whole year

[cosette141]

Once Upon A Deleted Scene | OUAT fanfic | Don't Let Go DS

This is a deleted scene for my story Don't Let Go (Because I Can't Hold It Back Anymore), which is a canon divergence for White Out, where instead of Emma getting trapped with Elsa, she's trapped with Killian. :)

This first part of the deleted scene is right when Emma & Killian get trapped in the ice cave, but instead of Emma being unconscious, she isn't, and instead of Hook's POV, it's Emma's. I later preferred Hook's pov and him dealing with the situation himself, and being afraid for Emma since she wasn't conscious.

The second part of this is Emma being unconscious, but Killian managing to wake her up quicker. I again just felt like I would rather have Hook protecting her and have more time go by in order to have his condition worsen before hers. Cause. h/c. y'know. heh xD

Emma felt time freeze.

Pun not intended.

One moment her eyes were staring at the ice and snow falling straight for her, her feet frozen to the spot in panic.

And the next, she was knocked forcefully to the ground, and the ice and snow crashed over her with such a thud it rang her ears.

She hit the icy ground hard on her chest, pain sending a shockwave through her whole body.

Her head felt jumbled for a few terrifying seconds, her eyes screwed shut as the world still shook as if through an earthquake.

But the horrible pain of ice striking her didn’t come. 

In fact, whatever had knocked her down and was now pinning her beneath its weight wasn’t even cold.

Emma slowly, cautiously blinked her eyes open, wincing at the headache that definitely came from being knocked around like a kite in a hurricane. Her vision pieced together, revealing what looked like some sort of ice cavern, its interior almost double the size of Granny’s. Snow was still settling, flying in the air from the crash, broken ice lying in heaps like debris around her. 

Emma quickly found it hard to breathe, and was about to try to free herself from what was pinning her down when it groaned.

Emma froze.

She knew that voice.

And she’s seen him in pain enough times that she knew that groan just as well.

“Hook?!” she breathed, now feeling him even clearer; the warmth pinning her down was Killian. 

His chest was pressed firmly into her back, his head resting over her shoulder.

And in the same instant, Emma realized that the force that had knocked her to the ground wasn’t the ice and snow.

It was Killian.

“Emma,” he huffed out, his voice sounding like it was squeezed out between clenched teeth. He grunted again, trying to move. His hand slipped on the icy floor next to her face. “Are you… all right?” he managed.

“Yeah,” she breathed, her heart beating steadily faster at the pain in his voice. “You?” 

“...Aye,” he said after a hesitation, and Emma didn’t need to look him in the eye to know it was a lie. With another grunt, Killian pressed his hand to the floor again, trying to lift himself off of her. His arm shook with strength, but with another grunt of effort, he managed to lift himself off her, snow and ice falling off him to the floor. He pushed himself to the side, falling to the ground beside her.

Instantly, Emma felt a blast of frigid air touch every part of her Killian had been lying on, and she felt a violent tremor. Ignoring it, she shoved herself to her knees. Killian’s face was drawn in a grimace, lying on his back, eyes screwed shut. He breathed hard, his hand ghosting his abdomen with a hiss. From the look of the ice that had landed on him, Emma had no idea how hurt he’d gotten.

Emma hovered over him. “Don’t tell me you broke your ribs again,” she said with forced lightness.

His eyes opened, and he gave her a shaky smile. “Seems I get the pleasure of seeing you every time I do,” he said, giving her a wink for good measure.

Emma let out a breath, settling herself with knowing he wasn’t severely injured or dying, sitting back on her heels as Hook pulled himself up.

Both of them rose to their feet, looking back toward where the street had been.

Emma felt her heart catch.

They were completely sealed in.

Where she’d been standing only minutes ago, there was a new ice wall firmly between them and the street.

“What the hell?” breathed Emma.

“She bloody froze us in,” muttered Killian with enough heat to melt the whole place down.

Just then, Emma heard a static-laced voice calling her name.

It was coming from beneath a small pile of snow where she and Killian had landed.

Emma quickly rushed to it, grabbing the walkie-talkie she’d dropped from the snow, and David’s voice was loud and clear. “-- mma! Hook! Damn it, someone talk to me!”

Emma felt a little smile grace her lips at her father’s worried voice. With fingers that were just beginning to lose feeling, she pressed the talk button and said, “Dad?” She stood, feeling Killian hovering at her shoulder. “Can you hear us?”

Half a second later, she heard his relieved sigh. “ Emma. Thank god. Are you okay? Is Hook okay?”

“Yeah,” said Emma, her voice shaking a little with the tremor running through her body from the cold. Because dammit, she was freezing . “We’re okay.” A look at Killian showed him still holding his ribs, but he didn’t look seriously hurt. “I think we’re frozen in, though,” said Emma, biting her lip. Even as she said the words, Killian had strode to the wall separating them from David and began hacking at it with his hook. It barely scratched the surface. His brows narrowed, and he struck it harder. Emma grabbed his arm before he could strike it again, and he gave her a look. “That’s not gonna work,” she said, her breath a white cloud before her. “Magic made this thing,” she said, giving the frozen structure a wary look. “I think it’s gonna take magic to un -make it.”

With reluctance, Killian gave up the fruitless attempt and Emma released his arm. “Dad,” said Emma to the walkie. “Is she out there? The… the woman? Elsa?”

There was a slight pause, then David’s voice, a bit more hushed, “ She’s threatened to leave you and Hook trapped in there and freeze the whole damn town if I don’t help her find some sister of her’s.”

Emma shut her eyes. Elsa had mentioned some sister. But from the short conversation Emma had with the woman, she only had a necklace of her sister. And Emma hadn’t heard about anyone named Anna showing up in Storybrooke. And it was a small damn town . 

A hunt to find a missing person, especially one who probably wasn’t even in Storybrooke, was going to take more than just a little while.

And if the tremors wracking her body were telling enough, it was cold .

Hours trapped in here? It had to be less than ten degrees.

Killian seemed to come to the same idea. “Mate,” he said toward the walkie. “It’s bloody freezing in here.”

Deafening silence from David’s end.

Then–

“ I’m going to get you two out of there. I promise.”

Emma exchanged a look with Killian.

His eyes held just as much hope as she felt.

David promised to keep the walkie on him, and from his side of the communication she heard the slam of a car door.

Emma let out a breath, trying not to feel as hopeless as she did.

Without a word, Killian stalked back to the wall, and once again started hacking away at it.

“Killian–” began Emma.

“I’m not bloody giving up,” he replied shortly, striking the wall harder than he did before. His face screwed up in a grimace at what must have hurt.

“I’m not either,” said Emma just as firmly, grabbing his shoulder to stop him. “But that isn’t working.”

Killian set his lips, but dropped his arm again, reluctantly and wordlessly agreeing. “Well, I’m open to suggestions.”

“I… I can try…” mumbled Emma, lifting her hands, her fingers shaking with a very visible tremor from the cold. “I c-can try to make a f-fire,” she said.

Killian smiled, and Emma felt a little warmth bloom in her chest, like it did every time she earned praise from him. Which she would never, ever admit . “Brilliant idea,” he said softly. “You can do it, Swan.”

Shutting her eyes, Emma tried to concentrate her magic into her palms. 

The last time she’s made fire was back in Neverland, and she’d only done so on what she believed was a very, very lucky try. Killian and Neal were in danger and it just… happened . 

Regina’s magic lessons were less than helpful, since she was more concerned with Emma’s instinctual reflexes than teaching her to control her magic. She’d managed teleporting small things, but Regina had stepped all over her pride at the success by saying it was the most elementary magic trick . Evidently creating fire was also elementary, and Emma hasn’t done that in well over a year.

After a moment of trying, Emma cracked her eyes open, seeing nothing between her palms.

She shook out her hands, feeling her whole body shaking from the cold now, but still, nothing was happening .

Brows furrowed in worry, Emma looked at Killian, who was still watching her, his hope and belief in her making her chest hurt. “I–I can’t do it,” she whispered. She shut her eyes, letting out a breath, hugging her arms around herself. “ God , it’s freezing,” she breathed.

Killian was doing something and Emma opened her eyes to see him taking off his coat. With stark confusion because how could he not be as cold as she was? she stammered out, “Wh-what the hell are you doing?”

“You’re bloody freezing,” he said simply, with that soft kindness, that sort of quiet concern he reserved only for her. He draped his coat around her shoulders.

“No, Killian–I have a coat, you’re gonna–”

He smiled a little, ignoring her protests, and Emma couldn’t help shutting her eyes at the warmth blanketing her like a damn hug . His coat was heavy , and it blocked the frigidness of the cold, taking the razor edge out of the air, and it held every bit of his body heat. “Your coat,” he said, a little smile at his lips, “isn’t doing a bloody thing. Now put your arms in.”

“Killian–”

“ Arms ,” he said, firmer, and Emma huffed out a cloud of white breath, realizing he wasn’t budging on the subject. With a little indignant huff, she put her arms through.

And dammit, it was warm .

Not only that, it smelled like him , and Emma really tried not to enjoy that as much as she did.

She opened her eyes, seeing that little smile at his lips, and she was suddenly afraid he could read her mind. 

Now he was only donned in his thin cloth shirt with the ridiculously low vee neck, and his vest. She could already see a tremor run through him. “What about you?” she mumbled, hugging his jacket to her, again trying not to sigh with relief, hiding her frozen fingers in the folds of the material.

“I’ve sailed plenty of arctic waters without this central heating , as you call it,” he said with a smile. “And Neverland was never known for comfortable temperatures. I’m more used to it than you are, love.”

She could see in his eyes that he was only telling her part of the truth.

Emma sighed. Gentleman .

“Well, thanks,” she said softly.

That earned her a real smile from him.

“And… thanks for…” she said, gesturing to the debris on the ground. “For what you did.”

He stepped toward her, flipping up the collar of his jacket around her, blocking out more of the cold. He smiled. “I’d do anything for you, Emma.”

Emma couldn’t exactly describe the feeling that flitted through her when her superpower deemed that completely truthful.

-.-.-.

[2nd deleted scene - waking up in the ice cave]

“Emma…”

Emma slowly came back to awareness, feeling a dull ache in her head. But very quickly after, the ache was nearly forgotten.

She was freezing .

“Emma? That’s it, love,” came a familiar, husky voice from somewhere above her. “Open your eyes.”

Memories came like a rush.

The ice wall.

The woman—Elsa.

Then…

Something happened with the ice and snow. Emma remembered sharp pain knocking her off her feet, and then… 

Nothing.

“Emma, love, please open your eyes.”

Killian’s voice filtered back into her mind, and Emma wondered if she was dreaming.

She’s never heard him sound so outright worried before. 

There was a touch of anxiety, a panicked urgency shaking his voice, and hearing him uncertain was completely unlike him.

It was enough to worry her herself .

Awareness was rushing her to reality, sounds becoming clearer, the cold becoming colder, yet she could suddenly feel his hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently. 

Her eyes cracked open.

His face was the first thing she saw. He was leaning over her, blue eyes vivid with stormy concern. When he saw her eyes open, he smiled something brilliant with relief. “Thank the gods,” he whispered, his breath a plume of white mist.

Which only reminded her it was fricken freezing . 

For whatever reason, she was lying on her back, and the ground felt like pure ice . She could feel the slight ache in the back of her head, which must have been the culprit for passing out, but she was happy to see her vision clear and her faculties in order for the most part. 

Emma blinked, eyes tracing the ceiling that looked like some sort of cave that had been completely frozen over. “Where the h-hell are we?” she asked, her teeth chattering through the words. She moved to sit up. Killian himself was on his knees at her side, and quickly he pressed his hand to her back, helping her up when her hands slipped on the icy floor. 

“The… ice witch,” said Killian with a little heat, “trapped us in this… structure,” said Killian, his brows furrowed. At Emma’s look, he answered before she could ask, “You’ve been unconscious for a quarter of an hour, if that.”

Well, that’s a good sign, thought Emma. She could feel her teeth chattering, her whole body beginning to tremble in the attempt to get warm. Emma looked around, seeing ice everywhere she looked. They certainly did look trapped.  

“Are you hurt?” asked Killian.

“N-no,” managed Emma, shivering even more. She hugged her arms, her fingers almost too cold to feel.

Something passed through Killian’s eyes. “You’re bloody freezing.” Immediately he shrugged out of his coat, throwing it around her shoulders. “Here.”

Even as it began to catch her body heat, Emma couldn't quite tell if the jacket or his gesture that offered her more warmth.

-.-.-.

tag list: @kmomof4 @justanother-unluckysoul @klynn-stormz @stahlop @ilovemesomekillianjones @hookmecaptain @tiganasummertree @jadehowlettthewolf @thepirateandhisson @jonesfandomfanatic @anmylica @pirateprincessofpizza @stahlop @snowbellewells @eddisfargo @motherkatereloyshipper @killian-whump @cocohook38 @deckerstarblanche 

#captain swan #cs fic #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #cosette141 ffn #hook #emma #emma and hook #killian jones #emma and killian #captain hook #hurt/comfort

[lestappenficssearch]

hiii! could you recommend me three longggg hurt/comfort fics? i dont really mind smut but it would be better without it, thank you!

hii

I love the hurt/comfort, so following your recommendations I will recommend three of my favorites, if you liked them and would like me to recommend more (or other things) just let me know <3

 Little Do You Know by socialite

Given an opportunity to find out exactly what your friends think about you, unfiltered: Would you take the chance or leave and run? Fortune has a way to make things happen for Charles but with no choice to opt out, you bet there is going to be more than he bargained for.

Little Do You Know - Chapter 1 - socialite - Formula 1 RPF [Archive of Our Own]

Escape as far as possible by Zzz998

Year 2032

Daniel Ricciardo wants to win the coveted triple crown of motorsport as only the second driver in history. To achieve this he must win the 24 Hours of Le Mans. After two years of failure, he feels this is his last chance. He needs the best drivers at his side, so he persuades the two world champions Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc to join the team. Will the two rivals be able to forget their shared past and help their friend to victory?

A story depicting several years of Max and Charles' relationship from the perspective of both drivers.

Escape as far as possible - Chapter 1 - Zzz998 - Formula 1 RPF [Archive of Our Own]

(explicit: small in ch4, ch 13. I don't remember if there are other chapters, sorry, but it's a very good fic hurt/comfort and with almost no explicit scenes, if you want I can recommend others in the future)

Winter’s Wrath by WeaglesAndBrobeans

When things go sideways during a vacation in the mountains, do Max and Charles have what it takes to survive? Does their relationship have what it takes to survive?

Winter’s Wrath - Chapter 1 - WeaglesAndBrobeans - Formula 1 RPF [Archive of Our Own]

hearts and requests are welcome haha 🤍

#lestappen #lestappen fic #genre: hurt/comfort #supporting character: ln #supporting character: cs #supporting character: pg #supporting character: sv #e.xplicit #only cl.mv #lestappen as the main couple #secondary couple: carlando #recfics cl.mv

[justanother-unluckysoul]

CS Fic: “Trapped” 1/2

I live! Apologies for the absence. My muse went on holiday way back in August and it’s only been this week that I feel she’s finally coming back to me. Leaving me just a few days to get this fic that was originally supposed to be for Whumptober wrapped up in time for @cosette141​′s birthday instead.

It is gratuitous whump and hurt/comfort with a tiny thread of plot that you really shouldn’t look too hard at. For context, this is set in some future time after the end of Once, and Killian has ventured beyond Storybrooke (who knows why? I sure don’t lol) where he has encountered some bad luck of course. Unedited and rushed a bit but hopefully not terrible? Just enjoy this for what it is and don’t ask any questions lol

Read On A03

Trapped

“Killian?” Her voice from the dark startled him, and he brought the phone back up to his ear with a shaking hand. He couldn’t remember when he’d lowered it.

“Emma?” Damn it, Killian couldn’t remember when he’d called her either. “I’m here.”

“Keep talking to me.”

“What do you want me to say, love?” 

“Anything. Just… I need to know you’re still there.”

—

“Killian, can you hear me? Killian!”

“What is it, Swan?”

“Oh, thank god. You weren’t answering.”

“My apologies, love. It’s alright. I’m still here.”

“Okay. That’s good. It shouldn’t take them much longer, right?”

Who’s them? Killian felt like he should know the answer, but the memory escaped him, his head throbbing worse the more he reached for the missing knowledge.

“... No, not much longer. Just stay with me until then, Emma.”

“I will.”

—

“Emma?”

“Yes?”

“I think… I think something’s wrong..” 

“What do you mean?”

“I… I’m not sure. I don’t feel right.”

“Just stay calm, okay? Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I think I’ve forgotten something.”

“Like what?”

“If I remember, love, I’ll tell you.”

“...Of course. Just don’t worry about that right now, okay?”

—

“Killian, answer me!”

“Sorry, love… I must have drifted off for a moment there.”

“Well, don’t do that again. No more drifting, Killian, I need you here with me.”

It was difficult to stay there, to stop drifting away, with nothing to anchor him but the pain. He wished he could hold Emma’s hand. 

“I’m cold.”

“I’m sorry. They’re working as fast as they can.”

“I want to go home.” Bloody hell. He hadn’t meant to say that. It was the plea of a frightened, wounded child for the comfort of familiarity. It had been a long, long time since Killian was a child.

He swallowed against the wave of emotion and dug his fingers into the soft dirt beneath him, the damp earth against his skin a pale replacement for the reassurance of feeling Emma’s hand in his, but it was the best he could manage for the moment.

“We’ll be home soon,” Emma said, and he could hear in her voice the same fear and pain as in his. 

He had to find something to anchor himself or he’d slip away. He could feel it, the life draining out of him, his mind slowing down, each beat of his heart pounding in his head. He was already losing moments and it had only been Emma’s panicked shouts that pulled him back from the edge. He was so tired.

Killian didn’t want to worry her but he knew he didn’t have much longer. 

“Emma?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“Don’t do that,” Emma snapped, “Don’t act like you’re going to die.”

“I’m…”

“You’re not going to die, Killian. I forbid it.”

He chuckled, wincing when the breath caught in his ribs. His jaw clenched, teeth gritted tight but a quiet groan broke free anyway. 

He forced himself to breathe slowly, trying to sound normal when he responded, “Ah, the princess forbids it, does she?”

“She does.” 

“I’m not saying goodbye, love.”

“It sounded like a goodbye. People always say they love you when they’re saying goodbye.”

“I just needed you to hear it, Emma.”

“There’ll be plenty of time to say how much you love me when this is over.”

He resigned himself to it. Of course Emma wouldn’t allow him to say goodbye. Bloody stubborn woman. 

“Of course, love.” 

She was quiet for a time. 

“I love you too, Killian.”

“No goodbyes, remember?”

She laughed, but it sounded weak and watery, and Killian pictured there to be tears in her eyes as she held the communication device to her lips. It brought tears to his own eyes. 

“Shut up,” Emma said, “It’s not a goodbye. I just had to say it back.”

“I know.”

His head had really started to hurt now, like it was being squeezed in a vice, but through the pain Killian finally remembered what he’d been forgetting.

“There was… there was someone else,” he whispered. “Someone else? Where?”

“She was here, I think. I don’t know, I can’t s-see… Gods, my head...”

—

“Killian, can you hear me?”

He was sinking. His own body was an anchor now, pulling him into the depths of the ocean, down into the dark and the cold. 

“Killian!”

But no, he can’t be underwater because he could still breathe, albeit with difficulty. And there was… there was someone holding his hand. 

“Emma?” His voice was a weak and broken thing. It stole the little breath he had in his lungs and he couldn’t seem to get enough of it back. 

“Yes, I’m here,” she said, “Stay with me, okay?”

His chest hurt. No, more than simply hurt; trying to draw breath was agony. He didn’t have the strength to open his eyes, too occupied with the previously simple task of breathing. Perhaps he was underwater after all. 

The world beyond him and Emma was hazy. He was distantly aware there were other people around them; other voices, other sounds. Light and shadow that didn’t match where Killian thought he was. But he couldn’t expand his awareness further than the pain in his chest and his head and Emma’s hand squeezing his. He wondered, for a moment, if someone had reached into his chest and was crushing his heart, and although the pain now wasn’t quite the same, the memory was enough to make him panic. Make him forget where he was, who he was with, make him pull away from Emma’s hand and choke on what little air he had, his entire body lighting up with pain.

“No, no, Killian, don’t move,” Emma’s voice reached him through it, her hands on his shoulders, coaxing him to stay down with a gentle pressure, “You’re safe, I promise. Lie still. Focus on your breathing, okay?”

The problem with focusing on his breathing was that it only made him aware of how difficult breathing was. There was something over his face now, and his eyes opened again to find the room had changed between blinks, that the lights were harsher and brighter and Emma was gone. 

“Emma,” he whispered. Gods, he had no strength left. At least the pain had eased a little now.

“Just relax for us, sir.”

A stranger’s voice. He felt a brief flash of panic, not enough to rouse his tired muscles into motion, before he slipped once more into darkness.

 —-

 To begin with, Killian wasn’t even certain he was awake or trapped in some horrid nightmare. Everything was so white. And he felt so weak he could barely move. There was something in his mouth and down his throat that was choking him while a cacophony of noise assaulted him, and to top it all off, when he tried to lift his hand to remove whatever was preventing him from breathing properly, someone bloody restrained him. 

He could tell there was a voice speaking among all the noise, but he couldn’t make out what was being said. 

They didn’t want him to fight but that was all Killian wanted to do, instinct taking over reason. His mind was all pain and panic, he couldn’t breathe and they didn’t understand, he couldn’t- 

 The thing in his throat was gone when Killian found his senses again, exhausted and hurting in too many places to list. There were still strange little tubes and wires stuck all over him, but he knew better than to try removing any of those. 

Movement by his bedside caught his eye and he turned his head, slow and with a wince because his head was on that list of hurt parts. Emma. Her eyes widened as they met his and she stood up from the chair, her hands hovering over him like she was afraid to touch him, afraid of hurting him.

“Easy, easy,” she soothed, “Just breathe slowly, stay relaxed, okay?”

He was not relaxing at all. He wanted to hold her, to reassure himself that she was okay. That she hadn’t been hurt like he had. 

“Em-” He broke off into coughing, each one sending blinding pain across his chest until he was almost doubled over in the bed, arms wrapped around his torso as he struggled to suppress the coughs. 

“Here, this will help,” Emma said, bringing an ice chip to his mouth. 

She was right, it did help, cold and wet and easing his body’s urgent need for coughing. He leaned back against the pillow, taking careful, shallow breaths so he wouldn’t set it off again.

“Do you remember what happened?”

It came back to him in pieces - the distant rumble before the ground began to shake, the way he’d locked eyes with the child, lunging for her, taking her in his arms just as the floor swallowed them both…

“Just pieces,” he rasped. The ice chip, though it provided relief from the coughing fit, had failed to fully soothe the rawness of his throat. “There was… an earthquake? I remember a child… I was trying to protect her. Is she…?”

Emma’s smile was watery as she fed him another ice chip. 

“Yes, that’s right. You did protect her. When the floor gave way, it looked like you took the brunt of the fall and then rolled over to shield her from debris. She actually managed to climb out of the rubble herself before you woke up, and she told the search team where you were. She just had some minor cuts and bruises, but you…”

She took a steadying breath as she thought of the traumatic event and Killian reached for her hand, squeezing it gently to reassure her. 

“I’ll be alright, love.”

“I know.” 

Emma looked down at their joined hands.

“Killian, you had a collapsed lung, some broken ribs, a pretty bad concussion. It wasn’t… it wasn’t good. You’ve been sleeping for a few days.”

“I’m sorry to scare you, Emma.” 

“I’m checking you out of here tomorrow,” she said. “I can heal you and then we can go home. Of course they wouldn’t let me take you anywhere until you were stable, but I’m so sorry you had to go through all that. You know, being intubated and stuff.”

“It’s alright, love, you know that’s not your fault.”

“Damn muggles.”

He had no bloody idea what she was talking about.

“Aye, pesky things, those… muggles.”

Emma smiled in a way that told him she knew he didn’t understand the reference, despite his effort to follow the conversation. 

“Harry Potter,” she prompted.

“Ah. Of course.” His memory was still a little fuzzy, it seemed, because now he did remember Henry talking of such things from his books about wizards and warty hogs.

—-

“Are you up to some visitors?” the nurse asked.

“Visitors?” Emma repeated, “Who is it?”

She was being unnecessarily suspicious, Killian thought; they had no enemies in the lands beyond Storybrooke.

“A young woman and a child. She said you saved her sister during the earthquake?”

“Of course, let them in,” Killian said.

The child led her sister in quite eagerly by the hand and came to a stop at the foot of Killian’s bed.

“Are you feeling better, Mr Jones?” she asked without preamble.

“Aye, much better, thank you. But I’m sorry, I can’t seem to remember your name.”

“I’m Lilo. You really don’t remember me?”

“Well, not exactly. I hit my head when we fell, you see, so my memories are still a bit confused. I can only remember some of the events from that day.”

“I understand,” Lilo said very seriously. “I’m glad you’re feeling better though.” She seemed to suddenly remember she’d dragged her sister in with her. “Oh, this is my sister Nani.”

“Killian Jones. This is my wife, Emma.”

“Lovely to meet you both,” Nani said. “You’re a hero, Mr Jones.”

He chuckled awkwardly. 

“Hardly.”

“I mean it. You saved my sister’s life. And very nearly at the cost of your own, she tells me.”

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“It was that bad,” Emma interjected.

There was a poignant silence for a moment. 

“Well, we’ll let you get some rest. Thank you, again.”

“Get well soon, Mr Jones,” Lilo said with a wave as they exited the room.

Part 2 coming soon-ish, because my muse has further ideas for this but I ran out of time to complete it within the deadline!

#cs ff #whump #hurt/comfort #captain swan #my fics

[capricioussun]

i feel bad for this but Drawn and frail for fellpap

I got really melodramatic with this one otl

Ao3

CW for reference to implied torture, imprisonment, "canon typical violence"

Prompt list

—

The corridor felt longer than it ever had before. Longer even than the first time Asgore led her there, growing darker, colder with every step. A familiar, old door loomed at the end, groaning as she forced it open, rusty hinges crying a warning to any held captive in the cells beyond.

Barring some dust here and there she wouldn't waste time thinking on, all were empty. All but one.

She made her way on stiff legs to the farthest cell, every step echoing in the unnatural silence. Her body ached, exhaustion fighting to take hold after everything it'd taken to get this far. But it had all been worth it. The rebellion had finally taken the throne. The barrier was broken. After all this time, they were really, truly all free now. Or would be, soon.

Very little light found its way this far, but still, a ghost of her shadow fell over the heavy door. The key struggled to turn, the rotted wood cracking loudly as the door was raucously thrown open, and her shadow stretched out further, just shy of the prisoner. Even the dim light could not reach him where he lay, curled against the far wall.

He startled harshly at the sound, drawing in on himself and raising a hand as if it was somehow bright enough he'd need to shield his eyes. Faintly, his bones had begun to rattle – a chalky, hollow sound unsoftened by fabric, stripped and sallow.

Anger and grief swelled chokingly quick, making her dizzy, nearly blinded with rage. That the near unrecognizable monster before her, impossibly small and frail, trembling and holding himself close with not fear but resignation, could be the same as her once fellow Captain, her Lieutenant...her friend. It was unconscionable.

Suddenly, the shifting of her armor with every step on the stone floor sounded cacophonous in the small room. Her presence large and imposing before him, likely mirroring whatever scenes played out here before, on the rare occasion he was "tended" to. Closer now, his mistreatment became all the clearer.

The pale magic gathered at his joints was a sickly tan, thicker and partially dried at wounds left unhealed, discolored bruises marred at least half his body, and his bones looked thin enough to shatter if he so much as tried to stand on his own. She would've thought it impossible for a skeleton to look gaunt before today.

Papyrus – and it was, truly Papyrus –tilted his head, hand lowering slightly as he looked up at her, or maybe he was too weak to continue holding it up so high. His sockets looked sunken and somehow even darker than when he normally forwent using eyelights, but even that wasn't quite so haunting has his expression.

Soul-deep exhaustion.  Weak and tired, teetering dangerously close to the edge of Falling. No fear, no acknowledgment, maybe a scrap of uncertainty, perhaps wondering what she was there for if not punishment, or why it was taking so long to start. Her soul twisted painfully in her chest, gloves creaking from hands clenched tight at her sides, nearly as tight as her jaw, sending a dull throb through her already aching head.

Without warning, she turned on heel, storming back out of the cell and down the hall. At the very least he deserved a shred of dignity preserved. She could give him that much. The trip back to the connecting corridor was brief, quicker still to tear a piece of the drapes from the window. She only slowed upon reaching the room again, though not as much as before, not allowing hesitation as she moved back toward her once fierce ally.

In a swift maneuver, she drew the fabric around him as she knelt. She could remember a time she'd threatened him for growing taller than her, but as he flinched away at the unexpected touch, he looked so very much like that small, anxious child she'd seen trailing behind his brother at the labs all those years ago.

Her hands shook with fury that had no place to go, carefully tucking the makeshift blanket around him as that lingering raised hand found their joint by his collarbone. Those despondent eyes wrested her attention and she'd known, she'd known from the start of this what she had to do. They'd both have died down here, rotting in this prison if Asgore had turned his wrath on her as well. How many others would've suffered alongside them.

The truth did little to assuage her guilt, hot and strangling not unlike the urge to cry but infinitely more wrathful. But of course it was him to make that sacrifice, of course.

"Told you I'd still save your scrawny ass," she managed in a ragged whisper. A bitter laugh choked her, forced to look away as Papyrus still showed no sign of recognition.

Her hands shook nearly in time with his tremors, clasped firmly around his fragile shoulders. There was no resistance when she pulled him forward with more care than she'd ever handled him in all their years together. He merely fell against her and she bundled him close, searching for relief beyond the rage.

Not ideal, no, but he was alive. They both were. She'd kept her word and they could finally both go home. Better yet, make new ones on the surface.

"Shouldn'a taken so long," her voice shook, gravel from days of shouting orders, strained from tears she couldn't shed, "I'm-" her voice cracked so she clenched her jaw tighter, "I'm sorry, Papyrus."

"You shouldn't have- this wasn't supposed to..." her words tapered off as she realized he'd stilled in her embrace.

Forcing panic aside, she pulled away only enough to see his face. At the movement, his sockets opened blearily, a stubborn tremble or two shaking him, but only a deep need for rest looked back at her. In the stiflingly musty air, she could still feel the pulse of his soul so close to her, the low crackle of his magic, still alive and flowing, as his eyes lulled closed again.

Easing him back to her shoulder, a shuddering sigh wracked her. The relief began trickling in then, at last. Despite his condition, he knew he was safe now. It wouldn't be long until she could get him the true help he needed, and then his recovery could begin.

As mindfully as she could, she pulled herself to her feet with Papyrus gathered securely in her arms, stirring briefly but already dozing again as she made their way back to the others.

Beyond a shadow of doubt, she knew if anyone could bounce back from months of this form of hell, it would be him. And she'd do everything to be there for him this time, every step of the way.

#cs follower fics #<- new tag I gotta update and put all the other ones in <3 #weia-yo #ty for the prompt!!! 💕 oh how I love tossing him in a wood chipper #underfell #uf edge #uf levi #underfell papyrus #underfell undyne #angst #hurt comfort #implied torture #overcast moonlight #lmk abt any typos plllsssss

[booksteaandtoomuchtv]

Burn The Ships (1/5)

THIS IS/WILL BE MATURE.

NOW WITH BEAUTIFUL COVER ART BY @snowbellewells

AO3 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

Summary: Pan and his pack of gruesome werewolves torment and put an end to individuals who find themselves unlucky enough to be a guest of Neverland. After being betrayed by her ex, Emma finds herself the game in this month’s hunt.

Captain Hook has never found the sport particularly alluring, preferring to spend his change far from Pan’s cruel crew. When he catches the scent of his mate, he is forced to join in the hunt to find her before the others can.

Saving her will mean betraying Pan and no one betrays Peter Pan and lives to tell about it.

@anmylica, @deckerstarblanche, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4 , @pirateswhore, @stahlopp, @teamhook, @tiganasummertreee, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert

Author Note: This little fic is a birthday gift for the always encouraging and absolutely wonderful @kmomof4. I was initially drawn to Moonlight Sonata because it is also one of my favourites and the story behind the song felt like Killian meeting Emma for the first time. (I also love Für Elise but it doesn’t make me think of CS as much as Snowing and I cannot really explain that.) Then, I thought “oooh, CS PHANTOM OF THE OPERA?!” for about thirty seconds before realising that maybe I did not want to take that on while I was trying to finish up Witchy Woman and plotting the CS Miraculous Fic and that one Bridgerton-based CS Fic. But, then, I listened to Burn the Ships and read about the inspiration behind those lyrics and absolutely knew that was the one. What is more Captain Swain than battling demons (internal and external) and enduring together? Anywhoosies, HAPPY BIRTHDAY (this month)!! Thank you so much for all the flails, the sanity checking, the gifs, the cheerleading, and for just generally being one of the brightest lights in all of our lives. (Edit: atge birthday is on the 15th, I know. This whole thing happened where this was a two-parter and now it is a whole long thing and the posting schedule SHOULD work out so the whole thing is done by the 15th.)

Emma woke to the harsh sunlight infiltrating the discoloured curtains hanging limply over the large window her lumpy mattress had been pushed against. This was the worst part of her day - these moments in which the lie of her dreams, even the worst of them, gave way to the nightmarish truth of her reality. She fought against the dread seeping into her heart and tried to hold on to the last remnants of her dream, but it faded away as the scarred wardrobe came into clearer focus before her.

Despair, however, was less easily shaken. That endless emptiness accompanied her as she started toward the water basin to splash cold water on her face. Her gaze lifted to meet the empty emerald eyes she knew would stare back at her. She had watched helplessly as the hope drained from them, over the last several months, taking with it the anger and defiance that once glimmered behind them.

Fantasies, like hope, were for those with people or a pack, who cared. Lone wolves, orphaned at birth and betrayed to the monster who ruled this island by their shitty ex-fiancées, weren’t missed. And without any to notice your absence, who would know to rescue you?

“Cheer up,” a cheerful boyish voice chirped from behind her. She jumped and spun around - having your back to the demon was never a good idea. Pan was there, in the middle of the dreary room, looking at her with a dark sort of crazed humour dancing behind his eyes. That look meant he had a new twisted game to play. Her stomach fell and icy fear gripped her heart - losing came at a high price in Neverland and she always lost.

“As you doubtlessly know, the moon will be full tonight.” Pan paused and waited for her to respond. As if any wolf would be oblivious to the phases of the moon, she buried her annoyance at the patronising question and nodded for him to continue. “Tonight, I am letting you out of the garden. You’ll get to run the length of the island.”

Emma knew there was a catch, but after spending several transformations pacing the tiny gated garden, the prospect of running had her heart racing with excitement.

“As you lead us in tonight’s hunt.”

Her blood turned to ice in her veins. She was going to die tonight.

§§§§ §§§§ §§§§ §§§§

“OOOHHHH, CAPTAIN!” A sing-song voice called from somewhere high on the main mast.

“Pan, to what do we owe this unexpected visit?” Hook called back genially. He swept his arms out wide, in a welcoming gesture, discretely sliding the small vial into a hidden pocket of his coat.

Pan flew lower, hovering just above head height, forcing Killian to look up at him. A sweet scent filled the air between, something soft and warm. Killian couldn’t hear Pan's next words as the wolf within tried to locate the source of the scent. With the change coming so soon, Killian knew he would struggle to fight the impulses of the wolf. He had to get away from this enchanting distraction before Pan noticed his attention was elsewhere.

“Let’s discuss whatever business you have away from listening ears.” Hook gestured toward the ladder leading to his quarters, hoping the breeze would not penetrate the boards.

“As you well know, the hunt will be tonight. I do hope you and your crew will attend.” Pan started, as Killian filled a glass with rum in an effort to steady himself. The room around him was saturated with the warm - Vanilla? No, not quite. What is the point of being a bloody wolf if I can’t determine a bleeding smell? - scent. Could a scent be alluring and inviting? Because Killian felt an inexplicable sense of contentedness, something cosy he was drawn to like the heat of a fire, that seemed directly related to the sudden arrival of the scent. Was this possibly a new torture device derived from this cruel realm?

"What do you say, Captain?" Pan sneered, the last word sounding as an insult rather than a well-earned title.

"I'll not be joining your pack of savage, cruel beasts as they set out to torment an innocent you have captured for a barbaric ritual of bloodlust and cruelty."

"We're all wolves, Hook," Pan responded. "You can keep to your ridiculous code, acting as though you are a gentleman despite the tasks you perform in your service to me. But, you cannot deny that the same blood-thirsty animal lives under your skin. One day, you'll relish letting the darkness play alongside my pack. We're the same at the heart of it."

"I am nothi…"

"Ah, ah, Captain, you wouldn't want to say anything regretful, now, would you?" Pan smiled his cruelest smile and Killian swallowed down his annoyance. The last time Killian had crossed Pan still hurt as fresh as the night Pan’s pack had stolen Milah’s pup from his ship. Killian heard Bae’s weak howls from the depths of the Mermaid Lagoon and raced toward his ship as quickly as possible in the dense jungle. When his paws landed with heavy thuds on the wooden gangway, the overly sweet, coppery smell of blood filled the air - air that was notably barren of any of the sounds or scents that had made the Jolly Roger home. Without even a single survivor to share the burden of grief and burial, laying his sailors to rest had taken days - purging the Jolly of all evidence of the massacre had taken much longer.

“Aye,” Killian growled out.

“Good, lad.” Pan evaporated, leaving him alone in his cabin. The sweet scent that had entranced him moments before faded away. Realisation dawning, Killian swore but did nothing to soothe the sudden rage burning hot through him.

The bloody demon had his mate.

#a gift for kmomof4 #Emma x Killian #Emma Swan #Killian Jones #Captain Swan #killian x emma #ouat captain hook #cs fanfic #ouat #ouat fanfic #cs ff #fic by Jas #inspired by songs #inspired by Burn the Ships #werewolves #some horror elements #some hurt/comfort

[zaharadessert]

Blood on my new Jeans for You Chapter 2

For @kmomof4 you moaned that chapter one was all Hurt, so here is chapter two, with all the comfort. Happy Birthday, and thank you for all you do in making my words work as well as they do. @jrob64 did a wonderful job in your stead for this one!

Just under 3k. References to the hurt of the last chapter which included carving, and being forced to watch a loved one being tortured. Mature? Explicit? Idk I feel like I always get that wrong.

Tagging: @jrob64​ @xhookswenchx​ @kmomof4​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @superchocovian​ @lfh1226-linda​ @teamhook​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @tiganasummertree​ @onceratheart18​ @snowbellewells​ @karlyfr13s​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @ouatpost​ @ultraluckycatnd @winterbaby89 @thepirateandhisson @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @captainswan21 @spaceconveyor @pirateprincessofpizza @sparlecorn93 @hollyethecurious @ammelia</p> <p>As always, let me know if you’d like me to add you to my taglist for future fics :) Idk what’s up with tumblr, but I can only seem to tag about half of you, and I’m sorry!

- - - - -

As they made their way through the dark corridors, Killian wasn’t sure how Emma was standing, let alone half carrying him though an unfamiliar complex. He could feel himself drifting, weakness brought on by malnourishment and prolonged torture, stumbling through doorways and down stairs, trusting Emma to guide them out.

A cacophony of noises and gunfire grew louder, got closer and Emma pulled him into an alcove just in time for a thunder of hard boots to rumble past them.

“Stay with me, Killian,” she whispered, her hand moving to cup his cheek, encouraging him to look at her. “You have a minute and then we have to move again,” she told him.

Her eyes were bright and her gaze sure and unwavering.

He could feel his body giving up, feel the darkness pressing into his vision, and knew she could see the despair in his eyes as they both realised how much he was struggling, and would continue to struggle.

“Emma, I can’t…” he admitted, watching her swallow tightly, her jaw set with determination.

“It’s alright, Killian. It’s not far now,” she promised.

“How…?” he breathed, his vision wavering as he fought to stay conscious, stay upright. He knew she wouldn’t be able to carry him out of here, so he had to stay on his feet.

“I’ll explain everything when we’re safe, I promise,” she said, her eyes blazing with the kind of strength he wished he still possessed. It gave him hope that maybe, just maybe he could hold on long enough to hear what she had to say.

It was all he could do to blink in agreement. She smiled reassuringly, and as his head sagged wearily, she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

It seemed like mere seconds later that she adjusted her grip on him, making him hiss in pain, before guiding him back out into the corridor and on. On to quite where, Killian didn’t know. But Emma seemed to, despite the fact that he was sure she’d had a bag over her head on the way in, just as he had. If she hadn’t they’d underestimated her.

Idiots.

- - - - -

Continued on AO3

#Captain Swan #cs ff #ZaharaDessert writes #for @kmomof4 #hurt comfort

[cosette141]

The Only One Who Saves Me | OUAT fanfic | CS gift exchange gift (1/3)

MERRY CHRISTMAS @i-will-sing-no-requiem !!!! I was your CS gift exchange santa this year!! :D I very much enjoyed obsessing over Taylor Swift with you haha! :)

Your gift is a 3-parter! 😱😆

This is the main fic I worked on for you! I ran with your prompt of Emma or Killian rescuing the other :)

Summary: (CS movie divergence) Killian gets his dashing rescue, and Emma is no longer the only one who saves her. :)

AO3

Killian ran, hard and fast. He's been out of breath for most of the last mile but he didn't stop.

Emma.

Nearly an hour ago, Emma was taken by Regina's guards.

He could only remember standing in that ballroom, watching them drag her away, every muscle in his body coiled to run after her, to fight them all off even if he had to bloody kill them, to save her, but at the same time, knew that he wouldn't have survived such an attack.

If he was to save Emma, and he would, he needed to be smart.

He needed to do this quietly.

For a moment, Killian had considered trying to find Emma's parents. The prince and princess could certainly help, however risking their lives was out of the question. If one of them died, there wouldn't even be an Emma to save.

That very thought was the only thing that was on Killian's mind.

Her parents were back on track, Snow White had the ring.

But none of that mattered if Killian couldn't save Emma now.

His heart was pounding so hard it hurt and Killian could only remember one time in his life that he's been this scared, and back then, he'd been tied to a mast on his own bloody ship.

But somehow, this felt more terrifying, and that very thought scared him almost more than the fear he wouldn't make it to her in time.

Killian knew Regina's ways; she wouldn't kill Emma tonight. Regina liked to watch the execution of Snow White's supporters every morning after she caught them. Like some sort of twisted breakfast entertainment.

However, even the knowledge that he had until morning to save Emma didn't help the fact that he still had to break into the bloody castle and get to her before he was killed.

He'd done it before, he knew how to get in and to find his way to the dungeons.

But the bloody rule not to mess with the timeline which meant he couldn't kill anyone if he needed to only made his heart beat even faster.

Killian finally stopped when he saw the silhouette of the castle over the hill. He stared at it warily, catching his breath.

"I'm coming, Emma," he whispered to the air.

And he started on his way, clinging to shadows.

I will find you, love.

And he won't stop until he does.

Emma huffed a defeated breath, sinking heavily back to the ground.

The lock was too far; she couldn't reach it.

Emma threw the wire she'd found back to the ground with burning eyes. That was her only chance. In a last ditch effort, Emma shut her eyes, trying to feel the magic inside her.

But it wasn't there, no matter how hard she searched for it.

Rumplestiltskin had already given them that wand to use when they'd successfully completed their mission—in Killian's possession since his ensemble had pockets—but Emma already knew even with it it was useless.

Her magic was still gone.

With an audible groan, she gave up trying to get out of here, dropping her face over her crossed arms.

Something about this felt eerily similar, being here, alone in a jail cell.

"Sorry, sweetheart, your boy took off."

She could still remember the first day she spent in prison.

Alone.

Terrified.

She'd curled herself tight on the cot, arms wrapped around her shins, and she didn't sleep a wink.

She waited.

She waited for someone to come, tell her that it was all a misunderstanding, to let her go.

Waited for Neal to show up, to break her out, to save her.

But he never came.

No one ever came.

Not for eleven months.

Not ever.

Emma didn't even realize she was crying until she felt the dirty sleeves of the dress dampen with hot tears.

Did Hook know she was missing?

He'd been taking out the guards on the balcony; he might not even know she was taken. Or by whom.

But even if he did know she was taken, Emma wasn't going to get her hopes up.

Breaking into Regina's castle to save her? The odds of him succeeding were low at best.

He'd be risking his life even thinking about doing such a thing.

Emma suddenly wondered where he was, what he would do, trapped in the past.

Because the last thing she'd ever believe was that he was going to come back for her.

Save her.

No one ever does.

Emma suddenly heard footsteps.

She lifted her face from her arms, where she was huddled in the far corner of the cell, arms still wrapped around her shins, the facsimile of a hug that felt too shallow and cold to be called such a thing.

The footsteps were running. Fast.

Guards.

Emma's heart pounded.

Was it morning already?

Was she out of time?

As much as she had planned to be strong, to fight them, to save herself, panic was suddenly consuming her.

She was going to be executed.

So when the shadow crossed the walls, getting closer and closer, Emma just curled in on herself tighter, trying to swallow the rising fear.

But—

"Emma!"

Emma's fear halted, traded for shock.

Hook.

It was Hook.

The moment he saw her, he ran to the bars of the cell, eyes on her, his relief at finding her quickly dashed. Concern bloomed. "Emma, love," he whispered.

Emma blinked in shock.

He was here.

He came back for her.

Someone came back for her.

She shot to her feet and rushed to the bars, standing inches from him. Her fingers grasped the bar, wondering if she was dreaming. "Hook?"

"Thank the gods I found you," he breathed, a slight, relieved smile at the victory. His eyes then shifted to the bars, looking for—

"It's at the top," whispered Emma quickly. "The lock. I couldn't reach it."

Hook located it, reaching for the lock and using his hook to pick it. A few precious moments ticked by, and Emma could read every anxiety in his face until the lock clicked open, and the chain fell free.

Hook ripped the door open.

Freedom.

But Emma wasn't half as relieved by the freedom as she was by him.

She didn't even think; she grabbed him in a tight hug, practically clinging to him.

He stumbled a little by the force of it, surprised. She held him tightly, eyes shut, relief rushing through her in waves as she breathed in his scent. Familiarity. Safeness. Home.

She didn't know when she'd started thinking of him as home, but right now, she didn't care.

She felt him hold her back after a hesitation of shock. Just as tightly as she held him. "Are you all right?" he whispered. "Are you hurt?"

"You came," she found herself whispering. Her voice like broken confusion.

A tear fell down her cheek.

His hold on her tightened a little. "Of course I came," he said. He pulled back a little. "You thought I wouldn't?" he asked incredulously, like the idea hurt him. But a noise somewhere nearby like a door opening made both of them freeze and Killian's grip on her tighten even more. "We need to get you out of here. Now," he said quickly, eyes locked with hers, fear in them.

Fear for her.

"Come," he breathed, and without hesitation Emma's hand intertwined with his, and she suddenly felt like she never ever wanted to let go.

Killian led the way, seeming to know his way around, and Emma didn't stop to question it. She was glued to his side as they clung to the shadows, every usual strength within her strangely gone, replaced with the fear of her seventeen year old self, trapped in prison with no way out.

Their run through the castle was like a blur of panic, and Emma heard Killian whisper, "We're nearly there, love." And Emma only then realized she was practically crushing his hand.

But they rounded a corner, and Killian skidded to a stop, just as two guards saw them both.

"Bloody hell," cursed Killian.

"The prisoner!" cried one of the guards, recognizing Emma. "The one who aided Snow White's escape!"

"Get her!" growled the other, both unsheathing swords, and Emma felt paralyzed.

"Get behind me!" exclaimed Killian in a desperate breath, releasing her hand—something that felt like panic itself to her—so he could draw his sword.

Emma listened to him, allowing someone else to take control for the first time in what felt like her life, because hell she knew how to fight with her fists but not against swords and not with flashes of the past blinding her, and she felt her hands grasp the back of Killian's jacket, needing something tethering her to him.

He fought off the first guard, both men caught in a flurry of blades, and suddenly Emma felt a burly arm grab her around the waist and yank her back.

"Emma!"

Emma struggled, managing to land her elbow in the man's gut, making him grunt in enough pain to release his hold. And Emma's hands fisted, her heart pounding as she prepared to fight—

But she didn't need to.

Because suddenly Killian was there, standing firmly in front of her, protecting her, knocking out the man with the hilt of his sword.

Both guards lay unconscious on the ground.

Emma was still shaking.

But Killian's hand suddenly found her face, making her look at him. Such determination shone in his eyes. "I won't let anyone take you. I promise." Emma felt her breath skip, a wave of relief feeling like warm sunlight because, for the first time, she didn't have to protect herself alone. Sheathing his sword, Killian again took her hand, holding her even tighter. "Come," he breathed.

They continued on their way out of the castle, this time making it without trouble. But they didn't stop running until they were well away from it, and could no longer even see the castle in the distance.

And without hesitation, Emma dove into his arms, hers wrapped tightly around his waist, burying her face in his chest.

She was crying and for the first time in her life she didn't care that the tears fell, or that they did in front of someone else.

Because for the first time in her life, someone saved her.

For the first time in her life, she didn't have to do it herself.

She could hear him saying her name, his voice surprised, worried, gentle.

She felt him pull back a little, though his arms never loosened around her.

Killian looked at her, noting the tear tracks on her face, old and new, the dirt and the scratches from the rough handling of her by the guards. It looked like his heart broke in his eyes. "Emma, love," he whispered. "Are you all right?"

But Emma was unable to find her voice, because her mind was still caught on something she couldn't understand.

He came back for her.

He saved her.

Her whole life, the only person who ever saved her was her.

No one else bothered to.

But Killian broke into a castle full of guards that would have killed him in an instant, just to save her.

He risked his life.

For her.

The last person Emma trusted put her in prison.

Killian just rescued her from it.

"Emma…?"

He was still staring at her, even more concerned than before.

"You saved me," she whispered.

"Of course I did," he said, like it was the only reasonable answer.

Like there was no world in which he saw himself not saving her.

Ever since Neverland, hell, long before then, Emma had felt… something for him.

After Neverland, it turned into something even more, something that wasn't just interest, something that was feelings.

And ever since she drank that potion, they had only gotten stronger.

She has spent every waking minute shoving those feelings down, trying to bury them, erase them, because she could not—she could not—stand to trust someone again, for someone to break her like a damn promise.

She had planned to run away to New York, to leave it all—leave him—behind.

But tonight…

He had just risked his life to break into a place that would have killed him if it could have, just for her.

Tonight, he did something no one has ever done.

He saved her.

And Emma was beginning to realize he's done so in more ways than one.

He's handed Emma proof that he will be here for her and will never leave.

And it suddenly gave her an overwhelming need to stay.

Like a broken dam, everything that she felt for him, that she's tried to hold back, rose within her, warming her chest, like a tidal wave she couldn't wait to drown in.

Emma smiled, another tear falling, feeling like so much weight had been lifted from her. Like she suddenly couldn't stand to keep herself from him, to hide the fact that she liked him, she more than liked him, that she—

Emma's hand found his, intertwining with his fingers.

And suddenly, a glowing emitted from his pocket, where her fingers brushed it.

They both looked down, to see the wand.

Lit up with magic.

With a gasp, Emma pulled her hand away, and the glow faded.

Killian smiled.

He took out the wand. "Emma," he breathed.

Tentatively, Emma took it, and in an instant, it lit up again.

"My magic!" she breathed. "It's back," she whispered.

"Perhaps it just needed time," he said softly.

But Emma knew what it needed.

She smiled at him, and the warm feeling that was still in her chest.

The feeling that he and he alone elicited.

"Thank you, Killian," said Emma softly. She kissed his cheek, a little shyly, pink coloring the tip of her nose. Electricity like her own magic seemed to spark as she did.

His brows shot up at the sound of his own name, hearing the heaviness of her gratitude. He stared at her in utter shock.

"Let's go home," she whispered.

His brow quirked, something so hopeful in his eyes. "Home?" he echoed.

She smiled, more and more sure with every second. "Storybrooke." she clarified. "I'm not going anywhere."

She took his hand, and Emma had never seen him look as stunned as he did now.

"Aye," he said softly. "Home." He smiled, the word like music to his ears, like a relief of his own.

And she conjured the portal, the glow reflected in their eyes as they jumped through together.

For she was home long before they reached Storybrooke.

-.-.-.-.

tag list: @kmomof4 @justanother-unluckysoul @klynn-stormz @stahlop @ilovemesomekillianjones @hookmecaptain @tiganasummertree @jadehowlettthewolf @jonesfandomfanatic @anmylica @pirateprincessofpizza @stahlop @snowbellewells @eddisfargo @motherkatereloyshipper @csgiftexchange

#captain swan #captain swan fanfic #captain swan fanfiction #cs ff #cs #fanfic #fanfiction #emma and hook #emma and killian #ouat #once upon a time #once upon a time fanfiction #cs gift exchange 2022 #cs gift exchange #cosette141 ffn #the only one who saves me #h/c #hurt/comfort #romance

[citrineleaf]

*offers you some more fandom/Whumptober angst*

Summary:

Player is different from his teammates.

He isn't used to gallivanting across the globe or having little to no downtime or being stuck with people who are (endearingly) loud.

But he's fine!

... Right?

(Made for Whumptober Swap-out Prompt; Sensory Overload (in place of Day 3))

#whumptober2022 #no.06 #(swap-out prompt Sensory Overload) #sensory overload #fandom #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #anxiety #hurt/comfort #anxiety attacks #carmen sandiego #carmen sandiego 2019 #cs 2019 #carmen sandiego fanfic

[justanother-unluckysoul]

CSSNS 2022: “The Devil Within”

Rated: T

Summary: Newly-turned vampire Killian struggles to overcome his bloodlust and self-loathing, seeking revenge against the man that ruined his life, and trying not to fall in love with the woman that saved him.

For Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2022 (@cssns​).

A/N: A big thanks to @zaharadessert​, my beta for this fic, and to @caught-in-the-filter​ who created the beautiful art!

The Devil Within

Killian awoke with a reflexive gasp for air he didn't need. He couldn’t see anything - feeling around with his hand revealed solid wood on all sides. A coffin? Killian pushed down the panic, and memories filtered back in slowly; falling out of favour with his boss, the resulting punishment, and his smart mouth getting him into further trouble. Lying on the concrete floor, blood spilling freely from his severed wrist and the world going dark. 

“I’m sorry, Killian,” Robin said, his voice hushed and broken, “Please forgive me.”

Robin Locksley. His friend, and the only person Killian trusted in this godforsaken nightmare world he’d been dragged into. But Robin had not helped him this time. Killian had weakly reached for him and seized his sleeve, too far gone to say anything, in one last moment of primal panic as death came for him. 

“This is the only way,” Robin whispered, sounding distant and hollow like Killian was hearing him from underwater, “You must survive.”

Killian’s eyes slipped closed of their own accord before he felt something being pressed to his lips. Robin’s voice was muffled as a liquid entered his mouth - swallow it. He obeyed on instinct and then his awareness imploded, his world shrinking around him, knowing nothing but the rush of his blood in his veins turning first to flames and then to ice. If he’d still been able to breathe he would have screamed. 

And now he had woken up in a coffin. Killian grit his teeth. 

Bloody vampires. 

Read the rest on AO3

TAG LIST:  @teamhook​ - @klynn-stormz​ - @xarandomdreamx​ - @zaharadessert​ - @kmomof4​ - @therooksshiningknight​ - @batana54​ - @ultraluckycatnd​ - @anothersworld​ - @tiganasummertree​ - @jonesfandomfanatic​ - @the-darkdragonfly​ - @jrob64​ - @hollyethecurious​ - @lfh1226-linda - @elizabeethan​ - @moviequeen51​ - @onceratheart18​ - @cosette141​ - @fleurdepetite​ - @itsfabianadocarmo​

#cssns #cssns22 #vampire!killian #angst #hurt/comfort #captain swan #cs ff #cs au #my fics