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hollyethecurious · 4 years

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CS AU: The Craving in Between (1/1)

Summary: Emma shivered at the biting wind whipping through the street as she crossed from one alley to the next, the tight, thin dress beneath her jacket doing little to help keep her warm. She’d chosen it earlier that night hoping to impress a certain teaching assistant from one of the classes she and Neal shared. Killian Jones. A doctoral candidate several years her senior, and super hot to boot, Emma couldn’t deny she’d initially started flirting with him just to get under Neal’s skin, but as the semester went on and her overtures were met with equally witty and flirtatious banter, Emma had to admit there was something about Killian Jones that drew her to him.

Emma rolled her eyes, and not some mystical, mumbo jumbo, supernatural bullshit. A scoff left her lungs, hanging before her in a mist of cold sarcasm as she recalled her ex’s words warning that Jones wasn’t human. Shaking her head, Emma thought to herself, “Well, what the hell is he then, Neal?”

Emma was about to find out.

A/N: This fic is inspired by a scene I read in The Vampire Diaries books over 20 years ago. You’ll see it reimagined later in the fic. I am also borrowing elements of the lore TVD uses, but this is NOT a Vampire Diaries AU.

I had originally considered posting this as a two shot, but couldn’t find a place to separate it that I was happy with, so you get to read the thing in its entirety. Much love to @kmomof4 and @artistic-writer for their beta services. Also, I cannot flail enough over @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 art! Please go give Kayla some love, she absolutely deserves it! Finally, thank you to the @cssns mods for holding this event again. I have loved being a part of it over the last few years!

Rated M / ~17,500 words / Available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee

~/~

The bar was its usual self, brimming with wall to wall co-eds blowing off steam at the end of a long week that had them hurtling towards winter finals. Emma Swan sat perched on a barstool, on display in a red dress that highlighted all of her assets. A few of her male classmates had attempted to garner her attention, but she was too preoccupied to pay them much heed.

It didn’t stop them from continuing their efforts though.

“He isn’t here,” Emma’s ex, Neal, told her after she spent more time looking around the bar in search of a certain pair of vivid blue eyes, auburn scruffed jawline, and artfully mussed dark hair than paying any attention to whatever he was saying to her.

“Who?” Emma asked with an air of innocence, sipping her drink then snapping her attention to the door as it opened, revealing… not him.

“Jones,” Neal grit out. “That’s who you’re all dressed up for, right? You, and every other pathetically simple-minded girl at this university.”

“Excuse you?” Emma’s eyes swung back to his, her hand clenching around her glass while she decided whether or not to hurl its contents into his face.

His expression gave her pause. It wasn’t exactly remorse, more like he was steeling his resolve to say something.

“Look, Emma. It isn’t your fault,” he said, leaning in so he wouldn’t be overheard by those around him. “Jones has this… ability. He can make people feel things, do things, they wouldn’t otherwise do.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“He’s not… he’s not what you think he is.”

“A teaching assistant?”

“No,” Neal whispered harshly, flicking his eyes around them quickly before coming even closer to whisper into her ear. “Human. Jones isn’t human.”

Emma couldn’t help the snorted laugh escaping her.

“I’m serious!” Neal hissed, grabbing her wrist in a tight grip. “My father told me all about him. Emma, the man is dangerous. I’ve seen you flirting with him, and I’m telling you to be careful. Don’t go drawing his attention.”

Emma yanked her arm away from him, every bit of humor gone from her mood. “We’ve been over and done with for over a year, Neal. You don’t get to tell me who I can or can’t flirt with.” She stood and grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair, forcing her arms into the sleeves with irritated force. “And I’m not the only one who’s been flirting,” she stated smugly. “I’ve already got the man’s attention, and that’s made you jealous. You’re the pathetic one, Neal. Not me.”

Enraged, Emma exited the bar, pulling her jacket tightly around her to ward off the brisk night air. Knowing Neal would be in hot pursuit, she darted around the corner that led back to the off-campus home she shared with three other housemates, planning to take a shortcut down the alleyways.

Her heels clipped along the pavement, snapping a terse rhythm as Emma’s mood continued to sour. Stupid Neal and his stupid jealousy. She hadn’t been the one to end their relationship at the end of sophomore year. Finding him in bed with another girl had done that quite effectively. He was lucky she was willing to let him back into her good graces at all, so they could at least be civil with one another as they finished out their courses while pursuing the same degree.

She wasn’t feeling too gracious towards him right now, though.

Emma shivered at the biting wind whipping through the street as she crossed from one alley to the next, the tight, thin dress beneath her jacket doing little to help keep her warm. She’d chosen it earlier that night hoping to impress a certain teaching assistant from one of the classes she and Neal shared. Killian Jones. A doctoral candidate several years her senior, and super hot to boot, Emma couldn’t deny she’d initially started flirting with him just to get under Neal’s skin, but as the semester went on and her overtures were met with equally witty and flirtatious banter, Emma had to admit there was something about Killian Jones that drew her to him.

Emma rolled her eyes, and not some mystical, mumbo jumbo, supernatural bullshit. Another scoff left her lungs, hanging before her in a mist of cold sarcasm. Not human. She shook her head. Well, what the hell is he then, Neal? She was almost curious to know what her ex thought Jones was. Almost.

Maybe the night wasn’t a total loss. Emma knew Killian lived close to campus, something her stalker-esque housemate, Ruby, had discovered earlier in the year. If he wasn’t at the bar she’d been staking out in the hopes of running into him, then he might be working late with one of the professors he assisted. She could always head that way on the off chance of running into him on the quad.

Wow, Emma. Desperate much?

Another huff puffed past her lips. Yeah, she wasn’t going to wander around campus in the freezing cold just to catch a glimpse of him. She was not one of the pathetic, simple-minded girls Neal accused her of being. In fact, she was going to head home and not think about Killian Jones for the rest of the evening.

Too bad the evening had other plans.

Emma turned down the last alleyway leading to her house when she stopped short. Halfway down the narrow corridor was a couple locked in an intimate embrace, the man’s mouth kissing the woman’s neck as she let out sounds that sent a ripple of awkwardness over Emma’s skin. She was about to turn around and head back out of the alley, hopefully undetected, when the man lifted his head and Emma’s heart dropped into her stomach.

His pale face glowed in the soft light attempting to dispel the darkness of the alley from the street beyond. An expression of unbridled satisfaction beset his features, sending Emma’s pulse racing. His eyes snapped open, the vivid blue of his irises only a thin sliver outlining his blown wide pupils that were now trained on her. Her breath stuttered when his tongue swept over his lips and flicked at the corner of his mouth. The corner where something dark and viscous seemed to cling.

Dark and viscous like the line of fluid slowly trailing down the neck of the woman still wrapped in his arms. Killian’s arms.

Breaking off whatever invisible hold his eyes had on her, Killian turned his attention to the woman, a co-ed, Emma could now determine. Murmuring something Emma was too far away to hear, he pulled out a square of folded fabric and gently wiped it against her neck. The girl’s head lolled in some sort of agreed compliance and Killian stepped aside, letting her pass, her steps unsteady as she made her way to the far end of the alley. Bringing up the fabric, Killian dabbed at the corner of his mouth and it was then that Emma realized what the viscous matter was.

Blood.

He hadn’t been kissing the girl’s neck. He’d been…

Emma stumbled backward, and Killian took a determined but unhurried step forward. Condensation hung in the air from the near hyperventilated rate of her breaths. Her legs felt like lead as she tried to get them to move faster, not daring to turn around and put her back to the still approaching… whatever he was.

He was nearly on her by the time she reached the street, but her name ricocheting off the brick buildings stopped them both in their tracks. Tearing her gaze from him, Emma saw her housemate, Elsa, rushing towards her.

“Emma! Thank goodness! Neal texted and said you two had a fight. He was worried when you left the bar alone.”

Emma looked back into the alley, but found it impossibly empty. Elsa followed her gaze when she reached her side.

“What is it? Did you see something? Emma, what’s wrong? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

Not a ghost, Emma thought, finally knowing the truth Neal had tried to impart to her in the bar. He’d been right. Killian Jones wasn’t human. He wasn’t a ghost either.

Killian Jones… was a vampire.

~/~

Emma couldn’t concentrate on the lecture. She hadn’t taken so much as a single note all through class. How could she when a pair of piercing blue eyes were watching her from the corner of the room?

Not that she wasn’t used to those eyes being on her during class. They’d spent all semester practically eye fucking each other with furtive glances and challenging stares. Today, though, there was no swagger, no smolder, no dancing brows or crinkled corners. Just an unyielding gaze that was partially blanketed by the shadows cast by the setting sun peering in through the high lecture hall windows.

When their professor finally dismissed them with the instruction to place their papers on the desk for Killian to collect, Emma sprang from her seat. She practically tossed the assignment onto the desk and spun around before Killian’s voice called out from behind her.

“Miss Swan. A moment, if you please.”

Emma could hear the frantic rush of blood in her ears as her fellow classmates filed out, leaving her alone with him. Her eyes darted around the room, gauging the distance from the various exits while Killian busied himself with packing away the class materials.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” he stated from behind the desk once the lecture hall had cleared. “I have no intentions of harming you.”

“What are your intentions then?” Emma asked in a bravado that did not extend past the facade she was desperately trying to sell him, hoping he couldn’t sense the true level of her fear.

“I only wish to talk, Swan,” he assured her, stepping out from behind the desk to casually lean against its front with arms and ankles crossed before him. “I imagine you have questions after what you saw the other night.”

“And you’re just going to answer them?” Emma folded her arms over her chest, casting a dubious expression his way.

“I will,” he affirmed with a slight nod of his head. “And once you’ve had your questions answered you can decide whether you wish to retain the knowledge you’ve gleaned… and the memory of the incident that prompted it all.”

A thin sliver of dread worked its way up her spine. “What do you mean by that?”

“I can make you forget,” he replied. “What I am. What you saw.”

“Is that what you did to… to her?” Emma had no doubt he knew she was referring to the girl in the alleyway.

“Aye.”

The nonchalance his tone and body language were exuding over the matter sparked a flare of indignation inside Emma on the poor woman’s behalf. Her outrage fueled a moment of bravery to call the man’s… er, vampire’s, character into question.

“Did she know?” Emma spat out in an accusatory tone. “Did she know what you planned to do to her in that alley?”

“No,” Jones replied with a dismissive shrug of his shoulders. “But she had given her consent for my use of her body. I did not force or enthrall her.”

Emma took an enraged step forward, her hands falling to her sides and balling into fists. “Is that the justification you use to help you sleep at night?”

The corner of Killian’s mouth quirked up. “I don’t really do that any longer.” The perplexed pull of her brow had him leaning forward to clarify with a hint of amusement. “Sleep at night, that is.”

Emma gave him a disdained roll of her eyes and muttered her disgust of him under her breath. The shift in his demeanor was swift and unnerving, even though he remained reclined against the desk. The hardened edge in his words had Emma’s pulse racing out of fear once more as she reminded herself that she was not dealing with an ordinary man. An ordinary human.

“Do you gain permission from livestock before you consume them?” Killian asked pointedly. A dark and sinister shadow crept behind his eyes, clouding the usual brilliance of their blue hue into something much stormier, something dangerous. “Do you worry about the animal as you take its milk or eggs for your own sustenance?”

“We aren’t animals,” Emma protested weakly. The thin exhale of breath had barely been capable of leaving her lungs, the air between her and the riled vampire seeming to have evaporated.

“Of course you are.” His laugh was both harsh and humorless, as was his expression. “We all are. Some of us are simply more… domesticated than others.”

His hips propelled his body forward, away from the desk and towards her. She stumbled backward at the sudden movement, but was halted from obeying the fleeing command her brain was screaming at her by the gaze she now felt herself caught in.

“Like you humans,” he sneered, circling her with a predatory grace. “Concerned with the humane treatment of your food source while weighing the morality of taking a life in order to sustain your own.” Emma shuddered when he stopped behind her, too paralyzed by fear to turn and face him as he continued to whisper in her ear. “And yet, do you fault the wolf for its necessary but brutal kills in the wild? Or the jackal for targeting the weakest and most vulnerable of the herd?”

When he came back into view, Emma realized he had a section of her hair twirled around his fingers before he lifted it up to breathe in its scent. The way his eyelids fluttered shut as he took in her aroma made Emma flush, and her knees went weak.

Killian’s eyes snapped open. The storm within those irises now held a different sort of danger than the one caused by his anger; the swells brewing from something no less primal. Emma’s lips parted from the gasp rushing through, drawing the vampire’s eyes to them. His tongue swiped along his own and he took a step forward, closing the already minimal gap between them.

“Don’t let my mask of domesticity fool you, love.” The silken quality of his voice, low and sultry, rippled over Emma’s skin, sending a shiver in its wake. “We vampires are wild, feral creatures. Existing at the mercy of our instincts and the laws of nature. It is only because, by vampire standards, it has not been so long since I was human that I concern myself with gaining any measure of consent at all. I do my damnedest to keep my lusts in check, but I am an untamed creature by nature. Never forget that, Swan.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Emma questioned breathlessly. “Why tell me any of this? Why not just make me forget?”

Uncertainty pinched between his brows as he considered her words. “Honestly? I’m not sure.” He ran a cold finger down the side of her cheek, but despite the shock of his icy touch Emma didn’t feel the need or the desire to flinch away. “You’ve a choice to make now though, love.”

“What choice?”

“Choose to forget, or…” His eyes swept over her, causing a rush of heat to sweep up from her chest as he paused in dramatic fashion. “Allow me to introduce you to a world you thought existed only in fantasy.”

He circled her again, close enough to touch. Close enough for her body to long for his touch before her better sense slapped her back into reality, but not before another shiver coursed down her spine.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” The gravelled cadence of his deepened tone washed over her, leaving her a tad light-headed.

“No,” she exhaled, wetting her lips when he faced her once more with a raised brow.

“Your quickened pulse says otherwise,” he smirked. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” he said leaning in. “We vampires are pretty good at knowing when someone is lying. We’re quite… perceptive that way. So, be honest.” He reached up and brushed a section of her hair off her shoulder then ran his fingers down her arm, leaving a wake of raised flesh as they grazed past. “Part of you wishes it had been you in my arms the other night. Am I right?”

Somehow Emma managed to swallow past the arid desert that had settled in her throat. “No.”

Killian cocked his head and tsked at her.

“Not the way you’re implying,” she amended, jutting her chin forward in challenge. Feeling a bit braver since it seemed he really didn’t intend to hurt her, or do anything to her without her consent.

“Are you quite sure about that, darling?”

The vapor of his breath hit her lips, alerting her to just how close he’d gotten without her even realizing. She took a step back and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I don’t want you to make me forget, but I’m not agreeing to what you’re asking of me either.”

“And what is it you think I’m asking of you?”

“My consent. Which I have no intention of giving.”

“Then perhaps I’ll just take what I want,” he said without any real note of threat behind his words or the casual shrug of his shoulders. “Although,” He swaggered forward and Emma stood her ground, letting him approach until they were practically nose to nose. “Changing your mind might be where the real fun begins.”

“You really think you can get me to change my mind about this?” Emma questioned. The spirited nature of their usual banter crept back into their words and body language as the atmosphere around them sizzled.

“Oh, aye,” he declared. “And when I do win your consent, it’ll be without any trickery or use of my thrall. It’ll be because you want me.”

“We’ll see about that,” Emma quipped with a playful smile of challenge before spinning around and exiting the room without a backward glance.

~/~

Emma considered her approach the next morning. From where he sat in the foyer of the building, right up against the windows that allowed the morning sunlight to filter in, it was clear to her that at least one mainstream belief about vampires was blatantly false.

He certainly didn’t sparkle.

She already knew that, of course. The class he assisted in, while now ending after the sun had set, given the time of year, was held in the late afternoon. Plus, she’d seen him crossing the quad throughout the day all semester long, going back and forth to his own classes as well as others he served in. Not to mention his penchant for working in that particular corner of the building during the mornings he had free from classroom obligations, which was how she knew he’d be there for her to watch from the balcony above while she gathered her courage.

Making her way down the steps, she noted an almost imperceptible reaction from him. Could he sense her coming? Did he have super hearing? Could he read her thoughts? Knew the unique rhythm of her heartbeat, or something?

These, and more, were questions that had plagued her mind since she’d left the lecture hall the day before. More than ever, the man intrigued her. Especially now that she knew he was no ordinary man.

“So, what about crucifixes?” she blurted out as she plopped down into the seat across from his.

“I beg your pardon?” He hadn’t even flinched when she’d seemingly snuck up on him, so he clearly possessed some sort of heightened or preternatural sense that wouldn’t make it easy for someone or something to get the drop on him.

“You said you’d answer whatever questions I had,” she reminded him. “Unless that was a one time offer.”

Closing the lid of his laptop, he removed it from his lap and stowed it away in the bag resting against the leg of his chair. “If you still have questions, Swan, I am only too happy to answer them.”

With his work secured, he turned his sole focus back on her and she took back her initial assessment. He did sparkle. Or his eyes did, at least.

“What about crucifixes?” he prompted.

“Do they repel… your kind?”

A smirk pulled at his lips and a brow arched up his forehead in a cheeky manner. “Why? Are you planning to devote your life to God in order to find a measure of protection against my unholy existence?”

The quipped response and amused expression couldn’t completely hide the hard edge of self depreciation underpinning his words. Her silence must have spoken volumes to the fact it hadn’t gone unnoticed by her, forcing his features to harden slightly as he repositioned himself in his seat.

“No,” he answered honestly. “Crucifixes have no effect. Neither does holy water or garlic. I can also cross bodies of water and move about in the sunlight... conditionally.”

“What conditions?”

He cocked his head sideways and cocked a brow her way. “A gentleman cannot give away all of his secrets. Where’s the fun without a little mystery?”

Emma huffed and stood. “If you aren’t going to take my questions seriously, then I guess we have nothing further to discuss.”

His hand shot out startlingly fast and lightly gripped her wrist, halting her retreat. “Forgive me, love,” he offered with an expression of sincerity. His thumb caressed a light pattern over her skin, tracing the lines and pathways of her veins, his tongue peeking out to run over his lips when her pulse increased.

Emma resumed her seat, noting the tight set of his jaw, and decided to leave the matter of these conditions for another time.

“Do you really not sleep?” she asked, turning the course of the conversation to something he’d already alluded to.

“I have no need to,” he responded with an earnest tone to his words, assuring her that he was taking her questions seriously. “I can rest in a sort of meditative state whenever I wish to quiet my mind, or simply… be. But it isn’t really sleeping.”

“No need for a bed then?” Emma remarked flippantly, wondering what the home of a vampire looked like and relieved to know he didn’t sleep in a coffin.

“A bed has uses beyond sleep, Swan. Please tell me you are aware of that.” The salacious look she’d grown accustomed to over the past few months settled on his chiseled features as he leaned in with a purr like whisper. “And if not, please allow me to be the one to enlighten you.”

Emma ignored the heated rush making its way up her neck while also settling low in her belly, and pressed on with her questions. “How long have you been a, um…”

“Since the 1870’s,” he replied, knowingly. “I was born in the 1840’s in London.”

One hundred and fifty years. Emma’s mind reeled over that information for a moment before she blurted out. “How did it happen?”

The muscle at his jaw clenched and flickered as his hand balled into a fist. “If it’s all the same, love, I’d rather not share those details with you just now.” He looked about at the bustling lobby then turned his gaze back to her. “Not here, anyway.”

Emma nodded that she understood. While they were being discreet with their conversation, it was clear that the telling of that particular backstory was more than he was willing to risk in such a public location.

“Okay. Will you tell me more about what happened with that girl the other night, then?”

Twirling the ring secured on his pointer finger with his thumb, he contemplated her request before leaning forward and beckoning her to do the same so they could ensure they wouldn’t be overheard.

“I needed to feed, and find the alleys by the bars a good place to… recruit a donor.”

“A donor? Really?”

“What would you have me call them? I don’t require any more than they’d give at one of the university’s blood drives. Would calling them a meal make it any easier for you to stomach?”

“Why not just feed on animals or break into a blood bank?”

Killian clucked his tongue at her and rolled his eyes. “Pop culture would have you believe that was an option for us, but I’m afraid it isn’t. We vampires can only truly be sustained on human blood. Fresh human blood. Animal blood does not have all the necessary components to satiate our thirst, and banked blood is laced with anticoagulants that make it hard for us to process.”

“How often do you have to--”

“Once every couple of weeks,” he supplied. Again, answering her before she had to voice the question. “I try and feed every ten days or so. Any longer and the thirst can become too difficult to control.”

“And if it does?” Emma swallowed hard, knowing she probably already had an inkling of the answer.

Killian pursed his lips together then ran his tongue over his teeth while reaching up to run his hand over the scruff at his jawline. “Then it would take more than my thrall to get rid of the evidence.” A shiver of dread coursed down Emma’s spine, and Killian’s forget-me-not gaze held hers more intensely as he imparted, “There are many of us that give little to no thought of their victims. While it only takes a little to slake the need, there are vampires, like humans, who glory in excess, even to the point of killing.”

“Have you ever…”

His eyes flicked down, a sense of remorse rolling over him which was all the answer Emma needed. The fact that he’d taken a life should have been enough for her to get up and walk away right then and there, but the amount of regret she could feel coming from the otherwise brash and confident man she’d come to know over the semester had her reaching out to squeeze his hand, causing him to snap his head back up to stare at her with startled eyes. Turning his hand within her grip, his thumb brushed against the back of her knuckles in silent gratitude before letting go and reclining back in his seat, putting a more appropriate distance between them in case anyone crossing the foyer should notice the tender moment they’d just shared. The vulnerability he’d displayed was gone in an instant, replaced by the roguish, devil-may-care demeanor he usually employed.

“Have I satisfied your curiosity, Swan? Or are there other areas of interest you’d like to explore with me?”

Choosing to follow his lead and not press him any further on the matters he seemed most sensitive about while hoping to lead them back to familiar, flirty waters, Emma wet her lips. The action had the desired effect, drawing his eyes to her mouth, his eyes narrowing with a darkening hue when she pulled her lip between her teeth and flicked her lashes at him.

“Just one more question,” she murmured innocently, crossing her legs which made her skirt creep just a tiny bit higher up her thigh.

“And what’s that, love?” he asked. His voice dropped into a deeper register, sending a tingle through her skin.

“Have you ever used your thrall on me?”

His brow arched upward. “Would you like me to?”

It wasn’t an answer, which only heightened Emma’s suspicion, making her side-step his aloof response. “How would I even know if you had?” she said with a flippant shrug. “You could have been using it on me this whole semester. Luring me to you like a predator attracting its prey.”

A smirk twitched at the corner of his lip and he leaned in once more, crooking his finger at her so he could whisper into her ear. “I have most definitely been attempting to lure you in, Swan,” he confessed, the heady vapor of his breath against the shell of her ear sending a warm current of desire straight through her. “But as I said, when you fall victim to me it won’t be because of my thrall.”

“Awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Emma shot back, a bit more breathless than she would have liked.

“Aye,” he replied with a wink after pulling back. “You never know, love. You might enjoy being in my clutches.”

The way he shifted in his seat, his hand coming up to frame the side of his face while his tongue did something obscene with his lips and teeth had Emma ready to give in. Fortunately, a fellow co-ed called out to her, breaking the trance he seemed to have woven around her.

“Emma! Are we still on for Saturday?”

Wrenching her focus off Killian, Emma scanned the lobby for the person whose voice had rescued her from herself. At least… she was pretty sure it was her own libido and not his influence that had her wanting to drag him to a dark stairwell and have her wicked way with him. All the while imagining the wicked things he could do to her as well.

Finding her blonde, pixie-like friend, Emma answered back, “Yeah! Eight o’clock! See you then?”

“You know it!” her friend replied before heading off down one of the many corridors leading to lecture halls.

“What’s Saturday night?”

Was that a hint of disgruntlement in his tone? Was he unhappy she already had plans for the weekend? Suppressing a bit of smugness, Emma flipped her hair over her shoulder and turned back to face Killian. His attention latched on to the side of her neck, bared enticingly to him and forcing his Adam’s apple to bob in frustration.

Pretending she didn’t notice the undercurrent swelling between them, Emma replied, “It’s Ruby’s birthday. She wants everyone to dance the night away at Neverland, that new club off campus, before we have to hunker down and get ready for finals week.”

“I see.” He was twirling his ring around his finger again, agitation ticking along his jawline. “And I suppose an invitation to dine with me that evening wouldn’t be able to compete with celebrating your friend’s birthday.”

Emma couldn’t help the cheeky quip that rolled off her tongue. “Depends? Would we both be dining, or just you?”

An amused huff escaped him, relaxing the tension in his shoulders as he gave her a nod of his head as if to say, touche. With a light shrug of his shoulders, he said, “Perhaps a rain check then?”

“Or…” Emma drawled out, a dangerous idea hatching in her mind. “You could come and be a part of the celebration,” she offered. “Show me the fun in changing my mind you alluded to yesterday.”

Her challenge hung between them for a long moment, her pulse increasing with each passing second of having just agreed to playing the game he’d presented the day before. The game to win her consent and take that which he craved from her.

Slowly, he stood from his seat, collecting his laptop bag and slinging it over his shoulder. She followed suit, her breath hitching when he took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. “I love a challenge,” he murmured into her skin after pressing a surprisingly soft kiss into her flesh, sending a ripple up her arm.

Without any indication as to whether he’d join her at Neverland that weekend, he bid her good day and headed off towards the lecture halls. Emma’s legs could no longer support her, so she sank back down into the chair she’d occupied for the better part of an hour, attempting to steady her breathing and regain control over the mess of nerves he always seemed to leave her in.

She almost managed to get a hold of herself when the chair opposite her became occupied once more. A groan worked it’s way up her throat as she slumped back into her seat, not wanting to have to deal with him right now.

“I’m glad I caught you,” Neal said in a hushed tone, digging something out of his pocket. “I have something for you.”

“Neal,” Emma began to protest with an exasperated whine when he held out a necklace towards her. Did he think he could win her back with gifts of jewelry?

“This isn’t what you think,” he countered. “I know you don’t believe me, what I said about Jones not being human, but Emma you have no idea what you’re messing with.”

“I do, actually,” she informed him, crossing her arms over her chest and casting a raised brow his way.

“No, Emma. You don’t,” Neal snapped with vehemence, scooting his chair forward so he could lean in close, despite her reclined posture attempting to keep distance between them. “I know it sounds crazy, but Killian Jones is a va--”

“Vampire,” she cut him off. “Yeah. I know.”

Neal jerked back, a look of shock radiating off him. “How? How did you--”

“He, uh… he told me,” she fibbed with a casual shrug, not wanting to relay the scene she’d walked in on that night she’d left Neal behind at the bar when he’d tried to warn her about Jones.

“Has he… Tell me he hasn’t… you know.”

“What? Had a taste?” she teased, a saucy smirk on her lips as his complexion turned a mottled purple color.

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s also none of your business what I have or have not done with him.”

“It is if it wasn’t truly your own choice,” he shot back. “He can make you do things, remember? Make you think it’s what you want.”

“He hasn’t done that,” Emma stated, hoping the earnest tone she applied to her words would convince herself as much as Neal.

“That you know of,” he said, dismissively. “Look, Emma. I’m trying to look out for you. That’s why I brought you this.” He held up the necklace, a medallion engraved with a swan on the front and a latch on the side that revealed a disc intended to dispense aromatic oils within. “It’s vervain,” he informed her when her nose wrinkled at the herbal assault wafting its way to her nose from the swing of the pendant in his hand. “It counteracts their ability to persuade you. They can’t come into contact with it without risk of injury or poisoning.” He grabbed her hand and forced the necklace into her palm, closing her fingers over it. “Wear it. Please.”

“How do you know all this?”

The fervor with which he spoke, the sheer disgust that laced each mention of them unnerved her. Neal wasn’t one to ever take anything too seriously, including her. It was something that had bothered her throughout their relationship, and if his infidelity hadn’t put the final nail in the coffin, his disparaging attitude would have surely done so soon after. Even now, his insistence that she protect herself from Jones seemed to be less about his care for her and more about keeping Killian from acquiring her. Where was his concern for the other women on campus?

“It’s a family thing,” Neal muttered in a clipped tone, inviting no further inquiry as he stood and adjusted the strap of his messenger bag. “Just, promise me you’ll wear that and stay the hell away from Jones.”

Emma wasn’t about to promise him anything. The fact he felt compelled to rescue her like some damsel in distress made her bristle, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t curious as to how the necklace might prove or disprove her trepidations about Killian’s influence over her. “I’ll wear it,” she told him. “But it’s gonna be kind of hard to avoid him until the semester is over next week.”

Neal sighed and squinted out the window. “Yeah. At least we won’t have to deal with him much longer.”

Something is his tone and the way he no longer met her gaze had a small sliver of dread imbedding itself in her stomach. Before she could ask him what he meant, he told her he had to get to class and hurried out the door, leaving her alone in the now abandoned lobby. Opening her palm, she looked down at the swan pendant necklace and chewed her lip. If what Neal had told her was true, then it would ensure an even playing field between her and Killian while he pursued her. Securing the chain around her neck, she decided to give it a try, hoping it would only serve to hinder his thrall without causing him any of the torment Neal said the herb could inflict.

After all, should he choose to show up at Neverland Saturday night, she had another sort of torment planned for him.

~/~

The hands at her waist gripped her tighter when the beat of the music changed, and the rhythm of her hips with it. Emma ran her hands up the firm chest in front her, all the while aware of the forget-me-not gaze raking over her and her dance partner, Walsh, with various degrees of heat. She knew she was being cruel, to both Jones and the young man whose face had lit up as if it were Christmas when she’d agreed to join him on the dance floor, concentrating her attention on him and laying her interest on thick when Killian had arrived.

While Emma and her friends bumped and grinded, paired off with prospects they might engage in more enjoyable activities with later, Killian sat at the corner of the bar, sipping his drink and staring at her intently over the rim of his glass gripped tightly in his hand. It didn’t take long for Emma to start implementing her plan, to drive Killian wild with jealousy as she pressed herself against another. Her body writhed to the sultry melodies thumping through the speakers, beads of sweat collecting under her hairline before slinking a path down the back of her neck in an attempt to cool her heated flesh, flushed from exertion as much as the predatory sights she could feel penetrating through the throng of clubbers.

Could he hear her accelerated heart beat? The breathlessness overtaking her, making her dizzy from the exhilaration of anticipation? The anticipation of his reaction once her efforts were exhausted and she could mete out the last bit of torment with her continued refusal to grant him the thing he wanted from her, despite the pooling want between her thighs and the simmering need boiling in her blood. Did his heightened senses know about that, too, she wondered. She knew her eyes probably gave her away, a different type of hunger reflected in them than the one smouldering in his own, but how much did the rest of her body reveal to him? It had already revealed a great deal to her.

Even with the swan necklace laced with vervain cradled in her cleavage, Emma wanted him. She wanted Killian Jones, without any trickery or use of his thrall. In that moment, her feelings were her own, and the knowledge of that fact only seemed to make her want him more.

But first… there was that promised bit of fun to be had.

Walsh’s hands became more assertive, pulling her in until she was practically flush with him then securing them over her ass, pinning her in place. She could feel the intentions he had for them growing hard within his pants, and knew it was time to put a stop to things before he got too carried away. Planting her hands against his chest, she pushed away with a tight smile at her lips. Ladies’ room, she mouthed at him, turning out of his arms and making a beeline for the back hallway that led to the facilities. When she noted the empty seat at the end of the bar her heart sank, but was soon jolted back into place with a frantic flutter when a hand shot out from the darkness.

“This is a dangerous game you’re playing, love,” Killian growled into her ear after pressing her up against the wall, molding his body to hers. The tip of his nose ghosted down the veins of her neck. Her skin tingled under the panted breaths escaping his lips, spiking her heart rate and drawing a tormented sound from deep within his chest.

“What’s life without a little danger?” she said on a breathless moan, canting her hips into his and tilting her head back when he reached the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Her eyes blinked open when she suddenly felt him pull back, his nostrils flared wide and a hiss rushing from his lungs.

“Not so dangerous when you have the proper weapons in place,” he said with his eyes narrowing in on the pendant hanging mere inches from where he’d been drinking in her scent. “New necklace?”

“Yes,” she answered. Her voice was still unsteady, her entire body vibrating like a live wire seeking out a conduit, willing him to return and complete the current his presence sparked.

Taking a cautious step forward, he braced a hand against the wall behind her. “And who gifted it to you, may I ask?”

Emma swallowed hard, her heart racing for an entirely different reason than before. What would he do when he learned she wasn’t the only one who knew his secret?

“I ordered it online,” she blurted out, knowing there was no way he’d believe the lie.

His unconvinced hum confirmed that assertion.

“I won’t insist you tell me, Swan,” he assured her. Though, Emma could see from the stiff set of his shoulders and dark swirl in his eyes that he would love to do just that. “I’m merely grieved that someone managed to gift you vervain before I could.” Reaching into the interior pocket of his jacket, he took out a parcel wrapped in plastic and presented it to her. Within was a sachet of herbs giving off the same earthy notes as the oil-saturated locket around her neck.

Vervain? He’d brought her vervain?

“I wanted you to know with certainty that your thoughts and actions were your own,” he told her.

Emma didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t actually expected him to fight fair. Absolutely sure he’d use whatever underhanded tactics he could to try and win her consent, she’d chosen to employ a few dirty moves of her own as a preemptive strike. Actual dirty moves with a hapless casualty she’d used rather unfairly and owed a huge apology.

“Swan?” Killian’s concerned tone and soft swipe of his thumb over her cheek brought her back to the dark alcove of the night club. Once again, he seemed able to read her, his brows taunting her as he suggested, “If you’ve finished toying with the lad in order to stoke the burning embers of my envy, perhaps you’d allow me to see you home?”

Heat rushed to the apples of Emma’s cheeks, not that she didn’t know how transparent she’d been, but Killian’s waggling brows and deep chuckle made her realize how ridiculous the plan was. Although… she couldn’t say she was disappointed with the reaction it had gotten her when he’d pulled her into the alcove, ready to devour her.

Would he have if not for the vervain? How far could one truly push a vampire before its instincts took over?

Emma shivered at the prospect. He’d told her she was playing a dangerous game, but Emma had always been one to play to win. The evening, and vervain, may have proven her desire for him was genuine, but she knew the hunger they held for one another was not at all the same. He wanted her body for a completely different purpose, and as intrigued as she was by the notion, she couldn’t help the thin quiver of fear running up her spine when she imagined putting her life in his hands that way.

Killian’s head cocked to the side, still awaiting her answer to his invitation to walk her home. With a deep breath of resolve, Emma told him she’d meet him out front, needing to say goodbye to her friends and grab her jacket from the coat check first. He bowed his head before disappearing into the darkness of the hallway until the back door opened, illuminating his silhouette as he exited, somehow without setting off the alarm.

Having wished Ruby another happy birthday and hugging each of her friends, assuring them she had someone walking her home, Emma exited the club and was slipping her arms into her jacket when unwelcomed arms snaked their way around her middle.

“There you are,” Walsh slurred sloppily into her hair. “I wondered where you’d gone. Ready to head out?”

Grabbing his wrists in order to peel his hands from her and guide them back to his sides, Emma stepped away and gave him a chagrined, apologetic look. “Yes, but, um… Listen, Walsh. I realize I might have led you on a bit, and I’m sorry about that, but I’m not interested in leaving with you, and it wouldn’t be fair to you if I--”

“Seriously?” Walsh scoffed. “You’re gonna pretend we didn’t have some major chemistry on the dance floor all night?” He took a stumbling step towards her, which had her stumbling backward into the wall. Hands braced next her head, his sickly sweet, liquor soaked breath had her stomach threatening to lurch as he hovered over her. “If you’re worried what Cassidy will think, don’t be. I’m pretty sure I could take him in a fight.”

Emma tried to hold him at bay with her hands pushing at his shoulders, but his weight was too much for her. “Walsh, stop. I told you I’m not--”

“The lady said she wasn’t interested, mate.”

A relieved exhale whooshed from her lungs when Walsh jerked back, spinning unsteadily to see who had interrupted them. Emma grabbed the hand Killian had extended towards her, assisting in extricating herself from Walsh’s attentions and drawing her into his side.

Walsh snorted, drunkenly. “Well, her body was saying something else on the dance floor, mate.”

With an unnerving calmness, Killian stepped forward and captured Walsh’s gaze with his own. The dulcet lilt of his voice stilled the atmosphere around them as he suggested, “Perhaps you ought to return to the dance floor and find a lass whose body and words match in their intent.”

Walsh nodded, his eyes devoid of any thought or awareness until Killian stepped back. Blinking rapidly, he snapped out of the stupor and gave Emma a friendly smile. “I’m gonna head back inside,” he told her. “Thanks for the dance earlier. Have a great night!”

Emma watched in stunned fascination as he headed back inside, her attention fixing itself on the vampire, whose attention had been solely focused on her, after Walsh disappeared into the noisy club.

“Did you just…”

“Shall we?” He held out his arm in invitation, completely ignoring the question he knew she didn’t really need him to answer.

Slipping her arm through the crook of his, Emma led the way towards the house she shared with her friends. The further from the club they got the more she continued to process what had happened with Walsh, and the more agitated she became. She attempted several times to voice all she was feeling, but the words stuck to her tongue.

“Out with it, Swan. I can hear you thinking.”

Stopping, she pulled her arm from his in order to fully face him. “I could have handled Walsh,” she told him. “I didn't need you to swoop in to save me. I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Aye, love. I know that,” Killian replied, looking a bit taken aback by the vehemence in her words and the rigidity that had taken over her posture.

“I know I was a little reckless, and using him that way isn’t exactly my proudest moment, but I’m not weak. I can handle myself. I know what I’m doing. I don’t need anyone to save me. I can save myself just fi--”

“Swan,” Killian interrupted, lightly grasping the tops of her arms and capturing her gaze with the intensity of his own. “What is this really about?”

The soothing swipe of his thumbs over the tops of her shoulders eased her muscles, making the weight of the pendant around her neck more prominent in her awareness. It’s weight, and the lack of faith it represented, the lack of faith in her ability to know her own mind and look after herself without some man feeling the need to rescue her, even if from herself. She didn’t need Killian or Neal to save her. The only one who saved her, was her.

Her stance grew rigid once more, compelling Killian to slip his fingers beneath her chin, prompting her to look at him so she could see the sincerity in his eyes as he spoke. “I only stepped in with Walsh to ensure the next young woman whose attentions he felt entitled to would be safely protected by my influence. I’ve never doubted your ability to look after yourself. The fact you’re here, at this university, on scholarships you earned with hard work and perseverance with no support of family is remarkable. You’re a marvel, Swan.”

Emma blanched. She’d never told Killian about her upbringing in the foster system, so how did he--

A knowing smirk lifted at the corner of his mouth, but it was not matched by the expression in his eyes. Those held a look that forced a shuddering breath from her lungs; a look she’d seen all too often reflected back at her in the mirror.

“You’re something of an open book,” Killian murmured. “And we lost souls have an uncanny way of recognizing one another.”

Taking her hand, he gently prompted them forward. All of Emma’s earlier frustrations were forgotten, replaced by a burning curiosity about the man, the vampire, beside her.

“Tell me about your life,” she requested. “Your actual life, before you became… what you are.”

A puff of breath crystallized in the air as a sigh left his lips. His head tilted upward, eyes combing the sky above them for several moments before returning their focus to the path they were taking. Emma worried her lip, sensing his hesitation made her stomach churn, but it didn’t compel her to retract her request. After another long, silent block, he finally spoke.

“I was born in London in 1846. My father was a dock worker, and my mother a seamstress. We weren’t well off, but my parents made a good enough living to support my older brother, Liam, and me. That is… until my mother fell ill and passed when I was about seven.”

The hushed timbre of his voice clenched Emma’s heart, his pain still so raw even after more than a century. She knew all too well, though, wounds made when one is young tend to linger.

“I’m sorry,” she offered with a supportive squeeze to his hand, earning her a lopsided smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Thank you, love,” he replied, clearing his throat so he could resume the tale. A fresh strain prying the words from a recess he’d most likely buried them in for decades. “Her death drove my father to drink, and gambling soon followed. He racked up a number of debts he was unable to pay, and as a result the three of us - my father, brother, and I - ended up in a workhouse.”

Emma’s mouth gaped open. “Like… a literal Dickensian workhouse?”

“Aye,” he answered with a harsh clip snapping against his words. “Only my father did not have to endure it for as long as Liam and I did.”

“Because he died?”

“No,” he ground out through tightly grit teeth. “He leveraged our youth in his favor. Reduced his time to a paltry few months by signing my brother and me over to the foreman. Sold us into servitude, forcing us to slave away in that hellish nightmare until we came of age.”

Emma wasn’t sure what possessed her to throw her arms around Killian’s neck, hugging him tightly. It only took a scant second before his arms circled her, one hand splayed across her back and the other burying itself in her hair as his face nuzzled the side of her neck.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” she murmured into his shoulder. “I’d ask what kind of parent does a thing like that, but seeing as how mine just left me on the side of the road…”

“Quite a pair, aren’t we Swan?” he rasped into her skin.

The heat of his breath ghosted up the column of her throat, his lips grazing the skin over her pulse point making it flutter when her heart responded erratically. In an instant, the sorrow of the moment gave way, the heavy gloom dissipating as the air around them crackled. The feather light motion of Killian’s nose outlining the veins of her neck, the tip icy cold against Emma’s now heated flesh, sent a shiver of captivation through her. She jolted slightly when his teeth scraped across her skin, a feral sounding growl vibrating along her neck. Half expecting, and fervently wanting to feel those teeth sink themselves into her flesh, Emma whimpered when she suddenly found herself standing alone on the sidewalk.

It took a moment to locate him in the darkness. With a speed she could not comprehend, he had managed to cross the street in a blink of an eye. His chest heaved and his hands were fisted at his sides. Releasing the tight grip on one of them, he swept his fingers through his hair and let go a shuddering breath before snapping his eyes to hers. Transfixed by the maelstrom swirling within those blue depths, growing closer to her with each measured step he took, Emma stood rooted to the cement beneath her feet.

Running his tongue over his lips he offered her his arm again, “I think it's time we got you home, Swan.”

Unable to form words, she merely nodded and took his arm, thankful her house was only another block away.

“I remember when this street housed the elite members of Storybrooke society not long after its founding,” Killian said, breaking the silence between them as if nothing at all had occurred. “Yours is the blue one, yes?”

“Yes,” Emma answered, her mind reeling at what he’d just said. She knew a little of the history of the house she shared with her friends. Belle, prolific reader that she was, had read all about the beginnings of the town and how the wealthiest families had congregated to the same area, outdoing one another with the grandeur and fine details they had crafted into the stately homes time now deemed antiquated. “How long have you been in Storybrooke?”

“Only for a few years this time around,” he told her. “I settled here after leaving England at the turn of the last century. I have to uproot myself every so often as to not draw attention to the fact I do not age, but something about this place keeps drawing me back.”

They walked up the steps that led to the expansive front porch and Killian scanned the architecture while Emma fit her key in the door. “It’s a shame fire got to this one early on,” he said. “Nearly burned to the ground from what I remember.”

“Yeah,” Emma replied, swinging open the door then propping herself against the jamb. “According to Granny, only a partial amount in the back half is original, the rest they had to rebuild. Apparently they tried to match what was here before, but only the original structure is protected under the historical registry.”

“Aye, they didn’t have the original craftsman to help restore it. He, unfortunately, died not long after the home was originally completed.” Killian’s hands skimmed over the mouldings framing the door, caging her between his arms. “Marco was a skilled woodworker. Too bad his son couldn’t match his father’s expertise. Still,” His eyes flicked around once more, a little too nonchalantly, before capturing hers in an intense stare. “It’s a fine house. Perhaps, I could come inside and see how well a restoration August did on it?”

Emma cocked her head to one side and eyed him suspiciously before understanding dawned on her. “You can’t come in unless I invite you, can you?”

The tightening of his jaw was a sufficient enough answer.

“I thought, perhaps,” he murmured in that low sultry tone of his, “after our shared moment you’d be willing to concede defeat, remove that infernal pendant, and invite me in.”

“Why on earth would I do that when so far, I’m winning?” Emma tugged on her bottom lip, coyly assessing him with it captured between her teeth and reveling in the upper hand she now had.

“Come on, Swan. You know I’ll get invited in eventually.” He pressed closer, only the thin wall of protective magic at her threshold separating them. “And once I’m in, you’ll be completely at my mercy. Isn’t that what you want?”

“I know it’s what you want.”

“No.” he countered, the ravenous look of hunger in the darkened depths of his eyes sending cascades of want trickling down her spine. “It’s what I crave.”

“Well,” she stated, breathlessly, throwing down the gauntlet. “I guess the only way you’ll ever get what you crave is by being invited in. Too bad that’s never going to happen.”

“Don’t be too sure, love.” he purred. “Never is a very long time, and I have all the time in the world.”

~/~

Over the course of the following week, time was not Emma’s friend. Finals week was usually like that. Late night study sessions, rushing to complete final projects or hand in papers she’d labored over for weeks, staying connected with her housemates through abbreviated texts and quick exchanges coming and going from the house, not to mention those frantic hours leading up to sitting for the exam that could make or break your entire semester.

The thing that had been a friend to her throughout the week was a vampire who seemed to know her every need before she did. Arranging pizza delivery for the all hours of the night cramming sessions, providing her with an open tab at the campus coffee cart so she could get a fix whenever she needed, giving her meticulously kept notes he’d obviously taken when he’d sat one of her classes during his undergrad years, ensuring her top marks in the most difficult course her degree offered; all culminating in one of the more successful finals weeks Emma had ever had. Her only worry was the class Killian assisted in, his presence causing a huge distraction while she tried to concentrate on the exam before her while her body hummed and her blood sang in response to his proximity.

It wasn’t that they hadn’t seen one another since the night he’d walked her home from the club that had her insides feverish. They’d had the occasion to be in each other’s company a number of times since then. No. It was the fact that after today there would be no reason, other than her consented desire to see him, that would keep him close. And she’d come to accept that she very much wanted him close.

Very close.

Regardless of that acceptance, she wasn’t ready to wave the white flag just yet. The contest laid out between them had become too much fun for her to let go of just yet. All his attempts to gain her invitation into the house had been thwarted, and she wanted to savor those victories for just a bit longer. Plus, there was still the lingering fear she couldn’t seem to shake. The unease she felt when she caught a glimpse of Killian’s predatory side, like a rabbit caught in the sights of a wolf when she felt his eyes roam over the expanse of her throat, regardless of how the action also sent a swell of heat straight to her core.

By the time the exam ended, Killian was being called away to help proctor another class’ final. When Emma handed in her test, her professor asked that she come by before office hours the next afternoon, spiking her nerves as her eyes darted to the back exit Killian had just disappeared through. It wasn’t technically against university policy for a student and assisting doctoral candidate to engage in a relationship, but Emma couldn’t help but worry that her professor planned to admonish her all the same. A worry that was ridiculous, the more she thought about it through the day and over the course of the night.

She and Killian didn’t have that kind of relationship. Sure, they’d flirted rather shamelessly with one another since the early weeks of the semester, and their mutual interest in one another went beyond the scope and sequence of the syllabus, but if that were really a point of concern then why bring it up to her now? It wasn’t like Killian had any influence over her grade in the class.

Or did he?

What sort of influence was behind this summons to appear at her professor’s office before his hours to see students began? The question weighed heavily on her mind the next afternoon when she presented herself in front of the heavy wooden door along the empty corridor of the tenured staff. Hand raised, ready to alert the occupant of her arrival, there was no need to carry through with the action when the door swung open revealing, not her professor, but the imposing figure of Killian Jones.

“Good afternoon, Swan,” he greeted, stepping back and gesturing her inside.

“I knew it,” Emma huffed, making her way into the office. “I knew you were behind this.”

Rounding on him, her heart fluttered a bit when he reached up to shyly scratch behind his ear, a bloom of pink tinted the apples of his cheeks. “Aye, well. I wasn’t sure you’d come otherwise, so I convinced our dear professor to deliver the message for me.”

“You used your thrall on him, you mean.”

“Vampire,” he quipped, unashamedly.

“Have you done that often?”

“What? Use my power of influence on the staff here?” When she nodded, he ran a hand over the stubble at his chin, brows scrunched in a concentration of nostalgia. “A time or twice. Mostly as a way of making them forget they’d met me before. Some of these professors have been here for ages, and there’s only so many times you can make the tale of an uncanny family resemblance and penchant for carrying on my specific name believable.”

Emma hummed her hesitancy to believe him, even though she somehow knew he was telling the truth, and sank down into one of the chairs in front of the grand mahogany desk that took up much of the room. “So, what was so pressing that you wanted me to meet you here and didn’t think I’d come if you asked?”

Plucking a folder off the richly varnished surface, he presented it to her while maintaining a distance Emma found uncharacteristic of him. “I wanted to show you this.” Opening the file revealed her transcript for the semester, marked with a string of A’s. “I hoped you might see it as a cause for celebration.”

“A cause for celebration,” she embittered, “or something you feel entitled to my gratitude for?”

Killian’s brows knitted together as his head cocked sideways. “You think I had something to do with your exceptional grades?”

Emma tossed the folder back onto the desk and crossed her arms over her chest. “You just admitted to having used your influence on the faculty before.”

Killian scoffed, the offense underlaid with an air of amusement. “Do you really hold such a low opinion of your own abilities that you think my thrall is the only reason you could have garnered such marks?” Emma flushed at his words. She knew how hard she’d worked this semester, knew deep down she’d earned each and every one of those A’s, but harsh, careless words spoken over her throughout her years as an orphan had always left her doubting. “I assure you, Swan. I had nothing to do with these grades. You earned them all on your own.”

“Why lure me here to tell me, then?”

Seeming to understand that she believed him, he leaned back against the edge of the desk and began fiddling with the edge of the folder. “As I said, I wasn’t sure you’d meet me without the pretense. Now that the semester is over, you’ve no reason to endure my presence any longer, and yet…” His eyes flicked up, an earnestness clear in their blue sparkle. “I was hoping, seeing as I’ve failed to garner an invitation into your abode, you might accept one into mine.”

“You’re inviting me to your place?”

“I am. Tonight. For a meal we will both partake in.” His gaze slowly roamed over her seated form, the seductive heat blazing a path over her skin as he added, “Though, I confess to the aspiration that dinner might lead to… dessert.”

“Tonight?” Emma’s heart sank even as it beat a current of lust through her veins from the intent behind his statement.

Killian’s face fell at her tone. “You are otherwise engaged, I take it?”

“I am. I’m sorry.” She really was, not having realized how much she wanted to take him up on his offer until she discovered she couldn’t. “It’s the last night we’re all gonna be in the house together. Elsa and Belle are both leaving for home tomorrow, and Ruby a few days after to go see her girlfriend before she has to be back for the holiday. We’re having one last dinner together. Elsa’s out doing all the shopping for it now.”

“I see,” he said. Although still wrapped in disappointment, his tone was understanding. “And what about you, love? Where will you go during the break?”

Standing, Emma made her way over to him, flicking her eyes up at him from beneath her lashes while noting how his body stiffened in response to her proximity. “I’m not going anywhere,” she told him, sinking a deeper meaning into her words that he seemed to pick up on given how his eyes darkened. “Granny lets me stay at the house during breaks. I pay my share of the rent out of my scholarship and pick up shifts at the diner to help with the added holiday rush.” Running her hand up his chest she felt the deep vibration of his guttural response in her palm. “So, you’ll have many opportunities to try and persuade me to let you in over the next few weeks.”

“Oh, I won’t need weeks, love. I wager I’ll gain access into that house much sooner than that.”

A knock interrupted their sensual summit, forcing them apart before the door swung open without a bid to enter.

“Hey Professor, I was wondering if--” Neal froze at the sight before him, eyes widening first in shock then anger.

“I’m afraid our good professor hasn’t arrived yet,” Killian told him, seemingly unaffected by the daggers being shot his way.

“What are you doing here, Neal?” Emma exasperated.

“I could ask you the same.”

“I’m here getting a document I forgot to grab from the professor yesterday. Killian was kind enough to open the office for me.” On cue, Killian slid the folder forward so she could grab it off the desk and cram it into her bag before shoving her way past Neal towards the door. “Thanks for your help, Killian.”

“Always a pleasure, Miss Swan,” he crooned after her with a raised brow and quirked lip. “Have a wonderful break. I hope to see you around during the holidays.”

“I hope so, too,” she said back to him, pausing briefly at the doorway to gift him a playful smile.

Catching another glimpse of Neal’s thunderous expression had her retreating from the office, hoping to avoid another confrontation with her ex. Sensing Neal’s pursuit hot on her heels, Emma sighed and slowed her pace down the deserted hallways, surrendering to the inevitable.

“Don't think I’m fooled for a second,” Neal snapped. “What was really going on in there between you two?”

“None of your business.”

“Damn it, Emma! What do I have to do to get through to you about how dangerous he is?”

“You’re wrong about him, Neal,” Emma argued. “He’s not a threat to me.”

Neal sneered, a scoff barking out over a harsh laugh. “What? Like you’re special, or something? Like you mean something to him? You don’t mean anything to him, Emma. You’re nothing but a meal, or maybe a pretty little distraction to entertain himself with until he gets bored of you and moves on to another girl. You don’t know him, Emma. Not like my family does.”

Dread slithered down Emma’s spine as she homed in on a deeper story between the words he was spewing. “What do you mean?” Emma asked in a hushed breath of trepidation, unsure if she truly wanted him to answer, but needing to know why Neal seemed to hate him so much.

Neal pulled her into an empty room and sat her down, making sure no one lingered in the hall before closing the door behind him. She’d never seen him like this. So serious, so intent, so… hostile.

“It’s a tale that’s been passed down in my family for generations,” he began. “From the Golds, an off-shoot of the Cassidy family tree. They were a prominent family back in London in the late 1800’s. Milah Gold, my ancestor, was seduced by Jones. No one knows for sure how long the affair went on for, but once Jones was done having his fun, he tossed her aside, and devastated by his abandonment, she took her own life.”

Emma couldn’t help the gasp that rushed from her lungs, a sound that only seemed to gratify Neal, spurring him on in his tale.

“Her husband, seeking revenge and wanting to make sure the monster couldn’t destroy another family, hunted Jones down, but the sadistic bastard got to Gold first. He ripped the man’s throat out right in front of his young son. Leaving him orphaned. That son, Bae, spent his entire life devoted to the extermination of vampires, but he was never able to kill the one who’d torn his family apart. He left his account in a journal that’s been passed down. Dad gave it to me when he realized Jones was back in Storybrooke.”

“No,” Emma said, shaking her head. “That can’t be the whole story. Killian wouldn’t--”

“Jones isn’t human, Emma,” Neal seethed, cutting her off. “There’s no humanity in him. He’s an animal, a demon that takes what he wants without any concern for those whose lives he ruins along the way. We’re nothing but sheep to him, and you are making yourself a little lamb readied for the slaughter.”

Emma shot out of her seat, conflicted by what Neal was saying but unwilling to listen to anymore of his vitriol. “I know how Killian views humans,” she told him. “I know he’s killed before, and I’ve seen the regret he carries with him. I know he can be dangerous, but I can handle myself, Neal. I don’t need your help.” Holding up her hand, Emma staved off the protest of his opened mouth. “I know you’re going to bring up the necklace, so let me save you from your gloating,” Reaching back, she unclasped the chain then grabbed for his hand, depositing the pendant within his palm. “Killian gave me a pouch of vervain last weekend, so I don’t need this any longer, not that I ever did. And if you’re worried about me being alone in the house after the girls leave, don’t be. As long as I don’t invite him in, I’ll be safe. I don’t need you to protect me from Killian, so just… stay out of my business.”

Shoving past, Emma stormed from the room and nearly mowed down her professor. As soon as Neal came into the man’s view he seemed intent on discovering what it was that had brought Neal to his office earlier. Emma had a sinking suspicion Killian might have had something to do with the interference the professor was running for her, and as much as the thought irritated her - did no one think she was capable of looking out for herself? - she couldn’t help but be grateful to have Neal off her back.

Though his presence had been removed, Emma couldn’t shake his words. His insistence that she was nothing special, nothing more than a tantalizing morsel, a conquest to achieve dominance over coalesced with all the things that had been spoken over her throughout the years. No one wants you. You’re not good enough. You’ll never be enough. You’re nothing. Nothing. Nothing more than another co-ed he could make forget. Was that really all she was to him?

Trudging up the steps and into the house, it took her a minute to focus in on the voices jovially resonating from the kitchen. She’d just rounded the corner when one in particular distinguished itself. A prickling rush of disbelief skittered over her skin when her eyes landed on him, casually leaning against the counter with a steaming mug of coffee clasped in his hand while he chuckled at whatever it was her housemate was saying.

“Emma!” Belle greeted. “We were wondering when you’d get back. You’ve been gone for ages!”

Had she? Eyes still firmly fixed on the vampire her friends were flitting around, each completely unaware of the danger lurking in their midst, she could see the sun starting to set through the windows in her periphery. She hadn’t realized how lost in thought she’d been, how long she’d wandered around campus contemplating the man, the vampire, somehow, impossibly, standing in her kitchen.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh!” Elsa said, organizing the ingredients she’d gotten at the store for their dinner that evening. “Mr. Jones was walking by when I got back from the grocer and offered to help me get the bags inside.”

Pulling her usually icy friend aside, Emma whispered, “You invited him in?” Why had it never occurred to her that the invitation could come from anyone, and not just her? Surely, he must have known he could gain entrance through one of her housemates? Why had he waited so long to take advantage of that loophole?

“It was a lot of stuff, Emma,” Elsa answered. “What’s the big deal? I thought you liked Mr. Jones.”

Emma tried to form words in response, but Killian’s polite lilt, which sounded a tad strained to her, broke through her incredulity.

“Much obliged for the coffee, but I must be off. Don’t want to intrude on your evening now Miss Swan has arrived.”

“Thanks for your help, Mr. Jones,” Elsa replied. “Are you sure we can’t get you anything else before you go?”

“No thank you, lass. I have plans later and would hate to ruin my appetite.” His eyes flicked to Emma’s, a smug and triumphant smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

Emma remained frozen where she stood when he approached to retrieve his jacket hanging from one of the hooks they typically had aprons draped over.

“I’ll be by later to collect my spoils,” he rasped low, so only she could hear. “No need to leave the light on, Swan. I see quite well in the dark.”

With a wink, he was gone, and Emma finally managed to draw a full, painful breath into her lungs. Needing a place to gather herself, Emma retreated to the back den and sank onto the settee, her head braced in her hands as soon as her elbows were planted on her knees.

He was coming for her. Tonight. There was no way to stop it. If she were being honest, a part of her didn’t really want to, but the other part… it didn’t want to consider what tomorrow would mean once he’d had his fill and the game between them was over. Reaching up, she gasped, fumbling for the necklace that was no longer there. Crestfallen, she remembered the only thing that might have helped keep him at bay had been handed over to Neal out of some need to prove herself capable.

She was a fool.

Tears blurring her vision, she looked out the wavy panes of glass from the century old window. One of the only original features of the home that had partially burned and been rebuilt. This den and the room above, which served as her bedroom, were all that was left of that dwelling. A dwelling that was technically separate from the rest of the house, according to the Storybrooke Historical Society.

Emma sat up a bit straighter, her head tilting back as she considered the room above her; the one Killian would attempt to enter later that evening. The one, she realized with a surge of giddiness, he may not have access to the way he thought he would. Could there be such a loophole? Could such a designation have a bearing on the supernatural rules that governed Killian’s existence?

Emma shot up and rushed to the kitchen. “Did Killian go into the den?”

Her roommates all startled at her blurted out question, their faces pinched in bewilderment.

“What?”

“Killian,” Emma repeated. “Did he go into the den while he was here?”

“I, uh… no,” Ruby answered. “I think he turned to go that way, but ended up hanging it on the apron hooks instead. Why?”

A triumphant smile spread across Emma's face, further eliciting confused looks from her friends. The game wasn’t over yet. Killian would be in for a rude awakening when he arrived at her bedroom later. Although she wasn’t sure how she felt about continuing their contest past this point, given what she’d learned about him from Neal, Emma suddenly found herself quite eager for nightfall. She couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he realized he hadn’t bested her after all.

~/~

Nerves churned within Emma’s stomach and palpated in her chest as she paced the length of her room, flicking her gaze for the thousandth time to the digital clock on her nightstand. 12:24am. What was taking him so long?

Plopping down on the foot of her bed, Emma huffed and smoothed her hands over the nightgown she’d chosen to wear. A shift of red lace and satin, she could just imagine Killian’s expression when he saw her in it, only to discover his well garnished meal was still out of his reach. Her heart ticked up a notch, now racing with anticipation. Attempting to steady it with a deep inhale, the fine hairs of her arms lifted in some Darwinian response, alerting the primal part of her brain to the presence of a predator.

Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the darkness saturating the hallway until she could make out his outline. Without sound, he stalked his way along the hall that led to her room, a gloating swagger in his hips and victorious arch in his brow. With equally silent steps, Emma made her way to the door, stopping just shy of the threshold.

“You’ve no idea how I’ve hungered for this moment, Swan,” he murmured on a hushed exhale. “I haven’t quenched my thirst since you came upon me in that alleyway, saving myself for this moment when my craving will finally be satisfied.”

Emma took a step back when he picked up his foot to take that last step forward, the one that would have brought him into her room if it weren’t for the protective barrier stretching across the opening. His brows snapped together in confusion, and a low growl rumbled from the back of his throat.

“Looks like you won’t be satisfying that craving tonight,” Emma crowed with a victoriously raised brow of her own. “Or any night for that matter.”

Fury and disappointment swept across his face, along with something more alarming that had her flesh rippling in response. Both their attentions were grabbed by a grunting snore echoing from the bedroom next to hers, and Emma’s sense of dread increased when Killian moved and lightly pressed against her roommate’s door, swinging it wide with his arm stretched out over the threshold, demonstrating his ability to access the adjacent room. Glancing back at her, he raised a questioning brow, the ultimatum clear from the dark piercing look in his eyes. Either she invited him in, or he'd take what he'd come for from one of her friends.

He wouldn't, Emma argued with herself. Killian would never…

"Don’t let my mask of domesticity fool you, love... We vampires are wild, feral creatures. Existing at the mercy of our instincts and the laws of nature … I am an untamed creature by nature. Never forget that, Swan.”

The playful countenance he usually exuded during their encounters slipped from his features. He turned and looked into her housemate’s room once more, the muscle at his jaw tensing as he brushed his thumb at the corner of his mouth. She could see the conflict warring within him, the hesitation in his vacillating stance as the instincts of the predator he was snarled at the humanity he was desperately trying to cling to. When he took a step into her friend’s room, Emma knew the predator had prevailed.

"Wait," Emma cried out in a pleading whisper. His eyes snapped to hers and her breath caught at the feral hunger she could make out in their midnight hue. Killian stumbled back from her friend's room, shaking his head hard, then braced his hands against the jambs of her doorway, leaning into the threshold as far as the invisible barrier would allow.

“Why won’t you just admit you want me?” Killian growled. An element of pleading grated over the words and his knuckles whitened from the strain he was employing to keep himself anchored at her door.

He'd come here expecting to have her at long last, believing he'd finally bested her in the dangerous and erotic game she'd insisted on playing with him. He didn't want her roommate, but the need was becoming too much. Emma could see that now. She thought back to their conversation little more than a week ago and remembered him telling her how he needed to feed every ten days or so, or else the need could become uncontrollable. It had been longer than that since she’d stumbled upon him in that alleyway. The last night he’d given in to his hunger, putting off feeding in the hopes she would be the one to slake his thirst.

When she didn’t respond his shoulders slumped, his head falling forward with a heavy sigh as he pushed himself back. “I’ll go,” he said. “I’ll leave Storybrooke, and not trouble you again. You and your friends will have nothing to fear from me, Swan.”

His tone was strained from the fight he was putting up in order to maintain control of himself. The wounded expression upon his features gripped her heart painfully, stealing her breath as she chastised herself. What are you doing? Say something! Stop him! Despite all that Emma knew, she didn’t want him to leave. Didn’t want him to disappear from her life, not without knowing if she’d truly been wrong about him. Watching him stride down the hallway, bypassing her housemate’s room with determined steps, she finally managed to draw air back into her lungs before his foot hit the top step.

“Killian, I…" Emma's words faltered, but they managed to halt his retreat. “I do want you. Only I… I don’t want to be just another conquest. Just another co-ed in a back alley that you make forget, or some… some pretty distraction you’ll discard once you’ve had your fill. Like Milah.”

His head snapped around, looking back at her over his shoulder, all the air seeming to have momentarily left his body. “Milah? How did you…” His eyes fell shut as understanding dawned on him. “Cassidy. It was Cassidy, wasn’t it? The necklace, Milah’s tale of woe. I thought I saw the resemblance.” Grasping at the strands of hair at the back of his head, he muttered, “It seems no matter where I go, I cannot escape that accursed bloodline.”

Gaze landing on her, he took tentative steps back towards her room, a vulnerability in his eyes and tone that begged her to believe his side of things. “Milah was not a conquest. She was not a… pretty little distraction I discarded.” Anguish poured from his lips when he professed, “I loved her. I wanted to be with her. Forever. And she had agreed. I intended to change her so we could be bonded together for eternity, but she was already married, to a cruel and ruthless man. Whatever Neal might have told you, it was Gold who brought about Milah’s demise, not me.” Anchoring himself to her doorway once more, his eyes fell then slid shut. “Although, if not for me, she would have gone on living her life as she had been. So, perhaps, I do share some of the blame.” His forget-me-not gaze rose up to her face, his hand attempting to reach for her but thwarted by the barrier still in place. “She was not some conquest, and neither are you, Emma. Don’t you know that?”

Emma shook her head, a single tear escaping her lashes and leaving a wet streak down her cheek. Her heart ached, clenched in a vice of uncertainty and turmoil. She wanted to believe him. Truly. Desperately. But the little lost girl no one ever wanted couldn’t quite make herself believe.

“Try something new, darling,” he beseeched. “Trust me.” Raising his hand, his palm pressed against the veil separating them. “Have I told you a lie?” Emma opened her mouth, brows pinched together in confusion, about to voice her frustration that she didn’t know the answer when he reminded her, “Vervain doesn’t just protect you from my thrall, it can strip away all pretense, allowing you to see the truth of my words. I can see you’ve removed the necklace, but the herbs I gave you are still in this room somewhere. I can smell them. Which means, they can allow you to hear the truth in my words. So, I ask you again… have I told you a lie?”

“No.” The answer was quick to leave her lips, and with it, any lingering doubts she had evaporated. Placing her hand against his, she stood before him breathless with longing.

“I don’t know what this is between us,” he said. “But I felt it the moment you stepped into the lecture hall that first day of class.”

“Felt what?” she whispered, her body practically vibrating with anticipation.

“Possibility,” he breathed. “I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of my first love. My Milah. To believe that I could find someone else… until I met you.”

Emma curled her fingers between his. "Killian," she whispered, before giving him a light tug. "Come in."

Her words and action allowed him to sway into her room, but he did not fully embrace the invitation. “Are you sure, Swan?”

Emma let go of his hand and reached up to grab the lapels of his jacket, pulling him to her and crashing their lips together. “I’m sure,” she murmured before coaxing a response from him with the nip of her teeth against his bottom lip.

He didn’t have to be told twice, backing her up further into her room and kicking the door closed behind them while his mouth plundered her with a deep hunger that went beyond that of his vampiric urgings.

“Tell me I can have you,” Killian implored, one hand coming up to cup her face while the other skimmed over the silky material covering her. Despite the coolness of his touch, the trail of its exploration blazed a path down her back, over the curve of her hip, and across her backside. “And not just your blood, but your body, too. Tell me I can have all of you, love.”

“Have me,” Emma mewled while her hands peeled the leather jacket off his shoulders. “Have what you want, take what you want. I just want to have you, too.”

“You do, love. More than you know.”

His mouth was back on hers, his hands rucking up her nightgown until he could effortlessly lift it over her head. The disgruntled protest of her groan when his lips had to leave hers was forgotten when she stood bare before him. His eyes combed over every exposed inch, the acute vision of his nature allowing him to see every detail of her curves, making her flush under his tender scrutiny.

“You’ve no idea how I’ve craved you,” he whispered, removing his shirt and pressing his naked chest to her own. His mouth danced along the veins of her neck, his words sending micro bursts of pleasure through her extremities. “Craved the warmth of your skin against mine, the taste of your lips.” His hand grazed along her side, descending down her body until he reached the apex of her thighs and dipped his fingers into the wetness pooled there. “The feel of you,” he rasped. “Warm and lush around me as I take you again and again, giving you pleasure you’ve only ever dreamed of before finally quenching the thirst you cause in my veins.”

Emma’s knees nearly gave out. Before she could hold onto him for support, he spun her around, one hand wrapped around her waist, fingers splayed over her lower abdomen while he sucked her essence off the ones he’d removed from her drenched center.

“However,” he drawled darkly, her skin erupting from the husky breath puffing against her throat, “now that I’ve had a sample, I find myself rather ravenous for a different sort of taste of you.”

Killian slinked down her body, his hand firmly pressing against her back, bending her forward until she met her mattress. Her eyes widened, a loud gasp escaping her when she felt his mouth at the cleft of her ass, his tongue mapping the entirety of her from back to front. The sounds he managed to coax out of her were downright obscene, but so were the things his mouth was doing. Her comforter balled in her fist and she rose up to her tiptoes when she felt his teeth scrape over her clit, the euphoric pain quickly soothed by flutters of his tongue.

It was almost embarrassing how fast he managed to get her to the precipice of her climax, but given how quick his vampire reflexes were and how well he was able to control them, it probably shouldn’t have shocked her. Still, her orgasm rolled through her before she was ready for his ministrations to end, tremors spasming through her extremities in a way they never had before.

Emma had almost reclaimed her senses when she was suddenly flipped over onto her back. Peering down her body, she caught sight of the gleaming tip of Killian’s fangs just before they sank into the still quivering flesh of her inner thigh. When his lips latched on and he began to drink from her, Emma’s head fell back onto the bed. The boneless quality her release had left in her limbs magnified exponentially, her body felt as though it were floating away on a cloud of bliss from which she never wanted to descend.

“Still with me, love?” Killian’s voice cut through the haze of ecstasy clouding Emma’s brain, and when she opened her eyes she found him hovering over her. “I didn’t take too much, did I?” Gently, he pulled her into a sitting position, his eyes surveying her for any indication he may have gone too far. “Are you light headed? Cold?”

“Killian, I’m fine,” she assured him, placing her hand over where she would have expected to feel his heart beating, if it still beat within his chest. While there was no thrum beneath her palm, what she did feel had her eyes widening.

“You’re warm,” she marvelled, running her hand over his chest. “I can feel it spreading its way through you. Is that…”

“What your blood does to me?” he answered by way of a question. “Aye.”

Emma chewed her lip as she got up the nerve to ask, “What would your blood do to me?”

Killian tensed infinitesimally, and swallowed hard. “It would... heighten your senses. Make you feel things in a way you’ve never felt them before.” Knowing how tempting that must have sounded to her, he rushed to add, “But it is not without side effects or potentially disastrous consequences.”

“Would it change me?” That was the only consequence that truly concerned her. Unsure if that was something she’d ever want, though willing to explore the possibility some day. Just not today. “Will it make me a vamp--”

“Only if your heart stops with my blood still in your system.”

“Have you ever let anyone--”

“No,” he replied with an air of wistfulness. “I never got the chance to with Milah, and since then… there hasn’t been anyone with whom I've wanted to share the experience.”

“Will you share it with me?” Knowing it would be a first for him, when there weren’t likely many firsts left for him, given his age, made the prospect all the more appealing for her. “Please?”

“Emma,” Killian warned. “The risk of doing so--”

“Is nothing to worry about,” she tried to reassure him, taking his face in her hands. “How likely am I to be hit by a bus tomorrow, honestly?”

“It isn’t just tomorrow, Swan,” he argued. “It could take upwards of a week before my blood is fully metabolized.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to stick around to make sure I’m safe.” When he remained stoic in the face of her teasing, a root of rejection began to plant itself deep within Emma’s chest. “I mean… unless you don’t want to. Unless it’s too intimate, and not something you’d want to share... with me.”

Killian’s arms enveloped her, squeezing her tight before his hands cupped her face so she was forced to look him in the eyes. “Of course, I want to share my blood with you,” he professed in a rushed whisper. “But you’re right, Swan. It is intimate. Probably the most intimate act a vampire can share with another, and I just want you to be sure. Sharing blood will connect us in a way neither of us have ever experienced. I want that with you, but I have no idea how it will impact…”

His words trailed off, but Emma knew what he was hesitant to say. How would taking this step impact what they had together, right now, in this moment?

“I’m willing to take that leap, if you are?” Emma declared.

His expression softened, and a glimmer of something primal flashed in his eyes as he repositioned them on her bed so they were kneeling before one another. Grabbing one of the pendants he wore around his neck, Emma released a soft gasp when the dagger proved to be a real miniature as he unsheathed it from the tiny scabbard that covered it’s sharp edge. With a quick flick of his wrist, he sliced a line along the top of his collarbone, dark crimson pooling in the hollow just above the hairline that blanketed his chest. With her pulse pounding in her ears, Emma leaned forward, flicking her gaze up to him and receiving an encouraging nod before running her tongue over the wound to soak up his blood.

The metallic wash of copper was expected, but as she swallowed, something else hit the back of her throat, something that had her wrapping her hands around his shoulders so she could consume another mouthful. It wasn’t just Killian’s blood she was feasting on, it was his essence, the source of his existence that made him who he was. Past the notes of salt and iron, Emma could taste the joy and contentment of his youth, the acid of betrayal, bitterness of loss, and the ambrosia that accompanied the bloom of a first love. She drank in the years of his loneliness, savoring the familiar melancholy she herself had been nursed on from a young age.

A moan vibrated against her neck, followed by the small pinch she recognized as Killian’s fangs piercing her skin. He did not draw from her vein as deeply as he had before, just enough to connect himself to the moment she found herself in with a new flavor dancing along her tongue. The flavor of sunshine and honey, a longing like liquorice paired with the dark chocolate of desire. A hint of cinnamon and a note of something Emma recognized from the times she’d held her nose to the baby blanket she was found swaddled in and could have sworn she could smell the scent of her beginnings.

Her palate was overwhelmed by the time she pulled away, but not before a new redolence filled her senses. A pungent bouquet that dulled all the others that came before with its briny finish wrapping itself around her like the man she was currently plastered against.

The taste and smell of home.

Lips smeared red and eyes a glassy, deep ocean blue, Killian stared down at her, his chest heaving. “That was…”

“Yeah,” Emma exhaled. “It was.”

Try as she might, Emma couldn’t catch her breath. Desperate pants heaved from her lungs and an itch flared beneath her skin in a fiery rush of desperation that originated from the pit of her stomach.

“Killian,” she moaned. “I need--”

“Aye, love,” Killian replied, his hands already at his belt. “I’ll give you what you need. Just lie back.” Pulling his belt free from his pants, he made quick work of the fastenings before shoving them and his boxer briefs down his legs and settling between hers once more.

Emma was on fire, his blood igniting something primal within her, making her skin flush and her clit throb. The only thing to bring some semblance of relief was the cooling sensation of his touch as he spread her legs further apart then nestled himself into the cradle of her thighs, further relieving the scorching in her veins as his body moulded itself to hers. A new burn, accompanied by a delicious stretch, overtook Emma’s senses when he eased his way inside her, filling her inch by glorious inch with each thrust of his hips until he was fully seated and groaning into her hair.

“Killian! Move,” she urged, canting her hips in search of the friction she sought.

“As you wish,” he grunted, drawing back until he was nearly out before slamming home again and again, each time with fresh expletives collectively falling from their lips. “Bloody hell, Swan. By the gods, you feel amazing.”

Emma had no words with which to reply. The building force of her impending orgasm had stolen them all from her mind. Killian had been right about how his blood would affect her. Every sense was heightened, every movement and touch like a strike of flint within her core, shooting sparks up her spine. The slide of his cock against her walls, the vapor of his breath on her ear, the rough calluses of his hand on her breast, the taste of him still coating her tongue; a combustion of elements that finally set her ablaze, her release consuming her like a wildfire through brush until she was left smouldering with embers flickering in her nerve endings.

Killian collapsed beside her, equally spent with a wide contented grin stretching across his face as he reached for her. Wrapped in the other’s embrace, their bodies cooled - his more so than hers - and their breathing evened out to a matching rhythm.

“Do you want me to go?” Killian murmured some time later.

Emma craned her neck to look up into his face. “Why would I want you to go?”

“I don’t wish to make things awkward for you with your housemates when morning comes and they find a naked vampire in your bed,” he teased.

Emma rolled her eyes, but he had a point. She wanted to share her happiness with her friends, but was tomorrow really the right time?

“How about, I stay until dawn?” he offered as a solution to her quiet conundrum. “You can tell your friends about us when you’re ready. Although,” he said with a serious tone as his eyes flicked towards her door. “I may have to pay a visit to Miss Lucas’ room before I go.” A cheeky smirk and cocked brow replaced his worrying expression when he met Emma’s gaze and he quipped, “I might need to enthrall her to forget the sounds she woke up to when my head was buried between your thighs.”

Emma smacked him hard in the chest. “Shut up.”

A chuckle rumbled beneath her palm and he placed his hand over hers to keep it nestled over his silent heart. “Don’t worry, love. I’m sure you’ll be able to convince her it was just a dream.”

“This isn’t, though. Right?”

His grip tightened over her hand. “No, Emma. This is very real.”

His lips sought hers, brushing them gently before encouraging her to relax into his side so she might get some rest, the clock beside them ticking ever closer to dawn and his departure. It was the most restful night’s sleep she ever had.

~/~

“Before I go,” he murmured, coaxing her from slumber as sleepy rays of sunlight filtered in past her curtain. “I want you to wear this when you go outside.” He twisted one of his rings off his fingers, the one he wore on his left pinky that held a stone matching the one on his right pointer finger. “Remember when I told you I could go about in sunlight, conditionally?” he asked her. “Well, this ring,” he held up his right hand, indicating to the one with the large red stone in its setting, “allows me to do that without suffering the fatal effects the sun would otherwise have on me. A witch enchanted the garnet within after I was changed. And this one,” he dropped the smaller ring into her palm and closed her fingers around it, “holds the same enchantment.”

“Why do I need to wear it?”

“Sensitivity to light is one of the side effects of taking my blood,” he told her. “This will help minimize it, and any others you might face until my blood is gone from your system.”

Emma took the ring and slid it over her fingers until she found one it fit upon. Killian’s breath visibly caught in his chest, a sharp inhale alerting her to his reaction even as something stirred in her blood, attuning her awareness to him.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head and a resolve planted itself in his declaration, cementing something in his spirit. “It’s just,” he took her hand in his, his thumb stroking the gem stone that sat upon her finger, “this ring belonged to my brother. The same witch who enchanted mine placed the charm on it for…”

“For Milah?”

“No… Well, I thought so, once,” he amended. “But in truth, I told her I wanted to have it at the ready for the woman whose hand it would one day rest upon... for all of eternity.”

Emma’s eyes widened, her heart hammering in her chest. “Whoa… Killian, I--”

“Relax, Swan. I’m not proposing,” he assured her, and a part of Emma sulked a bit. “Not today, anyway. Nor tomorrow. Maybe not even a year from now.” His eyes dropped to the ring he was still caressing with his thumb. “I do want you to keep this, though. As a reminder that I’m in this for the long haul, no matter how long it takes to gain your consent.”

“My consent for what, exactly?” Emma asked in breathless anticipation of hope.

“To remain by your side,” he murmured against her lips. “Forever.”

Tagging the Curious Crew:

@kmomof4 @sals86 @jennjenn615 @darkcolinodonorgasm @artistic-writer @courtorderedcake @winterbaby89 @snowbellewells @heavenlyjoycastle @sunshine2632 @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @kday426 @cocohook38 @unworried-corsair @aprilqueen84 @tiganasummertree @angellifedeath @ilovemesomekillianjones @ultraluckycatnd @wyntereyez @ultimiflos @superchocovian�� @qualitycoffeethings @facesiousbutton82 @theonceoverthinker @sherlockianwhovian @lillpon @shardminds @skystar87 @teamhook @itsfabianadocarmo @xarandomdreamx @therealstartraveller776 @queen-serena88 @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight

#cs ff #cs fic #cs au #cssns #cssns2020 #cs supernatural #vampire!killian #killian jones #emma swan #the craving in between #words by hollye

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snowbellewells · 4 years

Text

“For Once, Don’t Let Go”

Okay, so I failed at posting this by early evening, and am instead squeaking it in just under the wire. All the same, I hope you will enjoy my little attempt at a ghost story for the @cssns2020. Thank you so much for the breathtakingly lovely and perfect story art by @hollyethecurious! Thanks to her for forgiving me getting my posting date mixed up, and to Krystal for keeping me on track and calming me down when I started to stress.

Summary: In some ways, Emma Swan has always been a ghost - alone and floating through life without much to tie her to anyone or any place. However, when she wakes up in an unfamiliar old house and realizes she is stuck haunting the last place she went while alive, it takes a while to reconcile the fact that she is a ghost and that there must be something keeping her in the world after all. Then she learns she isn’t the only lost soul in the house. And that changes everything.

Also on AO3

Without further explanations and apologies, here’s the fic!

“For Once, Don’t Let Go”

By: @snowbellewells

In some ways, she has always been a ghost. Never fitting in, never belonging anywhere. Abandoned, and so closing her heart on the need to be accepted before she could be denied. It was for that reason, on the first morning of her afterlife, as she blinked awake in a chilled grey dawn that seemed just like any other, Emma Swan did not at first realize she was no longer part of the living world.

There was a strange quiet surrounding her, as she sat up from the bed, which strangely felt much softer, plusher than hers usually did at the end of an exhausting day or the morning after when her bones still ached and her mind never felt quite rested. It was those two things combined - the unaccustomed silence and depth and comfort of the sleep she’d emerged from - that put Emma off balance. It was never that still in the heart of the city, no matter how early in the morning. There was a constant humming undercurrent, a long-accepted background noise accompanying her life in Boston: sirens, horns, the grating and beeping of constant construction, the hubbub of voices, sounds unending. If she were deeply honest with herself (which she didn’t often allow) it was part of what she loved most about the large city on the eastern seaboard; there was so much noise that she could ignore her own thoughts. She didn’t like to dwell on or analyze her motivations for choosing a job where she tracked and found deadbeats who skipped out on those they should have stayed to support. She didn’t acknowledge - not even to herself - that each skip she hauled into the nearest precinct and collected her reward for gave her a sense of satisfaction that almost dulled her unanswered questions about the runners she hadn’t ever found - the parents who left her just after she was born.

So, she was already on edge as she found her feet and moved through the room she was increasingly aware did not look at all like the one in the loft apartment she currently rented, nor were any of her things scattered around as she usually left them. Moving from the room into the hall beyond, and then down a staircase into an entry hall that she knew her small apartment didn’t possess, Emma’s mind struggled to fully wake and understand where she was and how she came to be there.

It wasn’t until she reached the front door - tall, solid wood, but nondescript and standard, nothing too out-of-the-ordinary - that two more revelations struck her almost at once. Reaching out her hand to turn the doorknob, step outside and see if the outside of the house or its surroundings jogged her memory, Emma was shocked to find that her hand wouldn’t grip the metal knob at all, instead passing straight through both doorknob and door itself, sending her sprawling forward with a yelp of startled disbelief. No matter how impossible it seemed, the rest of her followed her outstretched hand, passing through the wooden door as if it simply didn’t exist.

Blinking and stunned from where she had landed on the top step up to the porch outside the strange house she’d woken up in, it was more than a bit hard for Emma to put together what had just happened. She knew her mouth was hanging open, “catching flies” as one of her more affectionate foster moms along the way had playfully called it, but somehow her surprise only increased when she took in the place’s exterior. She did know where she was, despite being at a loss for why she would have woken up there. This was the place where she had tracked her most recent skip last night.

Furrowing her brow in concentration - and admittedly trying not to consider how she had just slipped past a solid barrier and what that might mean - Emma attempted to pull up more from her memory than that. This newest skip had proven pretty slippery; both Ruby and her seductive honey trap skills which Emma didn’t even try to match, and Mulan with her fighting ability and clever moves worthy of her Disney namesake, had failed in previous attempts to bring the guy in and moved on to more productive marks before Emma took on the case. However, she was just stubborn and competitive enough to have wanted to bring in the skip who had become a thorn in the agency’s side; plus, as he kept evading them and the court date grew closer, the price for bringing him in kept climbing. Emma had been thinking just how she might enjoy the whole week off she could afford to take once she caught this scumbag as she’d sidled up next to him at the seedy bar’s pool table and batted her eyes. She’d still been thinking it even as the jerk brushed her off and left soon after, and so she’d followed him - quite stealthily, she believed - to this place later that night. Fine, if he wanted to play hard to get, she wouldn’t play gently either. She welcomed a challenge, and this avoided the awkwardness she had to extricate herself from once honey traps were sprung anyway.

Emma was realizing now, however, that maybe she had been a little too obvious, a little too preoccupied to see that her skip might have been onto her. Had he been suspicious of her from the start, and that was why he didn’t take the bait? Or, had he known what she was truly after the whole time?

The evening dark had been falling in that strange hour where one could still see outside but surroundings were obscured, shadows lengthened and a person sometimes had to squint to find her goal. She had almost hung back, after watching her mark slip in through the unmarked door of the abandoned house at the end of a rather quiet and rundown street in an outskirt suburb. But she’d spent too long tracking the loser - and she wasn’t about to admit any hesitance or unease. Clearly the guy now had either breaking and entering or squatting in his extensive repertoire, and he needed bringing in before he expanded to something more dangerous.

That was what she was telling herself after waiting an interminable twenty minutes and then climbing the rickety steps as she’d watched her perp do. She wasn’t trespassing anymore than he was, the house wasn’t in his name, and if anyone asked… here she tried the door to find it unlocked and opening as she quietly tried it - yep, she could say it was open.

Emma had just taken a steadying breath and inched the door open enough to enter, when she caught movement in her periphery. She tried to duck, wondering wildly if the culprit had been lurking behind the door, when something long and solid swung towards her head too fast for her to avoid. It felt as though the air cracked, then crumbled around her, and everything went black…

That was all she could bring up, no matter how doggedly she tried to remember what came next. After that shattering impact was simply… nothing. And with that sickening fact, Emma knew. She was dead. Some lowlife bail jumper killed her to keep himself from getting caught. Whatever she was hit with, it was done viciously enough to mean her end.

Feeling a tremble begin throughout her legs and arms, up into all her extremities, Emma tried to fight back the swell of emotion - anger, injustice, hurt, loss that clamored to the surface. If there were any justice at all, she ought to at least be free of feeling all the painful emotion she had spent her entire adult life roughly tamping down. But really, she shouldn’t even be surprised. This wasn’t the first time she’d paid the price for someone else’s wrongs - though apparently it would be the last. The blank unfairness of it was what truly got under her skin. Was she always doomed to end up this way? Sprawled out with a cracked skull in the entryway of some old, empty house, punished just for trying to make a living and her own way in the world while exacting a little much-needed justice? No one would even miss her or know she was gone until she didn’t show up to work Monday morning, ready to gloat and collect congratulatory muffins for bringing in the mark her colleagues lost.

As she passed back through the door (and no, that weird sensation of sliding without feeling past a solid barrier did not become any less upsetting or disconcerting) Emma saw the rough wooden board on the floor where her killer must have tossed it afterward and the dried blood - her own, she recognized with a shiver - that she had missed before. She didn’t want to stay there, but she felt pulled back to the upper floor where she had awakened. As if she was not meant to leave yet. Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she just had nowhere else to go…

Head bowed in resignation, she mounted the stairs, but instead of going back into what had seemed a nondescript bedroom on her first glance, she moved on to the end of the hall. She seemed to have all the time in the world to rattle around this place, reflect on her loneliness and why she was still there. It couldn’t hurt to put off that depressing train of thought and find out what else was there.

Bypassing the room she’d exited earlier that morning, Emma moved toward the end of the second floor hall. Clearly the place had been empty awhile, dust tickled her nose more the more she moved throughout the house, but the color of the rich, deep wood floors, the tall ceilings and eye-catching nautical knick-knacks and framed pictures on the walls showed her the place was once well-loved and lived in with care and pride. By the time she reached the furthest door on the left, almost tucked into a corner of the house, Emma was curious in sprite of her strange situation and uncertainty.

Upon stepping in the room, Emma felt her mouth drop open once again, immediately captured by the sight of four walls of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, interrupted only by the large, cushioned windowseat under a huge picture window in the wall facing the door. There were books piled on the floor near the windowseat as well, as if to be in easy reach of whomever had sat there to read. Heavy, larger leatherbound tomes that appeared to be atlases or maps also rested on the impressive cherry wood desk in the room’s center. While all of this was stunning, with an air of warm invitation that had Emma blindly inching forward, none of the furnishings were what truly stunned her one more time in a past hour full of riveting surprises. Standing behind the desk, with back turned to the door and studying the wall of books with concentration was a tall, quite formally dressed, man.

At Emma’s rather stunned noise, the figure turned to look over his shoulder, looking at her with dark arched brow. The gasp that had just escaped her was sucked rather inelegantly back up her throat. The man - well, fellow ghost apparently, as she could hazily see the spines of books lined up through his broad-shouldered form - was the most handsome specimen she had ever seen. His stunning bright blue eyes threatened to again steal the breath the she supposed she shouldn’t possess to begin with.

Wow, that changed things.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

Surprised in the large library that had stood silent and empty for so many long, uncounted days, Killian Jones couldn’t help scrutinizing the fair haired lass standing on his carpet. The strange haze around her let him know she was a spirit, much as he had been forced to accept he was himself. Still, some nearly forgotten and rusty echo of his former flirtatious nature rose to the surface and her surprised gaze clearly studied him up and down.

“Well, hello there, beautiful,” he murmured, a crooked smile crossing his face as he drank in her blonde hair, sparkling green eyes, and generous curves in equal measure. “You aren’t some marvelous hallucination are you?”

Those sharp eyes rolled in exasperation, the stunned look finally leaving them as she shook her head and shrugged off the compliment. “Hardly,” she snorted, taking a few steps closer to him. “Apparently, I’m a ghost.”

Her words startled a huff of laughter from him with their droll humor. Reaching up to scratch behind his ear, he managed, “Not quite what you’d pictured, I wager?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” she allowed, seeming to understand her welcome and meandering over to sit facing him on the cluttered windowseat’s edge.

Killian allowed a wry grin of his own and nod of agreement. There wasn’t much else to say, but he did understand where she was coming from. It had been rightfully upsetting, earth-shattering, and confusing when he realized he was no longer living and breathing but still wandering the rooms of his house. He was sure there had been a lot of ranting, questioning, and items thrown against the walls before he had accepted his new reality. By that measure, this lovely woman before him was handling her sudden entrance to the afterlife quite well in comparison.

She looked up to capture his eyes with her own and he found he couldn’t look away again. Her face was open, searching, almost as though she were trying to take his measure and decide if he were trustworthy. When she seemed to make a decision and smile warmly at him, Killian found himself swaying closer to her almost unconsciously, rounding the desk to stand before her as though pulled by a magnet. Dipping his head in a sort of playful bow, he offered, “Forgive me, where are my manners? I’m Killian Jones. And you are?”

She reached out her hand to shake, unaccountably grateful that she was able to feel his larger fingers clasp hers without passing through, that she somehow still felt warmth and a zing of awareness at the contact, even if none of it made any sense. “Emma…” she replied, her voice going lighter and more thready than she’d like, “Emma Swan.”

“Hmm…” he murmured lowly, a rumbling hum that she felt along her arm as he brought her hand up to place a kiss on the back of it. “And just who are you, Swan?” he mused.

Swallowing hard, she dove in with the plain truth. “Just a stubborn bail bondswoman who went after the wrong skip this time,” she sighed.

His eyes registered the sadness, the disappointment and melancholy, the resignation to this fate slowly settling over her. He wanted to say it would get better with time, but time was now a funny, nonexistent sort of thing that was impossible to measure and not much help. Instead, he took in her features with understanding and tried to offer what comfort or cheer was possible against the self-doubt, blame, and ‘what-ifs’ beginning to hover. Not only that, they zeroed in on the broken skin, dried red and the purpled bruising at her temple, clearly the killing blow that had been dealt her. His hand reached up of its own volition to touch the soft hair above the wound, a tender brush of fingertips that Emma closed her eyes and leaned into with a relieved sigh. Almost as if he knew how very rare such concern had been in her life - maybe because it had been the same for him. Whatever the reason, they lingered there, two ghosts in the golden morning light through the picture window, drinking in the first real contact either had felt in far too long.

Something linked within them in that very moment - and everything changed again.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

It would have been funny; in fact, Emma would have laughed in the face of anyone who suggested - even a week before - that she would be killed on an assignment, end up a ghost, and then meet another ghost who would soon know her better than anyone had in life. And yet, within days she and Killian had shared more than she had ever allowed with co-workers, her handful of casual friends, even foster siblings when she’d still been a kid. Granted, she didn’t have much to lose, but it was more than that. She came to learn that Killian was more like her than she could have thought possible; orphaned as a child except for an adored older brother, that brother then killed in service of the British Navy just as Killian had been preparing to finish secondary school and join his elder sibling in service. Apparently the death had been some sort of accident during a routine exercise, and Killian had been awarded a healthy settlement as his brother’s only living relative, but naturally he hadn’t wanted the payout, just his only family back. Since that wasn’t the choice before him, he had taken the money, gotten out of England, and vowed to do something with it that would honor Liam and help someone else - even if it could do nothing for his own shattered heart.

That was how he’d come to befriend a frightened young mother and her infant son not long after he reached Boston. He’d been renting a motel room on a weekly basis until he figured out what he planned to do in the long run. He took a lot of long, aimless walks in the sharp, chill wind off the Atlantic, and one late afternoon he had stumbled into the public library, hoping to warm up, maybe distract himself a bit, and instead had found Belle sniffling as she attempted to read to a fussy Gideon where they were huddled in the children’s section. It hadn’t taken long for them to become friends; easily one of the best friendships he’d ever had. And in short order, Killian had known this was how he could use Liam’s money for good. He’d found a house, invited, then wheedled and cajoled, her to move them into one of the unoccupied wings and stay with him there. It was much too big for him alone he’d argued, and he needed the company, noise and bustle of even the smallest bit of family in his life. Belle had been hesitant, feeling it was too much, too good to be true, but trying to find a living and make a good, safe home for herself and her boy, while also staying unnoticed and under the radar of her wealthy and well-connected ex-husband was becoming more and more impossible. She’d assured Killian that the man had never been physically abusive, but emotionally and mentally he had left his mark. He had been a master of manipulation, had known the law and its loopholes, could afford the best attorneys money could buy and Kilian had not needed psychic abilities to see the woman was terrified he would come to haul her back - or at the very least take her little lad away from her.

That last admission had been uttered some weeks on in their acquaintance - or at least Emma thought it had been weeks, time was hard to measure when one was no longer on a clock and the days flowed from one to another in a similar stream - one night as they sat by a crackling fire in the hearth of the long unused den. Emma had shared a fair amount of her own scars by then. She had been curled up on the opposite end of the sofa, thinking that this would be the perfect occasion for a hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon, what had been her favorite way to unwind in the evening, and marveling at the good heart this man before her possessed, be it beating still or no. Not just anyone would have done so much, given so much of himself, to help a person he barely knew. Nor kindly helped a complete stranger like her adjust to her new reality beyond the pale either.

Suddenly it seemed like there was nothing else to do but to scoot across the sofa to the other end where Killian Jones sat still as a statue. The pain in his eyes, and blame she could see that he carried, broadcast over every line and shifting shadow of his face. Emma couldn’t help but bring her hand up to touch his cheek, to trace along his tightly clenched jaw as his eyes slowly dropped to follow the path of her fingertips, watching her intently as they continued to brush softly over his skin. Emma had wondered numerous times why she couldn’t physically make contact or grasp other objects but she could touch him. Why could they feel each other so strongly? Was it because they were both ghosts? On some other plane together? Or was it something else, something a less jaded person might call Fate or magic?

Whatever the reason, she was grateful for it as she held her breath, catching her lower lip between her teeth awaiting Killian’s reaction. She found every nerve alive and anxious as she watched him, caring more than she ever had about what someone else thought. Was that the key? For so many years in group homes, with foster families, even for a time homeless on the city streets, Emma had shut the world out. She had been born and grown up without the unconditional love and care all people should know, and the natural childish illusions about people’s selfishness or the world’s indifference had been stripped away far too early. Life had turned its back on her, and she had done the same in return. She had closed herself off from emotion and learned all too well that putting her trust in others made it easy to get hurt.

But now, in this old house, with this wonderful, vulnerable spirit before her - all the feelings she had shut off for so long were breaking free. She couldn’t hold them back, and she didn’t want to. She couldn’t really be harmed, wasn’t hustling to get by, and maybe that allowed the fear to recede enough to peak over the top of her walls. Maybe it was just that - despite only knowing him for a short time - she had never met anyone like Killian Jones when she was living. If only she had, she wouldn’t have been lost for so long.

He was blinking away a tear when her focus turned back to his face in that moment. Smiling back with a tiny, empathetic quirk to her lips, Emma brushed the escaped droplet from his skin, whispering, “He found them, didn’t he? Her ex? Even though you tried to keep them hidden…”

Killian’s head of thick, dark hair bowed, his eyes falling to their laps instead of holding hers. Running her fingers through the coarse strands, Emma ached to comfort him, to somehow lessen the weight he had lost hope of lightening. Whatever had occurred, it couldn’t have been his fault. He had only tried to give them shelter.

His voice was muffled when his forehead had come to rest on her shoulder, and she wrapped her arms around him, cradling him closer in an embrace more binding and intimate than any she had ever experienced. “I don’t know for certain, Swan,” he sighed, his words rough and coming forth in choppy fragments. “It has always seemed so… Both being expats, Belle and I came to enjoy tea… in the afternoons… I had come home early that day...had a new toy for her Gideon...and I - I couldn’t wait to show it to him. ...When I walked through the front door… I knew immediately….something was wrong… too quiet.. I walked into the kitchen… and the table was all set for tea. But the plate of biscuits was… strewn across the table… broken crumbs everywhere… and her - her favorite teacup was shattered on the floor…”

Emma tried to take in the devastation he must have felt, the panic and helplessness, all while making soothing noises, almost sorry she’d asked him as the story was wrung from his lips bit by bit. She kept holding him, hoping that her hand stroking over his back and her fingers brushing the hair at the nape of his neck could give some solace. She had never longed to fix someone else’s hurt more than her own. It was frightening in the desire’s intensity, but all she could do was hang on.

“I failed them both…” Killian husked, his voice even more soft and ragged than before. “Of course… I reported them missing… but the case came to nothing… no leads turned up. He got to them… just as she feared... “

She wished she could tell him otherwise. Her own unshed tears stung in her throat - both for the poor woman and little boy she felt as if she knew through Killian’s stories, and for his pain. Her chest ached with the anguish he had harbored for so long, feeling it as if it were her own. If she could take his pain onto herself and give him peace at last, she would do it without hesitation.

As if in response to her thought and the desire to lend her strength, Emma saw a starling light, nearly blinding her as it appeared over Killian’s shoulder. She didn’t pull away, but she squinted trying to understand what had materialized from thin air right in front of her. It looked like...yes, it was a door. There, where an archway normally lead from the den to the kitchen, was a simple grey door, but for the brilliant white light emanating from around its edges. It couldn’t be ignored for all its radiance, and it almost seemed to beckon her near, drawing her in.

Her eyes widening, Emma forced herself to turn away, breathing in Killian’s scent from against his neck, hoping that the masculine, spicy aroma he somehow still carried, even in his ethereal state, would reel her in as it had before. She knew what must be making itself known before her, and she couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge what it meant.

Up until that very second, she would have sworn she wanted that door to appear, to pass through it and leave the cold bitterness of Earth behind. She wanted that door opening up for her to move on, but she just as surely wouldn’t leave Killian as she had been left so many times. She couldn’t abandon him.

For the first time Emma could remember, she didn’t want to change the way things were.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

She shouldn’t have thought the open door would escape Killian’s attention. The man was ridiculously intuitive and seemed to read her like the pages of a favorite book. She had not said a word, had turned back to him, focused on the muscle in his jaw working as he brought his emotions back under control, and managed to ignore the blatant signal beckoning to her until the glow dimmed and the door faded back out of existence. The archway between kitchen and den was just a curve of plaster and paint once more.

But as days passed, Emma coudn’t help worrying occasionally in unguarded moments if a person only got one door. Had she missed her only chance to move on? It wasn’t that she never wanted her peace and rest, or to know what was waiting on the other side. Yet, she couldn’t truly regret her decision either if the alternative had been leaving Killian alone, even if the consequences did trouble her mind.

So she wasn’t sure how Killian had figured it out the morning she came down the stairs to find him already in the kitchen gazing out the window over the sink and bathed in the rising sunshine. Maybe the man was genuinely able to read her mind. He was always able to tell when she entered a room, she conceded as he turned to face her, even before she stepped from the last stair. She felt him the moment he drew near her as well: an awareness, a prickling along her skin, the buzzing sensation of need and desire she had always resisted in life electrified by his presence. Maybe there was no hiding when someone was that close.

With the window and the sunrise at his back, Killian seemed almost outlined by a halo of gold. He came to stand at the counter facing her, and Emma moved to meet him, smiling easily. “Morning,” she offered in greeting, still fighting years’ worth of habitual impulses to start brewing coffee and digging throught he cupboards for cereal - sustenance that she no longer needed.

“Swan,” he’d spoken gently, calmly, but in a way that drew her up and demanded her focus. Reaching out his own larger hand to cover hers where it rested on the countertop, he went right to the heart of the matter. “Emma… what were you thinking?”

She shrugged, trying not to meet his eyes fully as she pretended she didn’t know exactly what he was talking about. “What do you mean?” she asked blankly.

He sighed, that apologetic depth of sorrow in his eyes making her swallow hard when he spoke again. “You saw the light at the end of the tunnel, didn’t you? Your door appeared… The evening we spoke of Belle and Gideon’s disappearance…” He paused, spearing her with the intense blue of his gaze and not allowing her to look away. He cupped her chin between his thumbe and forefinger, stroking along her cheek as he did so, the expression on his face begging her to help him understand. “Why didn’t you step through, Love… and go on to your reward?”

The worry and fear on his unfairly beautiful face showed that he already new exactly why she hadn’t, but he deserved the truth. Emma couldn’t give him anything less. Placing her hands over his, squeezing tightly with feeling, she leaned forward until their noses almost touched. “Killian, don’t ask question you already know the answers to,” she breathed shakily, trying to keep the tremble from her voice long enough to speak. “You must know, surely… it was you.”

His head back as he heaved a deep, rattling breath - breaking away from her as he did so. “I hoped I was wrong,” he admitted. “I don’t want to the reason. You shouldn’t be held back from your paradise because of me.”

For a moment his eyes wouldn’t meet hers as he struggled to regain control of himself. Then, he reached out to wipe the pad of his thumb over her cheek and brush the solitary tear she’d shed away. Not letting him have an out, Emma caught his eye once more. “Paradise, huh?” she tried to tease weakly, desperate to make him smile. He was breaking her heart. “You think an awful lot of me, Buddy. We both know I was no saint.”

A huff of air escaped him that might have been a disgruntled laugh in spite of himself, but he pulled her into him, almost clinging to her for several long minutes before finally breathing in her ear, “Nonsense, Emma. You were meant to be an angel. Don’t give up your peace on account of me.”

She hugged him back, but made no such promise. They would have to disagree on that, and he knew it too. They were both too stubborn to change their minds, so days went on and they went back to almost-normal without speaking of it again. Emma simply had to hope he understood. She didn’t want to argue with Killian, or to ignore his wishes. And she did want to go through her door as well, but when the time was right. She realized now that would have to be when they could both go throught it together.

~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~*~~~*~~~~

It had been March when she’d met her fate in the quiet old house, and she and Killian had drifted through the spring and summer and early autumn, growing ever closer to each other. They had sat on the porch for long hours talking without getting too hot or worrying about bug bites or sunburn; spent evenings curled together under one quilt in the large windowseat of the library watching lightning flash across the sky and thunder roll on August nights. As September came, they snuggled under the comforter on the bed, her head resting on his chest, her ear over his heart as though she could still heart its beat. If she had thought before that she couldn’t leave him, there was no way she could even imagine it again.

There was a chill in the air the September afternoon a thick, cream-colored envelope landed on the front porch, addressed with Killian’s name and a Ms. Belle French scrawled in top left corner. Emma heard the soft sound of the thick paper landing on the proch slats, and didn stop to question how it had gotten there, why the ghost resident of an supposed abandoned house was receiving mail again, but had hurried to where Killian reading in the library, letter in hand.

A more lovely autumn day had never been than when a slant of later afternoon sun lit Killian’s face as he scanned the letter’s contents, a smile dawning over his countenance as if he coudn’t believe the words before him on the page. “They’re alright,” he murmured, half to himself and half to her. “They got away… thought I should know.” His eyes continued to skim over the handwritten lines quickly, but his beckoned her close, and stunned smile on his face and light in his eyes that did Emma’s heart good. She could see the guilt and the hurt he had carried lifting from his shoulders with each passing second as she came to perch on the corner of the desk at his elbow. “They didn’t want me to have to harbor a secret… just missed the people who trashed the house that day, and didn’t want to continue putting me in danger…”

He shook his head in disbelief and then stood to sweep her up in his arms, spinning her around as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Maybe, finally, he didn’t.

It was only as Killian set her back on her feet again, as he picked up her hand to kiss the back of it tenderly, and she hummed in contentment, swaying closer to him that a warm inviting light touched the side of both their faces. Turning as one, Emma recognized the sight that had graced her vision once before, but Kiliian’s eyes widened before turning to hers. “Is that…?” he breathed, hope and uncertainty and awe blending in the question as it trailed off on his lips.

She nodded, no words coming to her that she could speak past the lump in her throat.

“Well, then, Swan,” he smiled with the beauty and joy of a man whose heart was free at last. “What do you say we embark on a new adventure?”

“I’d follow you anywhere,” she said with a certainty she felt to the bottom of her soul. Clutching his fingers in her own tightly, she walked with him toward the door wreathed in light that had appeared in middle of the bookshelf. As long as she didn’t have to let go of Killian’s hand.

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @jennjenn615 @gingerchangeling @therooksshiningknight @spartanguard @drowned-dreamer @winterbaby89 @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @searchingwardrobes @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @thislassishooked @resident-of-storybrooke @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @darkcolinodonorgasm @lfh1226-linda @thisonesatellite @shireness-says @profdanglaisstuff

#cssns2020 #cs ff #cs au #cs oneshot #cs ghosts #for once don't let go

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artistic-writer · 4 years

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Well, here it is! My @cssns artwork to accompany the WONDERFUL words of @shardminds!!! Go give her story some love!

‘There’s nothing for him here.

They ride onwards.

Killian slows his steed to a gentle trot as soon as they cross the border into Temeria, a silent apology in the calm stroke of his palm behind Smee’s ears.‘

silver for monsters by @shardminds

#cssns #cssns2020 #cs fic #cs fanart #fanart for fanfic #witcher au #SMEE IS A FUCKING HORSE

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allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 · 4 years

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The Wolf and the Savior - fic by @teamhook A Lost Girl-inspired CS AU for @cssns 2020

Loosely inspired by an episode of Lost Girl...

When danger looms over Emma Swan, Killian Jones offers to give up a major part of himself in exchange for her safety, but the Norn has different ideas for their deal and he may have to relinquish more than he’d planned. What is the Norn scheming, and what consequences will Killian face for the decisions he makes?

Fic links to be added upon posting; check original post for updates

EEP! Alma’s fic is so amazing you guys omg, I can’t wait for everyone to get to read it! You don’t have to be familiar with the Lost Girl episode to read and follow the story (I wasn’t). It’s so interesting and suspenseful and I’m so excited to see what happens next!

#cssns #cssns20 #cssns2020 #captain swan #cs art #cs edit #cs aesthetic #teamhook #wolf!killian #cs au #cs ff #cs fic rec #cs aesthetics #captain swan supernatural summer #cssns 2020 #the wolf and the savior #kayla's aesthetics #kayla's cs aesthetics

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eastwesthomeisbest · 4 years

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"Fear Me Or Love Me... It's All The Same"

(Captain Swan Vampire AU)

..............................................................................................

@cssns @kmomof4

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darkcolinodonorgasm · 4 years

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A Song of Sin and Desire (1/?)

Summary: It's her voice that captures him first, that siren song he cannot forget. Centuries later, he's still looking for that voice, for the woman it belongs to, and against all odds, he won't give up. He's the Devil, after all.

It's the darkness inside him that lures her to him, a force ready to consume her.

That warning, that omen, it means nothing to her now that she's found him, now that she can't, that she doesn't want to escape him, not even when strange forces are working in the dark to bring hell on earth and destroy life as she knows it.

But what they don't tell you in children's books, is that mermaids are not meek creatures. When they hunt, they hunt to kill.

A/N: Whew, another story? Yup! You know me, I can’t stay away from the beauty that is @cssns and those lovely ladies ♥ This year, I have to thank the amazing @carpedzem for the prompt that set things into motion, and this fic wouldn’t be what it is set to be without @shardminds and her yelling the plot right along with me. Of course, all the people in the discord chat who supported me are to thank for this fic, and I can’t absolutely forget @demisexualemmaswan for her beta skills and @artistic-writer for the AMAZING art that will be posted in a while, and y’all, it’s bloody fantastic.

This fic is somehow a Lucifer AU (and the fact that s5A will come out tomorrow is not lost on me!) but with a touch of more supernatural related stuff, which will come into play in the future chapters. It will be E rated for sexual content and a bit of violence - and really, the title speaks for itself, but I know how much triggers and warnings are important.

I hope you enjoy ♥

Read on ao3

The Caribbean Sea, 1718

Warm sunlight washed upon her, the scales of her tail glittering, capturing the attention of every sailor who had the luck to cast his eyes upon her figure.

The creature smirked, watching the sun behind her eyelids, but her grin faded quickly.

Truth to be told, unlike the majority of her sisters, this particular siren didn’t enjoy killing humans or any other creature. Sometimes, however, she did enjoy toying with them, especially whenever they insulted her or were extremely ruthless. After all this time, she could recognize them by their odor, they smelled just like death, rotten to the core.

The fragile-looking yet sharp tips of her fins brushed the water surface, disturbing it, desperately trying to hunt away her boredom.

She longed for the night, just after the sunset, when the sky was a myriad of colours still and she allowed herself to wrap the bracelet around her wrist and her tail to become human legs.

Against her own nature, this mermaid loved to mingle with human beings and other creatures, never one to be confined to the sea, no matter how much she loved and needed it. She’d always been one to defy the rules, but it had been her voice the main reason she’d first come in contact with other creatures.

The very first one she attracted, many eons ago, had been a woman with the skin of a lizard and the tongue of a snake - both figuratively and not. Nimue was her name, but it wasn’t her spirit that ruled her mind.

Scared, the mermaid had swam away as if the Leviathan itself was chasing her. Never before had she seen such darkness, and it’d scared her so much she stopped singing for weeks, worrying her clan, for sirens need to sing as much as a human being needs to breathe.

But not all the creatures she attracted were foes. Many had become her friends, strange as it was. Alas, said friends were now occupied elsewhere.

Different from her clan, she missed her friends and would never find their presence annoying. Her so-called sisters, on the other hand, were extremely stubborn, some more lethal than others, even, which was the main reason why they disagreed pretty much on everything and what pushed Emma to search other people's company.

Given how clans were built, she couldn't just leave it, not even if she wanted to: not only the leader of the clan wasn't easy to get along with, but a mermaid needed to stay close to her kin.

Emma, however, was nothing if not resourceful, and she had, after all, thought about a plan to get away safely.

It had been the story of a siren living in the waters north of Denmark to plant the seeds of this insane idea.

Well, insane for any other mermaid, of course. It had taken her decades to find the magical bracelet, having to stop for long periods of time, even, so she wouldn’t arise any suspicion. At last, it was her voice that allowed her to bargain with a witch for key information. And now, the bracelet was her most precious possession.

True, the siren she’d heard of traded her life in the sea for love, something Emma had never experienced, but Emma was trading it for her own freedom and happiness. Both her reasons and the infamous redhead’s were valid.

Soon, Emma sighed to herself, a shiver of excitement running down her spine.

Many were the years she’d spent walking among humans, her first attempts at standing quite comical. At first, when she didn’t know how to act, trying to copy what she saw other humans do, the sea had been her refuge from many wrongdoers. She might not know much about human beings, but she knew how the world went, how people could be good, but also bad.

Good and evil were two concepts she was familiar with, being a siren didn’t prevent sirens from acting either way. Mostly, her kin was conceived as evil creatures luring men to their death, which, admittedly, was true, and so they were evil, but among them, there were sirens with a conscience, sirens who didn’t want to cause people to die just because it was their nature.

Emma wanted to see the world, she wanted to be free of the idea that she was evil. For years, as she wandered around the streets of the Caribbean islands, mingling with the folk and singing for them in taverns, she had come to know many people, people who treated her well and with respect, something she rarely experienced in her clan.

Given her immortal life, Emma knew she couldn’t find a family for herself, but she could still create bonds of friendship with someone, balancing her need to be included in a clan with her desire to be free. If anything, having even just one friend had shown her what being treated well, what being loved meant.

Her first lover had been a pirate.

She didn’t fall for him for his beauty or anything, she didn’t fall at all, but she still loved him. He’d been gentle, rough, lustful and romantic, sometimes all at once. Charles Vane had never treated her bad, the agreement that they would seek comfort in one another and nothing more always respected by both of them. Oh, he loved her, aye, but his heart belonged to another, yet Emma still took what he had to offer her, for it was enough for her. In a way, though, part of his heart would always belong to her, as hers would him.

He became part of the reason why she wanted to leave: there were good men among those her kin killed, there were young boys, girls disguised as men, and yet no one in her clan was remorseful, shrugging it off and blaming their nature. How could such an intelligent species be so stupid?

Emma sighed, rubbing her cheek on the hard rock, inhaling the scent of salt as the sun warmed her skin, making it itch as the seawater evaporated. She hummed in delight, soaking in the warmth of the sun and the stone, her tail curling just beneath the water in bliss.

Unless they were hunting, the life of a siren was pretty boring. Oh, right, unless they were part of royalty or loved politics. There were supernatural beings all over the world, and though they were being kept a secret from mere human beings, territories had to be defined and peace had to be kept. Besides, there were many creatures who loved to, hmm, mingle.

Emma had heard of places where vampires drank fae’s blood, where witches and warlocks cast spells on willing creatures to heighten their pleasure. The memory of those whispers brought a blush to her cheeks.

Truth to be told, aside from Charles, she’d never had another lover. Many had tried to lure her into the inn’s beds, but she’d never fallen for it, always wanting more from a man, something only her pirate had been able to give her. More than, she wanted to experience what the stories were all about, what a vampire could do to her while her blood filled his mouth or what new sensations a warlock could make her feel. And wolves, hmm, wolves were just so passionate Emma had heard murmurs that made her tremble.

A trembling sigh fell from her lips. She licked them, finding them dry, her mouth parched, throat itching with the need to sing.

Tracing the valleys of the rock, she started humming, the melody filling the air immediately, irresistible to her ears as well. Many creatures had pointed out how captivating her voice was, how they found themselves brought to her knees in front of her, completely at her mercy.

At least, this only counted for those who didn’t want to actually capture her voice for some spell or just capture her.

Admittedly, she’d been lucky to escape every time, especially that first time, when Nimue manifested herself.

Her voice wavered at the memory. Emma squeezed her eyes, pouring more of her own magic in the song, the melody changing from a passionate one to one yearning for freedom, freedom from darkness and the binds of her kind.

The last note had yet to create a ripple on the water that a clapping sound reached her ears.

Twisting on the spot, she hissed at the newcomer. Whoever it was, she wouldn’t be able to fight them above water, but she could distract them long enough to escape. It was a coward move, but in the water, only the fastest one to escape survived if they couldn’t face the beasts lurking in the darkness of the abyss.

Her green eyes focused on the man standing ankles deep in the water, waves lapping at his calves, soaking his breeches. He was tall, his shoulders broad, a trait that was enhanced by the way he crossed strong arms over his chest.

Warrior, that was what Emma saw oozing from him, the innate strength of a warrior, but more. Bright blue eyes shone beneath the sun, the rays casting a glow around his entire figure, almost like�� like a halo.

Emma blinked in surprise, relaxing just a touch. The being in front of her very eyes might be an angel - she wasn’t completely sure since she’d never met one, but his power… - but it didn’t mean he wasn’t a threat.

They stared at one another for interminable minutes, the only noises the gentle rolling of the waves upon the nearby shore and Emma’s slowly calming breath. Deep within her, Emma knew she couldn’t escape him, not if what they said about them, that they were capable of slowing time, was real. She gulped, swallowing her rising interest in him, in the unknown, and the increasing want to see his wings.

Clearly, after all these years, saltwater was affecting her brain.

Emma raised her chin, sharp teeth still bared in a snarl. Not the prettiest view, but she’d never been one to care more about appearances than her own life.

«No need to be so on edge, my lady.»

Her eyebrows shot up high on her forehead. «It is not every day that an angel interrupts a siren’s song.» While she sounded sweet, she felt anything but toward the being in front of her.

He conceded a small smile of his own, lips twitching in amusement. «My apologies,» the stranger told her, and she did recognize a tiny bit of apology in his voice. Mostly, there was annoyance, amusement and a faint note of wariness. Why that was, though, she did not know.

Squinting, Emma tilted her head to the side, her long, sun-dried hair covering her bare breasts. It was common for sirens to wear nothing to hide their upper bodies, they weren’t shy; besides, it helped them with the task of luring men to their death.

Still, Emma wasn’t fond of baring herself to anyone who wasn’t her lover. Charles had treated her like a goddess, and what was more important, he’d never complimented her so she would fall into his bed; the man never spoke lies, not to her. A siren’s ability didn’t stop to their own voice, but they could hear what most wouldn’t, and so they were capable of knowing when a person was lying.

«May I know why would an angel-»

«Archangel, actually.»

Emma pursed her lips in a tight line, her patience wearing thin, all formalities lost. «Why are you here?» And now it had dissolved like smoke.

The angel tilted his head, his lips twitching again. «You have a marvelous voice,» he began, his flattery making Emma arch her brow.

«Many do tell me so, although they compare it to an angel’s song.» Emma smiled sweetly up at him, blinking almost seductively. «Do you sing, archangel? Perhaps with the aid of a harp?»

Teasing a mystical creature? Emma truly had a death wish.

The smile broke on the angel’s face, and he dropped his head, laughing to himself. His chuckle was warm, lovely even. Angelic, her mind supplied, at which she rolled her eyes at herself. There was no denying it, though: sirens only dreamt to have such a laugh. True, theirs were enchanting, but nothing compared to what she’d just heard.

«I’m afraid I don’t know how to play a harp. Perhaps one of my sisters, but I wouldn’t risk enraging her, she’s quite… susceptible.»

Emma tilted her head, fins swishing in the shallow water. «Unlike you?»

«After millennia, I have learned how to be patient when faced with challenges such as yourself.»

She lifted her chin, curiosity winning over the need to taunt the archangel. «And why would I be a challenge? Unless my entire kin is a threat to someone, that is. It’s nice of you to warn me before you end my existence.»

Joking about her imminent death? Perhaps she’d spent too much time around Charles and pirates in general.

Beneath the creature’s blazing blue eyes, Emma took a shaky breath, nails as sharp as broken shells digging into the rock at her sides, the stone giving in under her attack. This was no darkness-ruled witch, nor a horny faun, no. This was a predator in disguise, his human vessel a way not to be noticed among simple humans. Legends talked of giant bodies of light, some talking about them eclipsing the sun itself, others spoke about how a million eyes looked down upon them from the feathers adorning their wings, but Emma doubted those stories to be true, for nobody ever looked at an angel and lived to tell the story.

«I wish I could say you are no threat to me or the whole world, but I’d be lying, and if there’s something I don’t tolerate, is lies. As for your kin, I may not agree with their murderous ways, but alas I’m not here to change the balance of the world, as it is not in my power, nor it is my duty to do so.»

Against her better judgement, Emma was… fascinated.

Since she’d first discovered there were different beings other than humans and sirens, Emma had wanted to learn more about them, about their magic and characteristics. Wielders of magic were the most fascinating, in her modest opinion, for they were capable of conjuring anything out of thin air. Or rather, not quite, as the many who’d crossed her path had taught her, but the principle remained the same, as did the effect they had on her.

The few vampires she met had requested a taste of her blood, but she knew better than give into their desires, although Emma wasn’t exactly opposed to the idea now. After all, it had been a good fifty years since they last propositioned to her.

Werewolves were even more rare to come in contact with, and they usually didn’t ask anything from her other than a song, but one of them had given her the most beautiful compliment ever.

«Not even the moon can even compare with the call of your voice.»

It still sent tingles traveling down her tail.

Mostly, she attracted faes of every sort and element, even those fueled by fire.

Emma shook her head. «I beg your pardon, but what do the likes of you want with me?»

The archangel moved his shoulder as if he were shrugging, but it was different, as if the human dress he’d chosen for himself was a bit too tight. Differently from common belief, they didn’t inhabit actual human beings, but they used their power to assume human-like features.

Again, Emma had to swallow the question that was bubbling up inside her, the intense need to know how they chose which characteristic they wanted for themselves almost slipping past her lips.

«I was sent here to warn you, Emma.»

The tone he used didn’t promise anything good; it had Emma on edge, her most basic instincts telling her to swim as fast as she could as far away as possible, even knowing that he would find her.

Biting her cheek until she tasted blood, Emma narrowed her eyes slightly, and tilted her head.

The angel mirrored her position, as if he were trying to learn more about how humans acted, those little gestures that couldn’t be taught. In that moment, Emma realized that even if he might appear human, he wasn’t, not even in the slightest, and she didn’t want to know how much that difference extended to feelings or sense of honor.

«You were?»

A warning from a celestial being… Emma swallowed, her throat strangely dry.

Her mind began to wander. Was it because of the deaths, because her kin killed too many humans? Then why come to her? Why not speak to her leader? It didn’t make any sense, and that scared her even more.

«I’ve been observing you for a while, your rendezvous with other creatures didn’t go unnoticed.»

At that, Emma raised her eyebrows and snorted. «So you’ve descended from Heaven-»

«The Silver City.»

Emma rolled her eyes. «From the Silver City to chastise me over encounters with other supernatural beings, some of which are my friends?»

A grimace appeared on his handsome face. Despite his unnerving attitude, Emma couldn’t deny how fascinating he was. Or at least, how fascinating his human dress was. Uh.

«I apologize, my lady, poor choice of words.»

If possible, her eyebrows rose even closer to her hairline. Is that so?

Clearly uncomfortable with the situation, the angel shifted his weight from one leg to another. «Differently from your kin, you’ve attracted many creatures, not only humans, and definitely not for evil purposes. In fact, I don’t even believe you do that on purpose.»

Emma couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. «I do not know how old you are, darling, but I’ve never harmed someone who didn’t deserve it.»

«Again, you’ve misinterpreted my words.»

A hiss escaped her, teeth clicking together and eyes storming. «Then stop talking in riddles, angel. My patience is wearing thin.»

Barely suppressed rage rippled beneath his features; clearly, he wasn’t very much patient either. Fear engulfed Emma, but she forced herself to keep her brave mask on. Too easily she forgot how powerful an angel was.

He took a step forward, the water not even moving. Emma gulped, reminded once again that he wasn’t a mere supernatural being. «How many times have you been visited by creatures filled with darkness? How many have asked for your voice, for your power? Not for your blood or for a night between your thighs, but for what makes you so unique. You know who I’m talking about, don’t you, love?»

Utter terror settled deep inside her bones. She remembered well, Nimue’s darkness almost managing to catch her.

She licked her dry lips. «Aye, I do.»

«Then you know what dangers you might encounter, Emma.» His voice seemed to increase volume with every word, the sound reverberating through her. «I’ve been sent here to tell you to be careful with your voice. There are more dangerous evils lurking in the darkness than a sorceress whose soul has been sold to gain power. Your beauty and the vastity of the ocean won’t always help you.» As he spoke, he moved until the fabric of his breeches brushed the scales of her tail; every attempt to shy away from the touch was futile. He bent forward, blue eyes blazing with fire - or was it his true essence? «Mark my words, Emma, evil will find you again, and pray my Father that you’ll be able to escape its clutches once again.»

In a blink, he was gone.

The rush of the waves came back to her ears, their sound almost deafening. Emma let out a trembling breath, tears pooling in her eyes as her chest heaved with anxiety.

A fish swam right next where the fins of her tail rested beneath the water, making her flinch.

Gods, she whimpered to herself, worrying her lower lip until she tasted blood.

The angel’s words echoed in her mind, increasing her fear. She wished he’d not come at all, that he’d let her bask in her ignorance until the darkness came, for not even the water felt safe now.

#cs fanfic #captain swan #cs fic #cs fanfiction #captain swan fanfic #cs ff #cs au #emma swan #killian jones #captain hook #my fic #cssns20 #cssns2020 #asosad

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mariakov81 · 4 years

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Here is my art for the chapter 1 of the story "Labors of love" by amazing @lovelivingmydreams as a part of @cssns event! Thank you for organising it!

#captain swan #cs fanart #ouat #ouat captain swan #cssns2020 #cssns 2020 #cssns #cs ff rec

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ohmightydevviepuu · 1 year

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fanbinding: the sword and the heart

and the last but certainly not the least of what i've been calling the masha collection, after the incredible inspiration that is @mariakov81 and her support and talent and fandom: The Sword and the Heart.

full season 5 divergence written for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer 2020 (@cssns) by me and by @thisonesatellite.

half-letter folio--binding method: coptic covers with coptic/french link stitch combination. black thread for the ~aesthetic~

paper: neenah cougar cream vellum 70# text weight covers: giclee print on hahnemuhle william turner 310 gsm, sealed with archival modpodge

title page by @mariakov81 (hand drawn pen and ink) title graphics by me, using art from medesulda cover calligraphy by @thisonesatellite

#cs fic #cs canon divergence #season 5 #fanbinding #renegade bindery #door of time books #captain swan supernatural summer #cssns2020 #cssns

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lovelivingmydreams · 4 years

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You didn't think I'd forgotten you all did you?

Next instalment for @cssns

Chapter 7:the market!

#ouat #fic #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #cssns2020

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cssns · 4 years

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And It’s TIME!!!!

Registration for CSSNS20 is now OPEN.

The registration window is January 19 through 11:59 PM CST February 1

This year we have separate registration forms for our Artists and Authors

You can find the Artist form HERE

You can find the Author form HERE

As well as at the top of the blog if you’re on a computer

There is an option to sign up as a beta on both forms, and if you want to sign up as just a beta, please reach out to @winterbaby89

Want to join us on Discord, find it HERE

#cssns #cssns20 #cssns2020 #cssns 2020

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hollyethecurious · 4 years

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CS AU: Some Legends are Best Kept as Legends (1/?)

Summary: Years after ruthlessly humiliating the man known as Rumple von Stiltskin, Killian Jones faced him once again on the battlefield, though it was clear his foe was no longer an ordinary man. Before succumbing to the fatal injury the Dark One’s blade had inflicted, Killian managed to strike a blow of his own with the being’s own ripple-edged dagger. Now, nearly two hundred and fifty years later, Killian finds himself alive and back in his hometown. However, whatever awoke him from his cursed sleep had also raised the Dark One. With all of Storybrooke at risk, can Killian find a way to stop the Dark One once and for all? Perhaps so. With a little help from Deputy Swan and her boy.

A/N: Based on The Legend of Sleepy Hollow short story by Washington Irving, and the Sleepy Hollow Fox tv show. This fic has been rattling around in my brain for over two years now, and I am so thankful to finally be able to share it! If the opening scene seems familiar, it’s because I posted it last year for @killian-whump’s birthday.

Thank you to all of the mods and participants of the @cssns! I have so enjoyed being a part of the event the past few years! Much love to @artistic-writer for her beta services (and for the amazing Killian manip in the art!), and to @kmomof4 for her cheerleading support.

Be advised that the opening sequence could be triggering or uncomfortable for those who suffer from claustrophobia, or simply do not do well in tight spaces.

Rated T / Available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee

Part One

Killian’s eyes flew open and a gasp filled his lungs. A dank, earthy note hit the back of his throat, forcing a cough to expel from his chest. He saw nothing but utter darkness and wondered if something might be covering his eyes. Reaching up to check, his hand hit a hard surface right above where he lay. Rough, brittle wood brushed against his palm and bits of debris fell in the wake of his inspection.

Where the devil was he?

A far off voice echoed in his ears. His name. Someone was saying his name. The compulsion to find this person overwhelmed him and he began to press against the barricade above him once more. With elbows bent out to his sides to try and leverage that which covered him, Killian met the edges of the structure and cold dread seeped into his chest. Raising his knees, they too hit the confines of his prison, and when he stretched his legs back out, only for his feet to find the same resistance, the awful truth came over him.

A coffin. He was lying in a coffin.

Memories of a duel flashed within his mind’s eye. Metal clanging against metal as he and the man he’d once known as Rumple von Stiltskin fought on the battlefield. Though, it had become clear rather quickly that his foe was no longer a mere man.

“You once fooled me into thinking I’d met the Dark One on the road over the toll bridge,” Rumple sneered. “You humiliated me that night. Left me exposed in front of the woman I desired and stole her away from me.” He pushed off Killian, freeing himself from the blade he’d become impaled on and cast a simpering smirk upon his opponent. “I bet you never imagined I’d actually find him. Find him, and become him.”

The rest of their bout played out in Killian’s head, until the moment of his demise pierced his consciousness. The Dark One had run him through. Killian fumbled over the buttons of his coat, feeling for the wound and trying to determine whether he ought to be relieved or alarmed at finding none.

He remembered the sharp pain then the numbness that had quickly followed. The glint of a dagger in the Dark One’s belt and the rush of blood over his hand after embedding it in the demon’s gut. He remembered collapsing to the ground and seeing a swirl of darkness envelop him. Had it been death?

No. It couldn’t have been, for he was alive. He could feel the panicked rasps burning his lungs, could smell the petrichor of recent rainfall and the pine that made up his coffin. His pulse raced, heart hammering in his chest which was clothed by the heavy wool of his uniform. He could move his limbs, could cry out for help, and feel the sting of fresh terror pooling in his eyes. He was most assuredly alive, but for how much longer?

How long had it been since they’d committed his body to the ground? Was the earth still loose enough to try and displace? Could he dig his way out, and make it to the surface before he suffocated?

Scooting along on his back, he positioned himself towards the middle of the box and raised his knees, slamming them into the roof with as much force as he could muster. He supposed he could thank the war for his regiment’s limited resources and the shoddily constructed coffin that was splintering apart with greater ease than he could have hoped for.

Dampened earth began to spill into the cavity, choking the air. Killian pulled at the fabric around his neck, maneuvering it up to his face to cover his mouth and nose as he kicked the dirt down towards the foot of the coffin. Once he’d packed as much of the earth as he could into the corners he shimmied his way towards the opening with his hands over head. With one final deep breath, Killian forced his arms and head clear of the opening. He tucked his legs beneath him and attempted to stand, pressing through the sodden soil until his fingers could feel the brisk air of freedom. Hoping to gain greater purchase, he lifted his leg to stand on the coffin lid. The jagged edges of the splintered wood scraped painfully along his calf, and Killian had to bite back his cry for fear of expelling the precious air in his lungs too soon.

With a new elevation by which to leverage himself, Killian raised up onto his tip toes braced against the outside of the pine box and scrambled for the surface, clawing his way upward until the night air ruffled his hair and mist clung to his face. He couldn’t stop the watery laugh of relieved madness that erupted from his chest as it heaved against the pressure of collapsing earth while he wormed his way further out of the hole, finally crumpling to the ground once he’d wriggled free.

Puffs of air billowed from his lips as he gazed up into the night sky. The moon and stars had never shone more beautifully in his eyes which hazed over before hot tears streaked down his muddy face. With a deep groan, Killian raised himself up into a sitting position to survey the graveyard around him, wiping away the grime and tear streaks with the sleeve of his coat. Not that it did much good. Getting to his knees so he might try and stand, Killian was stopped by the sight of the headstone. His headstone.

Captain Killian Jones

Born 1748 - Died 1780

The stone was worn and mossy beneath his fingers, the letters fading from the erosion of time like those he’d seen in the old cemeteries back in England. But how? It couldn’t have been more than a few days old, carved while his body waited to be interred by the Army. He swatted away the knowledge that such a stone would have likely taken weeks to actually complete, and adjusted his shoulders to ward off the shiver of foreboding that threatened to cascade down his spine.

A snap of branches and hushed voices drew his attention back to his surroundings. Off in the distance he spied four silhouettes, smaller than what he’d expect from adults, and could therefore only surmise they must be children. What the bloody hell were children doing scampering about a cemetery at night? And during a war, no less?

“You there!” Killian called out, standing on shaky legs which made him steady himself against his headstone.

“Run!”

The young boy’s shout rang out among the headstones as the four figures took flight. Killian hobbled after them, his muscles and joints protesting with each stride he made towards the edge of the cemetery. Some of the stiffness had just begun to loosen when he hit the treeline, allowing him to weave between the trunks and saplings while calling out to the scattering youngsters.

Breaking free of the brambles, Killian stopped short when he came upon a hardened, black surface, like a suspended river of pitch. Crouching down to examine the strange sight he noted the yellow glow that illuminated the area around him and fixed his hearing on an unfamiliar buzzing sound. When he looked up he was struck with bewilderment at the towering post that appeared to have some sort of lantern affixed to it. How on earth did anyone manage to light the thing at such a great height?

Turning his attention back to what could only be a road, Killian tested the stability and composition of its surface by taking a few hesitant steps upon it. The children had long since disappeared. Spinning around on the spot, Killian tried to gain a measure of bearing to remember in which direction they’d sprinted off. Once more the sight of carved wording caught his eye and his breath seized in his lungs. Several yards ahead was a sign with a familiar name, but the marker itself was not as he remembered.

Before he could make his way over for closer inspection, the ground beneath his feet started to rumble. Light flooded around him and a monsterous sound bellowed from behind, causing him to turn just in time and avoid being barreled over by a gigantic machine traveling at a far greater speed than his mind could comprehend. Glowing red eyes watched him as the beast continued to hasten down the road, leaving Killian with prickles of terror skittering along his skin and labored breaths stuttering in a frantic rhythm with his heart.

His body was tense and on full alert when he made it to the sign announcing the boundary of the township that lay beyond. The small, seaside hamlet that had been his home since his father had brought him and his older brother to the colonies after their mother had passed in England. A community of farmers and fishermen, simple folk who had tried to stay out of the fray when the revolution had brought war to their doorsteps. But even with the added numbers of naval and infantry on both sides, it would never have been able to boast the population Killian now saw etched next to the town’s founding date.

Welcome to Storybrooke

Founded - 1633 / Population - approx. 50,000

Killian swallowed hard and swiped a hand down his face, the drying mud and grime flaking off into his hand. This could not be real. It had to be a nightmare, a fever induced nightmare he was tormented to suffer while his body waged its own war against the trauma he’d experienced on the battlefield.

He might have been able to convince himself of such a tale were it not for the fact he knew he could never conjure up such images as he was seeing once he’d crested the ridge that overlooked the port town.

Croaking out a lament of despair, Killian questioned, “What the bloody hell has happened to me?”

~/~

Approximately two hundred and fifty years ago in Storybrooke, Maine…

Killian Jones’ grip on the delicate glass clutched in his hand was becoming perilous. Casually slouched against the doorframe that led into the grand parlor of the von Tassel house, he watched with clenched jaw as the object of his affections was spun around to the merriment of the music the humble yet lively quartet was providing to the party goers. A party being held in honor of von Tassel’s daughter, Milah. The aforementioned object of Killian Jones’ affections.

It ought to be his arms holding her, his feet moving along in time with the music, his face catching her smile, and his eyes sparkling back to meet her gaze. Not the upstart interloper Rumple von Stiltskin. Killian snorted into his cordial glass. von Stiltskin. If that were truly the man’s name, Killian would eat his cap.

Since the day the tailor had disembarked from the ship that had brought him to the colonies, Killian had suspected the man to be putting on airs. Given his profession, it was expected that he would be well-dressed. Regaled in finery with an unmuddled accent of the Old World, Rumple talked a fine game, but Killian knew, deep down, the man had not grown up in the privileged society he sought to ingratiate himself into once he’d opened shop. His scheme of beguiling the ladies of status with his bolts of silks and fashions currently promenading down the streets of Paris (or so the man claimed), had done its job rather nicely, which would not have mattered to Killian one bit had it not been for the lady of status on whom he’d chosen to set his sights.

Milah gave a delicate curtsy and extricated herself from Rumple’s hold, joining a group of other young women when the song ended. The quartet begged the gathered assembly’s indulgence as they took a well earned respite from play, and Killian’s eyes tracked the tailor as he perused the fine collectibles on display upon the drawing room’s shelves. Trays of refreshment passed and Killian homed in on the way Rumple pocketed delicacies with one hand while sampling with the other. It was a ruse Killian had employed himself when he’d first gained an invite into the lavish lifestyle of the von Tassel’s household. Back when he’d been unsure from where his next meal would come, until Mr. von Tassel had hired him on.

Killian had worked his way up through the staff’s ranks, from lowly field hand to foreman to estate manager, with hard work and determination. And perhaps a good dose of charm and cunning as well. He was not about to see all of his efforts come to naught from an usurping interloper with the visage of a crocodile who seemed to have his reptilian eyes set on the von Tassel fortune by way of their only daughter. Killian had been welcomed into the family’s fold as a trusted asset, all but assured his place within their dynasty, despite his humble beginnings, with only the formality of Milah’s father’s blessing standing between him and his desires of a home and family.

Killian would not be denied. He would not allow this man to slither into von Tassel’s good graces without a fight.

The quartet resumed their places and Killian wasted no time in springing from his vantage point in order to head von Stiltskin off before he could reach Milah.

“May I have the pleasure of a dance, love?” Killian crooned in a low bow before the chestnut haired beauty and her twittering entourage.

Her pale eyes flicked to a point just behind him and Killian’s jaw tightened, knowing she was giving that appraising look to the oily suitor hovering closely by. Always hovering closely by.

“Of course,” she demurred, handing her goblet off to one of her ladies in waiting before setting her hand in Killian’s proffered one.

His arm wrapped around her perhaps a little too tightly, their proximity to one another not exactly proper, but the melody was a quick step with the dancers becoming a blur to the spectators clapping along from the corners. Milah’s cheeks flushed pink, her eyes sparkling from both mirth and the reflections of candlelight they caught with each spin around the room. Her laugh, always the loudest and most infectious, rang out above the cheers from the gathering when the song came to an end, and Killian revelled in the fact that Rumple von Stiltskin had been unable to pull such a reaction from her during their interlude.

“Another?” Killian requested, but his invitation was waved off.

Pressing her hand to her chest where her breaths were still coming in quick succession, Milah shook her head and declared a need for some air. Offering her his arm, Killian escorted her to the porch where her needs would be met while gaining them a bit of privacy from over eager ears.

“Are you having a good time, love?”

“I am,” Milah replied brightly, the setting sun casting an auburn glow that haloed her curls. “It was lovely of my father to arrange the party for me.”

“Indeed.” Killian tried to keep his response light, but the grind of his teeth had not escaped Milah’s attention.

“Oh, my. Is someone jealous about my being introduced into society?” Milah taunted with a coquettish expression. “Do you not wish to see me happy?”

Killian took her hands in his own and peered down at her. “Your happiness is all I wish for,” he said earnestly. “I simply see no reason for you to be paraded out in such a manner.”

“And what manner is that?”

“As though you were seeking a match. As though things hadn’t already been decided--”

“Nothing has been decided,” she reminded him with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Killian’s grip tightened infinitesimally, his jaw following suit with a brief flicker. “You know your father would deny you nothing, Milah. If you told him I was your choice, he would give his blessing and make the announcement this very evening.”

“Perhaps.” She shrugged her shoulders coyly before slipping her hands from his and turned, treading the length of the porch with a seductive sway of her hips.

“Why must you play with my heart so?” Killian embittered, stomping after her. Grasping her elbow, he spun her back around to face him. “You cannot possibly be serious about the tailor.”

Her shoulders rose and fell with another dainty shrug before a soft cough alerted them both to another member of the von Tassel staff.

“His Lordship requests your presence, Miss Milah. He is ready to give his toast.”

Milah gave him a nod of appreciation then followed him back inside, leaving Killian to stew a moment as he watched the beguilingly vexing woman retreat.

Night had fallen with thick swirls of mist by the time the party ended. While most said their farewells and headed for home, a small group gathered around the parlor fire, enjoying a night cap. Killian’s mood had continued to sour throughout the course of the evening. Downright surly, once again slouched against the doorway, he watched the tailor scoot ever closer to where Milah was perched on one of the cushioned chairs next to the crackling fire. Tempted as he was to adjourn to his master’s study in order to procure something stronger for his tankard, he didn’t trust the crocodile with his Milah for even a moment, regardless of the few friends still mingling and the matron quietly knitting in the corner where she served as chaperone.

“Someone should tell a story,” one of the young women chimed, most likely an attempt to draw out the hour so the men did not have to depart just yet.

“Here, here,” one of the men replied. “A story! A ghostly tale to freeze the blood within our veins,” his voice dipped low so as to not be overheard by the still knitting chaperone, “so that we might warm it up again with more wine and a bit of feminine comfort.”

Laughter rumbled through the room and the women all blushed, but Killian noted the way Rumple swallowed nervously. Not a fan of ghost stories, was he? A devious grin bloomed across Killian’s lips and he sauntered over to the fire. Placing his tankard on the mantle, he turned to face the crowd.

“It seems to me that a story is very much in order. I think it only wise to inform our newest resident of the legend that plagues our fair hamlet.”

“L-Legend,” Rumple stammered while the men elbowed one another with knowing looks. “What legend?”

Killian shifted his posture so as to look upon his quarry, his head now profiled in the firelight with one side of his face ablaze from the light of the flickering flames and the other shrouded in darkness. “The Legend of The Darkness of Storybrooke,” Killian answered with a low timbre that had the ladies gasping excitedly. For they all knew of the legend, the story recounted on nights such as this ever since the town had been established.

No one knew for certain from where the tale had originated, and it’s verses were altered slightly with each telling as the narrator took liberties for their own creative devices. This telling would be no different. Sharing looks of significance with his friends, Killian began weaving the haunting tale while relishing each tremble, bead of sweat, and expression of fright that escaped the cowardly tailor.

Long ago, though no one knows quite when

A Darkness inhabited this land from ocean to glen.

It is said the entity, seeking desperate souls to corrupt

Made a deal with a man leaving him internally bankrupt.

A most unholy union of a parasitic nature was born

Giving the man unspeakable power and the Darkness corporal form.

Together they lured and schemed and plotted

Until the man’s heart blackened and rotted.

Worrying what it would mean to have the host’s heart grow still

They sought out a witch to correct it with her blasphemous skill.

“A new heart is what you require,” the crone did tell

“But take heed, this new one will end up failing you as well.”

With a fresh heart procured thanks to the witch’s ill placed trust

The Darkness and his man continued to indulge in every evil lust.

But every decade or so when the mist swirls low and the moon is at its crest

They must find a new heart to rip from an unsuspecting chest.

Be vigilant, dear friend, should you see the Dark One cloaked

He’ll appear to you thrice before your time is revoked.

There be but two ways to avoid such a fate

Crossing the toll bridge, or obtaining his dagger whose edge is not straight.

For the first, they say he cannot cross after the witching hour

While, the second is rumored to be the source of his power.

So be cautious, my friend, of the road at night or of deals from a stranger’s lips

He’d sooner tear out your heart than help you, for the Dark One lies, the Dark One tricks.

~/~

It was the night’s chill that made his hands tremble as they clutched the reins of his mare, at least, that’s what Rumple was telling himself. Each faint owl’s hoot and snap of a distant twig had him jolting in his saddle, the inky blackness thick with specters conjured from his own imagination as Jones’ words lingered in his ears. Were it not for the full moon, positioned high above the sparse canopy of the wooded trail that led back to the main road, he would most likely have succumbed to the vapors long before now.

By some miracle he had not shamed himself in such a way in front of Jones and his rabble, or the fair Milah and the other ladies that had remained long into the night in front of the fire at the von Tassel home. It had been easier to dismiss the legend out of hand when surrounded by a warm hearth and the company of others, regardless of how tangible an image Jones had conjured the demon Darkness and his henchman host into being with the way he wove the tale with embellished gestures and cunning inflections. Now, alone, with only the moon, faint woodland sounds, and the steady cadence of his horse, Rumple could not dispel the disquiet that mounted within him and swirled through his spirit like the dense mist of the forest floor.

Awareness crept along his spine, an ancient instinct of self-preservation that alerted him to the fact he was not alone in these woods. A hush fell over the forest with only the soft clop of his horse’s hooves breaking the silence. Rumple held his breath and cast his wide eyes to his left and right, taking them briefly from the trail until a hint of movement snapped his attention to a cluster of trees shrouded in fog.

Was that a hooded figure he’d just seen?

Urging the mare into a faster pace, Rumple shook his head. No, of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. He admonished himself even as his hands visibly shook and stuttering breaths hung in petrified puffs before him. Branches creaked overhead from a sudden gust of wind sweeping down the main road that had finally come into view, and with it a nearly imperceptible laugh that threatened to freeze the very marrow of Rumple’s bones.

There was no mistaking the figure this time. Looming just beyond the treeline on the other side of the road, his black cloak snapped in the breeze while the hood obscured his features. Rumple frantically flicked the reins and dug his heels into the horse’s side, forcing the animal into a gallop. His pulse thundered in his ears, and the pressure in his chest turned to agony as fear gripped his heart.

The toll bridge. He had to get to the toll bridge.

Craning his neck to look behind, he saw no sign of the dark figure, but kept his relentless pace, nonetheless. He knew his mare would be unable to sustain such speed for long, but the terror flooding his body when another laugh howled on the wind overruled any sense of mercy he may have felt for the poor beast beneath him.

Sweat poured from Rumple’s brow, every muscle screaming from the strain of frightful constriction on his sinew, and his knuckles were surely white beneath his gloves from the way he fisted the reins. Not even the sight of the toll bridge, illuminated by the moon’s soft rays when he rounded the bend, could alleviate any measure of panic. For his mare was tiring, her pace slowing, and no amount of kicks or snaps of his crop could get her moving again.

The deep, menacing timbre reverberated through the air once more, prompting Rumple to abandon his horse and race to the bridge on foot. Dread chased his heels, and terror tore through his lungs with each footfall until he found himself miraculously on the other side of the bridge. Hunched over with heavy breaths of painful exertion, his hands were braced against the tops of his knees while he scanned the road from whence he’d just travelled. His mare, having traversed down to the bank, was likely having a drink from the stream, but no evidence of any other creature could be discerned within the darkness. Heaving one last sigh of relief, and still trembling from his ordeal, Rumple straightened and turned towards town, only to find his path blocked.

Petrified, except for the rapid shallows of his breathing, Rumple gazed up at the dark, hooded figure, certain his heart had stopped. An evil chuckle resonated from deep within the Dark One before his arm lifted and his hand stretched out towards Rumple’s chest. Pleas of desperation fell from his lips while tears streamed down his cheeks, all the while, the Dark One’s hand continued to reach forward, his laughter triumphant in Rumple’s ears. Warmth trickled down his legs and pooled at his feet. His knees failed him, collapsing him onto the sodden earth, pungently dampened with his own fright induced void where he continued to beg for his life.

The ominous chuckle turned into a full on guffaw. The Dark One staggered backward, his arms wrapping around himself as though in glee, and his hood fell away, revealing none other than Killian Jones, joyously chortling beneath the cloak. Other cackles rang out from the darkness as two other hooded figures appeared, pointing and jeering at Rumple’s pitiful form. Hot nettles of humiliation prickled along the back of his neck as still more joined their number, causing Rumple to cower.

“Good thing he’s a tailor,” one of the young men heckled, “He needs new trousers, by the smell of him.”

Another chorus of laughter rang out, striking to life a seething spark of indignation deep within Rumple’s spirit.

“He’ll need more than new trousers when word gets around of how he ran like a coward and pissed himself,” Killian sneered. He crouched down, his nose wrinkling in disgust from the pervasive odor still hanging heavily in the air. Bringing himself eye level with the wretched man before him, Jones mocked, “What woman would want to be shackled to such a yellow-bellied coward? For that matter, what land baron would want such a man for a son-in-law?”

“You-You set me up?” Rumple stammered accusingly. “Wove that tale to instill a sense of foreboding in me, so you could torment me?”

“Oh, the legend is real enough,” Killian professed. “Everyone ‘round these parts knows of the story of the Dark One, but none are fool enough to lend it such credence as to disgrace themselves in the manner you have.”

“You w-won’t get away with this,” Rumple protested, though his words were choked by the tears that threatened to add to his shame. “You are a brute and a scoundrel.”

“He at least knows how to hold his bowels,” a scathing voice sounded from behind his tormentor.

Jones stood, tucking his thumb into his belt as he settled his weight onto his back foot with an arrogant stance and equally smug expression. Holding out his other hand, Milah stepped forward and placed hers within its grasp, allowing him to pull her into his side and wrap a possessive arm around her waist.

“I've seen enough,” she told Jones with a haughtily raised chin and eyes that did not deign to look upon the disgraced man any further. “Take me home.”

“As you wish,” Jones murmured, casting one last victorious look upon his defeated foe.

Alone once more on the cold, dark road, Rumple found he had more than just the moon’s rays, the woodland sounds, and his mare - now returned from its respite - to keep him company. A newly born desperation for vengeance cried out from deep within his soul, and with it, a promise was declared into the night, still swirling with the spectres of his imagination.

“I will not rest until I have my revenge,” Rumple vowed. “There is no cost I would not be willing to pay in order to see Jones get his comeuppance.”

Making his way back down the lane towards town with the weight of what he must do now in order to salvage his reputation, Rumple did not hear the gleeful reply that trilled on the wind.

Oh, how we love a desperate soul.

~/~

Several years later, during the American Revolutionary War

Killian awoke before reveille, wishing to finish his latest letter to his dear wife, Milah, before he would be expected to report for battle. Following in his brother’s footsteps, Killian had enlisted in the Colonial Navy not long after his marriage to Milah. With the mounting taxes from the crown ravaging the Storybrooke landowners, Killian had felt it prudent to both secure himself a way of providing for himself and his young bride, as well as protect the inheritance of her family’s fortune.

His brother, Liam, being much older than he, had already established himself within the ranks and had taken Killian under his wing, as a good big brother would be wont to do. It wasn’t long before Killian himself rose to the position of Lieutenant under his brother’s command, patrolling the Northern Atlantic and protecting ports from invading British ships after the colonies had declared their independence. He’d spent too many years far removed from his home in Storybrooke, and from the wife he had left behind, with only a handful of shore leaves and countless letters by which to keep their love growing.

Truth be told, though his affections for her had not waned over the years and leagues that kept them parted, Killian knew they were both only playing at the notion of love. True love, that is. Theirs had been an infatuation, a feeling of being in love with love when they courted and wed years ago, to say nothing of the social dynamics and expectations thrust upon them from their peers and parentage. Killian longed for the war to end so that he might return home and begin to know his wife for the woman she was and not the one she presented to him in her letters, wishing to keep alive the image of herself as she was the day they wed, lest he find himself wandering.

He had never wandered, though. Oh, his fellow crewman had coaxed him a time or twice to dip his wick in the welcoming warmth of waxen and wanton beauties who wished to show gratitude to the heroes fighting for their freedom and independence whenever they made port. He’d always managed to refrain. His vows to Milah, and wishing to display good form under the watchful eye of his brother and captain being the crux of such resolutions.

How he missed that watchful eye.

Killian’s chest tightened, remembering the battle that had led them back to the shores of Storybrooke. They’d been tasked with protecting the port which served as a repair station for ships damaged in skirmishes at sea. During one such conflict a week ago, Liam had been struck down by a volley of cannon balls that had splintered the main mast, leaving the Jewel crippled and without its captain. Without a moment to process his loss or channel his grief, Killian took command and managed to drive the British frigate out of their waters, winning them a significant victory. One that came with a cost Killian had prayed neither he nor Liam would have to pay.

With barely any time to give his brother a proper burial at sea, Killian and his men had received orders to present themselves to the Army General leading the infantry currently stationed just south of Storybrooke. Upon their arrival, Killian had requested a short leave in order to grieve the loss of his brother and to travel the scant fifteen miles that separated him and his wife, but had been denied. It seemed the redcoats were making their way on foot to try and take the port town by land since their advances by sea had been unsuccessful. Yesterday they’d received word the British army had made camp not far from their present location and fighting would be imminent come morning.

Morning had now come.

After setting the ink on his letter, Killian sealed it and handed it off to his cabin boy who had already reported to his captain for duty.

“See to it this letter is delivered to Mistress Jones today,” Killian ordered.

“But Cap’n! The battle! I--”

“Do as you are told, lad,” Killian barked, sending the scamp away with a dutiful salute and a jolt of terror in his step.

He took no pleasure in being hard on the boy, knowing the prospect of witnessing a land battle first hand was a thrilling one for a lad of his age. Despite the many harrowing experiences he’d had during the war at sea, he still held idealistic views of youth that blinded him to the bloody realities which were about to spill themselves upon the valley separating themselves from the enemy. Killian had no wish to see the boy in harm’s way, which was why he had determined the errand for him. It was also the only way to ensure his letter would reach Milah, should the worst outcome befall him.

The bray of the bugle sounded, ordering the men to their positions. Swinging his coat over his shoulders, Killian finished readying himself, tucking the last letter he’d received from Milah in the breast pocket over his heart before departing the tent and facing what was to come.

He could have never imagined who it was he would come face to face with on that blood soaked battlefield just hours later.

“How’s Milah?” Rumple von Stiltskin taunted with his sword gripped lackadaisically in his hand as he approached a haggard and muck covered Killian.

“Who?” Killian feigned ignorance while squaring off with the man, each of their swords twirling in readiness as they positioned themselves to strike.

Although he was not as Killian remembered, with a strange pallor upon his complexion and a bravado that had been absent during their last encounter, there had been no mistaking the man Killian had once brutally terrorized not but a few miles from where they currently stood when he had emerged from the fray and set his sights upon the weary captain.

As expected, Killian’s response was brushed aside with a disbelieving and chill inducing chitter of a laugh. “Only too happy to dig out the memory,” Rumple said. “But. It gets really messy.”

The inflections in Rumple’s voice sent a shiver down Killian’s spine as dark imaginings coupled with the impossible things he’d witness the man do on this very field permeated his mind.

“She’s dead,” he lied. Clearly in possession of some unnatural sorcery, Killian wasn’t about to risk Milah’s safety by acknowledging her whereabouts to the man who had evil glittering from his visage. “Died long ago. Now, what is it you want? You fight with the British, but I know you hold no loyalty to the crown, so why are you here?”

Rumple stilled and narrowed his black eyes at Killian, his quiet countenance an unnerving juxtaposition to the cacophony of chaos erupting around them in the boom of cannon fire and shouts of soldiers.

“We have unfinished business you and I,” Rumple stated. “And I have waited long enough to slake the thirst of my vengeance.”

Without warning, like a snake which had tightly coiled itself, Rumple struck with lightning speed. Killian barely managed to block his advance, and the two began a deadly match as they dueled among the gunshots and bayonet strikes. Killian quickly grew tired. Already weary from hours of fighting, his sword felt heavy in his grip and he soon began wielding it with both hands while his opponent blocked or sidestepped every strike as though engaged in a quaint country dance.

Killian was no amateur with a blade or the tactics with which to brandish it, however. Using one of the tricky maneuvers his brother had shown him, he suddenly gained the upper hand and before either of them knew it, Rumple found himself hilt deep upon Killian’s sword. Instead of a choking gasp of death, a twittering sound of mirth escaped the man’s lips. His eyes flicked down to where Killian’s hand held the embedded blade before flicking up again with a fresh taunt on his lips.

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

“What the devil?” Killian exhaled on an incredulous breath..

“Not the devil, dearie,” Rumple giggled. “You once fooled me into thinking I’d met the Dark One on the road over the toll bridge,” he sneered. “You humiliated me that night. Left me exposed in front of the woman I desired and stole her away from me.” He pushed off of Killian, freeing himself from the blade he’d become impaled on and cast a simpering smirk upon his opponent. “I bet you never imagined I’d actually find him. Find him, and become him.”

“No,” Killian whispered. “That’s not possible.”

Rumple began to circle him as Killian’s mind frantically tried to make sense of the moment. The Dark One? He was a legend. A fable told to children in order to dissuade them from the company of strangers or venturing out too late at night. He wasn’t real. He couldn’t be.

“Oh, I assure you, I am real enough,” Rumple snickered, coming to stand before Killian once more. “Real and powerful and immortal.”

Killian felt the cold steel of Rumple’s blade penetrate his abdomen, the shock of its assault choking off any cry of pain that might have left his lips.

“Too bad the same can’t be said for you, dearie,” The Dark One whispered into his ear, twisting the blade so it would inflict maximum damage and ensure death to his victim.

Killian could feel his strength leaving him. Clutching at the Dark Ones vest as he began to sink towards the ground he spotted the hilt of a dagger tucked into the man’s belt. With the last of his strength, Killian unsheathed the dagger - the edge of which had a strange wave pattern - and plunged it deep into the demon’s gut.

Hitting the ground, Killian gasped staccatoed breaths as the life drained from his body. Only vaguely aware that his enemy had crumpled beside him, the last thing Killian saw before oblivion overtook him was a mass of darkness swirling overhead, dragging him into the black void of the beyond.

Part Two

#cs ff #csff #cs fic #cs au #captain swan #cs sleepy hollow au #cssns #cssns2020 #killian jones #emma swan #some legends are best kept as legends #words by hollye

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