#just for kicks n giggles cs he’s weird like that

[riaki]

after party | satoru gojo x reader

gojo wanted to help you prepare a friendsgiving dinner, but he's a little tired n a lot tipsy.

cw: non curse au, everyones alive, shoko typical smoking, drinking, you’re married to gojo wc: 3.3k

this was supposed to be short but it just spiraled n i kind of hate it b i technically posted on the 23rd so it counts !! not proofread!

business dinners with satoru are exhausting, to say the least—you start the day early to the scent of coffee through a filter and a fresh breeze through your open window, sending your husband off to work with a hug and a kiss—maybe a promise of more if he pulls the 'five more minutes!' on you.

this one is special, though; old friends from freely youthful highschool days gathered around your dinner table on the mats of your living room floor catching up over cans of beer cold with condensation, the sound of can tabs popping and the fizzling of bubbly spirits over tables of warm food in tin containers.

geto, the tall man with dark hair and gauges, talks about how his two daughters are adjusting to city life, occasionally interrupted by cheerful brightness never dampened by adult years from haibara, an apprenticing entrepeneur under nanami who's got a thing for girls with big appetites. shoko and utahime are having a drinking contest, and mei mei's too occupied with her phone; checking stocks as her tacky nails click against the glass screen.

satoru can't cook. there's a reason why he always buys takeout when you're too busy to provide or you've already gone to sleep— he should be the picture perfect husband, because you deserve that and everything more. his only (self-perceived) flaws are his lack of alcohol tolerance and his inability to master the frying pan.

you always tell him he doesn't have to be a michelin chef— but with the way he's constantly sneaking a chocolate graham cracker from your muji snack bag or snagging the sour gummy between your teeth from your lips, he feels like he should compensate. so on this special november evening, when the hum of the city life outside your balcony gets drowned out by the cheerful mirth of a warm dinner table, he had decided to help you.

the warm kitchen had become a foodstained disaster— but with tearful round eyes and a hand tugging on your shirt, you'd resigned to helping him conquer the task of simple packaged noodles and soft-boiled eggs. he'd cut his finger— even the most capable teacher found his shortcomings against a blunt kitchen knife. needless to say you'd peppered it with kisses before wrapping a rainbow hello kitty bandaid around it.

and that brings you to the present: the result of your extensively hard work; a few soggy noodles collected at the bottom of porcelain bowls painted red on the insides in a lukewarm puddle of soup, full stomachs and a loose and welcoming atmosphere. you wouldn't trade it for the world.

you're fishing a pickled radish slice out of your bowl when satoru leans over, removing the arm that was snaked around your shoulder to drape himself on your lap, lying down on the floor with his knees propped up and his soft cloud-white hair sprawled over your thighs. geto makes a distasteful face when satoru's black socks brush against his leg. across the table, shoko knocks shoulders with utahime as she lights a cigarette; the latter's face flushes as smoke drifts past her lightly flushed face into the open window city night air overhead.

"hey, you. what's up?" you asked softly, chuckling to yourself as you set your chopsticks atop the rim of your bowl, leaning back on your arms to look down at him. he adjusts himself a little, wiggling on your lap as you caught a whiff of his beer breath and scrunch your nose.

"hiii, baby," he drawls, giggling a little to himself. his smooth, usually playful voice took on that deep tone he used whenever he was being serious, and it sent an involuntary shiver down your spine, so you hugged him closer and ran a hand through his soft white hair, brushing your fingers against the black cloth of his blindfold. "what'cha doing?"

"i was eating. you put too much pepper in the broth, 'toru." you smiled softly, tracing the line of his jaw slowly with one finger in the way you knew he liked so much; it was obvious from the way he sighed contentedly and tilted his head into your palm. whether it be from that unfathomably sweet smile or the tender way you held his face in your delicate hands, that was up to him to ponder. next to you, haibara makes a joke— something about mei mei's stocks, and she quips a snarky retort that has him laughing raucously while nanami makes a face.

"i tried!" he protests, almost a whine as he sighs; a hand sneaks up to lift the edge of his blindfold up so his eyes meet yours, and you're left breathless. it catches you off guard every time— those endless pools of swirling blue that stare straight through you, sifting through your thoughts like a scholar annotating an open book, all heart-shaped sticky notes and bright highlighters when it came to thinking about him.

"not hard enough, clearly. but it's okay; we'll do better next time."

he just frowns again at that, sticking out his lower lip in a little pout that makes your heart squeeze. your stomach is full with noodles and broth; you don't think you could stomach another bite if you tried, and you're not one to drink especially if everyone else is. so, you let yourself indulge a little— snake a hand on the back of satoru's neck and tilt him up until he's sitting halfway up and you can easily meet his lips in a kiss.

he reciprocates immediately, hungry like he was waiting for you; you notice that he hasn't eaten much of his food yet, so maybe he was. or maybe he knows how bad it is. either way, his tongue darts out from his parted lips to flick against your own for a moment, before he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip and draws out a teasing whine that you have to stifle because "we have company, 'toru," you have to breath as a reminder. he just laughs breathily against your lips, tasting like bitter beer and buttery vanilla as he shifts to practically sit on top of you, hands on your shoulders as his thumbs brush over your collarbone where the edge of your shirt fails to cover tantalizing skin; he's taller and eventually ends up bringing the both of you toppling down onto the mats.

your back hits the floor and a little gasp leaves your winded lungs— but satoru eagerly catches it with his lips and swallows it, like he's intent on getting drunken off his ass from you (as if he wasn't already tipsy) when he smashes his swollen lips to yours again. your hair is splayed out against the tatami mats like you're trapped in some marine watercolor painting, and for a split second satoru thinks if mermaids were real you'd be the most angelic he'd ever seen as his calloused fingers curl into the strands.

you're about to hook a leg around his waist when a shout catches your ear and you part lips with a gasp, sucking in greedy breaths as satoru promptly sits on your stomach. you let out a stuffed oomph from his weight, and watch as he slides his blindfold back on to look over at the rest of the table who're staring at the two of you like they're watching some forbidden steamy movie scene that's meant to be shielded from children's eyes.

“don’t kiss him while he’s drunk. it’s like rewarding a brat for bad behavior,” shoko says. you sit up with much effort, straining under satoru’s weight as you reach up to grab his shoulders. you miss, but he takes your hands and pulls you up, wrapping his arms around you to keep you from falling back down as you rest your head on his shoulder. utahime has her arms lazily draped over shoko; you assume she’s drunk from that, but if you were to inspect her for long enough you’d notice her can of beer was almost completely full.

“oh, i guess you’re right.” you remarked, frowning a little and biting the inside of your cheek as you pull away from satoru and glance at him. all of the sudden he looks like he’s ready to keel over; the shadows beneath his eyes are reinforced by the alcohol in his system and it looks like he’ll need to tape his eyes open lest he passes out right on top of you. you want to avoid that, so you gently push him off, sighing to yourself.

“don’t listen to her, sweetheart. you can kiss me all you want,” he smirks, a flash of pearly white teeth that would’ve been on your neck a moment ago if not for the interruption. you just shake your head with a breathless laugh, giving him a quick flick to the forehead. before you can pull away, though— he catches your hand, bringing your wrist to his glossy pink lips and giving your pulse a quick peck. “no, she has a point.” you hummed. overhead, the light flickers a little; a moth that had flown in through the window danced about the bulb. the faint sound of car horns filters through the window along with the breeze, recycled laughter and lively chatter from bars a few stories down carried in the cool wind.

you mill about for another twenty minutes or so, content to just listen in as old friends shared anecdotes and funny stories from separate paths of life; you soon learned that nanami was planning on moving to malaysia, and shoko was due to renew her medical license this year. the beer cans built up, mixed in with crumpled napkins that had penned doodles on the rough surface and paper chopstick wrappers. somewhere along the line, satoru had fallen asleep— you had to push his unfinished ramen bowl out of the way before he knocked his head against the wooden table and spilt his meal. you frowned a little at the sight of it— you knew he'd complain about his soaked noodles and limp seaweed sheets later on. you found yourself slinging one of your jackets over his shoulders, fingers lingering over his neck, where the scratchy hair of his undercut met soft warm skin.

soon enough, dishes are piling up in the sink and calling your name; the kids see themselves home via train station, spouting something about a late night pit stop in sendai for the mochi that 'our teacher likes so much'. you consider asking them to bring some back for satoru, but you decide you'll enjoy a laugh when he tells you about how he went to school the next morning to find out for himself, and the stab of hurt that will pierce his full heart in two when he hears the news. even then, you have to shush them as they show themselves out; you can tell from the way satoru's eyebrows knit together beneath his blindfold and the pinch of his jaw that he doesn't appreciate the noise, no matter how blacked out.

the conversation dies down a little, and soon enough, everyone takes their leave one by one. it's only when you settle back down after cleaning up the bowls and putting away the cups that satoru stirs, waking up with a mumble and a huff. his hair is a disheveled mess, and there are sleep lines on his face, but he's still handsome as ever.

"baby?" his voice is hoarse with sleep and dehydration. there's a dull ache between his eyes, feeling like he'd just ran a circle around the world. you answer from the kitchen, calling his name. it's late; past midnight now. the window's still open and satoru's can of beer is still on the table, almost completely empty.

"how long did i sleep? shit, did everyone go home? 'm sorry," he groans, standing up and stretching his arms out. his shirt rides up on his shoulders, exposing the arch of his hip just above the edge of his pants. "don't worry, 'toru." you hummed, washing your hands in the sink as you look over at him. he just nods, grabbing the can and crumpling it in his hands before tossing it in the trash.

"you okay? got a headache?" you asked as he walked over to you, careful not to hit his head on the arch that connected the living room to the kitchen. when you'd first moved in with him, you had to pin a strip of bright yellow caution tape to remind him to duck his head. you smiled as you reminisced over late nights, tucked in his arms as he mused about demolishing the wall there just so he could be rid of the bruise on his temple. then again, as long as you were waiting for him to kiss it better at the end of his nine to five, he didn't mind.

he nods, and watches as an easy smile stretches across your lips; they look infuriatingly kissable under the warm glow of the hazy kitchen light, shining off the porcelain cups in the sink. he leans against the kitchen counter, cold marble feeling through the thin fabric of his shirt as you take his leftovers from the fridge and heat them up in the microwave, standing before the black glass as you watch the little plate spin inside.

there's something about moments like these; so sweet and easy with you after everyone's taken the last train home and all that's left are empty beer cans and extra bowls in the dishwasher for two people with matching rings on their fingers to take care of.

he walks up to you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on your chin. he smiles when he feels your hand cup his cheek, and he turns his head instinctively to meet your lips in a slow, sweet kiss; a muscle memory tango between familiar lovers. when he pulls away to catch his breath, tongue swiping across his bottom lip, you're already there with your fingers, pulling his blindfold down to rest around his neck and gently rubbing the spot beside his eyes, alleviating the tension behind them. it's unspoken moments like these that he loves the most in your relationship. making a mess in your kitchen is a close second.

it's a slow, easy night after a special get-together when the microwave beeps and you take his noodles out, bringing them to the table as you sit down next to him and rest your head on his shoulder, letting him tuck you into his side as he gets a bit of breaded tonkotsu crumbs on his cheek and insists you wipe them off for him like he's some oversized baby. you wash some cherries in a green plastic bowl, competing to see who can spit the pits into the trashcan without missing. in the end, he lost the game of rock paper scissor and was resigned to pick up the missed pits on the floor.

he's still wearing your jacket like a cape and even though it's far too small for him, he insists on keeping it with him when you go out onto your balcony to finish the last of a bottle of sake together, listening to the melody of the wind in the trees that line the sidewalk and the permeating hustle and bustle of the city, even when it's so late at night it could be considered early morning.

he swipes the cold bottle from your hands, finishing the last drops from the matte glass before letting it dangle between your fingers. and you're expecting it when he catches your arm to pull you into another kiss; he tastes like peaches and wine and a little bit of soup broth. it's slow, and easy, because being with him has always felt as natural as breathing, and being with you has made it easier for him to breathe, like the iron weight on his lungs melts away in the face of your unconditional warmth and care. the cool wind blows your hair in front of your face, and he laughs that charming boyish giggle as he tucks it behind your ears and scoops you up in his arms.

"i don't like sharing you with a sake bottle," you said, pointedly looking at the glass in his hand. he just grins, looking down at you for a moment. he can almost see it again; you, in that gorgeous white wedding cloth. he was carrying you bridal style in the same way now, when you'd decided to grow old together and host special business dinners as a couple in your shared apartment.

"don't worry, love. you're sweeter than any spritz," he laughs, stepping inside again and closing the door behind him.

it's routine, and it's easy, getting ready for bed with him, laughing when he pushes his hair back with a headband, looking like a pretty little princess. you suggest him getting a mullet, and he shushes you by shoving your toothbrush on your tongue, getting a mouthful of mint. the warm water rushes over your fingers before you dry yourself off, wiping your face and putting the towel away only to be met with the equal warmth of his lips on your forehead, peppering you with kisses.

you slip into the covers, still pleasantly cold as you watch satoru sit up and take his shirt off. he lets you peel the rainbow bandaid on his finger off, tossing it in the trash before pulling you into his arms, right where you belong the closest to his heart. "don't cut yourself like that again, okay?"

"it was an accident, baby." he chuckles, and you just roll your eyes. he reaches over to ruffle your hair affectionately and makes a joke about having you suck his blood like a vampire, tooting about how sweet it would be. "besides, i don't need to be careful if you're there to patch me up, pretty. shoko has nothing on you!"

he plays with your hair as you catch him up to the conversations he'd slept away; mei mei had left early when you'd given him your jacket to envelope him in your scent, muttering something about cheap perfume and worthless soggy noodles. he likes to play with your jewelry, you notice— fiddles with the ring on your finger, cupping your hands in his palm as he tucks his face into the back of your neck.

at one point, he asks you to do his hair, so you oblige, rolling him over onto his stomach and clambering on top of his waist. you braid his white strands into cute little pigtails best as you could manage as he tells you about his dream; something about harassing nanami in malaysia and a sunset kiss under crystal clear beach water. it sounds nice, and when you're done with his hair you find it easier to just massage his shoulders and listen to the smooth droning of his voice.

soon enough, you're both warmer than the lukewarm buzz of beer in your veins, and he doesn't remember if he fell asleep first or not, but the gentle melody of your voice haunts him in his dazed sleep as he curls around you.

business dinners really are exhausting— he's left wondering how you pull it off the morning after when he's hungover and the cut on his finger is infected— clearly, the hello kitty bandaid wasn't enough to cut it. the only reasoning that he explains to you as you take your morning shower together, fingers running through your hair, is that you didn't kiss it enough. maybe that's why his soup had too much pepper and he didn't know how to cut the cucumbers.

he's still an amateur, so he'll leave the cooking to you. maybe next time he'll pretend the takeout he grabbed on his way home from school was handmade, though he doubts his friends will ever believe him, or his students after he demands they buy him kikufuku as compensation for leaving him out the night before.

ignore the ep that came out today! everyone’s alive and well. trust my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

#ty for 200 followers it’s been a month n i cried a lil bit :’3 happy thanksgiving if u celebrate! ily <3 #btw muji is a japanese retail/stationary store!! they also sell rlly yummy snacks #i think gojo would enjoy going into the women’s underwear section #AND. and bringing u a gigantic bra that’s way too big #just for kicks n giggles cs he’s weird like that #idk y i was pushing #utahime and shoko sm but i was lol #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #billet-doux #me write anyone else but gojo challenge (impossible) #- rs !

[colossal-fallout]

Fallout 4 ~

Random headcanons.

Includes NSFW. 18+ Only.

I'm more bang into AoT right now but I also want to incorporate Fallout into this blog, so introducing some Fallout 4 H/Cs

MacCready;

People often Headcanon this wonderful human as being dirty (beyond the norm is post apocalyptic America) and smelly but I cannon that he's pretty good at hygiene. .. Bear with me on this.

Mac not only has allergies to dust which is seen in game, but he also complains pretty loudly when there's a bad smell. So although he's one dusty mf, I don't think he'd be any less clean than your average sniper-in-the-shadows.

His teeth are bad probably off living in little lamplight and not having adults around to tell him to put that sixth snack cake down.

MacCready loves playing target practice with you. It's one of his favourite things to do. You keep a tally on who has the most points.

- NSFW -

Mac's member is on the more skinny side, but it's long and curves upwards slightly at the tip.

He loves receiving oral.

Mac pants a lot when having sex, which begins to escalate into moans that can get pretty loud, especially when he's nearing his end.

His panting is hot as f though. It's like a deep, ragged octave which quivers at times.

He masturbates quite often.

Hancock;

It's blatenly obvious; but Hancock is a hell of a lot of fun to be around.

If it's your thing, Hancock often plays drinking games with you, makes bets and a favourite of his is watching you squirm when you lose at strip poker.

If your first time huffing jet was with him, he cautioned you before hand and like the great man he is, kept a close eye on you as you ran and danced around like a maniac, giggling like some insane yandare.

Still, he almost pissed himself laughing at you.

"Man... Seeing someone's first time is always a blast."

-NSFW-

One of the many ailments that comes with being a ghoul is he's lost a lot of sesntivity down there, which means he can go for hours before reaching his climax.

This dirty dawg is amazing in the sack. He knows exactly what he's doing and has a gift of picking up on what you like pretty quickly.

Loves to mark his territory on you with his teeth.

Dirty talk. Lots of it.

"That's right... Who's my beautiful princess...?"

"Mmm you always taste so fuckin' good."

"Cum for me, baby. I wanna feel you pull me in deep..."

Piper;

Piper has a secret obsession with pre war romance novels.

The more smut the better. She reads them before she goes to sleep with an excited rose tint to her cheeks, kicking her legs slightly.

Piper often gets writers cramp when she's doing the paper, sighing with frustration as she's on a roll.

Piper likes to draw and often draws the characters she reads about in the books she's scavanged.

- NSFW -

Piper has a slight bitter/iron taste to her, almost like a penny but sweeter.

Piper is a huge squirter and often gets pretty messy when having sex.

She adores having her breasts and nipples played with, being able to orgasm just from that if it's good enough.

Danse;

This absolute beefcake if a man usually smells of slight BO tinted with oil. It's a pleasant smell though, not too over powering.

Danse will bring you back alsorts of weird stuff he's scavanged, to ask you to to explain to him what it's function was and what it was for. He's like the Fallout Universes own Arthur Weasley, just a lot less excitable.

"What the hell could this have possibly been used for...? I know, I'll take it back to y/n for a full report."

"Well, Danse, we would use those to shave dead skin off our feet."

"Really?! And did it do a satisfactory job?"

"Yeah...?"

"Outstanding."

- NSFW -

Danse is a big lad. Both downstairs and just in general. It's pretty long but it's most prominent feature is it's girth.

He's not at all clued up about sex so you'll probably have to teach him a thing or two. But by God will he give it his all.

He's a quick learner too, studying you with a furrowed brow at how you react to certain things, keeping them in mind.

He loves it when your legs are over his shoulders or when you push him deeper into you via his perfect ass.

He's pretty quiet when having sex say for heavy breathing, but he is known to let out the odd gruff growl, which is thek hottest thing ever. Ad Victoriam, your coochy. ...Ad Victoriam.

Cait;

It's pretty obvious from the game but Cait loves a bar fight. She's the happiest when she's smashing a stool over some guys back for speaking to you in a tone she didn't like.

Cait has double knees which she's insecure about, regardless how many times you tell her that her legs and knees are great.

Cait sleeps sitting up a lot, still in danger mode resulting usually in a stiff neck.

-NSFW-

This Irish bird loves it rough, but she loves it even more tender, a side of her she rarely shows and it turns her on more than anything that you care ebough to make love to her, not just a quick fuck.

She is amazing at giving oral sex. Second to none. She'll have you teetering to the edge within a few minutes.

Cait has a slightly scarred vajumba, something a slaver did to her onc which she doesn't like to talk about.

#fallout #fallout headcanons #fallout cait #paladin danse #maccready #robert maccready #fallout 4 #hancock #piper wright #fallout 4 headcanons #fallout 4 hancock #fallout 4 cait #fallout 4 piper #fallout 4 danse

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (15/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/n: I’m currently writing the last official chapter of this story. How weird is that? I can’t believe it either...which is probably why it’s taking me forever to figure out the perfect way to end this story. Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for killing her eyes to read all of the words in this story 🥰

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @xellewoods @galaxyzxstark @eala-captian @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings @thejollyroger-writer

-/-

When Emma wakes up, she rolls over on her mattress and buries her face further into her pillow, kicking some of the extra throw pillows off the bed and wondering why the hell she has so many things that look cute but cannot be comfortably slept with.

Seriously.

This is all TJ Maxx’s fault, and she’d like to damn whoever decided to put a store in seven blocks from her apartment. She shouldn’t even go inside, but she does. Every. Single. Time.

(So maybe it’s a little bit her fault too.)

Finally, she finds a spot that’s comfortable, her eyes shutting and her body calming down into the softness of the mattress so that she can fall back asleep when her phone starts blaring, her alarm vibrating across the top of her bedside table, and for a moment, she considers throwing her phone out the window so that she never has to get up from bed.

She’ll get fired from her job. And probably die from bed sores or something else equally as dramatic.

It’s the first thought that has her rolling over and turning the alarm off, the shrill blaring sound going away, and her eyes have to squint at the bright light to recognize that it’s seven in the morning and she does actually have to get up for work right now.

Her job is great, but she doesn’t get weekends off like normal people. And noon games are her actual worst nightmare.

Today is a noon game. She’s also got that dinner with David, Mary Margaret, and Ruth, and she’s unnaturally nervous about it as she almost always is when it comes to Ruth.

Like a zombie, she rises from her bed and shuffles into the bathroom before making her way out to the kitchen, adjusting her shorts and the sweatshirt that she’s wearing as she stumbles into the kitchen, the smell of coffee already filling her nostrils.

“Bless you,” she mumbles to Ruby who is sitting at their kitchen table with a mug already in hand before she fixes herself her own cup, not even bothering for it to cool down much more before she takes a large sip. If only caffeine worked right away. That would be the dream. “Why do you already look so put together?”

“I always look put together.”

“Liar.”

“I couldn’t sleep last night, and when I woke up, I just kind of got up, I guess. And now I’m sitting here dying inside. At least I don’t look like I’m dying. A family of birds could live in your hair.”

“That is not true.”

“It is. Have you looked at yourself this morning?”

“Yes,” Emma lies, taking another sip of her coffee. She most definitely didn’t when she was in the bathroom, but as long as her tits aren’t showing, she doesn’t really care what she looks like at home. “And I haven’t gotten ready yet. I’ll look nicer for the game.”

“I would hope so. I don’t think that they let reporters not brush their hair and roll out onto the field in sweatshirts. Where’d you get that, by the way? I don’t recognize it.”

And while she may be half asleep and her coffee might not have an instantaneous effect, she knows that she fucked up.

She’s wearing Killian’s Vanderbilt sweatshirt. The one she keeps stealing. She’s had it in her possession for two weeks now, ever since Toronto and the morning after they slept together, and she’s been sleeping in it because it’s comfortable and kind of smells like Killian.

It definitely smells like Killian.

And Ruby can see her wearing it.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, no, no, no.

It’s instinct to cross her arms over her chest in an attempt to cover up the faded words all the while she tries to come up with some kind of excuse. She’s not sure that she’s ready for their friends to know about the relationship yet. A part of her definitely wants to say something, but she and Killian probably need to talk about it first.

But what if it somehow gets out past that?

What if someone besides their friends and family know? It’s too soon. It’s all too soon for that, and she just can’t right now. It’s the middle of the season, so much time left in front of them, and she can’t let anything jeopardize her career.

Emma has no idea what to do, and she’s terrified of everything crumbling beneath her.

This is the happiest she’s ever been in a relationship, and the repercussions…she doesn’t even want to imagine them.

“Uh, um,” she stutters to Ruby, making sure that her face isn’t giving away her lie, “I’m not sure. I must have swiped it from David’s house one day. You know how he’s always got sweatshirts from all over the place.”

Ruby’s eyes squint at her from over her coffee mug, and it takes everything in Emma not to bounce off the balls of her feet. All in all, it was a pretty good lie because David most definitely does have all kinds of sweatshirts from different professional teams and colleges, but this is not David’s sweatshirt.

How could she have been so careless?

Ruby is so damn observant, but there’s no way she can make the connection over a sweatshirt, right?

“I need to steal some stuff from him,” she finally sighs, going back to her coffee. “It looks so much comfier than the things Graham has. I swear, if it’s a scratchy material, he buys it.”

“At least it looks nice on him.”

“This is true, my friend. His clothes do fit him well, but you know I much prefer him without any.”

There’s a knock on the wall that’s connected to Ruby and Graham’s bedroom. “I can hear the two of you, and sweetheart, it’s too early for you to be making sex jokes about me to Emma.”

Emma has to put her coffee mug down on the countertop as she laughs, the giggles stemming from deep in her stomach. Graham is the best and usually goes along for Ruby’s antics, but sometimes it’s too damn funny when he’s asking her to stop talking.

Definitely an opposites attract pair, but they work. Really well, actually. Emma keeps waiting for Graham to tell her that he’s going to propose to Ruby, but it hasn’t happened yet.

She should probably get her own place if it does. How weird is it to live with a married couple? Like, an eight on a scale of ten? Maybe a little less when rent is so high. But definitely at least a five.

“I love you,” Ruby shouts back, knocking on the wall three times.

Graham simply knocks three times in response.

“You two are ridiculous.”

“I know, but I like to think that I bring out the ridiculous in everyone.”

“You do. What time do you want to leave for work?”

Ruby hums as she taps her chin with her perfectly manicured nail. “In an hour and a half?”

“Perfect.”

-/-

Late June in the Bronx is basically a blazing hellfire, and Emma keeps sneaking into the air-conditioned press box every chance she gets only to be sent back outside to do an interview with a player or a coach or even a kid who caught a foul ball. It’s a little ridiculous, but it’s her job so she sucks it up.

At least she’s not wearing a full-blown uniform and exercising like all of the guys are. Most of them are soaked in sweat, even the ones simply sitting in the dugout, and she does not envy them at all.

All she really envies right now are people taking a cold shower.

It’s late June. She doesn’t even want to imagine what it’s going to be like in August or September.

Killian throws another ball, and then there’s a smack of bat against ball and a white and red blur that shoots out into right field only for John Little to catch it, ending the top of the third inning and Killian’s time on the mound today. They’re all leaving for London in five days, and Al has expressly stated that they are not screwing up Killian’s arm for a game where so many people are going to be watching.

She knows that it’s more because they’re playing the Red Sox than anything else, but she doesn’t mind preserving Killian’s arm when they can. His pitches haven’t been averaging quite as fast as they usually are, but she figures it’s probably a tactical change. She’ll have to ask him about that in the locker room later.

The next two hours seem to idle by, nothing too exciting happening, and when the game is over, she moves from her press spot, flashing her ID to the guard in front of the entrance to the tunnels, and makes her way through the hallways she knows like the back of her hand until she’s in the clubhouse with Jeff following right behind her. It’s loud in there, cheers and yelling and celebrations over their win, and it takes her ten minutes before she can even get someone to talk to her, other reporters pretty much taking up everyone’s time as all of the players move into various states of undress.

“Don’t you ever get tired of talking to us?” Will asks with a cheeky grin as he brushes sweat off of his buzzed hair. “I mean, damn. I get tired of talking to us, and I actually think you may be around more than me.”

She chuckles, unable to help herself. She’s always loved Scarlet’s dry sense of humor, and he’s nearly as easy to talk to as Killian or Robin or even Eric. “To you, most definitely. But I have my favorites on the team that I like.”

“Doc? King? Locksley? Fisher? Jones? Whale? I could go all day.”

“I can’t tell you,” she teases, messing with her microphone in her hand. “You want to answer some questions for me today?”

“As long as it’s not about me getting engaged, I’m perfectly fine with that.”

“You’re engaged?” Emma gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. “That’s so exciting! How did I miss that?”

“I have no idea since you talk to my girlfriend on Instagram.”

“Technically she’s your fiancée now.”

Will smiles at that a soft little thing that’s so unlike him and yet entirely him, and it makes her smile to herself. Will and Belle are getting married. That’s wonderful, but she did tell him she wasn’t going to ask about any of it, so she doesn’t, sticking to game stats and assessments and asking how he feels about their upcoming series in London. It’s the same with everyone she talks to, and after twenty minutes in there talking and chatting, she’s finished with her work and starts undoing all of the cords attached to her as Jeff turns off his camera and walks ahead of her as they leave the room.

But then there’s a strong grip around her wrist, and she’s being pulled away and down the hallway to what is a storage locker. If she didn’t know that it was Killian tugging her along, she’d assume she was being murdered.

She still could be and boy would that be a plot twist.

“What the hell?” she gasps out on a broken breath as the door closes behind her and all she can see is Killian’s face and shower-damp hair and a shelf full of cleaning supplies that make the entire room smell like bleach. “Why are you pulling me off into storage closets?”

He smiles, this really bright and cheesy thing, before strong hands are cupping her cheeks and soft lips and prickly scruff are brushing against her mouth and her chin in a slow, pleasant burn. This is how it’s been ever since Toronto two weeks ago. They slept together, and it was like this flip switched where they absolutely could not get enough of each other.

Not that she minds.

It’s electric. Honestly and truly. If they had easier access to each other, she knows that it would be even more intense, that they would be staying overnight and moving under the sheets until she couldn’t walk the next day. That actually almost happened last week, her body so sore afterwards, and as amazing as it was, that cannot be a frequent thing.

A girl has got to be able to walk.

She really, really likes Killian, is so close to loving him that it terrifies her, and sometimes she looks into his eyes and swears that if someone told her he hung the stars in the sky, she’d believe them.

This was never how any of this was supposed to go.

“Hi,” he growls, pulling at her upper lip before he pulls back so that their foreheads rest together.

“Hi,” she sighs as she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her and feeling the softness of his hair. “You played well today.”

“I was okay.”

“But in the second, you – ”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I do,” he promises, quickly brushing his lips over hers. “Have I mentioned how much I love that my girlfriend is an expert in my job?”

“Maybe a time or two, but this time it sounds slightly less macho man-ish.”

“That’s my goal.”

“Good.” Her stomach swoops at the smirk on his face, and she really wishes they were back at his apartment instead of in this stupid supply closet. “Why didn’t you tell me Will and Belle got engaged?”

“Because I legitimately didn’t know until right before the game. It apparently leaked or something, and he was all pissed about it. I think Belle posted the ring after it all to kind of beat out tabloids from making money off of them. They’re happy.”

“I would hope so. They’re getting married. People are usually pretty happy for that.”

“Eh, sometimes there’s those people who aren’t actually happy and think a new title and diamond ring will make them happy.”

“True.” Emma leans back against the door, the wood hitting the back of her skull, as she runs her fingers through Killian’s hair. It’s all long and messy again, and she honestly can’t decide which way she likes it best. “I do not want to deal with the crowd on the train getting out of here on the way to David’s.”

“I could drive you,” he offers with a shrug.

“Oh yeah, because that won’t at all be obvious. Also, I think we need to talk.”

“I’ve found that I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation when a woman tells me that.”

“Shut up, you ass.” She slaps the back of his head, but all he does is give her another cocky grin. So dumb. So, so dumb. “Okay, so, like, hear me out.”

“I have my listening ears on.”

“Yeah, little pointy ones.”

“Swan.”

“Okay, okay,” she mumbles, bringing her bottom lip between her teeth as she bounces on her toes. “I’m not – I’m not one hundred percent sure on this, especially with what I just found out about Will and Belle, but I think it might be time we told my friends and your family about us. Just a few people, the ones we trust the most, because I’m starting to slip up on where I’ve been or who I’m talking to when they ask. Also, I feel really shitty every time I lie to Ruby or David or Mary Margaret or someone else who is my friend.”

His lips are parted, mouth gaping open, and he’s blinking at her like she’s a crazy person. She might actually be.

“W-what? Are you serious?”

“I’m serious about us thinking about it. I’m still not completely sure on the entire thing. I think, maybe when we get back from London, we can have another conversation about it. I like to think this is going pretty well, and while I don’t want our relationship to escape us or our families, I don’t think we can keep doing this without telling the people we love.”

Killian’s brows furrow, his eyes thin lines beneath them, and his hands finally dip from her cheeks down to her shoulders with his nails digging into her skin over her freckles. “Let’s think on it, yeah? Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than thrilled that you feel confident and happy in us enough that you want to tell people, but I don’t want to expose you even more to the world. Because in our circles of people, love, it’s going to be a big deal that we’re dating.”

He’s right. She knows that he is. She’s had the same thoughts.

“I know. We’ll figure it out though, right?”

“Absolutely.” Killian squeezes her shoulders once more before dipping his head down and gently slanting his lips over hers in quick succession. “Now, as much fun as I’m having inhaling all of these chemical fumes, I think you have somewhere to be.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Emma, love,” he says tenderly, thumbing at the indent in her chin as he smiles that reassuring smile at her, “you’re going to be fine. It’s your family. You love them. I know you do. And you’re going to be reminded of that the moment you get comfortable sitting on David’s couch and relax into dinner.”

Right once more.

“Okay, okay,” she exhales, pulling in Killian for a hug so that she can bury her face in his shoulder and breathe him in instead of the chemical fumes for a moment, “I can do this.”

-/-

Killian was exactly right like she knew he was but didn’t like to admit outside of her head. She was building up the awkwardness, building up the strained relationship with Ruth like she always does, and while it wasn’t the best thing at first, now that she’s sitting crisscrossed on David’s couch with a glass of wine in her hand, she can think of few other places she’d rather be.

This is her family, even when she doesn’t admit it, and for a girl who never really got to have a family until she was too messed up to truly accept one, this is absolutely everything.

Just…everything.

“And then, Grandma,” Leo continues, walking back and forth through the room, “Captain America holds his shield up while the bad guys try to attack him, but he’s too fast for them.”

“This Captain America sounds like a cool guy,” Ruth laughs, very obviously confused about the whole thing. She has not caught onto the Marvel bug, which is pretty much a sin when Leo has been obsessed with Captain America for months. Mary Margaret and David say it’s the longest he’s ever been interested in one thing, and when Emma thinks about it, she believes it. “Do you think you’re going to be as strong as him?”

“Probably not,” Leo shrugs, “but he started off really small like I am so maybe if I’m tall like Dad and not short like Mom.”

“Hey,” Mary Margaret protests, her eyes cutting at her son while Emma and David snicker underneath their breaths, “I am not that short.”

“Mom, I’m ten, and I’m almost taller than you when you’re, like, seventy years old.”

“Leo David Nolan, I am not seventy years old. I’m thirty-nine. Don’t age me like that.”

“What’s wrong with being nearly seventy years old?” Ruth teases, and Mary Margaret’s pale cheeks immediately flush red.

“Nothing, nothing. I – ”

“I’m nearly teasing you, sweetheart,” Ruth sighs before turning her attention to Emma. “I watched your game today. You looked so beautiful, but why are they still showing you eating every time?”

Well, damn, she didn’t know that was still happening, so she takes another sip of her wine and rolls her eyes as she laughs. “I have no idea. Like, it’s a running joke at this point. You can literally google ‘Emma Swan eating’ and all of these videos pop up. Leo told me that they even add songs to them now.”

“They do,” David chuckles. “I showed him those.”

“You’re awful.”

“I actually think I’m pretty awesome.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Look, Grandma,” Leo laughs, taking Mary Margaret’s iPad over to Ruth, “here’s one of the ones with music. It’s so funny!”

“You guys are the worst,” Emma groans as she places her glass down and sinks into the couch. “The absolute worst.”

“You just seem to have a face for funny moments,” Mary Margaret says sympathetically, reaching over to pat her thigh. “It’s because you do a little dance when you’re eating good food, I think.”

That makes her smile. It’s always what Killian is saying about her when he’s teasing her over her eating habits, and that’s when she suddenly remembers that hat that she still hasn’t given to Leo. It’s been sitting in the bag she carries with her to and from games for weeks now, and she keeps forgetting to give it to the kid. He may still like Captain America, but he’s probably moved on to another favorite player.

Quickly, she gets up from the couch and walks to the entryway where she left the bag, shuffling through it until she pulls out the signed hat, and then holds it behind her back, a genuine smile curling on her lips.

“Leo,” she sing-songs, immediately getting his attention as his brown hair falls across his forehead, “if you stop showing Grandma weird videos of me online, I have a surprise for you.”

“Way to bribe my kid,” David whines without much conviction.

“It’s not a bribe. Not technically.”

“What do you have?” Leo gasps, taking the iPad away from Ruth. “What is it? What is it?”

God, to have the enthusiasm of kids. Life would be so much simpler. And happier probably.

She’s pretty happy now anyways.

Slowly, she pulls the hat around from behind her back, and Leo’s brows furrow in confusion. Of course they do. To him, it probably just looks like a random hat since the autograph can’t really be seen.

“A Yankees hat? I have a couple of those already.”

“Leo,” Mary Margaret and David say at the same time.

“It’s fine, guys,” she laughs, stepping a little closer. “Remember when you asked me if I could get you a hat signed by Killian Jones?”

Now Leo’s face lights up, a bright smile practically taking up all of it, and he runs to her and immediately wraps his arms around her waist in a hug so tight that she loses all of the air in her lungs.

“Thank you,” he sighs before releasing her and taking the hat out of her hands, staring down at for a moment only to put it on top of his head. It’s too big for him without being adjusted, but he doesn’t even care.

She feels like the coolest aunt in the world right now.

“You’re the coolest aunt in the world.”

Ah, so confirmation then.

“Killian Jones is the man who asked you out, right?” Ruth questions, and Emma has to bite her tongue as she moves to resume her place back on the couch. She wishes she had more wine, but she’s got to be up early again tomorrow and doesn’t need more to drink. “You’re still talking to him?”

“I mean, only for my job,” she lies. “He’s a nice guy, so he was really happy to sign something for Leo.”

Ruth nods her head, and Emma thinks that it’s the end of the conversation when it’s most definitely not. “So, are you dating anyone, dear? I don’t mean to pry, but I do like to know about your life and you’re much more difficult to get information about than David.”

“That’s because Mary Margaret can’t keep a secret.”

“Why am I feeling so attacked right now?” Mary Margaret laughs.

“Well, you can’t, honey,” David says to his wife. “You are the worst at keeping secrets, and you overshare all the time.”

“That seems like a bit of an exaggeration.”

“It’s really not, Marg,” Emma tells her before turning back to Ruth. “I’m not dating anyone right now,” she lies again, more guilt building up in her stomach, but she and Killian are going to talk about it after London when they’re not in a storage closet, “but I’m really happy. Things at work are going well, even if I’m busy, and I love all of my friends and family and how much time I’m getting to spend with them. But if something on the dating front seriously changes, I’ll let you know.”

Ruth winks at her, a smile on her face. “Well, I don’t believe that for a second.”

Emma stays there for the rest of the night, all five of them eating and watching movies with talking in between. Leo insists that Ruth get caught up on anything and everything Captain America, and even though she falls asleep during several of the movies, she does learn a little bit more, making sure to ask all of the right questions. She’s so good with Leo, with everyone really, and it reminds Emma of when she was a terrified fifteen-year-old moving into a new foster home not knowing what was going to be awaiting her.

For someone who was so unloved and never thought she’d find love, living with Ruth Nolan was a shock to her system. She hates that her own walls and issues kept her – keep her – from always accepting that love and genuine kindness, and she hates that she let Neal influence her to not believe that Ruth was her family.

She is.

Most definitely in every way, and this is going to be something that Emma works on. She’s very much determined to do so.

Her life is a good one, and despite how complicated it is sometimes, she deserves to be happy in as many ways as possible.

When the movies are finished and Emma is ready to go home and go to bed, she whispers words of goodbye to everyone, promising to come over again for dinner tomorrow and to bring Ruby and Graham with her since they are always itching for an invitation.

“It’s so good to see you, darling,” Ruth sighs into her hair as they hug goodbye. “I love you.”

Emma nods her head against Ruth’s neck, a smile on her lips. “I love you too.”

#catch me if you can #cs ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #captain swan

[the-captains-ayebrows]

Handy Helpers

A CS Modern AU featuring Captain Charming as Handymen with a side of Snowing and some Ruby being Ruby. 

Rated: M for smut and swears. One-shot. About 13K words. 

[On AO3 here]

A/N: About a month or so ago, my house was being remodeled to sell. I made a post about how it gave me a need to write David and Killian as handymen, and a few folks seemed interested in the idea. So, instead of updating one of my many WIPs, I did... this. It is silly and a little smutty and full of bad puns and innuendo. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If not... then go yell at @tnlph because she read the beginning part and egged me on. 

Emma always thought of her apartment as quirky and charming. It had character. It’s… okay, it’s kind of a dump. But it’s hers and she liked it the way it is and had no intention of changing it. That is, until her building all of a sudden went co-op, meaning her quirky little rent-controlled rat hole is about to be a gentrified, mortgage-requiring nightmare that she simply can’t afford on her bail bondsperson income.

To add insult to injury, the new co-op board is making her fix the place up so they can sell it out from under her. They had the decency to offer her reimbursement for some of the renovation expenses, but damn. After the fourth general contractor laughed in her face when she told him the budget, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do.

Well, besides whiskey drinking and late-night google searching.

It is in the throes of these activities that she finds them: Handy Helpers. Two guys, three hands, everything you need for your home improvement project. It doesn’t occur to her until much later that there’s a numerical irregularity in that advertisement.

Much later, as in, at 8 am the next morning when they show up at her door.

“Emma Swan?” The man is tall and blond-ish, with a kind face and a slightly worried expression. When she only stares at him blankly, he prompts, “You, uh, submitted a request through our website for a free estimate?”

Website? Emma narrows her eyes, racking her brain and absently smoothing down her sleep-rumpled hair. Just as she’s about to tell the guy he has the wrong apartment, another voice - this one crisp and accented - chimes in from the hallway.

“I believe the exact words you put on the form were, ‘As soon as humanly possible before the co-op harpies swoop in and make me homeless.’ We don’t normally do estimates on the weekend, but far be it from us to allow a lady to be kicked out on the street. So, here we are.”

Here they are. Here he is. Oh, just… oh crap. He is not quite as tall as the first man and of a leaner build, but where the first man strikes her as the human manifestation of a yellow labrador, this guy is a black cat. Sinuous, wry and smirking, he’s all dark hair and smooth lines and eyes so blue they probably glow in the dark, and why is she standing here not talking and making up animal analogies in her head?

She pulls her eyes away from his, dragging her gaze floorward as she tucks her hair behind her ears, and it is at this point that she has the realization. The end of his left arm is covered by a brace and hook-like prosthetic. Two guys, three hands. Oh crap.

Emma looks up at the blond man who had first spoken to her. “You’re the Handy Helpers.”

He smiles at her, seemingly relieved to have cleared things up and places his hands on his hips in something of a superhero pose. “That’s right, ma’am.”

“Says so right on the shirt,” the dark-haired man adds, tapping a finger just beneath the logo embroidered on the left side of his chest.

Emma follows the movement with her eyes, and that proves to be a huge mistake as just next to that logo is a rather enticing thatch of chest hair, exposed by the fully unbuttoned placket of his polo shirt. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips before she can stop herself, and if the guy was smirking before, now he’s… Is there a level above smirking? Smarking. He’s smarking at her because he’s smiling and smirking and those stupid blue eyes are sparkling and, oh geez, she must still be a little drunk from last night. What the hell is wrong with her?

The blond man throws a quick dirty look his partner’s way, then extends his hand for Emma to shake. She accepts it, feeling vaguely reassured by his confident grip. “I’m David Nolan and this is Killian Jones. May we come in?”

Emma jolts as it finally registers in her brain that, why yes, in fact, she is supposed to be doing something besides standing in her doorway ogling strangers and steps aside. She gestures awkwardly in the direction of her living room. “Yes, yes of course. Come on in. I’ll just -” and it’s at this point that another completely humiliating thought registers and she looks down at the oversized t-shirt she’d slept in that at least thankfully covers her underwear, if only barely.

“I’ll just go and put some pants on. Sorry. Be right back.” She flees to her bedroom and slams the door.

Aside from the initial embarrassment, it’s hard to argue (and Emma prides herself on her ability to argue about damn near anything) with the Handy Helpers’ estimate. Their bid is thousands (thousands!) of dollars lower than any of the other contractors - completely within her budget, in fact - and they seem to have a realistic view of what work actually needs to be done and what was just the co-op board’s wishful thinking. She hires them, and they agree to begin work the following Wednesday.

On the appointed day, David and Killian arrive exactly two minutes early, which Emma takes as a good sign. As much as she hates to be kept waiting, she also gets irritated with people who are too early. It just seems like pointless sucking up, not to mention the fact that if they’d been about ten minutes earlier, she would have once again been caught pantless. Now, Emma Swan does not have any hang-ups about her body. She’s actually pretty comfortable naked, but at this point, it’s kind of the principle of the thing because what she doesn't like is to be caught off guard. Metaphorically pantless, so to speak, and she’ll be damned if it happens again.

Speaking of attire, this time, instead of their company polos, the guys are dressed for manual labor: basic tees, heavy boots, and looser fitting jeans. There are no buttons to leave undone, and yet Killian’s chest hair seems determined to make its presence known, peeking out at her at the neck of his t-shirt. Not that she was looking. That would be creepy.

They get to work right away, leaving Emma in relative peace to sip her coffee and watch Brooklyn 99 on Hulu until a knock at her door signals the arrival of her ride to work.

“Hey, Snow. Thanks for the lift. The shop called back this morning and the Bug isn’t going to be ready until Friday afternoon. Come on in, I’ll go grab my jacket.” Emma turns and walks back toward her coat closet, hearing the shuffle of her best friend’s feet follow her into the living room.

“It's really no trouble, Emma. I told you I…”

Emma pauses, jacket in hand and looks over her shoulder to see what made Snow trail off mid-sentence. She never considered herself much of a romantic, hell, she avoids rom-coms like the plague. Yet as she looks at David standing stock still, a paintbrush dangling precariously from his hand and his eyes locked on Snow who in turn is staring back at him as if she’s seeing a sunrise for the first time, well… Emma could almost swear she hears a swell of violins in the background.

It’s one of those great moments - the kind you use years later in a Maid of Honor toast. So naturally, Emma ruins it with an unsuppressed snort of laughter that she tries to cover with a cough. David startles at the sound, dropping the paintbrush onto the floor with a wet squelch and Snow nearly jumps out of her skin.

Emma clears her throat (for real this time) and pulls on her jacket as she begins the introductions. “Snow, this is David Nolan. He’s the handyman I mentioned before. David, this is Mary Margaret Blanchard, better known as Snow.”

“Like Snow White? It’s just a silly nickname because of the black hair and fair skin.” Snow tosses her head with a girlish giggle and literally flutters her eyelashes like a Disney princess and Emma had no idea her best friend had that in her. But it seems like David-

“The fairest of them all? I’d say it suits you.” Yep, he’s clearly eating it up if the broad grin splitting his face is anything to go by.

Well, this just got weird. Not bad exactly, but weird. Definitely weird.

“Well, aren’t you just a regular Prince Charming,” Emma says, unable to curb her sarcasm. Snow glares at her, muttering ‘Emma’ under her breath in that disappointed teacher voice she’s perfected over years in the classroom.

David ducks his head, finally remembering the paintbrush he’d dropped a minute ago. “I’ll clean that up while you’re gone. Throw in a free floor polishing.”

He bends to pick up the brush and dammit if Snow doesn’t stare at his ass the whole time. It’s a good ass. Emma can’t really blame her, but she’s going to be late for work and for some reason she really, really wants to get out of the apartment before-

“As the lady said, you’re a regular Prince Charming, Dave. Swan, I’m nearly finished in the bedroom. Do you have anything else that needs nailing?”

-that happened.

He didn’t really say it like an innuendo, but Emma can feel her face heating up, and it has nothing (everything) to do with the mental images inspired by Killian’s particular choice of phrasing.

Now Snow is staring at her with narrowed eyes and a calculating expression and that’s the Snow Emma knows and loves, but really hates in moments like this. And Snow is the one who should be embarrassed right now, not her, because what kind of person just blatantly stares at the ass of some contractor she’s just met, and why does her voice inside her head sound so high pitched and squeaky?  

Emma is sick and tired of being wrong-footed by co-op boards, and handymen, and best friends who are looking between her and one such handyman with way too much interest, so she defaults to her best scowl. “Nope. I have no interest in any nailing. Guess you better put your tool away.”

Three pairs of eyes are staring at her now, Snow’s in near horror, David’s in surprise, but Killian? Killian’s got one thick, dark eyebrow raised, one corner of his lips tilting up, and she meant to be off-putting and prickly, but somehow he doesn’t look the least bit put off. He looks kind of… impressed? Oh crap.

His tongue swipes across the back of his teeth as he seems to consider something, then he narrows his eyes. “How about screwing then? I’ve an incredible tool for that.”

Did he just? Ridiculous smirking, smarking bastard. If he thinks that fake innocent look is fooling anyone he’s-  he’s-  “No need. I’ve got my own tools actually. Motorized. Nothing gets the job done like a little extra power.”

Emma crosses her arms, smug as can be and sure she’s won. Instead, Killian does something positively sinful with his tongue, his entire bearing radiating a challenge, and she has to tighten her arms around her torso, bracing herself for god-knows-what and then-

“Ah, a woman with her own tools! I can respect that. I’d love to take a look at your box-”

“Jones!” David shouts, then catches himself, turning a polite, if tense, smile to Snow. “Why don’t we let these ladies get to work before we get ourselves fired?”

To his credit, Killian manages to school his features into something more or less apologetic and relaxes his stance. “Too right, mate. Have a lovely day, Swan. Miss Blanchard.”

With a genteel nod to each woman, Killian returns to Emma’s bedroom as if nothing had happened. As if he-  As if they- But then nothing did happen, besides him being a dick and she was only showing him she could give as good as she got and boy, was that a poor choice of words and ugh. Irritating, attractive asshole!

When she finishes her internal fuming she looks over to see David shaking, or more accurately holding , Snow’s hand, both beaming like it’s Christmas morning.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Blanchard.”

“Snow. Please call me Snow.” The fingers of her free hand trace the strand of pearls around her neck and David stands taller.

“A pleasure, Snow.”

Emma’s had about all she can take. She grabs Snow’s arm and practically drags her out the front door. No sooner does said door latch shut behind the two women when they both speak simultaneously:

“What the hell was that about?”

“You tell me!” Emma retorts, each heavy thud of her boots down the hallway serving to underscore her words. “What was all the giggling and hair tossing and please call me Snow ? You went full southern belle in there, bless your heart. I thought you were about to fan yourself and faint.”

Snow matches her pace, the sharp clack of her heels against the wood floor acting as a jarring counterpoint. “Me? What was with you and all the dirty puns and the eye-fucking?”

Emma stops dead, nearly knocking into Snow as she whirls to face her friend. For the first time in forever, Emma Swan actually feels scandalized and maybe she’s the one who’s gone full southern belle. “You teach your students with that mouth?”

Snow rolls her eyes. “Emma, I teach middle school. Where do you think I learned that term?”

It takes a beat because it’s been a weird week and holy crap Snow just said ‘eye-fucking’, but Emma bursts into laughter, and Snow joins right in.

As they settle back down, Emma swipes a thumb under her eye. “Okay, so we both got a little weird around the cute handymen. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“But above all else, we can’t tell Ruby about the cute handymen. Agreed?”

“Absolutely agreed. We’d never hear the end of it.”

“You’re both hiding something.”

Well, that lasted all of two minutes. Ruby had fixed them with a gaze like a tractor beam as soon as they'd sat down in her section, her eyes narrowing in suspicion with every sauntered step across the checkerboard linoleum floor.  

It was all Emma could do not to squirm. “Hi to you, too. How’s life treating you? Looks like a busy lunch shift-”

“Don't start that with me, Emma Swan. You can't lie and Snow can't keep a secret, so let's save us all the trouble by just telling me.”

“Can we at least get our tea and hot chocolate before the interrogation begins?” Snow pleads.

Ruby purses her lips, then nods magnanimously. “I’ll give you a hot beverage reprieve, but as soon as I get back with those drinks you better spill. The gossip, not the drinks. You know what I meant.”

As Ruby hustles through the swinging doors that lead to the diner’s kitchen, Snow rolls her eyes. “Remind me why she’s our favorite waitress again?”

Emma shrugs. “She gives us free drinks. That, and because she let you hide in her Granny’s barn when you were convinced Regina and her clique were ‘out to get you’ back in ninth grade.”

Snow’s expression shifts from annoyance to fondness. “Yeah, right. That.”

Ruby returns with the steaming drinks, placing the mugs down in front of Emma and Snow, then plunking herself down in the booth, bumping Emma with her hip to force her to make room. She dramatically places her elbows on the table, lacing her fingers together under her chin, then tilts her head and smiles expectantly.

“I’m listening.”

Emma sighs. “There’s nothing to tell. I have a couple of handymen at my apartment doing some reno. No big deal.”

Ruby raises an eyebrow. “Are they hot?”

“Ruby!” Snow exclaims, once again reverting to teacher voice, while Emma makes her standard ‘unimpressed’ face.

“They are . I told you guys you couldn’t hide anything from me. My shift ends at 4, I’ll be over there at 5. Make popcorn.” Before Emma can object, Ruby begins muttering to herself. “I need to think of some home improvement related innuendo between now and then. Lemme see…” She taps a red manicured fingernail against her chin. “Something about pounding? Banging? Nailing! That’s a good one.”

Ruby is rising out of her seat and Emma’s almost in the clear now that Ruby’s been distracted, but she sees it in Snow’s eyes the moment before -

“Emma already used ‘nailing’. ‘Screwing’, too.”

Emma crosses her arms, hunching over until she’s burrowed as far as she can into the cracked vinyl seat and grumbles, ‘ Traitor, ’ under her breath. At the same time, Ruby spins back to face their booth, eyes wide.

“She what?”

Snow’s got this wicked gleam in her eyes, and Emma doesn’t like it one bit. “Oh yeah, Emma was definitely having unprotected eye sex with one of the handymen while the two of them traded comments about his ‘tool’.”

Ruby presses a hand to her chest and blinks rapidly, a distinct look of pride on her face.

Emma makes a garbled noise of disgust. “Seriously, Snow, your eighth graders are rotting your brain, but you’re one to talk. Ruby, miss innocent over here is skipping the part where she fell in pearl-clutching, eyelash-batting, gag-inducing love-at-first-sight with the other guy.”

Ruby presses her lips together and slaps the edge of the tabletop for emphasis. “This is the best day of my life. You guys are better than a primetime drama. I’ll be there at 5:30. I’m gonna need a fresh manicure for this.”

Emma makes a pained expression and catches Ruby’s wrist. “I know better than to try to stop you, but if you insist on coming over, can you at least attempt to be cool? Please?”

Ruby’s smile is broad to the point of being unsettling. “Would you expect anything else?” Emma releases Ruby’s wrist in defeat and sighs, not looking up when her retreating friend calls back over her shoulder, “I’ll bring the wine!”

It’s 5:47 pm. Ruby was early and Ruby is never early. There is a glass of chilled rosé in each woman’s hand and they’re pretending to be watching some movie on Netflix, but in reality, their attention is all elsewhere. Mostly about 7 feet to the left of the TV, where Killian and David are on all fours hand-polishing a paint splatter off of Emma’s wood floor. It’s really all too much.

Emma takes a sip of her wine but nearly chokes on it when Ruby nudges her shoulder.

“Girl, I’m going to buy you a pair of safety glasses. Even eye-fucking that man could get you pregnant. Holy shit. You need protection.”

Snow lets out an inelegant snort and Emma really does choke on her wine, but most of all Ruby really needs to work on her stage whisper . All the blood rushes to Emma’s face because Killian has definitely paused mid-polish or whatever and is looking at her with that damned raised eyebrow. And he winks.

Way, way too much. Emma’s hackles rise. “Does it really take both of you to clean the floor? Jones, why don’t you go work on the bathroom or something. The shower drain is clogged.”

He stands slowly, hitching his thumb at his belt buckle and takes a swaggering step toward her end of the couch. “I see. Sounds like someone needs their pipe snaked. I’d be happy to oblige.”

While Emma splutters, Ruby squeaks in delight, and David sits back on his heels and shakes his head in annoyance. “Actually, I think we’re about done for the day. Jones, how about you help pack up our gear and we’ll get out of here so Emma and her friends can enjoy their evening?”

“Oh, you’re not in the way,” Snow pipes up. “We were enjoying, um…” She trails off, her cheeks pinkening.

Ruby turns to Snow, an exaggerated expression of interest on her face. “Yes, honey, what was it that you were enjoying?”

“The show?” It comes out as a question and Snow is clearly floundering for a reason to keep David there - a fact he must be realizing because his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and he’s grinning - but Emma is so glad to have the attention off of herself that she can’t quite make herself say anything to help Snow.

“I, I mean it’s like getting to watch an HGTV show live. I just love Fixer-Upper ,” Snow finishes lamely.

Ruby pats her on the shoulder, but the stage-whispered, “Nice save, honey,” falls a little flat.

Anxious to avoid death by secondhand awkwardness, Emma downs the rest of the contents of her glass and taps her finger against the side. “I’m gonna go get a refill. Anybody need anything?”

“Ooh! Me.” Ruby gulps the last of her wine and hands Emma the empty glass.

David stands, tucking his wipe rag into his back pocket and wiping his hands on his pants, and Snow couldn’t possibly be staring harder if she tried. “I’m more of a beer man, myself, but if you’re offering?”

Emma stands there blinking, making some kind of intelligent sound like “Ummmm”, but David just laughs.

“I’m kidding, Emma, you don’t need to fix me a drink. But,” and at this, he turns to Snow with a hopeful gleam in his eye, “I’d be more than happy to buy you a drink sometime if you’d like?”

Snow is wide-eyed, her mouth hanging open in surprise, and it’s Ruby that speaks first. “Oh, that was smooth. Say, yes!” She chucks a piece of popcorn (rosé and popcorn, god they’re classy) at Snow’s face.

The kernel bounces off Snow’s cheek and that seems to remind her she’s supposed to say something. “I’d like that.” She beams, reaching for those pearls again, and Emma really needs more alcohol for this.

Emma escapes to the kitchen and snatches the bottle out of the fridge. She chugs the first glass she pours herself, then pours another liberal measure, leaving only enough left in the bottle for Ruby’s refill. As she’s taking a sip from what would be her third glass of wine for the evening, she hears footsteps coming her way, and she knows it’s him even before she hears-

“Easy there, Swan. Don’t want you getting tipsy and recruiting more handymen in the middle of the night.”

“That was…” Emma sighs and sets her glass down on the counter. “A one-time thing. I don’t really make a habit of drunk dialing contractors.”

He smiles warmly and his eyes are doing that annoying twinkly thing. “More’s the pity. I wouldn’t mind a late night call from a tough lass like you.”

Emma leans back resting her elbows against her newly installed granite countertop. “And what makes you think I’m a ‘tough lass’?” she asks in a poor imitation of his accent, then raises a shoulder in a half-shrug.  “I mean, I am , but how would you know that?”

Killian leans back as well, resting his (firm, shapely - not that she’s been looking) ass against the edge of her new flat glass cooktop. He crosses his legs at the ankle and his stupid feet are so big that if Emma pointed her toes, their feet would touch.

“You’re something of an open book,” he answers finally. “You don’t want to reveal yourself or be vulnerable, so when you get caught out, you use sarcasm and innuendo as a shield.”

Is this guy for real right now? Emma scoffs. “Hi there, Pot. I’m the Kettle. Nice to meetcha.”

Killian chuckles. “Thank you for proving my point. But you’re right, I suppose. I think the phrase is ‘Takes one to know one’.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but this time there’s a smile teasing at her lips that she can’t quite stifle. Killian reaches out with one of his big, stupid clown feet and nudges her calf to get her attention. When she looks up, he’s smiling at her and it does strange things to her insides.

“I’ll make you a deal. Tell me one true thing, something real, and I’ll stop with the innuendo. Otherwise, I’ve got some great material in store for you.” He waggles his eyebrows and Emma can’t decide if it’s dorky or obscene. “Really kinky stuff about taping and bedding. You’ll have to step up your pun game to keep up.”

“Much as I’d love to hear that ...” Emma exhales slowly, scrunching her mouth to the side in thought, but with the way Killian is studying her face, his eyes catch the movement and flick down to her lips. Her breath catches and her mouth goes dry and… something real, something real… She’s not ready to tell him anything real about her yet, but maybe - “How’s this for real? I’m pretty sure my best friend has a massive crush on your partner.”

Killian laughs, his hand reaching up to tug at the slightly too long hair at the back of his neck. “Fair enough, Swan. I suppose I should have specified I meant one real thing about you , but that’ll do for now.” He drops his hand and Emma finds herself fascinated with the way the little flips of hair he’s just rustled fall back into place and curl around his ear as he speaks again. “Tit for tat, I feel obligated to tell you that I’m quite sure my partner has a massive crush on your best friend.”

They’re talking about their friends but still, Emma suddenly feels a fluttering of butterflies in her stomach, which of course means she needs another sip of wine to drown the stupid bugs.

“Hey! Where’s my refill? I know I heard a man’s voice in the kitchen with you. Are you guys making out in there?” Ruby’s voice can really carry like no other, and Emma huffs, both grateful for and irritated by the interruption.

“I’m coming, Ruby.”

“Oh, good! Take your time then. Go back for seconds if you want!”

“THAT’S NOT WHAT I-” Emma stops herself, shaking her head as she picks her glass back up and drinks deeply. She looks back at Killian to find his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, then returns her attention to the wine bottle and Ruby’s refill.

“She’s just trying to get a rise out of me,” she says half to herself.

“By insinuating that you’re getting a rise out of me.”

“Not helping, Jones.”

“Sorry, Swan, that was low-hanging fruit. I couldn’t resist. But speaking of helping, David is right. We should be going. We’ll, ah, get a fresh start in the morning.”

There’s something about the way he looks at her when he says it. Something almost hopeful, and it knocks on a door she thought she’d dead bolted and padlocked years ago.

“Fresh start, huh? Sounds good.”

Thursday morning, when the Handy Helpers arrive to resume their work, Killian proves true to his word. Not a single innuendo in sight. He even goes so far as to start her coffee pot for her when Snow arrives a full half-hour early to take her to work and Emma’s only gotten half her makeup on. A hissing gurgle heralds the end of the brew cycle and draws Emma to the kitchen where she finds Killian tightening the new hardware on her cabinet doors.

“You didn’t have to do that you know.”

Emma catches a hint of a smile in Killian’s profile, but he simply keeps working. “I considered it a public service. Wouldn’t want to send a cranky Swan out into the world.”

She gives him an unimpressed hum in response, but as she grabs a mug from one of the cabinets he’s already finished and pours herself a cup, she feels an odd sense of relief. Almost as if some part of her was afraid she’d miss his banter if he stopped altogether. Huh.

He finishes installing one last drawer pull and asks if she’d mind him having a cup with her.

“Help yourself, Handy Helper.”

“Droll, Swan. Very droll.”

They stand side by side leaning back against the counter and sip in silence for a few moments, but they’ve got a great view into the living room and of the two people in it. David is listening with rapt attention to Snow who is gesturing enthusiastically (and occasionally reaching out to touch David’s arm) as she tells some story they can’t quite hear.

Without thinking, Emma leans closer to Killian and raises her mug in the direction of the living room.

“Think he’s proposed yet?”

Killian takes a sip of his coffee and moves closer as well until they’re shoulder to shoulder, the warmth from that point of contact sending tingles down Emma’s arm.

“Of course not. David’s a bit old-fashioned. He would never propose to a lass before the third date.”

Emma chuckles at that, and they spend the next few minutes imagining what David and Snow are talking about with Emma playing David’s part and Killian playing Snow’s. Emma clamps her hand over her mouth to keep from spitting her coffee when she hears Killian’s falsetto.

“ Oh, David, when you’re finished here, why don’t you come to my place? I’d love to put you to work. I have a gap that needs filling and you seem like a man who can handle his caulk…”

Far sooner than she’d like, Emma’s cup is empty and it’s time to go. She hates being late to work, but still she catches herself lingering. With a deep breath, she pushes off the counter and sets her mug in the sink. Before she walks into the living room to hustle Snow along, she turns back.

“Will you, you know, still be here working when I get back?”

Killian nods, his eyes fixed intently on hers. “Aye, Swan. I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

Without anyone ever really saying anything about it, morning coffee and making fun of David and Snow has become sort of a thing. Not like a thing- thing. That’s crazy. Emma has known Killian barely more than a week. They can’t have a thing . It’s more of a- a habit .

Just a silly habit. Like their fake flirting (yep, totally fake). Or his habit of scratching behind his ear when he’s being awkward. Or her habit of scowling at him when what she really wants to do is… but that’s neither here nor there.

She can’t deny he’s easy to talk to, not to mention easy on the eyes, but what difference does it make? He’s only in her life and her apartment because of a job. When the job is over, he’ll be gone. So, there is no thing between her and Killian.

When the work is done, she probably won’t ever see him again until the inevitable wedding of David and Snow, who had their first date Friday night. And now her traitorous brain is lighting up with images of Killian in a tux, raising a glass of champagne as he delivers a best man speech and that’s just- just counterproductive is what it is.

As she slumps into her desk on Monday, her mood is thoroughly soured.  Today was supposed to be a good day! The apartment is almost finished. Her beloved yellow Volkswagen is running again. She’s got a new stack of cases to work.

Work! That’s what she needs to do. Go round up some scumbag and slap a pair of handcuffs on him. Because cuffing a guy will definitely not make her think about Killian, especially in any sort of kinky or inappropriate way. Right.

Eleven hours later, however, Emma is more disgruntled than ever and dammit, what the ever-loving hell is that noise coming from her apartment?

Seething with frustration, she jams her key into the lock and shoulders her door open. The noise only grows louder.

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

Emma drops her purse on the couch and sticks her fingers in her ears to muffle the sound. Getting angrier with each step, she rounds the couch and ducks under the metal stairs leading up to her junk loft. The pounding finally stops just as she reaches her half-bath where she finds Killian Jones on the floor, pry bar in hand ripping up her old tile.

“Jones, what the hell are you doing here? It’s after 8:00!”

Killian, clearly having not heard her approach, jumps several inches in the air and the pry bar falls from his hand, crashing to the tile with a deafening clank.

“Bloody hell, Swan! You could give a man heart failure.”

“And you could make a woman’s ears bleed from all that racket. What are you doing here so late?”

Of course, the answer is that he’s working. For her. She knows this, and it does a little bit to abate her anger. Emma swallows and shifts her weight between her feet as Killian sighs heavily and stands to face her.

“I didn’t know you’d be here tonight. Snow came by earlier and left a key for David and me to lock up. She said you had a stakeout?”

Emma deflates at his words, her shoulders sagging. “I was supposed to, yes. My mark showed up earlier than I expected and saw me taking pictures of the front of his building from my car.  He ran and I lost him and now the bastard knows what I look like, so I have to hand the case to someone else.” She pauses, takes a deep breath and shoves her hair behind her ears. “Sorry for yelling. I guess I’m just frustrated.”

Oh and now the corners of his eyes are crinkling with his stupid grin and Emma remembers the other reason she was feeling frustrated when he says-

“You know, perhaps I could help you with that.”

Emma’s eyebrows form a little peak above her nose, and Killian takes a step closer. “Some physical exertion to blow off steam. Care to bang one out? I’d wager a good pounding would make you feel better.”

“Killian…” It was meant to sound like a warning, but Emma’s so tired it comes out more like a whine.

He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a pair of neon orange earplugs and offers them to Emma. “Here, love. Put these in.”

She takes them and after an encouraging nod from him, places them in her ears. He gestures for her to follow him and she sits down next to him on what’s left of the tile floor. She watches in fascination as he places the chisel on the grout, maneuvering his hook to brace it in place, then using his other hand to hammer until the tile pops loose. He then drops the hammer in favor of the pry bar, positions it and pulls until the tile is removed completely. He slides the hammer and chisel over to Emma.

“Your turn. Picture the face of your runaway criminal or whomever you find most vexing and have at it.”

Emma gives him a sidelong glance but does her best to copy what he’d just done. After a few good hits, she feels the grout and glue give way and dammit he’s right. It’s really, really cathartic. She looks up at Killian and he’s wearing an expression of pride that somehow eases even more of the tension from her. She can’t help but smile back at him.

“I pound, you pry?”

“As you wish, Swan.”

Emma scoots back away from him only long enough to remove her boots, and the two of them set to work. Between the hammer’s noise and the dampening effect of the earplugs, conversation is difficult. The silence between them is comfortable. Easy. Though it’s a small space, they never get in the other’s way. But still…

Emma finds herself hyper-aware of how close Killian is to her. Even with her eyes focused on the chisel and hammer, she feels his every shift and movement. Feels the warmth from his body. Feels his eyes on her. Her pulse kicks up a notch and all the stress she’d been feeling earlier is rapidly being replaced by a completely different kind of tension.

When the last tile is removed, Emma sits back on her heels and pulls the plugs from her ears. Instead of just handing them back like a normal person, she takes the hand holding the plugs and slaps it against Killian’s chest. The gesture was supposed to be playful, or at least that’s how it went in her head, but Killian quickly catches her hand with his, trapping it against his chest. And then they’re just sitting there, eyes locked on each other, both breathing a little fast and he’s kind of almost holding her hand while she can feel his heartbeat under her palm and it’s just... It’s- it’s-

“How about a drink?” Emma blurts, standing up quickly. “To, you know, celebrate my first job as a handyperson.”

Killian eyes her for a second, then stands as well, his hand drifting up to scratch behind his ear. “Aye. That sounds grand.”

Emma digs a mostly empty whiskey bottle out of the back of one of her kitchen cabinets, laughing to herself a little when she realizes it’s the same bottle she’d been drinking the night she ran across the Handy Helpers’ website. She pours two fingers of liquor into each glass, adds a couple of ice cubes and meets Killian at the table where he’s taken a seat.

He fiddles with the glass for a moment, his eyes studying her face, then he raises the glass toward her propping his elbow on the table. “To us, Swan. I don’t mean to upset you, but I think we make quite the team.”

Emma gives him a quick smile and clinks her glass against his. As she sips the whiskey her thoughts are all over the place, but the burn of the liquor is helping and she finally manages to catch hold of one idea. “You know, you never did tell me why you’re here so late. Just because I wasn’t here didn’t mean you couldn’t go home.”

Killian looks down for a moment focusing on the ice cubes as they swirl in his whiskey. “I may have encouraged Dave to leave with Snow for a drink.”

He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes and Emma can tell he’s holding something back.

“That just tells me why you were here by yourself, not why you decided to stay late.” A thought occurs to her that saps the warmth the whiskey had been building inside her and she instinctively draws back. “Are you that ready to get this job finished so you can move on?”

She hates the defensive edge to her voice and the way Killian’s eyes have gone wide and most of all the way this turn of conversation is making her gut churn. But Killian surprises her (which shouldn’t be a surprise, she guesses, because he’s constantly surprising her) by reaching out for her hand.

“No, no, love. Not at all. In fact, if I’m being honest, I’m rather loathe to be done now that I’ve discovered such a competent new apprentice.”

Emma rolls her eyes even as her smile returns because this is the second time he’s used that particular epithet and she maybe kind of doesn’t hate it. He gives her hand a teasing squeeze before releasing it to lean back in his chair.

“I suppose…” and here goes that hand to the back of his neck again, “I just don’t have much to go home to. Not for a while now.”

His eyes fall to his hook. Emma follows his line of sight and it all finally clicks. Why he can read her so well. Why he understands her defenses. Why he feels like a kindred spirit. He’s known loss and loneliness just like she has. It takes one to know one.

“You lost more than just your hand, didn’t you?” It’s a statement, not a question, and Emma levels him with a stare that she hopes shows she gets it. That it’s okay.

He nods and in the slight uptick in his lips, the flash of recognition in his eyes, she knows that he knows. “Aye. But that’s a grim tale for another day. Not appropriate for what’s supposed to be a celebratory drink.”

He picks up his glass and raises it toward her again. “To lost boys and lost girls?”

Emma nods, holding his gaze, and a warmth that has nothing to do with the whiskey begins to bloom in her chest. She raises her glass. “To us.”

By noon on Wednesday, the guys are finished and gone. Emma comes home that evening to an immaculate and beautiful apartment that is barely recognizable as hers. Well, that’s only partly true. It’s not recognizable as her old one bedroom, one-and-a-half bathroom, plus a storage loft apartment, but it does look strikingly similar to the two bedroom, two bath apartment she dreamed of but never thought she could have. Which, she supposes is still accurate because the place really isn’t hers. In two days, it will belong to the co-op board and she can only stay there until they find someone to buy it.

So, as lovely as it is, it feels… empty. Or maybe she’s just projecting. Maybe, just maybe, it’s because she didn’t get the chance to tell her handymen goodbye. Because maybe, just maybe she’s going to miss them. Miss him.

On the kitchen counter, right next to the coffee pot, Emma notices a business card for the Handy Helpers. When she turns it over she finds a phone number and a short note written in perfect looping script:

“In case of emergency. -K”

Just like that the butterflies are back in her stomach. She tries valiantly to squash them, tries to fortify her defenses to keep them at bay, but the little critters are tenacious. Still, she decides that the sensible thing to do is program the number into her phone. Like he said, just for emergencies.

It figures that she wouldn’t even get to enjoy her final days in her gorgeous remodeled apartment. Thursday afternoon, she’s assigned to an overnight stakeout. Thankfully, when Emma stops at Granny’s Diner to get takeout, Ruby agrees to help her by swinging by the apartment to turn Emma’s spare key over to the board first thing the next morning.

Stakeouts have never really bothered Emma before. She’s always been okay with her own company, but the long hours alone sure give a person a lot of time to think. About all kinds of things. Like lost boys with understanding eyes, and a lewd sense of humor that matches right up with hers. And how hard it might be for a person to break her own radiator. And what exactly constitutes an emergency. Stuff like that.

She arrives back at the apartment (she can’t even bring herself to call it home anymore) Friday evening. She caught the skip, saved the day and collected her paycheck, but she doesn’t really feel like celebrating. All Emma really wants is to finish off that bottle of whiskey and take a long, hot bath. And maybe if while she’s soaking in the tub, her mind drifts to a certain handyman and her fingers decide to wander, well… who’s to know?

Much to her consternation, there’s really only about one good shot left in the bottle. With a half-hearted shrug, she drinks it down then walks over to the sink to rinse out the glass. One problem. The water is running, but it’s not draining. Maybe she just needs to run the garbage disposal?

She flips the switch and her only warning is a wailing groan like a dying cow before orange gloop shoots up out of the drain three feet into the air. The splatters are everywhere. All up the wall, all over the floor, all over her face, her sweater, her hair… Emma has the presence of mind to flip the switch back off, but now her damn sink is broken and she has to have the place ready for the co-op board tomorrow and she’s freaking the hell out.

She grabs a dish towel and wipes off her face and hands. Somehow she digs her phone out of her purse without dripping goo all over it and calls the first person she thinks of. He answers right away.

Later, she doesn’t even remember what it was that she said to him. All she knows is that he’s here. No questions, no innuendo. He made it to her apartment before she’d even gotten the kitchen floor mopped, and now they’re working more or less side by side. He’s half under the sink while she finishes cleaning the walls and countertop.

“Killian, you need anything? If you’re good, I’m gonna go wash this gunk out of my hair.”

“All set, love. I’ll be done in a few minutes.”

Emma slinks off through her bedroom to her en-suite, carefully picking up some clean clothes to change into along the way. It isn’t until she’s standing under the shower spray that she finally begins to process the evening’s events. How when something went wrong, Killian was the first person she wanted. Not Snow. Not Ruby. And how he was there for her. Without batting an eye or raising an eyebrow. Not so much as a smirk.

She doesn’t even bother trying to tell herself that she called him because he’s her contractor. Contractors do not show up at your door to fix your sink on a Friday night. Friends do, though. Is that what they are? Okay, yeah. She can deal with the word ‘friend’ as applied to Killian Jones. Even if it still somehow doesn’t sound exactly accurate.

Once she’s all clean and shiny again, Emma shuts off the water and hopes to God she remembered to shut her bedroom door, because it’s just now occurring to her that she’s very naked and there is a very attractive man-friend-person in her kitchen. She can feel her face and neck flushing at the thought while she towels off and pulls on her yoga pants and a t-shirt. She wills the blushing to stop, but figures at worst (meaning if he notices it) she can blame the heat from the shower. As she’s standing in front of her mirror running a wide-tooth comb through her wet hair, Emma hears a knock on her bedroom door. Guess she did close it after all.

“I’m decent. You can come in.”

Muffled footsteps signal that Killian is crossing her bedroom, but she doesn’t turn around, still attempting to unsnarl a particularly nasty tangle. One last thud of a work boot on tile and the footsteps stop. She looks up from her split ends to see his reflection behind her in the mirror. He’s leaning against the door jamb smiling softly, a hint of smugness but not his usual variety of smug. More like he’s just really, really pleased with something, but she can’t imagine why he’d be so proud of unclogging a drain.

“What?”

“All fixed.” He pushes off the door frame leading with his hips and takes a slow, deliberate step toward her. Emma can’t take her eyes off his reflection, mostly afraid that if she looks at her own she’ll see how flushed her face and chest still are. “You know, if you want to get close to me, you just have to ask. There’s no need to use home repair as an excuse.”

Emma huffs and rolls her eyes, though her pulse has kicked up several notches. Oh, God. Deflect! Deflect!

“Why am I not surprised you’re making this about you?” she mutters, more to herself than him. Setting the comb in her hand down on the countertop, she meets his gaze in the mirror again. “I guess I could’ve called David, but he’s out on a date with Snow right now-”

“Right, right. You could have.” He nods and takes another step forward. “But, that wasn’t really what I meant, and I think you know it.”

He’s right behind her now, close enough she can feel the warmth of his body on her back and the next thing she knows he’s grabbing her hips and spinning her around to face him. So, of course, she goes into full defensive mode. Arms crossed, scowl on face.

“Oh you think so, do you?”

“I do. I also think that perhaps gratitude is in order now.” And with this, Killian somehow manages to turn his usual adorably awkward ear scratch into a smooth as hell move ending in a tap of his finger against his lips. His eyebrow raises inquiringly, but there’s no question at all in Emma’s mind what he’s asking for.

Are they there ? Is this...? Are they...? Careless innuendos and shameless flirting are one thing, and yeah, they’ve gotten pretty friendly lately, but, but, but-

“Please. You couldn’t handle it.” Her voice is breathy and husky and a smile toys with the corners of her mouth, but for a second at least she feels like she has the upper hand again.

His eyes dart between hers, piercing blue and searching. She doesn’t know what he sees, but he’s suddenly locked on target. It’s a strange turn of phrase even as she thinks it, (okay, what she actually thinks is something along the lines of holy shit his eyes are pretty ) but there’s not a better way to describe it, and then-

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.” Low, but clear. Inviting, but challenging. His words shut down Emma’s ability to make words of her own, except for the one word that keeps flashing in her brain like a giant neon sign: Want, want, want, want.

She’s staring at his eyes, his lips, and she’s not even sure if he’s breathing anymore. Then her hands are moving, gripping his ratty black t-shirt and pulling him down into a kiss filled with hours, days, weeks (fucking years for all she can think right now) worth of pent up sexual tension and maybe’s and what if’s finally getting an answer. And that answer is yes. Absolutely, unequivocally and perfectly yes.

It’s messy and urgent. Their noses crush against each other’s cheeks, and Killian can’t seem to decide where to put his hand, first threading it into her still-damp hair, then clutching at her waist to pull her closer. Emma is no better. Her fingers hold so tightly to his shirt she has the fleeting fear she’s ripping out the chest hair beneath it, and she isn’t quite sure if she should use her tongue, but then Killian kind of sighs into her mouth and makes this sort of growling noise in the back of his throat and… Oh yeah. Tongue. Definitely tongue.

But for all the first-kiss frenzy, it’s everything . Passionate and scalding hot and sweet and tender and a little desperate. This isn’t just a guy who wants her. This is a guy who actually gets her, understands her, likes her, defensive mechanisms and all. So, she takes a breath and dives back in, letting herself go and holding onto him for dear life.

When the initial hormonal burst begins to wane, Emma finds herself smiling against his mouth, damn near giggling and Emma Swan does not giggle. He pulls back to look at her, his own smile outshining the vanity light fixtures he’d installed last week, and shakes his head in bewilderment.

“That was…”

Emma presses her forehead against his. “Yeah, it was.”

He lets out a relieved breath, and she releases her grip on him, leaning away just enough to rest her ass on the edge of the counter, but still close enough to loop her arms loosely around his neck. They both really seem to have lost track of the whole personal space concept, and she could not possibly give less of a damn.

Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, she looks up at him through her eyelashes and waggles an eyebrow. “So. You wanna see my toolbox now?”

He gapes only for a split second, running his tongue along the edge of his teeth as he recovers. “No need.” He leans in, his breath warm against the shell of her ear. “Darling, you are about to discover just exactly how handy of a man I can be.”

It’s entirely possible that the sound Emma makes when Killian’s lips descend on her neck could be classed as undignified, but it doesn’t seem to bother him much. If anything, he must find it rather encouraging because he redoubles his efforts there, the drag of his scruff against her skin heightening the sensation of his warm mouth and the occasional nip of teeth. His hand and hook find the back of her thighs, lifting as he nudges her further onto the counter and then he’s right there where she wants him, thick and hard and hot. Wrapping her legs around his waist seems like the best idea she’s ever had in her life and he apparently agrees, groaning softly as he nuzzles behind her ear.

Emma threads her fingers into his hair, carefully guiding him back to her mouth. Her whole body is singing, hips rocking against him, lips and teeth and tongue working in tandem with his, but there’s something that’s-

Something she can’t quite-

The back of her head touches the mirror as Killian leans into her and gives a throbbingly wonderful, if hesitant, experimental thrust. Oh. That.

She halts him with a hand on his chest and his face when he leans back is a picture of confusion and worry. “Not that I’m not enjoying this, but if we fuck up my new bathroom counter, the co-op board is going to kill me. And then I’ll have to kill you.”

Killian’s look of panic immediately shifts into her favorite smirk ( smark? ), and he’s clearly headed right back to her lips again as he whispers, “I was thinking more ‘on’ than ‘up’, but if you-” he stops and pulls away again, this time looking supremely affronted. “Wait a minute, are you seriously saying you don’t trust my installation job?”

“Are you seriously saying you don’t want to take this to the bedroom?”

He shrugs a little and good grief, could the man possibly have a more expressive face? Now he’s right back to lascivious again. He takes a quick but deliberate glance at the mirror behind her. “I don’t know, love, I rather like the view right here.”

Emma pats him on the shoulder and rolls her eyes, then nudges him aside so she can hop down from the countertop. She takes his hand as she walks past him and begins pulling him behind her to her bedroom.

“Comfort over kink, babe.” She pauses and looks back at him over her shoulder with what she hopes is a coquettish expression. She can be expressive, too, dammit. “Besides, we’ve got to save something for next time.”

She turns to start walking again, but Killian tugs on her hand, making her turn back to face him.

“Next time?”

And if she wasn’t absolutely sure about this - about him - already, that right there. That little uptick in his voice, that little flash of vulnerability and hope in his eyes. That would’ve done it.

She lets just one corner of her mouth curve gently upwards. “Yeah. Next time.” She gives his hand a squeeze and raises her eyebrows. “Or the time after that. Come on.” She finishes the command with a quick jerk of her head toward the bed and he’s already beaming at her, and after that, it’s less her leading him by the hand and more her just trying to keep up.

Eager hands and searching lips seem to be everywhere at once. His t-shirt is done for. She’s not sure if it was her nails or his hook, but that rip isn’t fixable. Her bra suffers a similar fate. Her pants get stuck on one leg in her haste to get rid of the damn things, but it’s hardly her fault. Killian is already naked and all tight and lean and in her bed looking very much like he belongs there and it’s really freaking distracting.

She finally manages to extricate her foot and lays down on her side, leaning over the edge of the bed to drop her pants on the floor. In an instant, there’s a warm body wrapped around her from behind, a scruffy chin rasping her shoulder and a large hand splayed flat against her stomach. Emma really can’t be held responsible for the sound she makes when he ruts his hips forward, her ass cradling his manhood as he nips playfully at her shoulder.

She cranes her neck to kiss him, but can’t quite reach, so she lays her head back down, opting instead to wriggle back against him and lace her fingers through his.

Killian grunts in disapproval. “Angle’s all wrong.”

Emma cants her hips back suggestively and he groans, tightening their joined hands around her waist. “Seems like the angle is pretty good to me.”

“While I must admit it offers certain intriguing possibilities, I can’t make out with you like this.”

Emma looks up at him, frowning in confusion. “Is that a problem?”

Killian sighs, a heartbreaking openness in his gaze. “You know, I’d normally make a crack right now about how a true craftsman begins every job with a good priming, but the truth is I just really, desperately want to kiss you. Is that alright?”

Emma blinks, swallowing hard, and it takes her several moments before she trusts her own voice not to waver because she can’t remember the last time a man simply wanted to kiss her and be with her. Probably never, actually. And she just- She just-

“Yeah. That’s alright.”

He scoots backward to make room for her and she rolls over to face him. Her arm snakes around his neck, one thigh hitching over his hip, wrapping as much of her herself around him as possible. And he kisses her. God, does he kiss her. So different from the flash-bang clutching and scrambling of their first kiss, this time there’s an unhurried determination about him. It’s almost funny when she thinks about it, how she’s gone from feeling like this is her last night on earth to feeling like she - like they have all the time in the world.

But still…

Just because they have all the time in the world, doesn’t mean she wants to spend it all on first base. Even naked first base. Because that flashing neon sign of WANT is back. His lips are just too damn soft and his arms too solid around her, and with every breath, the coarse hair on his chest teases her breasts making the WANT rapidly shift into NEED.

He’s rock hard between her legs, his hips moving in minute thrusts and she doesn’t think he even knows he’s doing that, but it’s slowly driving her crazy. So she shifts her weight and rolls on top of him until she’s straddling him and this time it’s Emma who can’t keep still, lightly rocking in his lap as she urges him to sit up with her.

When they’re practically eye to eye, his hooked arm holding her fast by the waist while he keeps his balance with the other, Emma realizes he’s studying her face, his eyes darting between hers searching for some sign of hesitation or uncertainty.

“Love, are you sure this is what you want?”

Killian’s dark hair is a mess. Not it’s usual devil-may-care mess, but an I’ve-been-fucked-proper mess courtesy of her wandering fingers. She rakes it back off of his forehead, trailing her hand down to cup his jaw and he leans into her palm, closing his eyes as he presses a light kiss to the inside of her wrist. And if he isn’t the damndest thing she’s ever seen, Emma doesn’t know what is.

She doesn’t even bother trying to hide her smile. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Oh, thank God.”

He surges forward, the words barely out of his mouth before he captures hers in a toe-curling kiss. His arm tightens around her and he flips their positions, Emma bouncing against the mattress at the impact. She giggles (maybe Emma Swan is a giggler after all?) and thinks something very eloquent along the lines of, “ That was hella impressive .”

She’s ready. She’s so, so very ready as he lines himself up, and God, it’s been awhile, but her body seems to remember how this all works. Because as he slides in, slow and steady, there’s no awkwardness, no distracting stops and starts to take her out of the moment. Their eyes are locked, faces flushed and it’s just them. Like this how it’s supposed to be. Like the universe is smiling indulgently at her as if she’s an idiot for not realizing this was its idea the whole time.

His head tips forward, resting his forehead against hers, and they’re breathing the same air, and yeah. This was definitely the plan the whole time. She didn’t know. She’s not sure how she didn’t know, but at least she’s finally learning.

She’s learning a lot right now actually. Like the way that dip just beneath his Adam’s apple tastes. Like the color his skin turns where her questing mouth has left its mark. Like the sound he makes when she drags her nails down his back. Like the way he can make her back arch off the bed when he swirls his tongue around her nipple. Turns out he’s a pretty fast learner, too.

Speaking of fast. It’s illogical and unbelievable and she’s never been able to get off from missionary, but she feels her orgasm building and it’s gonna be the good, deep kind. The kind that makes her teeth buzz and toes go numb. She opens her eyes (because when he found that spot behind her ear with his tongue, there was no way she could manage to keep them open) to check and see if he’s as far gone as she is. There’s a sheen of sweat over both of them. He’s just as flushed as she knows she is, his face set with tension.

“Are you close, love?”

Words are not within her power right now, so she nods quickly, her breaths coming shallow and fast.

“May I…?” He shifts his weight onto one arm and begins to reach down between them to where they are joined, but Emma stops him with a small shake of her head. Instead, she widens her thighs, wrapping one arm tighter around his waist and squeezing his ass (and it’s everything that his stupid tight jeans had promised) to encourage him to go deeper. Not exactly spurring, but it’s close enough for him to get the message.

She has no idea how he’s managing to grind against her clit and thrust at the same time, but it’s-

Oh…

Oh, fuck…

“Oh Fuck!”

Yeah, that last one was definitely out loud, but she’s too blissed out to care. Oh, she was right. Right with the buzzing and the ringing in her ears and the tingling toes and the freaking unicorns and rainbows dancing across her vision as he thrusts a few more times and calls out a few expletives of his own. And her name.

They’re breathing hard, both of them, and he’s smiling down at her and it’s really not fair for a guy to have eyelashes that long and black. She scrunches her nose at him and he kisses the tip of it before shifting himself off to her side.

“You got me all sweaty.” Emma clearly displays her distaste for said sweat by snuggling herself under the crook of Killian’s arm and using his chest for a headrest. It’s a good vantage point for her to hear his low, skeptical hum in response.

“I understand you have a lovely newly remodeled shower you could use to rectify the problem.”

She lifts her head to look at him, and he’s got an eyebrow raised, but his eyes are twinkling.

“The shower head has way more settings than I’m used to. If only someone knowledgeable could, you know… give me a demonstration?” Emma tries to pull her lower lip between her teeth suggestively, but when Killian chuckles she joins right in.

“Oof, give a man a moment to collect himself, Swan. Though I suppose I’d prefer to give you a demonstration of the hardware, rather than have you resort to sabotage for my attentions.”

She was with him right up to the word ‘sabotage’. Emma sits up on the bed, her brow furrowed. “Wait, what?” Killian only grins broadly and tucks his arms behind his head. He’s still gloriously naked and it’s horribly distracting, but she won’t be deterred. “What do you mean ‘sabotage’?”

“Come now. Surely you didn’t think I’d believe the better part of a frozen lasagna accidentally shoved itself down your garbage disposal. I’m actually quite perceptive, darling. And I must say I’m flattered.”

His voice had taken on that rich, purring quality and under other circumstances, Emma would’ve melted like Milk Duds in warm popcorn, but she’s incensed at the accusation. Mostly because she’d kind of thought about doing that. Something like that anyway. But the point is she didn’t .

Her jaw drops open to protest, and he’s starting to look a bit unsure of himself. Good. He should be unsure of himself because did he really think that she-

“Hang on - did you say frozen lasagna?”

“Indeed. Several helpings by the look. Jammed the gears in the disposal, then melted which is why the sink backed up-”

“And then exploded all over my kitchen.”

Killian’s sitting up now, too, looking thoroughly confused. “You mean you didn’t…?”

Emma drops her chin to her chest and huffs a laugh, before meeting his eyes again. “Nope. But I know who did.”

“We’ve been set up?”

“Uh huh.”

“Bloody hell.” Killian flops back down onto the bed, rubbing a hand across his forehead. Emma scooches closer and nestles back into his side.

They lay there together for the space of several slow breaths, Emma absentmindedly toying with the soft hair on his stomach, while Killian gently strokes his fingers up and down her arm. It’s so peaceful that when his hand stills she thinks he may have fallen asleep.

“Hey, Killian?”

“Aye.” His voice is a little rough and maybe he was asleep, but something is bugging her.

“Was that the reason you made a move on me tonight? Because you thought I’d blown up my kitchen just to get to see you?”

“Oi! You kissed me first, Swan, but aye. I must admit it gave me a boost of confidence.”

“I didn’t know you were lacking in confidence, Jones.”

He chuckles softly and resumes trailing his fingers over her arm. “I’m confident in most things, true, but when it comes to whether I’ve won the heart of the woman I fancy? I suppose I have more hope than confidence.”

Emma looks up at him wide-eyed, searching for any hint of a lie, but he means it. She tucks her head beneath his chin to hide her smile.

“Hey, Killian?”

“Aye?”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve got a massive crush on David’s business partner.”

“Just pretty sure?”

“More like very sure.”

“Good. Because I’m very sure I’ve a massive crush on Snow’s best friend.”

After a short nap and a thorough demonstration of her new shower hardware, Killian spends the night. Emma wakes up warm and sated, her head pillowed on his bicep. He makes a compelling argument for spending the day in bed, his lips on the back of her neck and his fingers slowly slipping down her abdomen and stroking gently when they reach their destination.

It’s tempting. So, so tempting, especially when he dips one finger, then two inside her, curling and thrusting them in earnest now. But her stomach is growling and there’s something she really needs to do, so she very reluctantly stops him with a heated promise to pick right back up where he left off after breakfast.

They dress hurriedly. Emma offers him one of her oversized ‘Storybrooke U’ t-shirts to replace the one she basically ripped off of him the night before. There’s a little bit of groping and a lot of kissing, but they finally make it out the door and down the street to Granny’s Diner.

As soon as they walk through the door (hand in hand, and Emma could really get used to that), they spot a familiar couple canoodling in a corner booth. Ruby spots Emma and Killian a moment later and shoos them over to sit with Snow and David. David shakes Killian’s hand with a knowing smile. Emma hugs Snow who looks as tired and happy as Emma is fairly sure she herself does.

Ruby pulls out her notepad and pen and beams at the four of them. “And what can I get you lovely fornicators for breakfast this morning? And don’t even bother trying to look innocent, Snow. Your eyeliner has clearly been slept in, and that-” she jabs her pen in Killian’s direction. “-is clearly Emma’s shirt. Love to hear about what happened to his, by the way. But I’m just so happy for you guys!”

Honestly, Emma’s feeling pretty good about life right now, but she didn’t come here for pancakes and girl talk. She leans back in her seat and crosses her arms.

“Ruby, did you drop off my key to the co-op board yesterday morning?”

Ruby’s smile falters for a second, but it’s enough to confirm Emma’s suspicion. “Sure did. Now, do you want bacon or toast with-”

“Did you take a look around the apartment while you were there?”

“Oh, yeah. The place looks fantastic. You boys did a great job. So how do you take your-”

“And did you maybe shove half a frozen lasagna down my kitchen sink while you were there?”

Ruby exhales sharply, all pretense gone, and puts her hands on her hips. “I did and I regret nothing. My evil plan clearly worked.”

Emma groans, letting her head fall to Killian’s shoulder. “But why-”

“Because you needed a little extra push, babe,” Ruby answers kindly. She looks over to Killian who is now resting his head atop Emma’s. “Maybe he did, too.”

Killian squeezes Emma’s leg under the table. “Hard to argue with that, love.”

Snow leans in and raises an eyebrow. “Oh, she can argue with anything. Stick around a while, you’ll see.”

Emma harrumphs, but there’s no real rancor behind it. Ruby raises her pad and pen again.

“So, pancakes, bacon and coffee all around?”

There’s a general murmur of agreement, and Ruby scribbles down the order.

“She’s right about the apartment,” Snow says after Ruby disappears back into the kitchen. “I saw it Monday when it wasn’t even finished yet and it looked terrific.” She nudges David with her shoulder and looks up at him through her eyelashes. “You guys really did an amazing job.”

Emma sighs. “Yeah, so amazing that it’s gonna sell immediately and I have no idea what I’m going to do.”

Killian drapes his arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer, the quiet show of solidarity making her feel slightly better.

Snow furrows her brow. “You know you can stay with me as long as you need.”

Emma gives her a small smile in return. “Thanks, but I think it could get a little crowded since you’ve just got the one bedroom.” She turns a sly look to David. “And a little noisy.”

Snow blushes, and David laughs, tucking Snow’s hand into the crook of his arm. “It just might,” he confirms. “You don’t think you can talk your board into coming down on the price?”

Emma shakes her head. “Nope. Definitely not, now that you and Killian converted my junk loft into an actual second bedroom.”

“What about a flatmate, love?” Killian asks. “Perhaps Snow?” He nods in her friend’s direction, but now Emma and Snow are both shaking their heads.

“I’m stuck in my lease for another nine months,” Snow replies.

“Not to mention the building doesn’t allow sub-leasing, and I’m sure as hell not about to try to buy my apartment with some stranger.”

At that moment, Ruby arrives with four mugs and a coffee pot in hand, but she stops at the end of their table, a frown at the corners of her scarlet lips. “And what am I, a day-old bagel?”

“Huh?” is the best response Emma can come up with.

“Emma, I’ve been living here with Granny rent-free for years. I’ve got a pretty nice nest egg saved up. What if I bought half the apartment?”

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“Look, honey, much as I love Granny, she’s really starting to cramp my style, if you know what I mean. I can’t get away with anything. The old battle-ax has ears like a wolf.”

The kitchen door swings open, and Granny herself sticks her head out. “I’m a wolf? You’re the maneater, girl.”

Ruby turns and calls back, “My Granny, what a big mouth you have!” There’s a loud hmph and a smacking sound as the kitchen door swings closed again. Ruby sets the coffee down on the table and faces Emma again. “You see my point. So what do you say to taking on a delightfully inappropriate roommate?”

Emma blinks a few times, still trying to come to grips with this new information. Is it really possible? Can she actually be lucky enough to get to keep her apartment? She can feel everybody at the table looking at her expectantly and it finally occurs to her that she’s not speaking. She shakes herself and looks wide-eyed up at Ruby.

“Yes. Ohmigod. Yes! Ruby, thank you so much.”

Ruby grins brightly. “My shift ends at two. I’ll meet you at the building to do the paperwork after that. We don’t want those co-op bitches selling the place out from under us.” She takes a pointed glance at Killian then waggles her eyebrows suggestively. “And it looks like you’ve got some business to attend to while you still have the place to yourself. I’ll just go pack your breakfast to go.”

Before Emma can say anything else, Ruby turns on her heel and heads back to the kitchen. The next thing Emma knows, Snow is congratulating her and Killian is brushing a kiss to her hair and David is grinning at her and she's just- she’s just…Happy. And it kind of surprises her to realize it, but she thinks maybe she can get used to it.

Ruby returns with a take-out bag a few minutes later, and Emma and Killian stand to leave. Killian reaches to take the bag, but Ruby pulls it back, her eyes narrowing.

“You’re gonna take good care of our girl, right? Because I'll be right there to know if you don’t.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but Killian nods solemnly. “I promise I will.” And Emma’s heart melts just that little bit more.

Ruby releases the bag to him with a toothy grin. “Good. And don’t worry, I’ll give you a good deal when you want to buy out my share of the apartment later.”

David and Snow laugh, Emma splutters, and Killian’s ears turn pink and she knows he’d be scratching behind his ear if he wasn’t holding the food. Before either of them can say anything, Ruby is waving them away.

“Now don’t even try to argue with me. You two just go on home and have… pancakes.”

With a little wave of her fingers, Ruby was off to the kitchen. Emma glanced back at the table to find Snow and David completely engrossed with each other once more. As much as her head was reeling from everything that had happened in the last 24 hours, looking up into Killian’s smiling (and maybe a little bit smarking ) eyes, she finally feels that yes, this is it. She’s finally getting it right.

She wraps her fingers around Killian’s hook, taking note of the little hitch in his breath when she does, and smiles up at him.

“Yeah. Pancakes sound good.”

.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs modern au #Handy Helpers #cs handyman au #with a little bit of Snowing #and some Captain Charming #and Ruby save the day #God I think I'm funny

[killiancygnus]

Serendipitous Melody 12/?

Summary: Everyone has dreams. You might dream of becoming an astronaut or teacher, or you might want to become a doctor and save as many lives you can. Emma Swan’s childhood dream was being a singer. But with life getting in the way and never finding the courage to overcome her fears, she never had a chance to follow it. That is until a little push from her friends lead her to cash on an opportunity; and, who knows, she might even get more than what she’d wished for.

Rated: T

Word count: ~3.3k

A/N:   I LIVE! I know this is super late and I’m very sorry but between writer’s block and the hard time I’m having at uni it took me ages to finish this up. I hope you like it though! I honestly don’t know when I’ll be able to post chapter 13 since exams season will begin in a few days for me but I’ll try my best not to make you wait 6 weeks again. Anyway, comments make my day so if you liked this chapter or if you’ve just started reading this story, don’t be shy! I’m a sweet potato you can ask around :’).

As always, huge thanks to @the-reason-to-sail-home and @londonsbridge, my woderful friends and betas, for helping me with the editing and to all the CS Writers’ Hub ladies.

Tagging some friends: @villains-happy-ending, @stardusted-nymph, @allisonchameron, @kmomof4, @hencethebravery, @katie-dub, @captainwiley, @irishswanff, @thejollypirate, @dassala, @imhookedonaswan, @ofshipsandswans, @legendofthephoenixcs and @mahstatins

If you want to be tagged too let me know :)

(Emma’s song is ‘Human’ by Christina Perry whereas Elsa’s is ‘Bird Set Free’ by Sia)

Links: Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 / AO3

Emma was slowly climbing up the stairs, trying with all her might not to bounce up and down in excitement. She was just about to have a lesson with Killian, her first lesson before the semifinals. She couldn’t believe she had gotten so far in this competition, which was ironic because at first Ruby had to do a lot of convincing for her to even consider doing an audition.

A few days had passed since she last saw Killian. And, to be honest, she’d spent a nice couple of days with him. Yes, him telling her how much he cared for her and them both sharing bits and pieces of their past had been emotionally draining for the both of them, but they had fun. Watching the show with him had been great, even though she had to admit that watching and hearing herself sing on television had been weird. He gave her tips, based on both the others’ performance and hers, he told her stories of what happened behind the scenes and then he made her blush furiously when he went on an impassioned rant about how much she’d improved since they’d started working together and how much of an amazing singer she is.

The days leading to her next lesson were mostly uneventful. They would have been completely quiet if only Mary Margaret didn’t convince her to go out with Ruby. However, what she claimed was a simple ‘girls day out’ turned out being an excuse to drag Emma with them on wedding dress hunt. And apparently, only a few weeks of engagement were enough to transform Mary Margaret in what Emma could only define as a wedding obsessed monster. She dragged both her and Ruby in shop after shop, for the whole day, discussing flowers arrangements, colors themes and the pros and cons of lace and satin dresses. Yeah, it was that bad, but, truth be told, Emma had never loved shopping much. There needed to be a rare astral conjunction to find her in the mood to go around in the city and browse through piles and piles of clothes in different shops. She was one of those persons that shopped with an aim: she would enter a shop, spot what she needed to buy in a few minutes and head to the cashier to pay.

She had to admit, though, that going wedding dress shopping was another matter altogether. It was a bit overwhelming and intimidating entering those beautiful and sophisticated shops, with all those stunning, immaculate dresses hanging neatly along the walls.

Whereas Emma felt quite out of her element there, Mary Margaret- just like Ruby- seemed unfazed by all that luxury. She was a woman on a mission: find the perfect dress, the one which would make her feel like a princess and everyone else cry. She tried on dress after dress, but she never seemed satisfied. Emma had never thought her friend would be so prickly, and she really couldn’t understand why she had been. Maybe it was because Emma wasn’t exactly made for marriage. But, then again, maybe she was more romantic than she cared to admit, and the thought of spending ages looking for a dress was absolutely crazy to her. What was the point, if the only opinion that would matter was the one of the person you were going to marry, who would find you stunning just in your pjs? Well, it wasn’t luckily she’d ever find out anyway. She was no relationship material, as she made Killian understand the other day.

Killian… Now that she thought about it, when he saw her in only a pair of leggings, his faded batman t-shirt and with a messy bun on top of her head, he gave her the same look he always gave her whenever she walked onstage, all dressed up with perfect hair and makeup. But it wasn’t anything like that with him. He was just her friend - probably her best friend - right?

As she took the last few steps to the door, Emma groaned in frustration. Why did all her thoughts have to lead to him?

She didn’t even have the time to knock, that she heard Killian’s voice coming from right behind her.

“Morning, Emma!” he greeted, stopping next to her, with two cups of steaming coffee in hand.

“Hey! You know you don’t have to bring me hot chocolate - or coffee - every time we have a lesson right?”

“Of course I do, but I want to. And look who’s talking!” He gestured to the package she was holding, “What do you have there, Swan?”

Emma teased him, grinning, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

”Perhaps I would,” he replied with a cheeky smile on his lips and a sinful look in his eyes that made Emma’s cheeks flush pink.

Emma was ready to punch him on the shoulder but then reconsidered it. That coffee smelled divine; it would have been a shame if he dropped it after she'd punched him. So, for the coffee’s sake, she just rolled her eyes at the ceiling and entered the room. As she put the small bag down on the table, she could hear Killian giggle behind her. He followed her and stopped by her side, putting the coffees by whatever she brought that day.

Emma was fidgeting with the package and internally cursing Mary Margaret for closing it in such an overcomplicated way, while Killian watched her in amusement. When she finally managed to open it, she suddenly stopped, catching a movement with the corner of the eye.

“Ah, ah, ah!” She tutted, moving away the bag from Killian, who was trying to sniff its content. “Step away or I’ll eat them both.”

Killian pouted innocently and took a step away. “And what would they be, Swan?”

“Homemade muffins!” Emma beamed, showing him a perfectly crafted chocolate muffin.

Killian took the pastry and eyed it suspiciously, not daring taking even a small bite, making Emma huff in annoyance at his theatrics.

“You didn’t make them do you?” he asked warily.

“What if I did?”

“Then it’d mean I really had underestimated both your wish to see me dead and your cooking abilities.”

While she gently peeled the cup off her muffin, Emma snorted, shaking her head, “Mary Margaret made them. You’re safe.”

Happy with her answer, Killian took a large bite of his muffin as if he’d never seen food in days.

“What did you get me, instead?” Emma asked, eyeing curiously at the two steaming cups next to him. 

Killian took her drink and gave it to her. “Why don’t you take a guess?”

Putting the muffin aside, she took the cup and sniffed it, before taking a sip.“Uhm…” she hesitated, ”Cappuccino? With... Chocolate?”

“Nope, but you were close,” he smirked, “It’s a latte macchiato with chocolate.”

“Oh, I like it!”

“Good.”

They drank and ate in silence for a bit, enjoying the feeling of the caffeine starting to kick in. It was just when the only things left of the muffins were only a few crumbs, that Killian broke the silence.

“You know, Emma,” he started, hand moving up to scratch behind his neck, “I think I’ve found the perfect songs for the semifinals. Would you like to take a look at them?”

“Sure.” Emma nodded excitedly.

Smiling at her enthusiasm, he walked up to the piano, and browsed the papers inside the folder laying on the stool for then going back to her. She happily accepted the stack of sheet music he offered her.

“Killian,” Emma gasped as soon as her eyes focused on the songs’ titles, “They are perfect! How did you-?”

“As I’ve told you before, love,” Killian interrupted her with a smirk, “Open book.

Days came and went, busy with work, rehearsals and nonstop wedding talk for her utter and unconditional joy. There wasn’t a single day that went by without an embarrassing amount of texts going back and forth between her and Killian, though. They would talk and talk, but truth be told, they were just goofing around most of the time. He especially liked to send her memes and random weird pictures of animals to tease her, to which she’d reply with either the eye roll emoji or the middle finger one. He sent her so many pictures, that by now she was sure she had at least five pictures of goats saved on her phone - yes he was that much of a dork (and she actually loved it). However, as the time passed, her excitement for the next episode they had to shoot grew more and more.

She loved the song he chose for her. It was perfect, considering everything she had to go through, both lately and in the past. She didn’t have to fish the emotions she wanted to show that deep into her heart; they were just there floating on the surface for her to catch and reel into her voice. 

(Wait. Was that a fishing metaphor? Damn girl, your nerves are bad…)

Nerves aside, she was confident in her abilities and determined to win, but only her or Elsa would go to the final, and Emma knew her friend wouldn't go down without a fight. She had heard Elsa sing a couple of times during rehearsals but every contestant, her included, used to conceal themselves a little during group rehearsals. She had heard her audition on telly too, but it was only when Ruby made her watch the show on Monday that she realised how talented Elsa actually was.

When shooting day finally arrived, Emma’s insides were already a ball of jittery energy. A part of her wanted to go knock at Killian’s dressing room door as soon as she got to the studios. As much much as she didn't like to admit it, even just seeing him would have helped her relax, but she couldn't go. She really couldn't. Their relationship had already been much more intimate than what was expected from them; they couldn't be seen hanging around and interacting with each other as they used to. Not there, not ever. If someone were to find out, all hell would break loose. So, Emma disgruntledly willed her feet to walk past the coaches’ dressing rooms and headed to hair and makeup, hoping that a few hours of sitting on a comfy chair while being fussed over would calm her nerves. Elsa was already there too, so, as soon as Emma sat down on her assigned chair next to her, they started talking. However, when Ashley threatened to draw mustaches with waterproof eyeliner on both their faces, they both stopped. Ashley was a sweet girl but it was better not to cross her, so, while Elsa decided to put on her earbuds and listen to some music, Emma focused her attention on Ashley’s movements as she gave the last few touches on her makeup before starting working on a complicated updo.

They were almost ready to go get dressed when she heard Elsa muttering the lyrics of the song she’d sing.

“I'm not gon' care if I sing off key, I find myself in my melodies. I sing for love, I sing for me,”

“I shout it out like a bird set free,” Emma sang with her, making Elsa blush as she realised she had been singing out loud.

“Sorry,” she smiled, taking one of the earbuds off.

“Don’t be,” Emma brushed her off with a smile, “It’s a beautiful song. I think it’s perfect for you.”

“Thank you. I think I’ve got to go get changed now,” Elsa said, taking a quick look at her schedule. “Good luck!”

“Likewise.

It was always hard for him to pretend not to be nervous and excited for his team when shooting, and the uneasiness would only grow when the time for Emma to perform got closer. And today wasn’t an exception. It wasn’t really professional for him, not at all, but he couldn’t help it. She was special, his best friend. The best friend his heart longed for but he didn’t dare make a move on because the timing was not ideal, because he could see the uncertainty in her eyes. Sometimes she would look at him with such love and affection that it made his breath catch in his throat, but then it’d soon be replaced with fear. He couldn't risk it. He'd patiently wait all the time she needed but he wouldn't stop fighting for her. After all, as his brother used to say, a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.

Robin was joking around with Tink and Ariel was laughing along as the lights dimmed out, but he wasn’t in the mood to join them. Emma and Elsa were the first to sing and he probably was more nervous than them. The fact that this time around it was Emma’s turn to perform first decisively didn’t help at all, but he was more than confident in her abilities.

From where he was sitting he could see her patiently waiting to climb onstage when announced. Her eyes were closed and her eyebrows knotted in a concentrated frown. As if she sensed the burn of his stare on her, she opened her eyes and smiled at him, nodding as if to say ‘Don’t worry, I got it’. He gave her a soft smile in return just as he heard her name being announced by Belle and the audience go wild. He couldn’t believe he had been so stunned at Emma’s sight in the backstage to not even hear Belle talking.

He followed her with his eyes as she sprinted in the arena, high fiving the people standing next to the short corridor that lead her on the sage. She was radiant, jumping around in excitement and smiling brightly.

She must be enjoying not having to balance on those ridiculously high heels for once, he thought with a chuckle.

Soon, she reached the right side of the stage where a white grand piano was waiting for her. Sitting on the stool after smudging some non existing wrinkles from her navy blue lace dress, she put her hands on the keyboard. A few gold locks which had masterly been left out of the loose chignon on the back of her head, framed her face as she tilted her chin down waiting for the music to start.

The lights dimmed even more, only to leave a single white spotlight illuminating her. It was only when silence fell in the studio that the music began coming from the numerous speakers around the theater. Her voice resounded in the arena soon after, her tone soft and crystal clear as always, while small white sparkles exploded on the screen behind her following the melody coming from her fingers.

He couldn’t help but look at her in wonder - much like everyone else in the theater - as she worked her magic. He was drawn in, placed under a spell as she moved to the refrain. If he thought she had been good at that at the auditions, now it was another thing altogether. Not only did she have much more control on her voice, being now able to modulate it as she pleased, but she could control her emotions better too. She could now channel them into her voice without so much of an effort, avoiding to flow into excess at times. It was a beautiful evolution to watch. She was beautiful to watch.

But I’m only human

And I bleed when I fall down

I’m only human

And I crash and I break down

Your words in my head, knives in my heart

You build me up and then I fall apart

'Cause I’m only human,

As she got closer to the second refrain, the music built in intensity as did the sparkles on the screen. Swiftly, she picked the mic from its stall and got up reaching the center of the stage hitting high note after high note. The stage flashed with white rays of light as she sang, following her voice and the music in a crescendo that lit up the audience. There was all of Emma in there: all the hurt, all the worry, all the battles she had to fight, all the desire to just be Emma.

Then everything went black, except for a single ray of light on the top of Emma’s head. Her voice started back from soft and low to grow in one last crescendo that would lead to the last final high notes, only for it to dye down in a whisper at the end.

Both Tink and Ariel shot up to applaud her as soon as the last feeble echo of her voice resounded in the arena, while Robin clapped slowly pleased and still a bit awestruck. Killian, instead, was grinning proudly at her, clapping along with everyone else. The cheering from the audience was deafening, and Killian could see her cheeks tinging pink as she muttered a thanks. When their eyes met a few moments later she smiled softly, her eyes shining with emotion. Time must had stopped, because the seconds in which they only but looked at each other, lasted an eternity. Their eyes were like magnets, the pull too strong to fight it and try to look down. He hoped he could see the love, the adoration and the pride in his eyes, just as he could see the affection and the adrenaline-induced liveliness in hers. It was only when Belle ushered her backstage to present Elsa’s song that their connection broke.

Elsa got onstage soon after, not looking fazed at all by Emma’s performance. On the contrary, she looked more determined and secure than ever. In fact, she kept up with her teammate more than nicely. She gave everything she had, blowing everyone away with her (until then fairly hidden) talent.

After the second standing ovation of the day, the time for him and the other coaches to vote finally came. It had been hard for all four of them to decide to whom give their point since they all had loved both their performance. Eventually it all ended in a tie, with Robin surprisingly giving his vote to Emma and Killian to Elsa. As soon as he gave his preference though, he saw a flash of hurt and confusion in Emma’s eyes matched by an equally confused and elated expression on Elsa’s face, while boos from the audience echoed in the theater.

Bringing a finger on his lips to ask ask for a moment of silence, he then spoke “I’d like to give an explanation of my vote to you and to everyone else here and watching us. I, as coach to both of you,” he continued, gesturing to Emma and Elsa, “not only got to meet you amazing women, but I also got to see how much you care about this, how much you’ve improved. Tonight both your performances were beyond not only mine, because I know your potential, but everyone else’s expectations. After tonight you both equally deserve to get to the final, and since I couldn’t really find fault in any of your performances, I decided to make you face the audience’s vote next week without any of you having any kind of advantage.”

As he talked, Emma’s expression changed to something undecipherable, and that scared him. She was closing off on him again.

As both Emma and Elsa walked backstage to leave the space to Ariel’s team, he hoped she would understand that he couldn’t give his vote to her again, no matter how much he wanted.

When a last flash of her gold waves disappeared backstage, Killian just prayed she would give him a chance to explain himself when not surrounded by cameras. 

#captain swan #cs ff au #cs ff #cs mafia #cs au #my fic #fran against words #serendipitous melody #otp:we'll always find the sun