#to say nothing of the guilt. when my privilege is measurable in a million ways so so palpable every single day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

let-it-raines · 4 years

Text

What a Wicked Game {12/15}

Killian met her in a pub on a rainy night in March. Going inside was only supposed to be a way for him to avoid the rain and fight off the demons in his head. It was a place for him to pass through, not stay. But then he was charmed by a blonde woman with a quick wit who had absolutely no interest in him or who he was.

That was a first. It was also the beginning of Emma Nolan helping to bring him back to life. It was the beginning of everything.

Five years later, with their worlds crumbling around them, Killian can’t help but wonder if this is the end of the peace they have known now that his family knows about his relationship. It wouldn’t be a problem if his father wasn’t the King of England.

rating: mature

a/n: thank you to the mods at @captainswanbigbang for running this event and helping to encourage writers to finish their wonderful stories, to @resident-of-storybrooke for reading all these words, and to @captainsjedi for making the beautiful artwork ❤️

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 |

-/-

October 19th, 2018

October dawns bright and warm, but as it settles in, the warmth disappears into a chill and the brightness of the sky turns to the gray for which London is often known. Leaves are still in the midst of changing colors, from a dull green to vibrant oranges and reds that contrast the sky, and Emma finds herself staring out the large window in Killian’s bedroom to look at the leaves falling from a tree and drifting through the air until they eventually land on the edge of the roof. It’s been seven weeks since she slept in her own bed and had her parents just down the hall from her, and as weird as it’s been, she’s thankful for this.

She’s thankful that every day she is actively making the choice to be with Killian and to work at adjusting to all of the complications that come with this life.

It’s more than a lot, but as she looks down at her arm and sees it without the ugly white plaster and stretches her arms above her head without any pain, Emma reminds herself that time and a little extra care can heal things. The immediate reaction and pain doesn’t stay. It changes and lessens. Her body is healing, her heart too, and the darkness that surrounded her for all of August seems to have almost been extinguished.

Nothing about this has been easy, but Emma doesn’t want to retreat back and walk away again. She still believes that her reasons were sound, that she had to do it in order to take care of herself and protect her heart, and in a weird way, coming out on the other side has made her thankful for it.

Getting into a car crash and possibly almost dying because photographers wanted a picture of her sitting in a car after they found out about she and Killian’s breakup wasn’t great. She could have done without that. She still could. And she definitely won’t be getting in a car on a rainy night anytime soon.

Her physical scars may be lessening, most of them non-existent now, but she’s not ready for that. She’s not ready for a lot of things, but when has she ever been?

“Darling,” Killian calls out, and she gets a little smile on her face at how much his accent thickens on that word, “do you know where my solid navy tie is? It should be with all of the others, but I can’t find it.”

“Where did you last see it?”

“If I bloody well knew that, I wouldn’t be asking where it is.”

He pokes his head out of the bathroom before walking outside and finishing the buttons on his dress shirt. He looks handsome today in his navy pants and light blue dress shirt, and she really doesn’t see why he needs to wear a tie when he looks fine without it. Royal dress code or something. She doesn’t know. Over the past few weeks as she’s isolated herself in Killian’s apartment at Kensington or wandered over to Liam and Elsa’s to spend time with Elsa, she’s found herself going through guidebooks that Elsa had made when she got engaged to Liam. There are all these rules and regulations from how to cross your legs to what nail polish she’s supposed to wear, and while Emma thinks a lot of it is bullshit, it’s the territory that comes with being in this relationship.

Emma will paint her nails ballet slipper pink and cross her legs at the ankle every damn day if that’s what it takes. What she won’t do is be suffocated by the press and by Brennan.

What she won’t do is make Killian leave his family and break his mom’s heart simply because she couldn’t handle the pressure.

If he wants to leave, if it is truly his decision outside of her, she’s more than happy for them to live their lives in a simpler way where Killian doesn’t have to worry about where his solid navy tie is. Leaving may be in their future, but they’ll cross that bridge when they get to it.

But if they’re staying and doing this, she wants to make the best out of the situation. She wants to work with charities that help empower women and children. She wants to do that for men too, to educate them on the intricacies over an ever-changing world. She wants to do good and be good. This family is insane, the money and the traditions and the vault full of actual tiaras like something out of a movie, but they can use their privilege to do good.

Emma knows what it’s like to not have this kind of privilege, and now she may be in a position to help.

“Cool down, Casanova. No need to get all snippy over your tie. Where are you even going today?”

“The opening of a hospital wing and then I��m meeting with a slew of new security guards to interview.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Killian arches a brow. “Haven’t you spent enough time in hospitals lately?”

“I meant to the interviews, dumbass. Isn’t this for my security, too?”

Killian fidgets with the neck of his shirt, buttoning and then unbuttoning it so that black tufts of chest hair show. “Aye, but I figured I’d go through the candidates first, and then you could meet the top few to see which ones you’re most comfortable with.”

“I can come with you. It’s really not a big deal. I don’t have any plans for the day.”

“Swan, it’s fine. I promise.” Killian walks over to her and sits down on the edge of the bed next to her before taking her hand and bringing it to his mouth. “This is a dreadfully boring process, and my father is unfortunately going to be there for some of it, though I’ll likely leave the room when he does his own interviews. I don’t - after August, he’s convinced that I can’t pick out my own security team.”

“August was...I mean, he was selling information about us because his dad is sick and can’t afford the surgeries and medication back in America. He was willing to risk prison to save his dad. That’s not something you could have predicted.”

A part of Emma understands the words she’s telling Killian, but the other part of her wants to punch August’s fucking teeth out for making her life hell and inadvertently causing her crash.

“You’ve met Brennan. You know how he can be. I could do everything perfectly, but one screw up that’s outside of my control, and I’m incompetent.”

“Your dad sucks.”

Killian leans his head back with his laugh before leaning forward and pressing his lips to her knuckles once more. “In three words, you’ve managed to sum up quite a bit of my life.”

“I’m magical like that.”

“That you are, my love. That you are.” Killian sighs and blinks at her a few times. She thinks he’s going to say something to her, but then there’s a slight shake of his head and she knows the moment has passed. “Give me a little more time, and I swear I’ll talk to him. Seriously. He and I may never get along, but that’s okay. I simply need him to publicly accept you and to sign off on all of these protection measures for you.”

“Killian, you know you don’t have to do - ”

“No, I do. I will do everything I can to protect you, and if that means I have to have an actual conversation with my father where I don’t leave the room until I get what I want, I will. We’ve missed so much time not talking and not taking action. I don’t want to miss any more.”

Emma leans forward and presses her mouth to Killian’s cheek. “I love you. You should wear the white and navy striped tie instead of the solid one.”

He raises his hand to his forehead as he stands from the bed. “Aye, that’s a good idea.”

“And babe?”

“Yeah, love?”

“If Graham Humbert doesn’t make it to the final interview stage for security, Ruby and I will both be pissed at you. He’s who I want protecting me.”

“That doesn’t terrify me as much as it should.”

“Ruby will be vicious.”

“Eh.”

“I can withhold sex, and you just got that back.”

Killian mock gasps, placing his hand over his heart. “You’re a liar, Emma Nolan. I know you find me too attractive to ever do that.”

He catches the pillow she throws with annoying ease, and she hates him for it.

(Not really.)

After Killian leaves, Emma falls back into bed and thinks that she’ll spend her day watching Netflix or doing something else as equally lazy. What better way is there to spend her last day of being twenty-five?

None.

But that lasts approximately two episodes of a show before guilt nags at her, and she’s moving the covers off of her legs and standing from the bed with a frown etched on her lips and the idea that she needs to clean something. Cleaning is not at all her thing unless she’s working at the pub, but she’s been pretty much on vacation (if vacation included recovering from a car crash and having a million talks with your boyfriend over all of the problems in your relationship) for two months, and she’s probably genetically unable to not work for such long periods of time.

She’s in a literal palace, even if it’s nothing like any of the movies or shows, and instead of relaxing, she wants to clean up the spots Killian has let go over the past few weeks from not having a maid to aid him in his ridiculously specific cleaning rituals.

What even is her life?

She starts in the kitchen, going through Killian’s fridge and throwing out everything that’s expired or has gone bad, and she quickly moves on from that to vacuuming every rug and sweeping or dusting the places that get missed. It’s a lot, and if it wasn’t for the music that is playing over the system, she’d have quit hours ago. She’s about to quit now when she remembers just how messy Killian’s closet is because of her absolute inability to hang up her own clothes.

They’ve probably had more fights about that than, oh, you know, whether or not the actual King of England wants to behead her or not.

(Currently, they’re leaning more toward him wanting to lock her away in a dungeon so she can’t cause any more unintentional media frenzies. It’s apparently less dramatic than a beheading because at least she gets to live...this is a weird train of thought.)

Emma’s phone starts ringing, and she pulls it out of her pocket to answer as she walks up the stairs.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” David greets. “How are you feeling today? Old? Young? Like your life is over because you’re getting closer to late-twenties than early-twenties?”

“You are the most encouraging person alive.”

“I try.”

Emma chuckles and turns down the hallway to go into the bedroom, picking up her bra from where Killian must have tossed it last night and placing it in the hamper. “I’m fine. Killian’s at work opening a new hospital wing, apparently. I’m cleaning. How are you? What are you guys up to today?”

“I’m sorry. Did you say you were cleaning? Are we sure that you don’t have a concussion?”

“Your dad jokes are not good.”

“Every joke I’ve told since the day you were born has been a dad joke, and they’ve all been fabulous.”

She groans and walks into the closet before placing her phone on the table in the center of the room and putting it on speaker so she can do a little work before she loses momentum.

“I’m taking your dad joke privileges away, and to answer your question, I really am fine. I’m just messy, and Killian hasn’t had any of his usual staff in the apartment while I’ve been here. I think the whole August thing freaked him out so that he doesn’t trust anyone around me.”

“Someone close to him was selling information about you that harmed you. I’d be freaked out too. Hell, I am freaked out. If I wouldn’t get arrested for assault, I’d confront the guy.”

Everyone she loves wants to punch everyone who has hurt her, but they all stop themselves because of the fear of getting arrested for assault…she’s not sure if that’s flattering or concerning.

“What are you and Mom up to today?” she questions again, wanting to change the subject. She doesn’t want to talk about all of the shitty stuff that’s been happening to her lately. All she wants is to pick up all of her sweaters from the ground and figure out which ones need to be washed. Focusing on the bad is not how she’s going to move forward.

(And maybe not having to see August Booth’s face.)

“Your mom is downstairs with Will going over some possible menu changes, and I’ve been told I’m not allowed in the pub until I fix whatever is up with this toilet.”

“Ah, so you called me to procrastinate on doing that?”

“You know me so well.”

Emma fills in her dad on everything that’s been going on over the past few days. She tells him that her arm almost doesn’t feel weird anymore and that Ruby came over for dinner two nights again and brought Graham along with her. David is nearly as shocked by that as she was. This might be the longest relationship Ruby has ever had, and it’s good to see her so happy. It’s good that Emma likes Graham in that he’s dating her best friend and also might be protecting Emma’s life from now on if his next round of interviews goes well. In return, her dad gives her far too much information on the date he and her mom went on last night, and then he spends at least ten minutes talking about the difference in two brands of tomatoes.

All the while Emma has almost the entire closet (seriously, her dad talked for way too long and gave too much information about the date like he was talking to a friend and not his daughter) cleaned up. When she moves a pair of jeans that are on Killian’s side of the closet, she finds his solid blue navy tie he was searching for earlier.

“Ha,” she mumbles before reaching down to grab the tie.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says to her dad before tugging on the tie and pulling it up only for a small black box to roll out of it and tumble down onto the ground. “Holy shit.”

“Emma, are you okay?” David asks, but Emma barely hears him over the pounding of her heart. There might as well be an entire drumline in the room.

“Emma?”

“Y-yeah,” she lies even as her fingers tug so tightly on the tie that it might tear. “Hey, Dad? Has Killian talked to you about any...future type things?”

“What do you mean?”

Emma huffs and goes to pick up the box. They could be earrings, right? Or a necklace? Or another ring? She’s got a sapphire one she wears on her right hand. Killian has given her a ring before that wasn’t an engagement ring. That doesn’t mean what’s in this box is one. He buys her jewelry, and it’s not a big deal.

Except…

When the hell did he have time to get this?

How long has he had it? What made him decide to get it? When does he plan on using it? Does he still plan on using it after their breakup?

“You know what I mean. Has he - you know what,” Emma decides, placing the box on the table, “never mind. Don’t tell me anything. I think I’m going to have to call you back later.”

“Whatever you want,” David sighs, confused. “I love you, kiddo.”

“I love you, too, Dad.”

And then the phone line disconnects and she’s left with nothing except for the sound of that damn drumline and the jewelry box that she doesn’t know what to do with. She’s not going to look. She can’t look. There’s no good that would come out of it.

She really wants to look.

Like, really.

“No,” Emma tells herself, grabbing the box off the table and moving to put it back where it must have been before it got tangled in her jeans and in the tie. She puts the tie back for good measure as well, and she’s absolutely going to bite her tongue on bragging about finding the tie when Killian gets home.

He wants to marry her.

She wants to marry him.

Maybe cleaning was worth something.

-/-

Killian comes home that night with grilled cheese sandwiches, which he hates, and onion rings from Ruby’s grandmother’s restaurant, and she doesn’t think she’s ever loved him more.

He tells her that Graham has moved onto the final selections even with Brennan’s hounding and worry over Graham not being trained in the same way as their usual security.

Emma knows that she wants him to be the one who’s hired. She’s not going to trust anyone else, not after everything that’s happened.

-/-

He doesn’t give her any kind of jewelry for her birthday the next day, and she knows what was in the box.

There’s no definite proof, but Emma knows.

Right now, where they are, she’s not ready to get married, but she will be someday. Probably soon. So if Killian were to ask her, she’d say yes over and over again, but the actual getting married part would have to be put on hold until her emotions, Killian’s too, were a little less chaotic.

Love is a really funny thing.

-/-

November 10th, 2018

The cool of the marble pebbles Emma’s skin as Killian helps guide her on top of the counter. His fingers inch over the back of her thighs and up behind her knees where she’s sensitive, and she giggles into his neck while trying to keep herself from bursting into hysterical laughter. Killian keeps the apartment so warm that she didn’t bother to put on anything more than her sleep shorts and a t-shirt last night before going to bed, and she’s regretting that now with every shift over her body over the countertop. But Killian is warm, especially when he steps in between her thighs and she hooks her ankles around his back right over his ass, and every touch of his fingers, gentle and teasing, brings a little more fire to her body.

Especially if he’d stop trying to tickle her while hotly running his tongue down the side of her throat and leaving open-mouthed kisses there.

He’s particularly good at those, and she could spend day after day close to him as he covers her body with affectionate words and delicate brushes of lips that turn into more.

Really, that’s been the last two months, even with her having to wear that atrocious cast for most of it, but they found simple ways to fix that. Being apart and not having those beautiful blue eyes to look into or that laugh to hear after a funny joke was absolutely torture, and having him back in her life, having him back as her person, is something Emma doesn’t ever want to take for granted again.

She will inevitably. It’s human nature. But she doesn’t want to.

Being with Killian is the easy thing. Fighting off the demons is what makes it difficult, but fighting off the demons and conquering them has made her realize that good things often come after struggles that seem impossible.

She’s a sentimental fool now, and she doesn’t care.

(Finding the engagement ring two weeks ago has made her even more sentimental.)

She especially doesn’t care as Killian’s tongue dips into her collarbone and his hands snake up underneath her shirt, warm palms against cool skin in a combination of which she’ll never tire. Emma knows that Killian is a sentimental fool now too. He was before, definitely more than her, but she can see all of the little ways he’s being more affectionate than he was before.

That’s saying something.

But his affection has been obvious lately. In the mornings, she always wakes to him curled around her, hand resting between her breasts and chin nuzzled into the back of her neck. That’s not how they sleep, not usually, so she knows that he does that when he wakes up in the morning while she’s still sleeping. He’s always touching her - hands intertwined, arm around her waist, ankles hooked together - like he’s looking for constant reassurance that she’s real.

That they’re real.

Killian has gone to war for her on multiple occasions, and she has seen the intensity and the fighting spirit that he possesses. She watched him break down over her accident and watched him absolutely vilify every single press association that was involved in that incident or any of the ones that have attacked her in the past or stolen private information from her. She’s watched him deal with the Neal interviews that seem to keep coming despite their falsities, and she’s watched him do absolutely everything that he can to protect her.

Emma never wanted protection or help. She thought that it made her weak to not be able to handle things on her own, but that was wrong.

All of it.

People are going to tell you who you are your whole life. You have to punch back and say “no, this is who I am.” If you want people to look at you differently, make them. If you want to change things, you’re going to have to go out there and change them yourself. Because there are no fairy godmothers in this world.

But there are supportive partners who punch back with you or stand to the side and cheer you on when you need it the most.

“I hate these bloody shorts,” Killian mumbles into her skin as the deep timbre of his voice vibrates down her spine. “I seem to both want you in them and out of them all at once.”

“That’s quite the conundrum you have going on, Jones.”

Killian chuckles before nipping at her jaw and pulling back so that she sees his eyes are blown black. “You are the conundrum, Nolan,” he softly says as his thumbs ghost over both of her nipples, slowly but surely bringing them to peaks. “It’s a funny thing. I seem to always want you. I want you in the mornings, at night, in the middle of the damn day…”

Emma hums while pleasure continues to curl between her thighs, and she wraps her arms loosely around his neck, playing with his hair and running the gemstone of her ring down the back of his neck. “Tell me more about this wanting me in the morning thing.”

The look on his face is positively dirty, and it’s exactly what she wants. So when his hands leave her breasts and move to take her shirt off, she stretches her arms in the air and allows him to undress her until the warm air of the heater is touching her skin. Killian shifts against her so that she can feel his length brushing against where she wants him, a perfect fit in a position that shouldn’t be comfortable, and she melts at his touch as the roughness of his unshaven scruff scratches against her neck and down her sternum to be between her breasts.

“You’re a damn temptress,” he mutters, voice deep and raspy with sleep still lingering. “I wake up and see the smoothness of your skin laid out before me, and my mind is only filled with thoughts of you. I’ve never wanted someone like this.”

“Funny thing, I feel the same way.”

“Do you now?” His fingers tug into her shorts and her underwear, and she lifts her hips as he pulls them down and off of her ankles so that she’s left bare before him, the marble chilling her skin has goosebumps pop up and spread over her.

“I do. Most definitely. You’re quite the catch.”

Killian laughs as he captures her lips, so soft and pliant and warm, with her own. There’s something to be said for kissing just for the sake of kissing, the feeling it sends through her body, and when Emma gently runs her tongue across his bottom lip, asking for entrance, he gladly grants it, tangling their tongues together in one of his favorite dances. She’s definitely picked a partner who knows what he’s doing.

Emma runs her hands through the hair at the nape of his neck and keeps her hand anchored there while the other runs up his spine, soft little taps of her fingertips against the bone underneath his shirt. They stay that way for awhile, lips moving together, until Emma’s hand leaves his hair to move underneath his shirt as well, pulling up at the material until he pulls back and tugs it over his head.

“I feel like we’re on a little bit more equal footing now. You were wearing too many clothes.”

“Was I? I hadn’t noticed. I was a little bit distracted by how unsanitary it’s going to be for us to fuck in the kitchen.”

“That’s literally never stopped you before.”

He huffs and leans forward to kiss her, slow and so impossibly thorough that she feels it all the way down to her toes. “I know,” he grins. “Are you okay up there, or do you want to move upstairs?”

“As long as you don’t hit my head into a cabinet, I’m fine.”

“You’re so beautiful, my love,” he whispers against her skin, kissing the tops of her breasts as her eyelids flutter closed and she recovers from the whiplash in the change of his tone. “I remember the first time I saw you, Emma,” he speaks into her skin as his nose drags along her stomach and arousal tugs at her belly. “You were – are so bloody gorgeous, the curls of your ponytail framing your face and the dark of your eyelashes looking down at me as you told me to get my soggy ass out of the booth.”

“I didn’t say that,” she protests, running her hand through the hair and tugging him down closer to where she’s desperately aching for her.

There’s something about the night that they met that Killian always thinks about. It’s a frequent remembrance, this conversation one they’ve had before, and Emma knows that in moments where Killian is nostalgic, where he’s thinking about how much she means to him, his mind goes back to that night and piecing together all of the circumstances for their meeting.

She doesn’t care how it happened. Just that it did.

No one was ever supposed to love her or treasure her like this. This wasn’t supposed to be how it is for her. She wasn’t supposed to get the good guy. It wasn’t in the cards.

Life has apparently decided to deal her a new hand altogether.

“But you were thinking it,” he whispers against skin, lips pressing against her small tattoo and lingering there. She thought getting that might be a mistake, that the desperation was too much, but over the past few weeks, Killian has held onto it like a glimmer of hope. She did the same. “You looked so frustrated with me, like how dare I walk into your pub in order to get out of the rain.”

“Shameful, really,” she teases, and when she opens her mouth to say something else, she can’t, her throat suddenly too tight to speak while the entirety of the English language escapes from her brain.

Killian’s hands hook around the back of her knees, and this time there’s no playful teasing. Instead, he spreads her legs further apart and bends down to his own knees. She’s about to make a joke about him not hurting himself, a tease over his twenty-ninth birthday last month and how dramatic he was over being nearly thirty, but then he’s kissing her exactly where she wants him, where she needs him.

His tongue drags roughly against her like a perfected routine, and Emma’s eyes tighten. She can’t bear to open them, but then she does and sees the dark mess of hair between the paleness of her thighs. Even more than that, she sees the blue of his eyes under the hood of his eyelid, and she wonders if today is going to be the day that this is all too much for her.

Never.

Killian shifts underneath her, his right hand leaving the curve of her knee to join with his tongue as he kisses her and kisses her and kisses her. Moans filter between them, hers and his, and the tension could be cut with one of the knives that’s in the drawer beneath her ass. It’s all too much - too much pleasure and want and love - and when he slips two fingers into her and curls them, she gasps out his name as a chant that never seems to stop.

“Magnificent,” he mumbles, the sound of his voice like liquid fire in her veins. “Bloody magnificent. Your noises, my darling. Fuck.”

There’s something about knowing that Killian is as affected by things like this as she is, even if he’s the one giving all of the pleasure, and that with the combination of his mouth moving over her bundle of nerves and his fingers moving within her as her falling apart little by little, like the waves cresting onto the shore.

Damn.

Killian presses a kiss to where she’s still fluttering before moving to her thigh, light touches that are nothing more than a blink, a whisper. When he rises from the ground, he grunts, probably from having his knees pressed into hardwood for so long, but she doesn’t think about that for too long when she can feel him hard against her and pressing into her thigh. “Mmm,” Emma hums, pulling herself up and tugging Killian closer to her so that she buries her face in his neck, kissing the straining cord. “You are wonderful.” “Ah, well, that tends to be your reaction after we do something like that.” “Are you fishing for compliments?” “Never.” She chuckles while he does the same, and even without looking, she knows that his eyes are crinkled, joy written across his face.

“Do you want to move upstairs or…”

“Upstairs. Definitely upstairs.”

They move quickly, neither of them in the mood to wait, and while it would have been faster to move to the couch in the living room, this is better. Killian falls back to the bed with laughter on his lips, and Emma immediately hooks her thumbs into his sweats and pulls them down as much as she can before he lifts his hips off the bed to help her out, kicking them off his ankles and onto the floor while she is busy kissing up his thigh, her hand running up his length, feeling the warm hardness in her palms.

“Emma,” Killian moans, voice gruntled. She smirks into his thigh and keeps her hand on his length.

“I am romancing you, Killian,” she promises against his lightning bolt scar before crawling up his body, peppering open mouthed kisses against the trail of his chest hair until she’s leaning over his mouth, her folds teasing him at their hips. “Like you do to me.”

“Darling - ”

“Your eyes, even blown black with desire like they are right now,” she whispers, circling her hips above him to lightly grind down, “are the most gorgeous blue I’ve ever seen.”

She touches his face then, running her fingers over his jaw. “I love your stubble, how it’s black with a little bit of red peppered in, and I love when you don’t shave for a few days and it’s full and just the right mix of soft and prickly. I love the way it feels when you rub it against my cheek in the mornings when you’re waking me up or how it feels against the inside of my thighs.”

She kisses his jaw, running her tongue behind her lips, and the grunt Killian makes curls as little bursts of fire down her spine.

“I love,” she says, running her hands down his biceps as she sits on his lap, right below where she knows he wants her, “the strength of your arms when you hold me, no matter what the occasion. And I love,” she moves her hands through the hair at his chest as Killian twitches beneath her touch, “this hair and how it pokes through the top of all of your shirts. I love the ways that your eyes crinkle when you’re truly smiling.”

I love that you love me enough to want to marry me, she thinks to herself before saying. “I love that you fight for me every day no matter the circumstances.”

She rises on her legs and scoots forward, guiding him to her entrance before slowly, slowly, slowly sinking down onto him. It’s a perfect fit. Maybe not physically, but emotionally, and Killian’s hands grapple for her hips, nails digging into skin. She doesn’t think he’s ever been this quiet for such a long period of time during sex.

“And mostly, at least for our purposes right now, what I love is the feeling of you inside me, thick and full and perfect.”

At that, she starts to move, rolling her hips against him, and it feels so goddamn good that her brief stint as the verbose one in the relationship has ended and Killian is the one to start muttering words of encouragement and curses that would have anyone blushing. She sets a slow, unhurried pace that she knows will draw out pleasure, but Killian doesn’t let her do that for long before he takes control of their movements, speeding up the pace as he thrusts up into her. She lets out a whimper as he hits the exact right spot, and Killian captures the next one with his mouth, kissing her like a man starved of affection and like it’s not ten in the morning.

Suddenly, Killian grabs her hips and rolls them over to change their position, his body encasing hers. He mutters a “bloody fuck” when she clenches her thighs to try to keep him from slipping out, and Emma throws her head back with laughter even if she shouldn’t.

Killian nips at her neck, but she can feel his smile too.

He must be able to tell that she’s getting close, rising higher and higher to her peak, because he releases her hips to grab her wrists, sliding his hands until their fingers are interlaced above her head. He tilts his hips so that his thrusts catch her clit. Her breath hitches and her legs wrap around his backside, and Emma might actually melt. She thinks that she has. Her limbs are all jelly, and Killian isn’t much better above her.

This is ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

There are a million things they should probably do today, but they never seem to move away from bed besides getting food from the kitchen. That’s what she’d been trying to do this morning when Killian distracted her, but she’s not going to complain. This is good and nice and Emma could wrap herself in these blankets and in Killian for the rest of time.

When she wakes later, it’s to the slap of a hand to her skin, and Emma immediately flinches and jolts up, blinking into the darkness.

“Ow, shit, Killian. What was that for?”

“I was just making sure you’re here,” he mumbles, voice groggy.

“By slapping me?”

“Killian,” a voice says, and Emma realizes that Killian is on the phone. He might not even realize he’s on the phone. “Killian are you there? “Killian, have you heard a single word I’ve said?”

Liam. He’s talking to Liam.

Holy shit. Why is Liam calling him in the middle of the night?

“I’ll be honest, no. I’m still mostly asleep.”

“Asleep my ass,” Emma mumbles before reaching over to put the call on speaker phone so she doesn’t have to keep straining her ears to hear him. Killian grumbles something, but she ignores him as she settles herself underneath his arm. “Liam, what’s wrong? Is everyone okay?”

“Elsa is in labor, and we sent all of our nannies home for the night. Can the two of you watch Alex for us?”

“Of course,” Emma sighs. “Bring him over when you guys leave, okay?”

“I will, lass. Thank you.”

“It’s not a problem,” Killian promises, finally waking up. “Congratulations, brother.” At that, the line goes dead, and Emma immediately moves to get out of bed only for Killian tugs her back into him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Emma raises a brow and motions down to the distinct lack of clothes on both of their bodies. “I know Alex is about to have a sibling, which is definite proof of his parents having sex, but I don’t want to be the one to have to explain why his uncle was having a naked sleepover with me.”

“Really? You don’t want to explain sex to a toddler? Shocker.”

She huffs and leans forward to brush her lips over his forehead. “Congratulations on being an uncle again, babe.”

Emma hears his swallow as his head nods up and down in affirmation. “Thanks, love. Let’s go put on some clothes so we don’t scar the lad.”

-/-

The next chapter is technically the last official chapter. How is that even possible? Thank you all for coming along for this ride ❤️

tag list: @mrtinski @klynn-stormz @jonirobinson64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @sherifemma @shardminds @captainsjedi @galaxyzxstark @galadriel26 @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @itsfabianadocarmo @owlways-and-forever @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @397bartonstreet @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @scarletslippers @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @captainswanbigbang

#what a wicked game #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #csrt #captain swan rewrite a thon #captain swan

94 notes · View notes

thoughts-n-paper · 3 years

Text

Eve woke up every day with a sense of gratitude.

She thanked her fate for waking up buried in the soft linen sheets, for the luxury spread on her table every meal and for the smile she was blessed to see on her daughter's face every day. She did believe that it was her karma that her circumstances took her from the dirty and worn down roads to the desirous mansion she breathed in. It was that along with her daughter's persuasive powers, but it wasn't all for nothing like they say that suffering does, after all, builds character. And she saw the proof of that every day in the image of her step-daughter, who stood just a meek, timid and impressionable little girl. Ella and Anna, the step-daughter and her blood, even though Ella was the older one, Anna stood over her, both in stature and disposition. It was difficult for her to see Ella as a girl born in privilege and still so distant from the qualities of the rich she had been envious of in another life.

Anna, on the other hand, had taken to the elite lifestyle like fish to water. Eve was so proud of her child. Anna was always the talk of every ball they had been to ever since her debut. Every room that she walked into, she knew how to assert her dominance over the crowd. Eve's heart grew an inch every time she would hear other girls talk behind Anna's back, which meant that she had made her place, that the others were envious and that she and her daughter were on the right track. And then will follow the pitter-patter of the timid Ella, stopping to greet every low life on the street and letting the dirty children rub their hands all over the expensive silk that Eve brought for her. She tried to change Ella at first, polish her into a lady of a respectable household, but she would not listen, "My mother says to be kind to the young and respectful to the older." "My mother said not to let anyone return empty-handed from your door." "My mother this and my mother that..." Eve was tired of listening to what an angel her mother had been and had given up now. Ella was a lost cause, but she was certain Anna would be the one to outshine every other woman that walked their land.

Eve had always had faith in Anna even when they had no riches to call their own, and even though she had no education, she carried herself like a lady of a palace. Royalty was in her every demeanour but just not in her blood.

She went to Anna's room to wake her up, and on her way from the window of the corridor, she could see Ella in night clothes, feeding the local beggars, even though Eve had asked her not to a million times. She shouted from the window, "Get back inside, Ella!" and rushed downstairs to give her a piece of her mind to Ella's face.

"You wretched girl, how many times do I have to tell to stop feeding strays. Do you know what this food costs your father? Still, you insist on wasting it on lowlifes. Next time let them pay for it, or a better idea, you finish it yourself. At least I will have one less mouth to feed." She dragged Ella, by her hand, inside the house with whispers of Ella following behind, "I was just trying to help."

Eve distinctly remembers the days when she was counted among the lowlifes too, and she despised herself for it. She knew first hand what a burden these people were, how shameless they were to ask the rich for everything, nobody ever showed her mercy for it, and she didn't want them to either. Now that she is rich, she is still no one to be changing the nature of society. Eve found her way out, and others ought to too. If they cannot, it's not her fault, just her pleasure.

On the breakfast table, Eve sat admiring her daughter. "Mother, can I have pink petals in my bath today?" Anna asked her.

"Of Course. I will ask Mrs Peters to go and get some from the garden."

"But I want the one from Ella's garden."

"Of course you can."

"But..." Ella said quietly. "Only I go in there."

"WHAT?" Eve was always tired of Ella's mumbling. "Speak clearly." She shouted at her. "Lady of such a big house should be heard from miles away."

Ella stood up, "Only I can go in that garden."

"Then you can go and collect it for Anna," Eve replied and gestured with her eyes for Ella to sit down. And Ella, without any quibble, sat back in her chair. Another thing Eve despised about her, she would never rebel or revolt. Ella would do what was told to her without any objection or question. Eve would have put up a fight, and Anna would have done the same. It made her furious, "Go to your room Ella!" she said with a sigh, exhausted with trying to comprehend the girl in front of her. Ella stood up and ran out of the room sobbing.

"Ugh! She is frustrating." She said to her daughter.

"Its okay, Mother. You try so hard. Should I ask Ella to fetch the petals for your bath too?"

Eve looked at her with a smile and nodded.

Later they went into the parlour where they sat going through the magazines to find a new dress to get made. It had been their favourite thing from their earlier days when they were living shelter to shelter. They would often sit by the streets and watch rich and lavish ladies step out in their best dresses and fantasize about having them one day. Anna wanted a new dress for the dinner party they were supposed to attend when the father returned from his travels. From the corner of her eye, Eve could see Ella plucking the flowers from her garden, and with every bud, she plucked she would apologize to the plant. Eve chuckled and thought to herself, 'What a silly girl'.

She often felt guilt at shouting at her, but then she would see Ella do something like this, and she would say to herself, 'This girl needs tough love.'

Anna's sudden gasp broke her chain of thought, "Mother, the Duke's son would be attending the dinner next month." She stood up and pretended to faint, "He is so handsome! Oh, Mother, I must have the best dress and the best hair and the best shoes. He should lay his eyes on the best satin when he sees me. Oh mother, how wonderful it would be if he marries me." She took Eve's hands and pulled her into a twirl. They both laughed and fell on their respective chairs.

Although far fetched, Eve could imagine it happening. Anna wasn't the most beautiful, but what she lacked in traditional looks she made up in her talks.

They decided to go to the shops that very day to choose the fabrics. In her excitement, when Anna told Ella about the Duke's son, she just smiled and went back to tending to the garden. "You could have at least faked some happiness," Eve said to Ella as soon as Anna left.

"But I am happy, mother."

"Speak loudly, child. You are always laying there in your garden, feeding strays or cutting grass. Clean yourself up and make yourself useful. Tidy the house or fetch some groceries. Do something.", Eve said in rage and in that rage, she picked up a glass planter and dropped it on the ground. "Clean that too," she said over her shoulder while stepping out of the small metal gate.

That evening they were sitting surrounded by the linen they had bought earlier. "What did you bring for me, mother?" Ella came running into the room.

"No. Don't come here." Anna quickly pushed her away from the sheets. "Oh, mother, she will spoil them."

Eve lifted her head, and there stood Ella in a white apron covered with black clouds, the hair wrapped with a dirty scarf, and her hands had black grease all over them.

"Oh, God, Ella." Eve took her head in her hands.

"I'm sorry. I will go clean up." Ella said embarrassingly.

The next morning Ella asked Eve again, "What did you bring me yesterday?"

"Well, Ella, dear, dirty girls like you do not get pretty clothes."

"But what will I wear to dinner."

"You can wear something of your mother's. I am sure she had a lot of fancy dresses in her closet," Eve said dismissively.

Eve knew it was unfair to Ella, but she also knew that Ella had enjoyed certain luxuries all her life. She wore beautiful dresses and had been swooned over since she was a little girl.

It wasn't fair that Ella had all the toys to grow up with while Anna had to fight with other girls over a doll they found in the donation pit. It wasn't fair that Anna had to collect the money herself doing odd jobs to buy the cheap replica of a dress she saw at a big store. A little unfairness ought to give Ella some perspective.

Over the next week, as Anna would sit with the dressmaker and play with laces, Eve would catch Ella sitting in her room, trying to sew up the holes in the old fabrics. And while Anna spent her evenings reflecting on the lights coming from the expensive jewellery she was trying on, Ella would be off to the market to feed the stray animals. While Eve and Anna would go for tea parties with other socialites to measure up the competition, Ella would be playing with the cook's children in the house.

Eve was not extremely surprised with her behaviour when she first met her. Ella's father is just as naïve as her, which was why it was easy to get him to marry Eve. Eve does not want Ella to grow up like that. It is above all the responsibility of a mother to teach a girl how to be a lady.

"Mother!" The scream of Anna echoed in every room, and everyone ran at once.

"Anna, what happened?" Eve inquired.

"It does not match. None of it matches." Anna fell to the ground crying. In her hand was the dress she was to wear for the party and on the bed lied the beautiful necklace specially made for her. The dress was pink, the gems in the necklace were a lighter shade of pink. Eve understood Anna's sorrow. Eve too would have been crying had it have happened to her.

"This is not so bad," Ella said dismissively, and both Eve and Anna shot her a deadly look. "No, it is bad." Ella quickly corrected herself. "I mean, it is fixable. Is it not?"

"Go away, Ella."

Ella left the room, trying to justify her statement to herself as Eve sat by Anna, failing to console her.

They finally decided to look for other options. Before leaving for the market, Eve went to Ella's room to give her instructions for dinner. She opened the door and paused. She had to avert her eyes for a second from the light coming from the window. But as soon as her eyes adjusted, there stood a goddess-like beauty in front of her. Ella was wrapped from head to toe in gold, with enormous earing dangling from her ears, and she wore blue shoes which sparkled like diamonds while her auburn coloured hair lay lightly against the shimmer of the fabric. It took Eve a moment to realize that the princess in front of her was the same girl who was willing to touch the new material with grease-covered hands.

"How do I look, Mother?"

"No!" Eve shouted and slammed the door behind her as she walked away, flushed with anger.

Ella, in that one moment, had proved that it doesn't matter how much Eve and Anna lather themselves with expensive dresses and learn the proper etiquettes, they would never be equal to her. There was a type of light, the same one Eve had noticed in her husband, and Eve knew she would never be able to reflect that. It was something to be borne into, not something a person can acquire by marriage or adoption.

But even though Eve may not be able to grab that light, she would not let it blind her.

She turned around, walked up to Ella's room, took a deep breath and knocked.

"Anna is crying a lot. She is so sad. Ever since her father passed, this had been the happiest I had seen her." Eve lifted her hand and lightly wiped a drop from the corner of her eye. She took Ella's hand in hers and lifted her head to look her in the eyes. "I know you think it is stupid. You do not care for such superficial things. It is not a big deal to you."

Eve could see in Ella's eyes a slight hesitation. She might need a little more convincing.

"Anna has always been so disappointed. I know you cannot comprehend growing up in poverty. Everyone in our circle doesn't treat us as equals. You know where we come from, the shit hole we used to live in. People have trouble accepting us. They snark at us, talk behind our backs. This night, the party is her only chance to change that, to elevate herself. I hope you understand.", saying this Eve burst into tears. What surprised her was how genuine they turned out to be. Eve didn't think about it at the time, but as she watched her little girl twirl in shining golden circles, she realized how much of it was true.

On the day of the party, their father reached the house early in the morning. And both the girls did not leave his side since then. He always brought gifts for the girls from all over the places he visited. Beautiful scarfs and porcelain dolls, shining cutlery and perfect mantelpieces, and all the silk he could fit in his bags. He adored the three women and never shied away from showing it. After lunch, Eve and Anna went into their rooms to get ready for the party while Ella and her father went to the garden to plant the flowers he picked up from his last destination.

The garden was their sanctuary, which had brought them together when Ella's mother died, and they continued the tradition years after. Eve would often watch them from her window, and her eye would catch the light reflecting off them, and she would feel this ping of jealousy that the most expensive things would not be able to diminish.

The entrance hall was lit with the most extravagant chandelier that Eve had ever seen. Everyone was standing around with drinks in their hands, and there seemed to be a cluster of men collected at one end and a slightly bigger cluster of young women at the other. Few people were dancing, and a few stood staring and judging them. Eve's husband took her hand and directed the three of them to the cluster of women.

"Excuse me, Mr Charming." He said while making his way to the centre of the circle.

"I wanted to introduce you to my wife and daughters, Ella and Anna." He faced Eve, "I met Mr Charming in Paris. I told him that he must visit our small town."

"Well, it is a lovely place. Have you visited the lake yet? If not, my daughter would love to take you there." Eve said while handing him her hand.

"That sounds lovely." He said while kissing her hand. "Please excuse me. I must spend some time with my father's friends too."

The rest of the night, he spent a lot of time talking to Anna. Although she had to pull him away again and again from some other debutante every time she left his side, Eve could see that Anna was on the right path. She could smell the envy of every woman in the room as they stared blindingly at her dress and gasped every time she glided to another location.

At the end of the night, Eve took a breath of success as the Duke's son pulled her to a side as they were leaving.

"Ma'am, I'm afraid I must confess. I am smitten. I would love to get to know more of your daughter Ella.", this put a dagger into her heart, but she kept her smile and the sparkle in her eye intact, not to let him suspect anything.

"You see." He continued. "I have been in town for over a week, and every evening I would go to the market and around, and I am afraid I have been following Ella ever since she caught my eye. I have not been able to forget her. Your husband had been kind enough to bless me. I hope I have yours too." Eve could only nod and leave.

Anna was devastated. It took her nearly two weeks to step out of her room, and she still insisted on wearing black at all meals.

But seeing the Duke's son interact with her husband and Ella, Eve could see the light, that light, elevated. The house shone like the sun, every crystal sparkled, and every candle illuminated. The three of them would spend the evenings in Ella's garden. And watching them, Eve started to understand how to get it herself.

It was the same thing that attracted her to her now-husband, long before she knew of his wealth. That day, the baker caught her stealing a loaf of bread in front of him, and he, a stranger, bought it for her later. That was the first time Eve realized that people could light up the air around them. It was the light that made her fall in love with him. And after a while, she grew certain, that it was that light that pulled Mr Charming.

Maybe she should let Anna know about the light too.

#shortstory #cinderella #wicked #wicked stepmother #fairy tales #stepmother pov #stepmother

1 note · View note

foursprouthappiness-blog · 6 years

Text

Why The Concept Of ‘Evil’ Is A Bad Idea

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/happiness/why-the-concept-of-evil-is-a-bad-idea/

Why The Concept Of ‘Evil’ Is A Bad Idea

Illustration by Daniella Urdinlaiz

Ever since the dim, distant dawn of humanity, back when the fog from the swamps lifted and people started walking upright, forming packs, and clubbing rival packs over the head in deadly wars over food and land and resources, has there ever—and I mean once, just one time, one single itty-bitty time ever—been one side in any conflict that thought they were the bad guys?

I highly doubt it.

Except for your odd suicidal masochist here and there, very few people are willing to risk their lives on behalf of what they think is a bad cause. And even in the case of your odd suicidal masochist, they appear to believe their own destruction is a good cause. Invariably, people are self-justifying creatures.

I strongly suspect that what any given group or individual defines as “good” is nothing more profound than something that ensures their survival. The flip side of that coin is that whatever threatens their survival is “evil” to them.

And that’s the only constant with this ubiquitous and simplistic notion of good and evil—it’s good if it keeps me alive, and it’s bad if it kills me. That’s why I suspect that in every war throughout history, every combatant on every side thought they were the good guy trying to kill all the bad guys.

And did you notice that since they’re killing the bad guys, it’s not murder—or at least it’s not really bad? No, it’s justified. In other words, it’s good.

Whenever they write history books, it’s a miraculous coincidence that the bad guys always wind up losing. And what’s ironic is that by definition, those who win wars are not those with the best morals or the loftiest ideology, but those who are the better killers.

I tend to see the people who are in power not as good guys or as bad guys, but merely as the biggest and strongest gang. And it’s from that position of power that they can lay claim to the biggest privilege of all—the right to decide who’s good and evil.

When the government taxes you against your will, they don’t call it theft. When they put you in a cage, they don’t call it kidnapping. When they slaughter millions in war, it’s not murder. Nothing they do is a crime because, after all, they’re the good guys.

Yeah, but doesn’t The Bible say “Thou shalt not kill”? Well, it depends on who’s getting killed. In 1 Samuel, God instructs the Israelites to kill the Amalekites—every last one of them:

Now go, attack the Amalekites and totally destroy all that belongs to them. Do not spare them; put to death men and women, children and infants, cattle and sheep, camels and donkeys.

The Amalekites had waged war against Israel. They threatened Israel’s survival. Therefore, God made an exception to his whole “Thou shalt not kill” thing. So even slaughtering infants wasn’t evil anymore. In fact, it was the only righteous thing to do.

Think about the fact that history’s most brutal atrocities have been committed in the name of good, and it’ll start to dawn on you that there’s something deeply dishonest—even sinister?—in this whole good/evil dichotomy.

Throughout most cultures, there’s an idea that it’s wrong to murder another human being—the only variable is that no cultures seem to agree with one another on who exactly is a human being. Are they one of us? OK, then they’re human. Are they one of them? Then it’s not murder if you kill them.

If you can dehumanize someone else—for example, if you can conceive of them as “scum” rather than “someone who’s merely competing against me for a slice of the same pie”—you can justify seeing them kicked in the head by an angry mob or decapitated under the guillotine while the angry mob cheers.

People sadistically smear guilt on one another like it’s a deadly poison. Assigning guilt to others is a very slimy and slippery business. Guilt operates like a germ. It’s designed to destroy someone’s will. To cripple them. To damage them. To achieve the upper hand against them. As paradoxical as it sounds, underlying the desire to be seen as the good guy is the desire to harm the bad guy, to justify the act of committing bad deeds against them.

This is why I’m very suspicious of the whole notion of good versus evil. In practice, “good” only serves a shield to commit acts that in any other context would be considered evil. It’s malice masquerading as justice. And “justice” is merely a very dishonest word for revenge.

It’s all about power. “Good” is just a shield that people hold with one hand while they’re lopping off people’s heads with the sword they hold in their other hand.

Good and evil only exist as ideas—as constructs, as the college kids like to say. They aren’t things that hang in the air like morning mist. They aren’t things you can measure. They can’t be found on the Periodic Table of Elements. There’s no machine that can measure good and evil.

As heretical as it sounds, an overdeveloped sense of morality may not be the solution at all. It may be the problem.

The only way to understand why things happen is through facts, not feelings. Through true and false, not good and evil. Painting over everything with drippy, emotion-driven notions of morality only impedes understanding. I suspect that one day, neuroscience will explain actions that are currently considered “evil” far more than any religious scripture ever did. Understanding how the brain works is far more likely to explain things such as violent behavior, drug addiction, and sexual assault than any religious scripture ever will. In other words, I think there are mechanistic and completely amoral reasons for why people do everything that’s considered immoral.

And if that day comes, maybe people will finally realize that “evil” is a very superstitious, anti-intellectual, and even childishly naïve word.

But for now, when people try to combat “evil,” they’re clumsily shooting in the dark. “Evil” heretics throughout history have been beaten to death by mobs and burned at the stake for saying things which eventually became widely accepted once it was revealed that the mob had no idea what the fuck they were talking about.

In my life, the nastiest, creepiest, rudest, and most abusive people have been those who are convinced they are either innately good or are working in the name of an unimpeachably good cause. Almost without exception, the bad guys are the ones who make a point of telling you they’re the good guys.

Meanwhile, the truly kind and ethical people simply go around being kind and ethical. No need to announce it. They would see such public displays of shrill and righteous chest-thumping to be a little gauche and shallow, actually.

I’ve found that one never needs to worry about people who are actually doing good, whether that involves improving themselves or helping others. They move in silence. They have no need to be thought of as good nor to constantly judge others. Only people who are insecure about whether or not they’re good need to be reassured of it, especially if they’re always loudly reassuring themselves.

Instead, you need to worry about people who are constantly condemning others for being “evil.” They’re the ones who are usually up to no good.

#Happiness

0 notes