idristardis

[idristardis]

I am becoming aware of the effect a lack of trust in the media has had on people, paired with a dearth of research skills.

[idristardis]

In honor of Galentine's Day and the (nearly) exact one year anniversary of this smutty-yet-feelsy masterpiece, I'm popping in out of the hectic "real world" to rec a fic that you certainly will come back to again and again. Check it out, along with all of @belovedcreation's other amazing work - including her two current fics - here on tumblr or over at AO3. You'll be glad you did!!

The Blessing of St. Galentine

What if Emma and her friends all in their late 20s early 30s decide that they want to have a Galentines day sleep over to just catch up be themselves all drink safely and not have to worry about their significant other’s or whatever. And then one of them has a brilliant idea to have a seance like they used to when they were kids it’s just for shits and giggles. But they accidentally actually summon something. And it’s Killian. And then the significant others the next day are like “so how was galentines day?” “We wound up summoning Emma a boyfriend.” “Haha oh yeah how?” “Lighting candles in a salt circle”

Got this fantastic idea from the CSMM Discord and I couldn't leave the keyboard until I had written it. Hope you had a wonderful Galentine's Day and have a great Valentine's Day, loves!

Read on A03 - Explicit - 5900 words exactly

“Climb on Aunty Ruby’s lap and tell me your naughtiest Valentine’s Day wish.”

The room bursts with laughter at Ruby’s pronouncement, purred from the overstuffed loveseat where she extends a fishnet stocking-covered leg and wriggles her eyebrows salaciously. Her girlfriend Dorothy climbs right on her lap and whispers something much too quiet for the other women to hear, but it makes Ruby’s face turn as red as her name. Ruby has never been one to shy away from things of a sexual nature, so Emma takes another sip of her rum and wonders what exactly could make Ruby Lucas blush.

“I thought the whole point of Galentine’s Day was to get us away from our significant others,” Mary Margaret teases good-naturedly. “You two are much too close for a night about friendship.”

Ruby shoves Dorothy off of her lap and straight on her ass, making Dorothy’s beer splash out of her bottle and making the room laugh again. She stands up, wriggles her jean-clad backside significantly toward her girlfriend, and throws herself onto another couch.

“For the cunt punt you’re next.” Ruby pats her leg. “Hop on board, Mrs. Nolan.”

With a roll of her eyes, Mary Margaret sits herself primly on Ruby’s lap, thinks for a minute, and leans in to whisper her own wish to one of her oldest friends. Ruby gives her a faux-scandalized look and sends her on her way with much less violence than she had shown her own girlfriend.

One-by-one, all the ladies take turns on Ruby’s lap and it almost becomes a competition to see who can make the unflappable Ruby laugh, turn a different color, or, in the case of Mulan, laugh, “You’ll have to ask my girlfriend first, honey !”

Finally, Emma knows that she can avoid Ruby no longer. Her bare feet drag across the soft rug of her living room and she flops into Ruby’s arms.

“Tell me your Valentine’s wish, Miss Swan.”

Emma relaxes into her friend’s grasp and the warm cushions around them. There are a few things she could say that would make Ruby giggle or jump, but she’s had too many drinks tonight to be creative. The rest of her friends have people to go home to, partners to spend Valentine’s Day with. She feels a pang of something like sadness that makes her lean her head against Ruby’s and speak quietly and sincerely.

“Just a nice guy, Rubes. Someone loyal. Someone that makes me feel at home. Funny. Smart. Confident. Fuck, yes, confidence is a turn on. But not cocky.”

“But with a big cock, right?” Ruby jokes, breaking the spell. Emma rolls her eyes.

“Naturally.”

“Clean-shaven?”

“Scruffy.” She thinks. “And, shit, with the kind of chest hair that you just want to grip when you ride him.”

Ruby hums. “Fuck yes. I miss that. But don’t tell Dorothy, okay?”

“Never.”

“Anything else? Sky’s the limit.”

“Handsome. Good body. Oooooh, and maybe an accent.”

“Good in bed?”

“Great in bed. Super into me, into what I want. But also knows when to pull a girl’s hair and spank her ass.”

“Emma Swan.”

She rolls her eyes. “Shut it, Lucas.”

Ruby’s arms wrap just a bit tighter around her and Emma can feel that soft side coming out, the sweetness that Ruby usually hides behind her high heels and cleavage and flirtation. “I’ll see what Aunty Ruby can do, sweetie.”

-----

Two hours later, Emma emerges from her bathroom to find out that the loveseat has been shoved into the center of her living room, there’s a strange circle of white around the room, and all the women are busy lighting a million little candles. Emma doesn’t even own this many candles.

“What the hell?” she asks.

Regina exchanges glances with Ruby, who looks way too pleased with herself. “We’re summoning you a boyfriend, Swan.”

“What?”

Ruby wraps her arms around Emma’s waist and rests her chin on Emma’s shoulder. “Regina said she found some spell for a lost love. We thought we’d try it out.”

Emma looks at Regina like she’s crazy. “I thought seances were for Halloween.”

“Magic can happen any time of year,” Mary Margaret chirps as though they’re talking about hope and unicorns, not summoning the dead. She tucks a lighter back into her purse and gives Emma a bright smile. “Do we have everything ready, Regina?”

Regina holds out her hand and Ruby places two items in it. One looks like a piece of paper from the blank pad that hangs from her fridge and the other is-

“Is that my underwear, Ruby?” she shouts. She’s rewarded with a wolfish grin.

“That’s what the spell calls for, hon.”

Emma’s too drunk for this. And probably too horny for this. But since she’s the only one in this room that won’t be going home and getting some, she’s gonna let her friends be weird and then send them on their way and ring in Valentine’s Day with her trusty vibrator.

Maybe they’ll do a round of ‘Light as a feather, stiff as a board’ first.

Ruby marches Emma to the loveseat and steps carefully outside of what looks like a fucking salt circle. Regina, Mary Margaret, Ruby, Dorothy, Mulan, Ariel, and Belle grasp hands with one another on the outer ring of the salt circle and the rug that will now need to be thoroughly vacuumed.

Regina starts to speak in another language, which Emma assumes is Latin but, for all she knows, it could be demonic or Klingon. The rest of the women repeat after her. It feels like some strange call-and-repeat that makes Emma think of schoolyard jump rope songs or maybe a weird line dance you get subjected to at a wedding. Emma shakes her head, sinks into the loveseat, and closes her eyes and wonders how much longer she will have to put up with this humiliation before she can kick everyone out of her house.

It happens so slowly that Emma doesn’t realize its happening at first. She feels a weight on her lap, like someone threw a pillow or a blanket on her and she wonders at first if she passed out and they’re all going to leave her to spend her night alone on her living room couch. But then the weight gets heavier and it starts to have a scent - something that rises above the strange assortment of vanilla and laundry soap and other smells from the hodgepodge of candles all around the room. This scent is male, like the rum she’s been drinking all night but also leather and spice. But before she can articulate this strange new sensation, something else hits her senses.

A male voice.

“Bloody fucking hell.”

Emma’s eyes fly open and there’s a man on her lap. A whole ass man. A person who wasn’t there five minutes ago but is very much there. He’s heavy and warm and Emma’s mouth immediately dries at the sight of the thick tufts of chest hair right in front of her face.

Fucking hell indeed.

The chanting ends immediately and is replaced by a whole cacophony of shouts, whoops, exclaimations, and Ruby rising above the din to shout “Fuck yeah!”

She pushes the apparition off of her lap and stands as though he set her on fire. And damn, looking down at him, wearing only a pair of low-slung flannel pants, with beautiful big blue eyes and a dusting of facial hair she can imagine feels great between a girl’s thighs, he really might set her on fire.

“Where did you come from?” she manages. The room goes silent.

“We summoned him,” Regina says, sounding pretty damn proud of herself.

“Shit, Regina,” she breathes. Emma isn’t sure what she should do now but, dead or alive, she doesn’t want to be a bad hostess. She reaches down and offers him a hand. Even though he was lying across her lap a moment ago, solid and heavy, she holds her breath, waiting to see if he will glide through her touch like Ghost or some other sci-fi movie.

His touch is electric.

She can’t help the shiver that runs through her when their flesh connects, or the way her knees go a little weak when he gives her a crooked, awe-struck smile.

“Hello, love.”

Her eyebrows fly up at the sound of his voice. She had thought she heard it the first time he spoke, but now she knows for sure. He has an accent. A fucking accent. Emma reaches for the piece of paper that she had been sitting on, ignoring the underwear on top of it, and scans the blocky letters.

Nice Loyal Makes you feel at home Funny Smart Confident, but not cocky Big dick Scruffy Chest hair Handsome Good body Accent Giver in bed Knows when to pull hair and spank

His dark chuckle beside her ear makes Emma tense up in some very good and not-so-good ways. “Nice list there, lass. I particularly like the last item.” She turns in time to catch his tongue dancing along the corner of his mouth in a very dirty way.

“Well, we’ll just leave you two to it.”

Shit. Emma had forgotten that they were surrounded by seven of her closest friends. She looks away from tall, dark, and dead to make eye contact with Ruby. Had Emma been wearing a mic or did she just have a stellar memory?

“Leave us to what, Ruby?”

The women all giggle and Ruby’s eyebrows waggle again. “Whatever you want, honey. What. Ever. You. Want.”

Emma starts to step toward Ruby and maybe throw a punch, but she’s stopped by the stern form of Regina.

“Don’t you dare, Swan. Either of you takes a step outside this salt circle and Loverboy there disappears.”

“Where does he go?” Emma asks, suddenly concerned for the mostly-naked stranger in her living room.

Regina shrugs. “Wherever he came from, I guess. But just know that if you break the circle, the spell is over. So if I were you, I’d think long and hard about how I want to spend my night.” Her eyes cut over Emma’s shoulder and her lips curl in an appreciative smile. “You could do worse, Miss Swan,” she drawls.

The women all laugh and giggle and cheerily wave goodbye as they trot out Emma’s front door, Mary Margaret kindly offering to lock up behind them. Before she can formulate any more words, Emma is left alone in her home with some undead naked man, stuck in a salt circle without a phone and, worse, without a drink.

She sinks back into the loveseat, covers her face with her hands, and groans.

“Swan?”

Emma peeks at the man through her fingers. “Yes,” she mutters. “That’s my last name.”

“Ah.” He sighs quietly and seats himself beside her. “A lovely name for a lovely woman.”

“Are you trying to seduce me?”

The man lets out a laugh that makes her stomach flip. He has a nice laugh. “You are the one who called me here, lass. Is seduction necessary?”

She lets her hands drop from her face. “My friends called you here. They think this whole thing is a joke.”

“Is it a joke?” When she does not answer, he holds out his hand. “Give me that list again, love.” He studies it with a furrowed brow and Emma fights to keep her face from turning pink. But why should she care? He’s a fucking ghost. Ghosts don’t get to judge her.

“Quite the list here, Swan. Your ideal man?”

Normally she’d flip him the bird or kick him out of her house, but Emma can hear Regina’s advice in her head, and she decides to let down her guard a bit. He’s dead after all. “Yeah. Is that you?”

He hums as though he is thinking and then taps at the paper. “Nice? Well, I would like to think so. Loyal? To a fault, at times. Makes you feel at home.” He looks around them. “I think we are already at your home, love.” She snorts and he grins. “Ah, so we can agree on the next item. Funny. Smart. Graduated in the top of my class at the Academy but I am afraid I’ve been a disappointment ever since. Confident, but not cocky.” He hums again. “I have been accused of being cocky before, so your friend’s spell might not have worked.”

He doesn’t have to name the next item when he taps the words with his finger. Big dick. “I would love to show you just how big, Miss Swan.” She feels her thighs clench at what he says and the way he raises an eyebrow when he says it. Oh yeah, he’s cocky alright.

“Scruffy. Chest hair. Handsome. Good body. Accent.” He runs his other hand up and down his form, as though to demonstrate how he checks every single one of those boxes. He gives her a look with hooded eyes and she gives him a nod of approval that makes his breath hitch. “Glad we are in agreement, then.”

Emma’s fingers itch to run through that damn chest hair or press that damn scruff into the sensitive flesh between her breasts when he sets down the list. Before she knows what’s happening, he’s on his knees right in front of her, sex in his eyes and his hands land on her knees. They’re warm and heavy and they don’t feel like a ghost’s hands.

“Giver in bed. Knows when to pull hair and spank. Is that how you like to be fucked, Miss Swan?”

Why be coy? She bites her lip and nods eagerly. Maybe even a little too eagerly. His fingers begin tracing wavy lines up and down the tops of her thighs.

“I do not have a bloody buggering clue how I got here. And I imagine that whatever magic brought me here will vanish by morning light or when one of us needs to piss or eat or go back to what we were doing.” One of his hands cups her cheek with surprising tenderness. “But I would be remiss if I didn’t share my own list.”

“You have a list?” Emma asks, in a daze.

“Well, I do not have one written down underneath a pair of knickers, but I do have a list. Would you like to hear it?”

Emma presses gently against his hand, gauges the sincerity in his gaze, and smiles. “Hit me with it.”

He hits her with a kiss, something soft, just a brush of his lips, to the right side of her neck. “Blonde,” he whispers. He moves to the other side and adds, “Gorgeous.” He scoops up one of her hands and kisses her palm. “Brave.” The back of her hand. “Strong.” Her other hand. “A lovely laugh. An amazing ass.” She chuckles at that one and he smiles into the back of her hand.

“A very spankable ass,” he amends with a raised brow. With both of her hands in his, he runs his thumbs up and down the ridges of her knuckles. “Compassionate. Kind. A good friend.” He swallows and she thinks she catches a hint of pain in his eyes. “Patient.” She wants to ask what he means, but he lets go of her hands to grip her hips and pull her forward, suddenly, so her ass is half off the couch. “Loves to suck cock and fuck where we might get caught.”

Oh.

Shit.

Oh shit.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Emma kisses the hell out of a strange man without worrying what will happen next. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and feels his hands slide around her back and they give themselves over to this weird, passionate, sexy moment. The man knows how to kiss, that’s for sure. He deepens the kiss almost immediately, tongue dancing alongside hers, teeth nibbling at her lower lip, mouth tasting like that same rum she’s been enjoying all evening. But it tastes sweeter, better, when she tastes it on him. 

She didn’t put expert at unhooking a bra on her list, but this man is. She feels her bra loosen beneath her blouse and then allows the man to break the kiss so he can pull both her shirt and her bra off of her.

“Add perfect tits to that list, love,” he breathes. She nods distractedly and digs her fingers into his hair as he leans forward and circles his tongue around a nipple. Emma begins to fall into a haze of magic and rum and pleasure as his hand fondles the breast he’s currently neglecting and then moves his mouth over to tease the now-hard nipple. He goes back and forth several times and only stops when she begins to squirm beneath him.

“Time for giving?” he asks. Emma laughs. The perfect ghost, who would have thought? He deftly unbuttons her jeans and peels them off of her legs. Her panties are soaked through and she lets out a depraved moan when he leans forward to kiss her right over the fabric. “Bloody hell, you really are a dream woman,” he groans. He quickly removes her underwear, pulls her to the right position, and dives right into her without having to be asked. His mouth is pure sin, pure sex, and just fucking perfect. He eats her like a man who hasn’t had a meal in weeks and the insane part of Emma’s mind wonders if he died from starvation or something.

His tongue finds her clit right away and runs lazily across that perfect place that makes her squirm. Any other guy she’s had to coach - the few times she’s asked for or received oral, that is - but this guy just gets it. He sucks at her clit, making her hips buck up, and then his mouth lowers down and she can feel his tongue sliding into her, fucking her, and she wriggles at how good and perfect and fucking hot it feels.

He laughs like he knows how good he is. Is that confident or cocky? And then his mouth moves and makes way for a finger sliding into her. She lets out a gasp at the intrusion.

“Bloody perfect,” he murmurs. He curls his finger, pulls it out, and then slides two inside of her. “Fucking tight and soft and just bloody perfect.”

“D-Dirty talk,” she gasps as he picks up the pace.

“Aye? I did not see that on your list.” His tongue returns to her clit.

Emma nods and sinks her hands into his thick locks. “I-I like it. That should have been on my list.”

He chuckles into her, sending shock waves up and down her body. He pulls back an inch and she lets out a whimper at the loss. “When my mouth isn’t occupied with your delectable cunt, I shall share every filthy thought in my mind. Would you like that, darling?”

The man does not wait for an answer before diving back in. The pressure mounts with every flick of his tongue and every thrust of his fingers until she wraps her legs around his head, grips his hair even tighter, and comes with a loud shout that echoes around her living room.

One of his fingers leaves her and the one remaining moves slowly, softly, as his tongue glides across her sensitive folds, and after a few minutes her legs relax and he helps her lowers them to the ground.

“Fuck,” she breathes. She feels the man’s warmth leave her and opens her eyes to see him seated in front of her, legs crossed, like an oversized child during storytime. Well, not exactly. Those flannel pants are doing nothing to hide a body part that has become much more excited now that they’ve moved from the sweet parts of their lists to the more mature parts.

“Well, I will agree that you’re a giver,” she deadpans. He grins up at her, beard glistening in the candlelight.

“I am willing to give more than once, if you’d like.”

Emma shakes her head. “Nah, let’s move on to one of your items.”

His fingers play with the strings of his pajama bottoms. “Patient?” She shakes her head. “Kind?”

“Closer.” She stands up on shaky legs and reaches out her hand to help him stand again. But this time, he smells like her. And she licks her lips at the scent. “I’ll give you a hint. It goes with one of the items on my list.”

She traces the lines of his abdominal muscles, smiling when they clench beneath her. The bulge in his pants twitches too. He’s obviously wearing nothing underneath the pajamas.

“What item is that, love?” he murmurs.

Emma glides her hand beneath the waistband and wraps her fingers around the warm, solid length of him. He groans at the same time she says, “A big dick.” She grasps the sides of his pants and slides them down as she seats herself back on the couch. His cock bounces right at mouth-level. She gives him a shit-eating grin before she leans forward to wrap her lips around the head and enjoys the way it makes him let out a shout.

She pulls back and waits for him to make eye contact again. “Loves to suck cock?” He nods. She smirks. “This one, I would love to suck.”

Emma leans back a bit on the loveseat, allowing him to brace his hands on the back of it and slowly rock in and out of her mouth. He has a delicious, beautiful dick, one that makes her folds get warm again at the thought of it inside of her, filling her up. She hallows out her cheeks, plants her hand on his ass, and lets him fuck her mouth for as long as he wants. She sort of expects the guy to go awhile, but when her fingernails graze his sack, he pulls back with a gasp.

“Shit, Swan. Keep going like that and I shall embarrass myself.”

“What’s there to be embarrassed about?” she asks, smacking her lips together in clear pleasure.

The man growls and gets back on his knees, surging forward for another kiss. “Only that I wish to fuck you, love. Perhaps pull on your hair and smack your arse, as you wish.”

She hums against his lips. “Okay. If you insist.”

Her first time with a guy is usually standard missionary. Guys like to be on top, be in control. Sometimes she’d get a lazy one that wanted to make her do all the work and get on top. But being bent over the arm of a couch, teased with a slick dick sliding along her folds, that’s the kind of first time Emma Swan loves. She thinks maybe he’ll go slow, let her get used to him, draw it out a little more, but then she feels him line himself up and fill her up with a single thrust.

Oh shit.

This, this is the best first sex she’s ever had.

She doesn’t even have to ask him to grab her by the hair, because she told Ruby and Ruby wrote it on that crazy summoning list. So she gets to enjoy that sharp pain as he wrenches her head back slightly as his cock sets a punishing pace deep inside of her. Emma lets out a low moan and she can feel herself tightening around him when he laughs quietly.

“Naughty girl there, Swan.” The hand not gripping her hair comes down on her ass with a loud crack. “Rousing a man from his sleep so he could make you come.” He smacks her again. “Tsk tsk. Whatever shall I do for your punishment?”

Emma can think of a few things, but she doesn’t have to. He pulls out, making her whimper pathetically at the loss of him, and spanks her a few more times. Then his hand smooths across her reddened flesh and he gets down on his knees to lazily lick her folds from behind, groaning, “I love what this does to you, darling. Dripping for me.” She thinks she might be on the verge again, starting to ride his face, but he pulls away and she lets out a shriek of displeasure.

His hand squeezes her ass, making her wince, and then he seems to disappear again. She opens her eyes just in time to see his cock coming for her as he kneels on the seat cushions.

“Open up, love. I decided I wasn’t done with you yet.” Emma’s never been one for sucking a dick that’s been inside her, but she’s not going to think too hard when she’s letting a ghost have sex with her. She opens up wide and lets him fuck her in the face some more. This time his fingers dig into her hair, pulling and holding her in place and making her moan. His words make her moan too, a torrent of filthy phrases and fantasies and compliments. He doesn’t stop talking when he lets go of her curls, pulls himself out of her mouth, and repositions himself behind her. He keeps telling her how tight and beautiful and perfect she feels as he thrusts harder and harder and faster and faster, until she feels like maybe she’s the one who’s died, because the fingers he slides beneath her that circle her clit make her have a true out-of-body-experience.

The way he gasps her last name a moment after she falls, while she’s still falling, makes her think he was waiting for her to come first, and maybe she should add Gentleman to the list because he obviously is one. 

He pulls out of her and she thinks probably he’s going to disappear because the spell is complete or something? But his hand tightens on her hip and he pulls her up and around so that her cheek rests against his chest and his arms wrap around her. He’s still there, warm and solid and also sweaty. But in a good way. She can faintly feel his lips press a kiss to the top of her head.

“Alright there, Swan?” he asks. “Still with me?”

Emma nods. She looks up and her heart squeezes a little at the look on his face. Kind. Yeah, he checks that box. She drops a kiss to his chest and laments for a moment that she never got to dig her fingers into it as she rode him. Maybe next time.

But then her body tenses in shock. Because that’s not a normal Emma Swan thought. Emma doesn’t do next times. She does one-time onlys. Love ‘em and leave ‘em. Emma Swan doesn’t do emotional baggage or vulnerability. His brow furrows in concern, obviously noticing her rising panic, but she tries to disguise it by standing on her tiptoes to kiss his lips again.

“Maybe I’ll have Regina summon you again,” she murmurs. It sounds like a wonderful, terrible idea.

The man kisses her back and then dances them toward the loveseat until they are curled up with one another on the much-too-small space. He reaches up to tug the blanket on the back of the loveseat over their naked, exhausted bodies.

“Goodnight, woman of my dreams,” he whispers into her hair.

But before she can whisper back, “Goodnight lost love,” sleep claims her.

-----

When she wakes up, she is alone. Naked, alone, and surrounded by candles.

And on the line of salt that circles her, there’s a single footprint much too large to be her own.

-----

“I’ve got a Valentine for you, Sheriff!” Emma chirps, trying to infuse the worst fucking day of the fucking year with a bit of good cheer. The bail skip that she’s escorted into the Storybrooke sheriff department does not find her funny, and though Emma wants to punch him again for the curses he grumbles under his breath, she refrains from doing so.

“Just what I wanted!” David Nolan laughs, peeking his head out from the supply closet. “My very own criminal!” He gives Emma a warm smile and nods to the holding cell at the back wall of the station. She walks the skip back, removes his cuffs, and lets David lock him up until he’s ready to process him.

“Did Mary Margaret make it home last night?” Emma asks once they’re out of earshot. David hands her a coffee mug and fills it up from the pot.

David nods. “Yes, but she must have had way too much to drink. When I asked what you guys got up to she told me that they summoned you a boyfriend?”

Emma coughs and sends a shower of coffee down her front. David looks worried. “She said that?”

“Yeah. What really happened? Did you guys slip something into her drink again?”

Emma licks her lips and carefully, slowly, takes a long drink of the coffee. She lets it warm up all the corners of her confused brain and sore body and then gives David a level look.

“I have no fucking clue what happened last night, David, but a man I’ve never seen before appeared like magic in my living room and we had the best sex of my life.”

David Nolan does an incredible impersonation of someone who is not phased by hearing about a dead man being summoned and fucking his friend. He takes two steps back, leans against his desk, and nods thoughtfully before bringing his coffee cup to his lips and taking a deep drink from an empty mug.

A sound from the supply closet saves Emma from having to explain further or David from having to call the psychiatric ward. They both look over and Emma feels her heart race.

“You got a Valentine treat hiding in there, Nolan? Something I should share with the missus?”

David laughs lightly, obviously still shaken up by Emma’s admission, and gestures to the door. “No, that’s the new deputy. Moved to town last week but he already decided we need to re-organize the closet. Said something about a need to alphabetize.”

Emma grunts. “Sounds like a tight ass.”

The Sheriff’s eyes light up and Emma’s seen that look enough times to know that it spells danger. “Actually,” he says, and Emma groans into her next sip of coffee, “I don’t know how he’d compare to dead guy ghost sex, but I think you and Killian would hit it off.”

“Me and Mr. Tightass? Unlikely.”

“Do I hear someone disparaging my posterior?” The voice coming from the supply closet sounds oddly familiar, and Emma only has a second to contemplate why it sounds familiar before the new deputy steps into the office and Emma almost falls over backwards.

“Swan?” He’s wearing actual clothes today, a black leather jacket and dark jeans and he looks damn good, although she wasn’t complaining the night before.

She can’t really respond in the same way, since she never asked for his name, and she thinks that calling him ‘Big Dick’ or ‘Great Lay’ or ‘Hair Puller’ might make David even more uncomfortable. So she settles for shouting. “I thought you were dead!”

And he exclaims back, “I thought I was dreaming.”

David looks between them, the poor man utterly lost and confused, then, with the same level-headedness that makes him a great Sheriff, he steps to the coffee pot, refills his mug, and marches back to the holding cell. He laughs over his shoulder, “Come get me when things get less weird out here.”

“I… don’t think that’s possible,” Emma breathes.

Emma isn’t sure how long they stand there, staring at one another, before her face starts to fill with color at the memory of the night before. And, of course, her hastily-made plans while she staked out this skip, to call Regina tonight, drag her away from whatever Valentine’s Day plans she has with Robin, and make her summon the amazing sex man for her again.

“You’re real,” she says, finally.

He nods and takes tentative steps forward until he’s only a breath away. “Aye. And so are you.”

She lays her hand on his chest and they both start at the contact. His touch is still electric, here, in the light of the day, in the real world, outside of any crazy spell.

“Regina cast a spell to find lost love. I think I just assumed when you appeared that you couldn’t be real. Or possible. Because I’m not the girl who gets the dream.”

His eyes soften. He lays his hand over hers on his chest and he is so warm and so real and so wonderful that she’s scared as hell right now.

“Maybe this time you do, love. Maybe this time we both get the dream.”

And then his lips are on hers, soft and sweet and just fucking perfect. He kisses her for so long that David eventually interrupts them and startles them back into the real world.

“You think you can continue this later? We’ve got work to do, Deputy.”

The ghost man - the dream man - Killian - nods, his face turning a pretty shade of pink. “Aye, Sheriff.” He turns to Emma and tilts his head down shyly. “Might I have the honor of your company this evening, Miss Swan?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” she says.

“Of that I am fully aware. Would you be my date? I do not have a reservation, but perhaps-”

Emma cuts him off with a kiss. “I think we can find somewhere.” Her fingers wrap around the lapels of his leather jacket. She likes this leather jacket. “But you’ll probably have to wear clothes if we go out in public.”

Killian gives her a sinful look that tells her that he clearly intends for tonight to end up the same way as last night. “Lets not worry about that, Swan. After all, we have an item from my list that we never got to.”

She suddenly remembers what it is, but she wants to hear him say it. “What’s that?”

“Loves to fuck where we might get caught.”

Emma nods and leans forward so she can whisper into his ear while her fingers play with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. “Only if we combine it with a nuance that didn’t make it from request to written format.”

“What’s that?”

She slides her hand around and then down his chest, before she grips the soft fabric of his Henley. “The reason I like chest hair is so I have something to grip when I’m riding.”

Killian’s eyes light with clear excitement. “I think that could be arranged, love. That could be arranged quite easily.”

-----

The back hallway of Granny’s Diner is actually the perfect place to get fucked up against a wall. And Emma can’t figure out the best part of the night. 

Could be clutching Killian’s chest hair as he fucked her into oblivion.

Could be Ruby catching them as they are getting themselves cleaned up again and nearly fainting at the sight of Killian. 

Or it could be the way she leads him to her bed that night, kissing and caressing and sharing vulnerable pillow talk that feels so supernaturally natural. 

Whatever the best part of the night might be, Emma Swan is one hundred percent sure that it is the best fucking Valentine’s Day of her life. 

-----

tagging those who might be interested - and I know I didn't get them all because the tags didn't work for some names

@anmylica @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @winterbaby89 @undercaffinatednightmare @laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter @tiganasummertree @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @darkshadow7 @booksteaandtoomuchtv @motherkatereloyshipper @soniccat @jrob64 @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @myfearless-love

[idristardis]

online communities are so strange because people slip away so easily. you can be on here for years, folding people you've never met into the fabric of your daily life, and then they disappear, leaving only ghost posts scattered across tumblr behind. or their blog stays dormant, for weeks, months, years, until you're only still following them because you remember that they love sunflowers or they were kind to you when they didn't have to be or the last thing they posted was sad and raw and you still worry about them sometimes.

and sometimes they come back when you least expect it, years later, even, and there's this sudden rush of relief like there you are, there you are, even though you barely knew each other.

there's a strange kind of love to it. i don't know you and i want to hold your hand across miles and time zones and oceans. i can still see the imprint of you in this community you left. you don't think anyone will notice or care when you're gone, but we notice and we care and we wish you well.

i hope you're all okay out there. i hope the sun is shining on your face and you are breathing deeply. i miss you.

[idristardis]

How have I never seen these before?!?!?!

HOW???!??!!

Colin, you absolute menace. Just...just....hnnnnnngh.

That is all.

Colin O’Donoghue & Beverley Elliott (2017 OUATCHI 2017 / Enchanted V 2024)

[idristardis]

Self-soothing post-election with a slew of Hallmark holiday movies and the one I watched last night, 'Tis The Season to be Irish, was very cute...but I kept thinking that it would make a great CS fic (if my mind had the bandwidth for that right now).

The plot was about a closed-off loner who traveled around flipping houses but never really finding a place that felt like home (she was even blonde with a red jacket and originally came from a small town in Maine....and kept most of her worldly possessions in a small, easy-to-carry box....guys, I mean...come ON). She bought a cottage in a small Irish town that she was going to flip but it turned out to be horribly run down and so she had to stay there longer and butted heads with the handsome, charming local historian/preservationist who was a little bit stuck in the past and needed help envisioning a future (again...coooooome ooooooon). Fiona Gubelman and Eoin Macken did a very good job with it....though I did keep mentally picturing that it would've been better with Colin and Jen....but it would really REALLY take flight as a CS fic....

....if anyone wanted to tackle it, feel free....my brain had just enough space to go "oh that would be a cool idea" before remembering I have no tiiiiiiime!!

[idristardis]

I just reada really good fic but halfway through I realized "oh shit this is really familiar.... didn't I write something like this once?" And as I kept reading I kept predicting what happened next and the further I went the more convinced I was that they'd ripped off my story-

like, copied the ENTIRE plot and re-written it, just better than I had? The characters were more fleshed-out than mine were, and the POV was more interesting, and the pace made more sense- but it was MY STORY?

So close to the end I was like "holy shit.. do I message them? Ask if my story inspired theirs? Should I be angry? Flattered?" Cause their tags and description didn't mention me AT ALL, which, sure, it's fanfiction to begin with, but if you're using my work than at least credit me as inspo, right? Just to be courteous?

But I get to the end of the final chapter, and it's not finished, and I'm kind of disappointed cause I never finished my story and I was really immersed in their version now and had been looking forwards to seeing how they tied up my loose ends- so I scroll to the bottom to leave a comment, and.

It's MY URL.

IT WAS MY STORY THE WHOLE TIME.

THE ONE *I WROTE*.

In *2013*.

And FORGOT ABOUT

BECAUSE I WAS SO INSECURE ABOUT MY SLOPPY, SHALLOW, AMETEUR WRITING

And I'm just sitting here now staring into space thinking about every shitty story I've ever written now like

IT WAS ALL GOOD?

IT WAS GOOD THIS WHOLE DAMN TIME??

I'M A GOOD WRITER?????

[idristardis]

No but in all seriousness, is there a support group yet for this man’s fucking face or am I expected to just deal with it?

[idristardis]

ALT

[idristardis]

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[idristardis]

A boy can dream, can't he?

[idristardis]

Somewhere in the distance, the faint echoes of "Dirty Water" by The Standells reverberate through the pre-dawn murk.

"Well, I love that dirty water Oh, Boston, you're my home, oh, yeah..."

I'm honestly surprised Ben Affleck hasn't tried to make this concept into a movie.

Modern Jekyll and Hyde where Jekyll is an MIT researcher--

And Hyde is just. A dude from Boston.

[idristardis]

@spartanguard's tags: #killian jones#your scruff sir#ouat 5x06#how many werewolf fics did this look inspire?#(answer: MANY)

It's funny you say that...because this is absolutely 1000% THE LOOK I keep picturing as I'm reading @belovedcreation's stellar Can I Be Your Werewolf?

366 Days of Killian Jones [236/366]

[idristardis]

Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

Look buddy, i’m just trying to make it to Friday.

[idristardis]

Every Killian Jones Scene (2/???) ↳ S02E04 - "The Crocodile"

[idristardis]

CS Fic-in-Progress Snippet...

Heyyyy!! Here I am again, dusting off another fic from the partially-finished files...this one has sat in my Google Drive for literal years.

It's still not done, but I do have over 5K words so far and a good idea of where it's going conclusion-wise. In the meantime, I thought posting a 400 word snippet might help me with accountability (i.e. if other people know the fic exists, I will finish the fic, right? Riiiiight?).

Here goes!

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

Shrugging the soft cotton of one of her oversized sleep tees down over her head and shoulders, Emma stretches the worst of the kinks out of her back and talks herself out of just crawling right back into her bed, instead going in search of the caffeine that is definitely not brewing itself.

She bypasses the small apartment’s shared bathroom, figuring that Ruby won’t care too much if she’s brushed out her hair or washed last night’s makeup off her face - they’ve seen each other in far worse situations over several years of living in the same space. Ruby might tease her a bit, but it won’t be anything she hasn’t heard from her friend before (and given right back to her in equal measure).

Emma’s jaw pops on the tail end of a gigantic yawn as she reaches the end of their short hallway, rounding the corner into the kitchen. “Rubes...you know I love you...but right now, don’t look at me, don’t talk to me, and don’t even think of getting in between me and the coffee machine. I will stab you.”

The owner of the richly accented, decidedly male voice that replies is distinctly amused. “Good morning to you too, love.”

Emma’s head whips around so fast she’s surprised she doesn’t dislocate something important in her neck.

It’s not Ruby in their kitchen.

“You’re not Ruby,” she blurts out before her brain can catch up with her mouth.

Way to state the blindingly obvious, Emma, she thinks to herself, wishing she could get a “do over” on the last five minutes of her morning (or, better yet, reset to the very first moment she’d opened her eyes). But the aftermath of last night’s alcohol, combined with the lack of caffeine makes everything even more muddled around the edges, and she can’t be blamed for being less than on top of her game.

It probably doesn’t help that the person standing in her kitchen - currently shirtless and apparently brewing coffee - is none other than Killian Jones. The (unfairly) handsome and too-charming-for-his-own-good Brit who’d snuck his way into Emma and Ruby’s friend group a little over a year and a half earlier.

If he’d begun to sneak his way into Emma’s heart - or at least a few of her fantasies - a couple of months after that...well that was nobody’s business but hers.

[idristardis]

You rang?

hairy chests. you agree. reblog

[idristardis]

And So We Meet Again

OUAT/Captain Swan - Rated very mild T

A/N: Okay, so after four years (literally) and more than a few false starts and rewrites, I have at long last finished this Captain Swan fic. I received a prompt for a fic based on an "accidental hug" around four years ago, quickly wrote the first section of this fic and then, just...nothing. Somehow a month or so ago, I got inspired again, dusted it off, and wrote (and rewrote) sections two and three...and....voila! I'm both inspired that I could do it, and afraid that I've forgotten how to write...but here goes nothin'!!

I think I tagged everyone who asked - apologies if I missed you!!

Word Count: 3,669

Read it on: AO3

“Heeeeey, hiiiiii!” The cheery shout was all the warning Killian had before a blur of red leather and long blonde hair barreled into him, knocking him back a few steps and forcing most of the air from his lungs. 

(He managed to hang onto the bag containing Liam’s birthday present as her momentum spun them nearly all the way around in a circle - but only just).

“Er, hello,” he croaked, fumbling to find his footing and regain his breath. “I think you might have the wrong person, lass. I’m new to the area and I don’t believe we’ve met.”

The unknown woman looked up at him, and Killian promptly lost his newly restored ability to speak. She was…well, there was no word for it other than stunning. Wide, jade-colored eyes set under strong brows, a gloriously riotous golden tumble of hair spilling down over her shoulders, and soft pink lips that were stretched into a mischievous grin.

“I know we haven’t,” she replied, laughter coloring her tone. She didn’t seem phased in the slightest to be standing as they were, still pressed closely together. His arm had gone around her when they’d first collided - an instinct, purely to prevent her from toppling over, of course - and his free hand was pressed to the small of her back to steady her. One of her hands was braced on his shoulder, the other on his chest - as happenstance would have it, right over his heart. The warmth of her palms seemed to sink right into his muscles where she touched him, though her words put a bit of a damper on the situation. “And I've definitely got the wrong person."

“Oi! That’s not fair, lass. We barely know each other - you didn’t have to agree that quickly,” he teased, feigning a slightly offended tone. “You’d give a lesser man a complex.”

She raised her eyebrows before executing an impressive eyeroll and Killian found himself unexpectedly captivated and charmed. "I meant you weren't who I was intending to hug.” She shrugged slightly without ever stepping away from his arms. “It wasn’t a comment on the general state of your...uh...rightness.”

He chuckled. "I was only teasing - I’d gathered as much,” he murmured, smiling down at her. “Though I have to ask why, if it was an accident, is it...uh…still going on?” He tilted his head inquiringly and continued. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

She looked up and their gazes met and locked. Her eyes bored unblinkingly into his, searching for something - perhaps trying to gauge the sincerity of his words. She must have found what she was looking for, because after a long moment her shoulders relaxed and she huffed out a wry chuckle. “It’s kind of an embarrassing story.”

Killian simply looked at her patiently. “I’m sure it can’t be that bad. Why don’t you let me decide?” He tilted his head expectantly, silently prompting her and hoping that she’d continue.

She hesitated for a moment and he smiled encouragingly. “I don’t even know your name,” she mused, but he could tell from her tone that she’d already decided to share the story with him. For some reason he couldn’t quite put his finger on, Killian was very glad that she had - he’d only just met her, and all he knew was that he wasn’t ready for her to slip back into the throngs of shoppers packing the mall on this drizzly Saturday afternoon and disappear.

“Killian Jones,” he murmured with a wink, and a slight wiggle of his eyebrows. “At your service.”

She rolled her eyes again at his antics, but this time she also smiled back at him, something warm softening her gaze as they continued to stand close, inhabiting each other’s space. Without turning around, she tilted her head and jerked it pointedly a couple of times until Killian realized she wanted him to look in the direction she was indicating. “See that guy over there in the leather jacket? About two stores back and to my right?”

Killian scanned the modest crowd milling about in the nearby section of the mall’s main concourse. It took him a moment, but then sure enough, right in front of the bookstore, he spotted the man his new acquaintance must be referring to. He was tall, with warm brown hair that curled gently and a short beard. He was wearing a leather bomber jacket and dark jeans. Once he’d gotten a good look, Killian nodded. “Yes. Your intended hug-target, I assume?”

She sighed, though it didn’t sound sad so much as resigned. “Yep. That’s my ex. He’s...look, I’m probably about to overshare, but it’s the only way to explain, well, how we,” she gestured between them for a moment before returning her hand to his shoulder, “got here.”

Killian shrugged slightly. “I’m not judging you, lass.” 

“Right, right,” she exhaled deeply, seeming to gather her thoughts. “Okay, so...he’s a good guy, my ex, but it just didn’t work out. We dated, on and off, for about six months...ish, before deciding that we were better as friends, and then - almost before I knew what was happening, he got a job offer and packed up and moved to Portland about four months ago.”

“You stayed in touch, I take it?” Killian asked, curious as to where this story was going.

She nodded, glancing up at him again. “We’d been friends before we dated so we stayed friends after. He’s been back a couple of times to visit and whenever we see each other, I just sorta-”

“Gently tackle him?” Killian teased, prompting his still unnamed acquaintance to slap his arm lightly with the hand that rested on his shoulder.

“Basically. It was just kind of a joke, a harmless thing we did...something we always did, as long as we’ve known each other...but this time...it’s a bit complicated.”

Just then, a flash of movement in the near-distance off to the woman’s right caught Killian’s eye. A petite brunette with a kind face, wide smile, and bright blue eyes stepped out of the bookstore. She was impeccably dressed, all the way from her tidily styled hair down to the sky high heels that had looked impossible to walk in - though somehow she managed it with grace. Objectively, Killian could admit to himself that she was quite pretty - though personally he was far more captivated by the as-yet-unnamed stunner who was still wrapped in his arms.

The brunette approached the mystery woman’s ex, curling herself into his side and stretching upwards to kiss him - perhaps just a shade too passionately for the middle of the afternoon at the Storybrooke Mall, not that that really mattered to Killian.

“Ah, yep...yes. I think I see the...complication, as it were. They seem rather cozy, don’t they?”

“Uh huh...and that’s great for Graham. I’m absolutely thrilled for him - I just don’t want his new girlfriend’s first impression of me to be as a so-called jealous ex who, quite literally, can’t keep her hands to herself. Especially when I’m not actually jealous, you know?”

Killian nodded. “Makes sense to me, lass.”

“Unfortunately, Graham neglected to mention that he was bringing her on this trip...so I only found out when I spotted her for myself just as they kissed before she ducked into the bookstore a moment or two ago - but by then it was too late, I’d already-”

“Launched yourself at him?” Killian supplied with a chuckle, causing her to narrow her eyes at him and frown - though he thought he could see amusement tugging at the edges of her mouth. He raised his eyebrows at her, a wide-eyed, innocent expression settling over his face. She glared playfully at him in return - at least he hoped it was playful.

“Yeah, something like that…then had to adjust course last minute and, well, here we are,” she murmured, a sheepish grin finally breaking over her face. “Look, I’ve taken up a good chunk of your time with my nonsense, and you’ve been really great about it. But if they’ve gone, I’ve gotta go myself - Graham, or, well, I guess, they will be looking for me down by the fountain in the atrium, which was where he and I were actually supposed to meet. I’d just spotted him early and, well…you know the rest.”

Reluctantly, Killian pulled his gaze from hers and scanned the area behind her - quickly realizing that there was no sign of this mystery blonde’s ex and his current paramour anywhere. Glancing down at her, his lips involuntarily twisted in a wry grin. “Coast is clear,” he informed her, hoping that he didn’t sound as disappointed as he felt to have their brief, odd interaction coming to an end. He stepped back from her slowly, his arms receding, fingertips trailing lightly down her sides as he moved out of her space.

Maybe he was just indulging in a bit of wishful thinking, but it seemed that she was just as loath to pull away as he was, a slightly unfocused daze clouding her brilliant green eyes and making her look just a bit entranced before she shook her head to clear it. “Thanks, Killian,” she murmured with a smile. “It was nice to meet you - even if it was a surprise.”

He nodded in agreement as she stepped a bit further away. “I agree, love.” She turned and began hurrying away down the mall’s central walkway before something occurred to him. “Wait!” he called after her. “You still didn’t tell me your name!”

She turned, and though it was hard to tell with the distance now between them, he thought she winked. Her voice was decidedly mischievous as she called back to him. “You seem like a smart guy…I’m sure you’ll figure it out sooner or later!” After that, she turned away again and disappeared into the crowd of shoppers.

Killian chuckled to himself as he watched her go. “Oh, challenge accepted love….”

~*~*~*~*~

“Swan! At last…I’ve been looking all over for you!” Emma had only a moment to look up from the bakery window where she’d been moping over the empty bear claw display and turn to brace herself for impact before the owner of the voice with the smooth-as-silk British lilt (who had fueled more than a few of her recent daydreams if she were being honest) enveloped her in an embrace, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her into his side. 

For a brief moment, she was so lulled by the very tempting smells of leather, salt, and his deeply spicy cologne as it wrapped around her that she didn’t react much to being tugged against him. She enjoyed their close proximity for a moment, taking the opportunity to sneak an inhale of his amazing scent before giving herself a mental shake and pulling back slightly. Arching an eyebrow at him, she replied teasingly. “I see you managed to figure out my name after all - I have to admit, I’m kinda impressed.”

“Ah, I’d like to think I’m fairly resourceful, Swan,” he murmured, glancing back over his shoulder briefly before turning back to her. “But not to diminish my own skills…this is a very small town. It didn’t take too long to figure out that the sheriff likes to come into Granny’s diner a few times a week for lunch, or that you,” he tapped the badge fixed to her belt with the index finger of his free hand, “were said sheriff.”

“Well done, Jones,” she smiled at him again. “Although, I do have to ask…what’s up with, uh, this?” she swept her hand back and forth between them in a gesture that encompassed where the two of them were nestled together. “It seems we’ve found ourselves in a familiar position.”

As she indicated the lack of space between them, Killian sighed heavily and turned them so that they were facing the wide picture window on the front of All You Knead, but he wasn’t looking down at the remaining pastries the bakery had to offer. Instead, his eyes flickered up and to their left. He tilted his head closer to her, murmuring softly. “D’you see the two women across the street and down by the clothing shop?”

Emma forced away the cascade of goosebumps that started to skitter down her arm at the sensation of his breath washing over her ear and neck - get a grip, Emma! - and focused on the women he’d indicated. They were a bit far away, a couple of blocks or so, but the perfectly-arranged, designer black hat perched atop an artfully upswept tangle of red curls was unmistakable, as were the jagged, black-and-white asymmetrical locks that passed for an avant garde hairstyle in sleepy Storybrooke. “Oh…I see. You’ve met some members of our so-called local coven, have you?” she joked, a grin pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Zelena Mills and Cruella DeVille - and yes, if you can believe it, those are their real names.”

In turn, his lips pulled into a frustrated scowl. That should not be so sexy - stop it, stop it, Emma! “Bloody hell,” he muttered, “are they always so…so…”

“Invasive? Pushy? Disturbingly thirsty?” Emma supplied, her grin growing wider as she watched a pink flush spread down Killian’s neck and disappear beneath the collar of his button down.

“Yes, yes, and bloody damn-it-all, yes.” He shot a look at her out of the corner of his eye before returning his gaze to the window and keeping an eye on the other women in the glass. “I’ve run into them once or twice since my brother Liam and I moved here…usually when I’m in Granny’s or somewhere where there were more people about, but today…well,” he hesitated, “...they were a bit more…overt than they’ve ever been before.”

Emma tilted her head inquisitively and caught his eye in their window reflection. She wanted to return the favor of the kindness he’d shown her a few months ago when she’d gotten into a silly predicament with Graham and his new girlfriend. Echoing what Killian had said to her then, she nodded at him to continue. “I promise, you can tell me and I won’t judge.”

Killian glanced again at the women’s progress in the window and turned a bit, moving Emma along with him and starting to walk slowly down the street away from them. “I was in the clothing shop just a bit ago…looking for a few new shirts, mainly. Well, I was in the changing room and…” he trailed off for a moment and swallowed hard before continuing, “...the changing room walls are unfortunately very thin and sound carries rather easily from the main sales floor, which I suspect they might have known. They were not making any effort to hide what they were saying - and most of it was about me. Let’s just say that I’ve caught their attention in a way I never sought to, and their, er, carnal imaginations are rather vivid.”

“Oh my God, that is….well, that’s just awful.” Emma involuntarily shuddered a bit as she sympathized with Killian’s discomfort, but was still a bit puzzled as to how that led to her sharing the current moment with him. “But then why did you come sweep me up like you did?”

He chuckled slightly, and his free hand reached up and scratched at a spot just behind his right ear. “Well, that is both a happy accident and a bit embarrassing,” he said, looking down at her as they walked. “Er, I was so eager to get out of the shop and away from where those women were lying in wait that I just, well I guess you could say I bolted and headed right out the door. You just happened to be in my eyeline as soon as I left the shop…luckily for me. But honestly, Swan, I’d been hoping to run into you again for a while, so I was very glad it was you.”

“Well, I’m glad I could return the favor and help you out of a jam, even if it is a kinda ridiculous one,” she said with enough of a smile to let him know she was teasing. But then something caught her eye and she stopped in her tracks. “Uh, Killian, did you say that you ran out of the shop immediately?”

“Yes, why?” he shot her a confused look. 

“Uh, well, I hate to tell you this, but I think we have to go back there right away,” she turned around and his arm dropped from around her waist, but she caught his hand and before she could think too hard about what she was doing, she’d laced their fingers together and gently tugged so he’d fall back in step with her. 

“What? No! Swan, did you not hear the tale of my escape from perilous circumstances?” Killian protested. “You’re leading me right back towards the lion’s den, as it were,” he kept his voice low as they were once again pulling even with where Zelena and Cruella were headed towards them on the opposite side of the street. 

“A bit overdramatic, huh?” Emma laughed. “Seriously though, I did hear what you said…but I also saw this,” she thumbed at a tag that she’d noticed a moment ago, pinned to the edge of the pocket of the shirt Killian had on. “I’m guessing that in your haste to escape those perilous circumstances, paying for this shirt might’ve slipped your mind?”

Killian looked down at the tag and then at her with a chagrined expression. “Shite,” was all he muttered, before nodding. “Lead on, Swan, let me rectify my accidental misdemeanor before you have to take me back to the station with you.”

“Oh buddy, if you stole something from Mabel Tuffet - even accidentally - it’s not me you have to look out for,” she smirked at Killian as he let out a pained noise. “But don’t worry - I’ll help you explain it, or at least I’ll try.”

Killian shot her a genuine grin and a gaze whose warmth was so unexpected in that moment that Emma felt her face flushing again. “Well Swan, it would seem I’m doubly in your debt. How can I ever repay you?”

Emma grinned back at him, but hers was a bit more knowing around the edges. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

~*~*~*~*~

Nearly two years later…

“Hello love, fancy meeting you here,” Killian stepped up behind Emma and slid his arms around her waist. A low, pleased hum instinctively escaped him when she immediately leaned back against him. Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to the crown of her head and heard her sigh happily in response. “I’ve been looking for you since I finished up at the pub and handed off the dinner service to Liam.”

“Hm, I dunno,” he heard her say, her voice soft and gently teasing. “I would’ve thought this would be the first place you’d look.” She kept her face turned to the harbor as she spoke, and he could understand why. The pastel pinks and deepening purples of the twilight sky spread out before them over the pearlescent sheen of the water, boats and ships of all shapes and sizes bobbing and swaying on the slow rise and fall of the waves generated by a passing tugboat. Somewhere a dog was barking, but the sound was muted and echoed a bit, as if it were coming from further off down the shore.

It was, in a word, idyllic.

“You’re quite right, it should have been,” he murmured in her ear and pulled her closer to him. “I’m sorry t’have kept you waiting, love.”

Emma turned in his arms to face him then, smiling up at him with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. The waning light was just bright enough to lend a bit of luster to the rings that adorned her left hand as she slid her palms up the lapels of his jacket - that soft gleam was a sight Killian found he wasn’t yet tired of after two months. And it’s doubtful I will be after fifty years, he smiled to himself at the thought. Emma’s hands had continued up over his shoulders while he’d been lost in his musings, before anchoring themselves in the soft leather of his collar. “It’s alright…today was just a long day at the station, and waiting for you here gave me a nice chance to relax and unwind. Also, I got to thinking…”

“Oh? Should I be worried?” he teased, his own arms sliding around her waist and settling at the small of her back, feeling the cool press of his own ring against his other hand as he laced his fingers together. “Just what schemes are unfurling in that brilliant mind of yours, love?”

Instead of replying verbally, Emma smiled brilliantly at him before stretching upwards while tugging gently down on his neck, bringing their mouths together in a kiss that started out playful, but quickly turned sensuous…and definitely not appropriate for the very public Storybrooke waterfront park. Killian found he was having difficulty caring much though, particularly when Emma’s hands tugged on his hair and she nipped lightly at his bottom lip before pulling back and blinking up at him, her cheeks flushed, her hair mussed, and her eyes hazy but happy.

“...I was thinking that David has the overnight patrol and Liam’s got things covered at the pub, so you should take me home, we should turn off our phones, and, uhhm…” she fumbled her words a bit when one of his hands slipped into the back pocket of her jeans and pulled her impossibly closer, “...do a lot more of this…and perhaps a few…mmm…other things as well…” she murmured as he bent his head again, dragging his lips up the side of her neck until they were pressed against the shell of her ear.

“I have to say, love, I like the way you think.”

~*~*~*~*~ THE END ~*~*~*~*~

Tag List: @spartanguard, @hollyethecurious, @wingedlioness, @lenfaz, @shady-swan-jones, @teamhook, @bluestarburst1217, @lfh1226-linda