#BUT ITS STILL REALLY SWEET OF KILLIAN TO CARE

[lycorogue]

Latest Story: You Pretended Not to Care

HOO BOY! THIS STORY! (And by that, I mean the source material) I've barely written 3k words of fictional prose since 2022. Then I read through episode 20 of the webcomic adaptation of Not Your Typical Reincarnation Story (aka I Thought It Was A Common Transmigration), and I churn out a 7200-word BEAST to fill in that "fade to black" we got.

I did try to write this so even if you don't know/remember the source material you can still (hopefully) enjoy this sweet bit of smut. Hope I did right by all of you!

Oh! And btw, it wasn't until after I had this story edited did I go back and find the English translation of the original Korean webnovel. I'm pleasantly surprised at how close I was to the character's motivation and inner monologue. It was so cool to find out that I was able to pick up on the crumbs the author (and adaptor) left for me.

Also, in case it isn't clear, any italicized text between two chevrons (<>) is Killian remembering passages from Edith's diary. Also, for any who may be unfamiliar with the source material, or who might need a refresher, the reason Killian had Edith's diary in the first place was because she used it as a handwriting sample to prove papers were forged in her hand.

Finally, I tried really hard to make it evident when I switched POVs. If any part (or the whole thing 😬) feels "head-hoppy" please let me know.

OK! Enough stalling!

Summary: When Suna Choi reincarnated as Edith Rigelhof, the villainess of the novel Suna read the night before she died, she knew she had to do everything possible to avoid Edith's cruel execution at the hands of her own husband. Seemed easy enough to avoid the pitfalls that led to Edith's demise. She attempted to befriend the novel's protagonist Rhyse Sinclair. She refused to be her despicable father's spy. Most importantly, she wouldn't fall in love with her husband Killian Rudwick. His heart already belonged to Rhyse, and his arranged marriage to Edith wasn't going to change that. Despite her best efforts, Edith is still being forced down the same path as the original novel's plot. At least, that's what it seems like. But when Edith finally waves the white flag and decides to just follow the plot after all, the novel again has other plans. Edith steels herself for the next main plot point: a failed attempt to seduce her husband… except… this time it isn't going to fail…. **A more in-depth look at Episode 20 of the Webtoon adaptation that doesn't shy from the smut** Rating: Mature/Explicit (due to description of a sex scene) Word Count: 7,228 Status: completed one-shot Continue reading below, or find this story over on AO3 or on DA.

You Pretended Not to Care

Dreading what she was about to do, Edith cracked open Killian's bedroom door. She hated this. She hated it all. She hated that she had no control over this life either. She hated that her fate was locked in. She hated that she had no choice but to have the entire Rudwick family despise her. To have Killian hate her.

Worst of all, she hated how she didn't hate him in return. She wanted to. She needed to. It would make everything easier. Despite the past three months, though, she didn't hate her husband. What's worse, there were those quiet moments where he didn't seem to remember that he was supposed to hate her as well.

Those quiet moments -- those glimmers of hope that he could maybe learn to love her -- were the cruelest parts of this new life. Those breaths of fresh air where she truly believed that she might have found a home where she could relax and enjoy life. That she found a loving family. That someone could maybe fall in love with her. That she wasn't destined to have her own husband cut her down while she begged for his mercy.

She didn't want to advance the story to its next plot beat. It was too painful to be so vulnerable, and for that vulnerability to be twisted into manipulation and used against her. She had no choice though. That was now clear. Despite how much she fought to not be the Edith Rigelhof she had read about, despite showing kindness and humility and making every strategic move she could think of to avoid Edith's downfall, the story marched on exactly the same.

Edith purposefully didn't pick out dresses for herself while the dressmakers were at the estate, and she was still accused of being rudely disapproving, unappreciative, and entitled. She graciously accepted the dainty ruby necklace Rhyse picked out for her, and yet Killian's older brother Cliff still bought all of the other jewels for Rhyse in order to make a point. Just like in the novel. Edith wanted nothing to do with espionage and smuggling information to her father. She even sent him a letter stating precisely that. She was then framed and accused of espionage nonetheless. It didn't matter what she tried. The story was already written. There was no way to change it. The plot would just correct itself to keep following the path already carved by the novel.

Tonight, Edith will attempt to seduce her husband. There was no getting around it. The story would find a way to make sure of that. Even if Edith never left her room again, she'd probably still be accused of it; hated for it. She'd lose Killian no matter what she tried. She might as well lean into her fate. She could at least enjoy getting one kiss.

Edith stood beside Killian's bed. She stared at his beautiful face; his bangs fallen into his eyes. His white shirt was loose and partially unbuttoned, leaving a tantalizing view of his strong, broad chest. A chest she wanted to lie upon; to be held against. Edith knew she was doomed the second she set eyes on Killian. Not just because he was destined to literally kill her, but because – aside from his older brother's mesmerizing golden eyes – Killian was the most breathtakingly beautiful human she had ever seen.

She knew the deal. Killian was madly in love with his family's ward: Rhyse Sinclair. He'd spend his whole marriage to Edith loathing the arrangement and resenting his wife's very existence. It was impossible to win her husband's affection, especially away from the gorgeous and charming little Rhyse. There was no point in falling in love with Killian.

She couldn't resist no matter how hard she tried, however. Even before being reincarnated as Edith, Suna Choi had preferred Killian. He was the secondary love interest of the novel Stop Obsessing Over Me, Brother! She knew that his attempts were hopeless, that Rhyse and Cliff were end-game. Still, the way Killian loved Rhyse and supported her felt so much more sincere. Suna had wondered what it would be like for Killian -- or, really, any man -- to love her the way he loved Rhyse.

And then she was reincarnated as his wife in an arranged marriage. She saw him pine over Rhyse instead of her. Suna didn't fault him, though. It was that devotion towards Rhyse that Suna had fallen in love with Killian for in the first place. She didn't begrudge Rhyse for making Killian smile so brilliantly. She just wished he would smile her way now and again as well.

After tonight, there was no hope that she'd ever see Killian smile again.

Good, she thought, I can't keep pretending this marriage will ever work out. I can't keep holding onto hope. After this incident, please hate me like you're supposed to. So that I can resolve my own feelings.

Edith brushed her hair back and out of her face as she leaned down towards her husband. His soft lips were temptingly parted as he slept; beckoning. It would be the last bit of fun Edith would be able to have. She could give herself a treat. Make what she was about to do worth it.

Even with how cruel Killian had been to her, though, she couldn't do that to him. She knew that he was saving every part of himself for Rhyse. He was going to hate Edith either way, but she couldn't bear to take that away from him. She wasn't the villainess they had all decided she was.

Instead, her lips drifted to his forehead, softly brushing his bangs out of the way without use of her hands. She soaked him in best she could; inhaling his scent as her lips tenderly kissed his smooth skin, the tension of his daily scowling at her relaxed as he slept.

Her lips lingered a bit longer than they probably needed. She didn't want to pull away and give up the only loving contact she'd probably ever have with her husband. Edith needed it all over with, though. She retreated slightly, but still stayed close enough that her face would fill Killian's vision as he opened his eyes.

Now, when he wakes up, Edith thought, he'll look at me with disgust.

She wanted to avoid this next part so bad. She feared seeing what true disgust would look like carved on Killian's angelic face. She knew she'd seen close, and it pained her each time she remembered each of those cold, heartless looks. This would be a new level, though, and she struggled to not cry in anticipation.

Killian stirred oh-so-slightly. His breathing shifted. His lashes fluttered.

Here it comes. Get it over with, Killian. Prove to me that you will only ever hate me.

Edith expected a scowl upon him seeing her. Shouting. Shoving. A demand for guards to take her out of his sight. A berating for her vulgar behavior.

She did not expect Killian's right hand snatching hold of her left wrist.

Edith jumped back, tugging slightly against Killian's tight -- but still gentle -- grip.

“You pretended not to care this whole time.” There wasn't any grogginess in his sharp tone. It was as if he had been awake the whole time. Edith panicked that he had somehow known about her seduction attempt and had faked being asleep.

She wiggled to break free, but Killian tightened his grip. Edith was startled not by his strength, but by his control. His grip was firm, unrelenting, and a bit ravenous. But it didn't hurt. The tension made it seem like he wanted to hurt her, and yet his grip never once clamped down enough, as if something inside him was able to stop his muscles just before breaking that thin line.

“Are you now so overwhelmed with lust,” Killian continued, “that you can't pretend anymore?” He was sat up in bed. His head was tilted forward, knocking his bangs back into his eyes, giving him a mischievous, fox-like stare. He finally smiled at Edith, but it wasn't the warm, beaming, kind smile he would give to Rhyse. This was a lecherous smile full of cunning and the satisfaction of a successful hunt.

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen! Everything else had gone exactly how Edith had read it in the novel. No matter how she handled the situation, the end result was always the same. Edith was still accused of being vulgar and entitled after the dressmakers visited. She was still left with just the dainty necklace while Rhyse received the rest of the stock the jewelers brought to the estate. Edith was still accused of espionage, put under house-arrest, and eventually let go. It shouldn't have mattered what she did that night. Killian was still supposed to awake disgusted with her seduction attempt.

Killian's look was anything but disgusted though.

“No,” Edith choked out in fear. Her mind raced as she tried to sort out what Killian was planning on doing with her. “I just--”

“That's fine,” he interrupted. With the elegance and strength only gained from years of sword mastery, Killian yanked on Edith's left arm, pulling her towards his bed while also flipping her onto her back. In an instant, he was straddling her knees.

Edith's long, red hair billowed out behind her like a messy halo; pinned beneath her body. Her left arm equally pinned to the bed by Killian's stern grip still on her wrist. Her right arm was free, but it felt too heavy to move as Killian looked down on her with that mischievously lustful grin.

“Satisfy me, Edith. Seduce me like the Rigelhofs taught you.” Killian started undoing another button on his thin, white shirt. His eyes drilling into his stunned bride beneath him. “Who knows? I might end up attached to your body.” His voice got deep and had a voracious gravel to it.

What is he doing? This isn't right! This isn't how it was supposed to go at all!

“W-wait! Killian!” Edith willed her right arm to move, and she pried Killian's hand off of her. Without him pinning her down, Edith sat up best she could. Her eyes flashed with worry, panic, and confusion. She knew this wasn't what Killian wanted. It couldn't be. The novel version of him had no interest in Edith. He would never fall for her seduction attempts. He was too devoted to--

“Are you sure...” She took a deep breath. She didn't want to ask. She didn't want to hear his answer. She didn't want him to change his mind. She knew she had to be certain, however. “You'll be alright with me?”

Killian stopped undressing himself. The passion and thrill of the hunt flushed from his face as Edith looked up at him in full earnest.

“...and not Rhyse?” she finished.

A pain shot through Killian's chest and his stomach twisted slightly. Does she truly not care, he wondered, enough to bring up my feelings for Rhyse?

He pulled away, stepping off the bed and allowing Edith to sit the rest of the way up. Her eyes were so huge and sincere. It was hard to not recognize the surprise painted across her face. It made Killian want to both retreat from her and devour her.

Even if we were forced into a marriage of convenience... she really doesn't expect anything from me, her husband....

Her lack of expectation from him infuriated him. She was fully aware of his love for Rhyse, and she had resigned herself to a loveless marriage. Even so--

<His face is glowing and his body is so hot! I can't stop drooling, just thinking about him....> <I really think Killian is more my type than Cliff.> <I happened to see him wave at Rhyse-- I thought I might be blinded by his smile.>

Killian was giving himself to Edith, and yet she stopped him. Even when he thought he was offering her exactly what she desired she still expected nothing from him.

Killian wanted to satisfy her. He demanded that she satisfy him, but he knew he wanted it the other way around. He wanted to reward her words in her diary. He wanted her to keep watching him and desiring him. He didn't want her to give up her fight for his affection. He yearned for her to crave him.

He rested a hand beside her leg on the edge of the bed, then made it creak slightly as he leaned towards her. She leaned away, giving him space as she studied him and tried to figure out his angle.

His angle was lust.

With the blinding swiftness he used before to catch her wrist and pull her onto the bed, Killian pinched Edith's chin between his thumb and forefinger. Halting her retreat instantly, Killian leaned closer, bringing her face inches from his. He stared intensely into her large, uneasy eyes, and delighted in how his boldness caused those doe-eyes to soften and close slightly.

They were the furthest from Rhyse's eyes. Edith's large breasts -- raising and lowering in quick, short breaths -- were far from Rhyse's as well. Edith's full, supple thighs and curved hips were the opposite of Rhyse's slender frame. Her wavy, fiery red hair equally foiled the elegant fairness of Rhyse's straight golden-blonde locks.

Killian loved Rhyse. It was true. He'd do anything for her. He wanted to spend every waking moment with her. He delighted in her smile. He wanted to protect such a gentle and delicate woman. She was sunshine personified. He had wanted to give her his all.

Edith was the farthest from Rhyse that he could think of. Yet he also wanted to give her his all. In a different way. In a more primal way. He wanted to gift himself to Rhyse. He wanted to lose himself in Edith.

And yet, Edith hesitated when he offered precisely that. If this was what she wanted, why would she care if Killian would regret their night together?

“I should be asking you that question.” He whispered. Soft. Firm. Challenging. Playful. Aloof. Yearning. “Aren't you the one who was so confident in yourself that you would crawl into my bed in the middle of the night?”

She wouldn't believe him if he told her he wanted this. He wasn't even sure he could say those exact words.

Edith...

He'd get her to accept his offer. To forget Rhyse the way he did. This wasn't about her. This was about a man and his wife. This was about quelling a fire. This was about finally letting go and truly going for something he desired without hesitation.

Killian pressed his lips against Edith's.

Her eyes stayed wide; frozen in shock. Those lips weren't supposed to be hers, as much as she wanted them to be. They were Rhyse's. Killian had waited the last four years for her. He had never before felt the touch of a woman. Never tasted another's mouth. And yet he was pressed against Edith's.

It was a bit awkward. A little innocent, but still very lustful. Suna never felt this level passion before in her life. Either of them. It shot warm shivers through her core.

Killian ravenously pushed on her mouth with his own, trying to force her down. Edith retreated across the mattress, and he pursued her, crawling his way back onto his bed. His left knee wedged between her legs.

Edith's fear of the consequences and misconceptions of this night vaporized as Killian's kiss drained her brain of oxygen. This night alone didn't cause her eventual death, so why not enjoy the bliss?

With a gasp and slow exhale to steady his breath again, Killian pulled away. He towered over Edith as he remained kneeling with their legs interwoven. Before Edith could regain her own senses, Killian brusquely snatched her wrist once more.

<His face is glowing and his body is so hot!>

“After all the snooping and sneaking glances,” Killian aggressively teased, “now you can touch me all you want.” He finished unbuttoning his shirt and pressed Edith's right hand against his tight pectoral. With a shrug his undone shirt slid off his shoulders, revealing them to her as well.

Edith fiercely blushed as she remembered that Killian had read a portion of her diary when she used it to try to prove her handwriting was forged; that she wasn't the one who sent insider knowledge to her father. Her face and ears burned as she tried to mentally recount exactly what she had said about Killian; what he could have possibly read. How lustful had she been in her writings? Was he just toying with her to teach her a lesson?

“N-no,” Edith stammered in a panic, “that's not what I...” Her eyes darted from her hand on his chest up to Killian's deep, dark eyes. The puckish grin and challenging stare had both fallen; softened. Killian almost looked defeated; pleading. He couldn't have possibly wanted -- genuinely wanted -- Edith to lust after him, could he?

His chest beneath her hand was firm and silky, but it rose and fell in uneven, subtly quivering breaths.

That's right. Killian didn't know the touch of a woman before now. He wouldn't possibly go this far just to mess with me, right?

“What I mean is...” Edith relented. She pressed slightly with her finger tips, and Killian's grip loosened, more cradling her wrist than actually holding it. He gently directed her to follow the crease separating his pecs. Edith's fingers quaked against the soft ridges of his chest. Before her mind could catch up with her body, her fingers slid down to his abs. She outlined each one with her nails, memorizing the sensation as it shook through her.

Killian's muscles were all the more defined as he directed Edith to explore them. He flexed each one as her fingers wandered. He had to. It was the only way to keep himself from shivering at her touch. He wasn't expecting the tingles along his skin. He didn't anticipate how much his body would miss the delicate tickle of her fingers as they roamed to a different part of him. He wanted to collapse into her. He wanted to give her everything she desired of his body. He wanted to devour her in kind. He wanted to tear the nightgown she was wearing. Ruin his sheets. Decimate his mattress.

He had always been able to keep his desires in check before. He was able to have full control of himself. With Edith, however? With her feather-soft touch? With those fierce quips? With those saucer-large inquisitive eyes? With her quiet lusting for her husband? With that porcelain skin? He was becoming a beast and he needed to rein himself in.

“Are you happy now?” He asked her barely above a whisper. His voice strained as he struggled to contain himself. They hadn't even done anything physically strenuous, yet sweat already dotted his temples. He hoped Edith didn't hear him gulp down the sticky saliva making his mouth dry and his teeth hungry for her skin.

<I really think Killian is more my type than Cliff.>

He had never been preferred over his brother before. He was either Cliff's equal or he had fallen behind at some point. Killian knew his father would never overlook Cliff and name him heir of the dukedom instead. He also knew that it was pointless to think that he could ever win Rhyse away from Cliff. There was no world wherein Killian got what Cliff desired.

Killian didn't need to fight for Edith though. She was all his, and she preferred it that way. He wanted to make sure she would always choose him over his brother.

As he stared down at her, Edith melted at Killian's soft, flushed face. His tight voice rattled in her head; otherwise empty due to her brain traveling along with her fingers across Killian's exposed stomach. His hand giving her the guided tour. Happy? she thought, I could spend the rest of my life just touching this man's waist, stomach, arms, and chest...

Suddenly, she realized he had asked her a question that she didn't answer. Blushing harder, she focused on her hand traveling back up to his left pectoral. She was acutely aware of what she had been doing, and how humiliating it was that he had read her diary and then called her out on what she wrote via... this! She couldn't look at him. Not into those soft, pleading, lost eyes.

She tried to ignore the quivering in her voice as she answered. “Huh? Oh... I-I...”

Killian used his right hand to continue directing Edith's fingers as they skated across his chest. Meanwhile, his left hand found her ankle and started venturing its way up her leg, pushing up the skirt of her nightgown slightly as he did. His nails dug tantalizingly into the back of her calf just below her knee.

“Yes...” Edith breathed, finally answering Killian. Yes! Good Power Almighty, yes! In both this life and her previous one, she had never been more happy. She wanted this to go on endlessly.

Screw restraint. Edith's breathy “yes” was all Killian needed. That single word was filled with tension begging to be released. It broke Killian's willpower. He needed her now. His hand snaked from outside her gown to under it, feeling the silky lines of her bare legs. A fever raced through him and his groin twitched.

Like a taught fishing line, Killian's eyes darted to the nape of Edith's neck. That obscene lure that snagged him their wedding night. With an invisible yank of the line, Killian's lips crashed into her neck.

Edith gasped and twitched at the touch, which just made Killian linger there all the more. His teeth gently scraped across her collarbone and his lips brushed against her skin in phantom kisses. Each inch his mouth crawled caused her to squirm and gasp again.

This was a fun game. He wondered how many times he could make her quiver. Was it infinite? Would she eventually numb to his touch? Could he turn that gasp into a squeak or a moan?

I can't believe I find Edith Rigelhof adorable...

Her chest heaved in shaky breaths against his bare chest, and his heart raced knowing how undone he was making his fiery bride. His hand crept higher up her thigh, his forearm pushing the skirt of her nightgown up and over her knee. All of his slow, methodical, gentle touches made her shift and squirm, and it excited him all the more.

“K-Killian!” she gasped as her leg twitched against his touch.

There must be something wrong with me, Killian mentally berated himself as he shifted his weight forward, creaking the bed again.

Then it happened. Edith groaned. It was strained, like she was fighting against letting the lewd sound escape her lips. It was soft and deep and rumbled out of her chest.

Killian ripped his arms out of his sleeves and tossed his shirt to the floor. He then crashed right back into Edith, concentrating on her right collarbone this time. His hand reaching her bare hip as he rested more of his weight against her.

Edith's mind went blank. She knew she needed to keep her wits about her. She needed to strategize. She had to deduce how this act would be twisted by the story to keep the plot on track. Prepare herself. Find a way to at least lessen the blow.

Instead, her mind was filled with Killian's lips on her skin and his hand on her hip; wordlessly instructing her to strip. She was more than happy to comply.

Shifting her weight, Edith slid the back of her nightgown up to her waist so she was no longer sitting on the skirt. Lightning shot through her as her fingers entangled briefly with Killian's. She then squeaked out his name as his hand followed hers and he caressed her ass.

“What's wrong?” Killian roguishly chuckled into Edith's ear before nibbling on it. “No final words for me tonight?”

He was right. It was mortifying for her to be his putty like this. She needed to take charge. Just as she had always done with him. She had never allowed him the upper hand before. Every time he had pushed her she would push right back.

First, she needed to regain her bearings.

Edith arched her head to try to pull away from Killian's insatiable mouth. It backfired and instead left more skin for him to explore, making her squeak with surprise. Her nails scraped across the sheets, and she gathered whatever loose cloth she could into her tightening grip. Her toes curled. Her stomach flipped. She had failed. She didn't want Killian's lips to ever leave her skin. She panted his name once more as she submitted to him.

Shifting his weight to better balance himself, Killian kept his left hand exploring Edith's leg and hip. His right hand then traced its way up her spine, searching for the tie to her nightgown. Upon feeling the soft ribbon tail, he tugged. Her gown loosened. The neckline instantly drooped and slid off her right shoulder, granting Killian more real estate to traverse. As his lips and left hand continued their private expeditions, Killian's right hand traveled back down Edith's spine, making her shiver at his touch.

His middle finger caught the buttons along the ribbon at Edith's waist. It was a bit more work to slide them back through their restrictive loops than he expected. Despite normally being a very dexterous person, Killian was clumsy with his unbuttoning, and he growled his frustration about it into Edith's shoulder. Gasping, Edith grabbed the back of his head and held him against her skin. Her hips shifted in his grasp as well. Her left leg pushing against his right, spreading herself more for him.

Killian's chest tightened. His nails pressed against her hip. He slid his left leg over, shifting her leg as well. A new fragrance wafted into the room. It made his head spin and his heart race. Cradling the back of Edith's head, Killian broke from her grasp and collided with her lips.

Running on an autopilot she didn't even realize she had, Edith massaged Killian's lips with her own, demonstrating the proper way their mouths should dance. Her tongue gently tapped against his lower lip. He instantly granted her entry, and she gingerly ventured into his mouth. He greedily pushed back, nearly choking her.

She pulled back with a gag, and Killian instantly stilled. Heat billowed off of them both as they stared each other down, studying their partner for their next move. Cradling each side of his face, Edith gently pulled him down to her. She gave him a cautious, closed-mouth kiss. He allowed her to set the pace, so she tested the waters with her tongue again. His lips parted hungrily and welcomed her inside. She gently pushed against his tongue before trying to wrap her own around his. Understanding, Killian responded in kind. Softly this time. He let her take the lead as his mind instead focused on her buttons again.

Edith rested her head against the bed, and pulled Killian down with her. She left her back arched for his hands to undo her buttons. The new angle helped him, and they unfastened all the easier. Each time she felt her nightgown loosen a bit more around her waist, Edith ran her nails across Killian's back. Finally, the third button was released.

Realizing his task was done, Killian sharply inhaled Edith's scent. Pulling away from her mouth, he slowly let his breath back out with a ravenous sigh. His hands roamed her bare legs. Her hands explored his back. His heart pounded in his ears. He couldn't believe the next step he was about to take. There would be no undoing this night. He would never be able to pretend it didn't happen.

“Killian?”

Her voice was too gentle. Too breathy. Her eyes were too wide and pleading. Her hair looked too enticing sprawled out behind her on his bed. Her skin was too soft. Too warm. Too welcoming.

“Tell me what you want, Edith.”

“I--” She studied him. This was her out. She could escape before this whole thing went any further. They'd regret this in the morning. She knew that much. At least, Killian would regret it the moment his lust was satiated. She just needed to tell him no, and he'd probably let her leave.

She couldn't deny what she wanted though. The weight of his body pressed against hers was too sweet. The slight roughness of his swordsman-calloused fingers sent electricity through her. Her body was feverish and her mouth was dry and starving. She'd break if they stopped now.

“I want you, Killian,” she whispered.

That puckish smirk returned, along with a glint in his eyes.

“What do you want from me?”

“Whatever you are willing to give.”

“What if I already did that?”

Edith's face fell. Of course he was just teasing her, playing with her. Her face burned with embarrassment and desire. She curled in on herself, and nibbled her thumbnail to try to release some tension.

“Do you wish for me to leave then?”

Killian's stomach flipped as Edith looked up at him with a little pout. Watching her bite down on her fingernail made him instantly miss her mouth. He wanted to hear her pant again; moan again; to gasp out his name again. He would never sleep again if he didn't know those sounds by heart.

He leaned in so his lips were tantalizingly close to hers. “I wish for you to tell me specifically what it is that you want from me.”

Her gasping breaths tickled his lips. Edith's mind raced for the right answer. She knew this was a test of some sort. Her brain was too full of lewd thoughts though. Now wasn't the time for strategy. Before she could finish calculating, her mouth blurted out, “I want to feel you.” Her eyes darted towards his waist before blinking back to match his gaze. “All of you.”

Killian's crotch twitched. In an instant, his tongue was in Edith's mouth again, and his hand was tangled up in her hair. His free hand scrambled for the bottom hem of her nightgown, and he was startled to find her hand already pulling it up for him.

They broke away from each other, and he hurriedly peeled her gown up and over her head. He didn't look at her skin as it was exposed. Instead, his eyes followed the cloth as it slid up her body and through her long, thick hair before it dropped to the floor. When he turned back to his bride she sheepishly had her arms over her chest and her knees pressed against his leg still wedged between them.

Could Edith Rigelhof be shy about her body?

With a tenderness Killian didn't understand, he brushed his fingers against her exposed collarbone. He then played with her shoulder for a second, drawing a few circles and causing Edith to shiver at his touch. He then traced her arm down to her elbow, and then across to her wrist. His hand never ventured towards her breasts, instead concentrating on the goosebumps growing on his wife's arms.

Edith squirmed beneath him. Her breath quaked in anticipation. She fought the urge to just grab him and do whatever she needed to satisfy herself. She felt so close to the brink as it was already, it wouldn't take long.

What is he doing? she thought as Killian's feather-light touch skated across her skin. Why is he so--? It kept her a second to realize the word she was looking for was sensual.

She was still nervous about letting him fully see her. True, he had watched her in the tub their wedding night, but she was able to partially cover up, and the rose water obscured his view slightly. Killian's room was dark, but this was still different. He could destroy her at any second.

She didn't take her eyes off his face from the moment her nightgown was tossed to the floor. That fox-like mischievous hunger he first had when he caught her in his room was gone. As his hand traced her arm his eyes had a soft concentration to them. He focused on exploring every inch of her skin with genuine curiosity. His upper teeth brushed his lower lip, as if fighting against biting it. He gently pressed his knee against her bare crotch, and Edith resisted grinding against it.

Why isn't he simply taking me?

Then Edith remembered how new Killian was to all of this. As flustered as she might be, she still had some experience in her previous life. Killian didn't. When his hand reached her wrist she relented to his touch and let him pull her arm away with ease. With her free hand, she cradled his face and brushed his cheek with her thumb.

“Edith.” He whispered her name. He had no clue why. It was like a prayer. Like a confirmation that he wasn't actually asleep. She was there. She was waiting for him. She was gorgeous.

He started at the nape of her neck, then kissed down to her cleavage. He tasted the faint salt pooling along her skin. He felt her chest shiver at his touch. He focused on her soft panting. Her breasts were so velvety. He never imagined how pillowy they actually were. As his lips and tongue explored her chest Edith moaned again.

“Killian--” She sharply inhaled as he switched to the other breast. “Please.” She whimpered slightly, but held his head in place.

Hearing her plead with him awakened the animal instincts in him once more. In a flash, his pants were off and on the floor. He then grabbed behind each of her knees and angled her so he was pressed against her soft flesh. She gasped at him simply knocking on her door. Her heat engulfed him. Juices already welcomed him.

“Do it again,” he growled. It wasn't malicious. He meant to demand this of her, but his voice came out wanting.

“Hmm?”

“Plead.” He hoped she didn't hear the pleading in his own voice.

Edith's nails dug deliciously into Killian's upper arms as she weakly tugged on them. She looked up at him with her large, saucer-wide eyes, her eyebrows pinched in yearning. “Please,” she whimpered. “Keep going. Don't stop.”

Killian's crotch twitched again in response, and he thrust forward, causing Edith to cry out. His angle was off and he instantly knocked into bone.

Edith winced, but truly didn't want him to stop. She pulled his hands down to her hips. Then laced her legs around his waist, holding him in place so he couldn't retreat. She then shifted her hips and arched her back. As she readjusted around Killian he rubbed against her clit and she cooed.

“Are you okay?”

Edith blinked up at him.

Did he seriously ask me that?

She nodded. “Slow. Please?”

He complied. At an achingly slow pace, he slid out of her until just his tip remained inside. He then slid back in just as slowly, allowing Edith to shift and readjust his angle as he crept back into her. He watched every inch of her shifting body and blushing face.

“Like this?”

Edith whimpered out an affirmative as she bit her lip.

Killian gave her a couple more slow thrusts to memorize the proper angle. He felt like he was going to burst at this pace though. His whole body vibrated as he ached to build up the pressure faster.

“I can't keep going this--”

“Faster,” she interrupted. “Please.”

He gladly complied. Noting the angle he needed to be in, he shifted them both so he could thrust his hips faster. Edith cried out once more, and Killian instantly paused, nervous that he hurt her again.

“No. Please. Keep going,” she panted. “Like that. Please.”

He did as his wife asked of him, causing her to squeak and moan some more. It was becoming Killian's new favorite sound.

“Killian.”

No. Hearing her pant out his name like that. That was his new favorite sound.

He leaned in and kissed her neck and along her jaw. She shuddered at his touch and ran her fingers through his hair.

Suna had boyfriends in her past life. She had slept with them before. It wasn't terribly frequent, but she wasn't inexperienced.

Nothing felt as good as Edith felt in that moment, though. Her body was feverish. Tension was knotting in her stomach. Her mind grew foggy. Her skin tingled. Killian's body was the exact weight to counter the pressure building inside her.

Maybe it was the learned vigilance of a swordsman. Maybe it was because Killian was a virgin. Maybe it was because he was exploring and experimenting. Maybe it was because he was subtly looking to Edith for direction while pretending he was still in charge himself. But Edith had never known a man so attentive. Every changed note of her moans told him where to press. Every shift in her breath directed him where to kiss. Every mew that escaped her lips informed him of how fast he should be going. A few sharp gasps instructed Killian on where to focus while inside her.

“Killian,” she panted again. She was cresting the hill. Her whole body felt so tight. She didn't realize that sex could feel so amazing. She wanted more. She didn't want Killian to ever let her go.

His back was clammy against her greedy hands. The sweat from his chest mixed with hers. His primal grunts and growls only made her body heat up faster. His face remained buried in her neck and chest.

“Edith,” he gasped, causing her heart to skip. She didn't want to admit until that very moment that she had been wondering if he was just picturing her as Rhyse. That he was ignoring who he was actually sleeping with. That he was using her as little more than a sex doll stand-in for his true love.

“Edith, moan again for me.”

He quickened his pace again. One hand anchored him to the bed. The other wrapped around Edith's back and latched him to her. He rocked his hips, trying to remember to grind against her slightly as he thrust into her.

Edith's chest tightened as her breath became harder and harder to catch. She bit her lip and groaned against the tension. She whimpered with longing and pinched her eyes tightly closed. The pressure in her crotch increased, but the one against her stomach lessened.

“Edith.” Killian's voice shook as he struggled with his own tight chest. “Look at me.”

She did. She released a breath she forgot she was holding, and opened her eyes. He wasn't pressed against her anymore. He had pulled far enough away to look at her; watch her face again. He grunted as he quickened his pace once more, slamming hard into her. She didn't care. She needed that extra pressure as well. She winced, trying to trap a scream inside her throat.

“Don't.” He brushed her lip with his thumb. “Don't hold it in.”

He grunted and gasped as he climbed to his own climax. With an animalistic drive, he did whatever he needed to finish. He barely slid out of her, keeping the pressure of her vagina firmly wrapped around him.

Every inch of Edith felt too weak to do anything but let him use her. Still, she wanted to repay him for his efforts, so she tightened herself best she could. She instantly felt him pulse against her, and she screamed out. She didn't try to muffle herself this time.

Her constricting around him, followed by her crying out in ecstasy was the final push for him. Loudly moaning himself, he released all of that built up tension inside his wife. She responded in kind. Her back arched and she rocked onto the back of her head. Every muscle within her tightened like a rope about to snap. Her toes curled and her nails dug into his back. He felt her hips shift and her walls pulse around him; squeezing him dry. She cried out with a high pitched scream of pleasure, and her legs shook against his hips.

Both spent, Killian collapsed against Edith's chest. Her legs flopped to either side of him, and she melted under his weight. They both struggled to catch their breaths, but Edith had little problem running her hand through Killian's hair, petting him.

Killian was the first to even out this breathing. Gently, he lifted himself off of Edith and brushed his sweaty hair out of his face. Her hand rested against his chest, not ready to separate from him.

“Edith,” he whispered once more.

She couldn't respond. Her own breath was still too shaky.

Tenderly, he untangled himself from between her legs.

Here it comes. Edith looked away from him. He was satiated now. His senses would soon come back, and he would throw her out of his room; instantly regretful for his lapse in judgment.

Killian took her in. He watched her start to curl into herself again, her eyes tightly closed against him.

Is she nervous that I will want to go again before she recovers?

Killian brushed her hair out of her eyes and kissed her forehead.

Edith's eyes shot open, and she turned to face him. “Killian?”

He didn't say anything. He simply snuggled next to her and rested his head on her shoulder. He then pulled the sheets up around them.

“You should stay here tonight.”

She blushed as she nodded, then rolled onto her side. Killian's arm snaked around her waist and pulled her close to him. His body heat wrapped around her was soothing, and it wasn't long before she fell asleep in his arms.

Killian felt Edith's breathing slow as she dozed off. Her body relaxed against him. Her scent filled his nostrils, making him feel a little dizzy. He didn't hate the sensation though. Despite common sense screaming otherwise, he didn't hate anything that happened that evening.

He had been relieved to find out that Edith had woken up earlier that day, but didn't know how to approach her. He had feared that he was part of the reason she had fainted in the first place. He had assumed that she no longer wanted anything to do with him.

His heart had danced when he caught her in his room. She looked so earnest and innocent it had overwhelmed him.

Then he was inside her, and he never imagined a feeling so amazing. It took all of the willpower he had earned from years of training to not climax after that first corrected thrust. He couldn't let that opportunity go by so quickly. He focused on Edith instead of his own euphoria as best as he could to make it last.

Besides, after everything, didn't he owe Edith that much?

Killian kissed the crown of her head and pulled her in tighter.

What am I going to do with you, Edith Rudwick?

He buried his face into her plush locks, and fell into one of the deepest and most restful sleeps he remembered having.

[pasta-in-the-pudding]

Thank you sososososo much for all the killian writing you do, it's *chefs kiss* 💋 💋💋 that beautiful man owns my entire brain and i love how you write him as a sweetie, in my fantasy he'd be my prince charmng and sweep me off my feet 🥹💗

do you have hcs about how he'd spoil and pamper his gf? The ways Killian would shower you with love?

Love u and your writing, stay hydrated and get rest 💗💗💗💗💗💗

Omg this is one of the most sweetest asks ive ever gotten <33

Remember to also take care of yourself, drink water, eat food, take meds (if you have any!) And enjoy life <3

Note: she/her pronouns are used

Thank you so much for requesting!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How killian spoils you

Killian's love language is physical touch

Not in the clingy way, rather in a way where when all else fails him, he just lets his body speak for itself

Which happens quite often

He has so many feelings- so many complex feelings

And its things he can't explain with mere words

So he communicates to you via soft touches and kisses

When he showers you with love it is in the most tender and heartfelt way he can think of

His favorites are taking you head in his hands and kissing you all over, and of course, cuddling with you

When he cuddles you its always in a slightly protective position, with him holding you tightly and as close as he can, whispering sweet nothings into your ear and telling you how much he adores you

You make his heart ache and his knees weak, he just doesn't know how to convey that to you in words

Despite gift giving not being his main love language, it still sneaks its way in there sometimes

For instance, maybe he sees something he knows you'll like ("signs", he calls them) and that will set him off on a whole rampage of just getting things for you

"Oh, Y/n would really like this...Oh! That's Y/n's favorite soda! I might as well get it for her....and what good is soda without a snack? Perhaps I should get her some more cozy blankets...you can never have too many"

And on the drive home...

"Hey, that's Y/n's favorite fast food place! Well, since I'm already headed towards it I might as well..."

He ends up coming home with so many things in his arms, and a dopey love struck grin on his face

"I uh...didn't mean to get this much" he says sheepishly, setting all of your stuff down and awaiting his "welcome home" hug and kiss

You can't help but smile at him, your poor silly boyfriend

He will also spoil you in other things as well!

For example, if you like to get your nails/hair done, he will of course pay for you!

If it makes you happy, and makes you feel pretty, he is more than happy to pay for it

Or if you are someone who likes doing other things such as getting piercings or tattoos, he will also pay for those!

And don't even get me started on this mans pampering

An example would be, if you had a bad day, he will usher you out of the house, giving you a wad of cash and to go spend it on whatever you'd like

While you are off doing that, he would clean up your bedrooms, bathrooms and living areas

He will order your favorite food (he can't cook to save his life)

And the grand finale, when he knows you will be arriving home soon he'll begin to run your bath

Nice warm water that he puts bath salts, flower petals and bubbles in

He lights a few candles, turns off the lights and sets up a nice little bath table for you with your food on it, and if you'd like, he can set up a speaker with your favorite music or a movie on the table as well

As you get home, he helps you set down your things and tells you that he has a suprise for you and to close your eyes

He leads you to the bathroom, where he lets you open your eyes to the scene around you

A nice warm bath, good food, and your coziest pajamas laid out for you to wear when you get out

He will ask you if you want him to stay or leave, and will respect either choice you make

If you ask him to leave, he will begin setting up his bed with comfy pillows and blankets, as well as some nice drinks for you two to indulge in

If you ask him to stay, he will sit by you on the floor, either listening to you as you rant about the bad day you had

Ir alternatively, he will be your shoulder to cry on if you just need to let it out

Or maybe you just want silence, and that is ok too, he will press gentle kisses to your damp shoulder and massage your back

All around, definetly one of the best boyfriends

[lmelodie]

(rolls in one day late with Timmies)

FOR THE STORY. THING. FAKE TITLES:

Shower Thoughts

Highway to Hell

Sweet Tooth

(there are a lot of songs stuck in my head rn, blame the last two on that!!)

Shower Thoughts

This could be an itemized list of random shower thoughts for any one character. And that could be interesting all on its own but it's also not a fic lol. 

This is definitely a Jack's Journal type of thing. That thing is very stream of consciousness with a bunch of random little one offs. Going through the entries in chronological order and watching him slowly lose his mind and his grib on the self imposed delusion he's been living in.

Gradually going more and more outside the lines and scribbling wherever he can in a desperate attempt to feel less alone. 

Frost patterns in actual ice and in pen are drawn on the margins as he rants about all those who have wronged him and about how he was sabotaged from the start. Lementing that he can still prove everyone wrong somehow. 

Sweet Tooth

Halloween! Lucy takes up apprenticeship with Kills for the month of October and goes around with him while on the job, steeling whole ass buckets of candy from doorsteps

And Lucy being like: man you really are just a horrible person aren't you?

Killian: I try >:)

She gets a little more of an insight on how he operates. He does actually have a heart under all the persona that loves his city of trash goblins more than anything. He pushes people around and threatens anyone in sight, but he takes care of his own. 

And might MIGHT be coming around to jack now. Maybe a little more than planned. More than he knows yet but Lucy picks up on it LOUD AND CLEAR, but saves it for another day. 

She takes home a lot of candy that day.

This could also be one for somebody's birthday, but it could also be for literally ANYONE'S birthday but I think I'd like to see Jack try and struggle to get Lucy something she would like. He doesn't know what teenagers like! Besides not listening to authority so he would try and look all over for some food thing she would like before gaining a braincell and being like:

Wait...I CAN JUST MAKE SOMETHING! FUCK!

And then he does :) he over thinks the whole thing.

Highway to Hell

Lucy, Ryder and Vic go on an adventure trying to see how far into the crystal caves they can go. Vic warns them that the workers down in the depths do NOT like strangers in their caves, but they decide to go anyway and promise to be quiet.

They do not.

Insueing chase scene commences as they fend off attacking goblins while riding an out of control mining cart through the caves. 

[accio-ambition]

I remember having a really tough time trying to connect this chapter to the sentiment I wanted to give off, but it came out great. Some of my favorite (and oldest) parts of writing are in this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it. As always, thanks to @sotheylived, @shipsxahoy, @queen-icicle-fandom, and the crew over at @captainswanbigbang, who I will never be able to thank enough. But, most importantly, thanks to YOU. My mother would be appalled: you guys are all leaving wonderful comments and kudos and reblogging and whatever else and it's taken me eight chapters to thank you. My deepest apologies, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she’s happy in the city. It’s where the most camera operating jobs are, and that’s how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she’s never been with people she doesn’t know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But when the captain of the ship she’s filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: M Content warning: Character death, some violent situations

FFnet/Ao3/Cover/Snapshots/Gifset

Chapter Eight

It’s way past her bedtime, especially knowing that Jones told her the Roger is leaving tomorrow at 5 a.m., which means she needs to be up by no later than four. But Emma’s let the laundry sit for too long as it is and now that it’s on her mind, she’s not going to sleep until it’s at least folded.

 As she’s setting the last of Henry’s shirts on top of the dryer, all of the clean clothes ready to be put away, she hears hurried footsteps above her. Henry has been asleep for hours, so that either means that someone’s broken in - doubtful, but one can never be too sure - or something’s wrong with Henry.

 Trying her best not to panic, Emma jogs upstairs to find the light beneath the bathroom door illuminated. She knocks cautiously. “Henry?” she murmurs. “Are you okay in there?”

 Though there’s no verbal response, the knob does turn and click open a crack. Emma pushes in, unsure of what she’ll find.

 Settling back into his position curled against the toilet, far too pale for her 10-year-old son in the middle of summer, Henry moans. Sweat beads on his brow and his eyes look hazy.

 Without a second thought, Emma kneels down beside him, brushing matted hair away from his face. He’s burning up. Emma reaches beneath the sink and wets a washcloth, patting it to the cheek that doesn’t rest against the toilet seat.

 “Mom,” Henry mumbles. “I don’t feel good.”

 “I figured, kid.” She busies herself with running the cloth over his hair and down his arms. “Do you still feel like you’re going to throw up?”

 Henry nods weakly before alarm widens his eyes. The simple movement must set off something, and he’s leaning over and into the toilet in the next blink. All Emma can do is run her hand up and down his back and wipe away the tears that follow in an effort to calm him down.

 “It’s okay, kid, it’s gonna be alright.”

 Sniffing, Henry swipes at his mouth. “I hate being sick,” he grumbles.

 Emma chuckles and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “I know.” She shifts her body so she can hold him a bit easier, comb her fingers through his hair.

 Luckily for them both, Henry doesn’t get sick that often, but when he does, it’s an ordeal. One time, when he was about six, Henry contracted pneumonia and it nearly killed her. She had to take two weeks off to take care of him, and while she loved every minute she spent with her son and not with the random annoying crew she was with that month, the bills did not.

 Eventually, Emma manages to maneuver Henry back into his room, a bucket at his bedside and a cup of ice on his table. He sleeps in fits and starts, his fever not yet broken.

 She knows he’ll be okay - the doctors tell her he’s healthy at every check up - but it still worries her. Nobody was around when she was his age or younger to comfort her, offer her advice to settle her stomach, or spend the night making sure her fever wasn’t getting any worse. The only person she had as company was herself.

 So Emma spends the night in his bed, Henry sinking into her side comfortably when he does manage to sleep. If she gets more than an hour of sleep tonight, she’ll consider it a win.

 When her alarm goes off at four, Emma gets up silently and prepares for the day like a zombie. She almost takes her phone into the shower, the heat of the water shocking her system with one foot in and her fingers tapping away at a text asking Ruby to come over and watch Henry. She responds quickly, already up to help Granny make breakfast.

 I’ll have to help Granny in a min. H might have to hang here during my shift.

 That’s fine  , Emma replies.  As long as he’s quarantined. Don’t think Granny wants to infect her customers.

 By the time she somehow stumbles down to the dock, Emma’s awake enough to pass as slightly hungover. Thank god the water is calm or else today would’ve been a total waste in filming.

 (She feels like a total waste. How she managed to return to the harbor unscathed and without falling overboard is a miracle.)

 After a far-too-late night and an early morning of filming, Emma goes to Granny’s for a quick pick-me-up. The coffee there isn’t anything close to Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts or whatever big name chain she relied on in the city, but there’s a hint of something more pleasureable in the old woman’s drink that makes Emma think it tastes better. It’s, like, love or something silly like that.

 “Hey there, sunshine,” Ruby greets her from behind the register.

 “You know what I like,” Emma says on a sigh.

 “I do indeed.” Requesting the required funds with an open hand, Ruby rings her up and shouts her order back to the kitchen. After they both hear Granny’s grumbled response, Ruby look back to Emma. “I’m assuming you’ll want to see your son as well.”

 “That would be appreciated.”

 With a crinkle of her nose, Ruby moves from behind the counter and heads through the door that connects to Granny’s inn. Emma knows that, on the days where Ruby’s in charge, Henry likes to spend his time in a bay window on the second floor of the bed and breakfast. It’s secluded, as she suggested, and it looks right over the harbor, something that she’s sure he finds comforting.

 (Her son’s watching over her, or that’s what he’d try to tell her.)

 Emma busies herself by looking over today’s specials - meatloaf and lasagna, hopefully not on the same plate - when the diner door opens and the bell above it rings merrily.

 “Of all the gin joints.”

 She’d know that voice anywhere. It makes her roll her eyes abnormally hard, actually spinning her vision around. She’s spent enough time with him in close quarters today as it is.

 His voice must be boisterous enough to make it through the kitchen door to Granny, who yells back, “We don’t have gin here, boy.”

 Despite her best efforts, Emma chuckles along with Jones. “Yes, Granny, I’m aware, it’s merely a saying,  ”  he amends.

After stifling the rest of her laughter, Emma faces him and gives him the stink-eye. “You say that like there’s another place I could grab coffee at this hour of the day.”

“There is.” Of course there is, she thinks. And of course he’s not there while she’s here. Of course. “The Busy Bee isn’t too far from here.”

Emma sighs dramatically, turning her attention back to the wall behind the counter she leans on. “Well, then I know where I’m going for all my coffee runs now.”

 “Now, don’t be a spoilsport, Swan,” Jones tsks.   “  Look, if you want to be alone, I’ll let you be.”

Thankfully, Ruby returns at this point with her to-go cup in hand and a styrofoam box in the other. “Here’s your coffee to go and your waffles,” Ruby says.

 “I didn’t order waffles,” Emma corrects her.

“Henry did,” Ruby clarifies. “He’s just finishing up his chapter, so he’ll be down in a jiff.” She hands the coffee and container to Emma before twirling around and heading back to the kitchen.

Jones clicks his tongue behind her, causing Emma to roll her eyes again. “Ah, so it’s not just the coffee you’re here for,” he says. And then, sort of out of left field, he asks, “When will I get to meet the lad?”

 Her internal monologue says never, but her mouth forms the words, “Not before he’s healthy enough to go back to camp.” At his perturbed look, she explains, “He’s sick. He had a fever and was throwing up last night.”

 That seems to catch him off-guard. Jones’ eyes go wide and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “Why did you come today?” he inquires.

“Because it’s my job?” It’s obvious, isn’t it? She’s the breadwinner - the only one - in her house, which she still has to pay off, along with groceries and bills and rollback deals from Henry’s birthday presents. Money doesn’t come from trees.

 He opens and closes his mouth a few times before he shakes his head. “We could’ve held out and gone tomorrow or promised not to do anything interesting today,” he tells her.

 “No, that goes against the whole concept of reality TV.”

Jones scoffs and rolls his eyes, making Emma’s brow raise. “Come now, Swan, you and I both know you guys are going to edit the shit out of whatever you film. We’ve already got a pool on who’s going to be the prick of the show. My money’s on Victor.”

 They’ve come to a lull in the conversation, Emma unsure of how to continue. He’s got a point: when all is said in done, not much reality goes into the reality show.

 (And Jefferson was leaning toward making Whale the douchebag. He just lent himself to it so well.)

 The moment comes to a close when Jones starts scrambling, his hands patting at all his pockets. He leans over the counter to grab one of the pens and pieces of paper by the register. Swiftly, he scribbles something across the paper and slips it into her hand.

Emma glances down at it, a line of numbers across the page. “What’s this?”

“The next time you need to be mother,” Jones says, pointing emphatically at the paper, “call me and we’ll figure out a plan of action for the day that works for both of us.” His expression softens to something Emma’s never seen before. “Your lad needs you, love. He was in your life before me and my crew came along and he’ll be in it long after we’ve parted ways. Never feel the need to put this job above your son.”

She can’t help the grin that crosses her lips at his words. “Thank you, Jones. Truly.” Folding the paper in half, Emma slips it into her pocket. She picks up her coffee and Henry’s waffles and takes a step toward the door. “And I’m just going to gloss over your move.”

 “Move? What move?” Jones asks, one brow cocking up sharply.

 “Using the opportunity to let me stay at home with my kid to give me your number.” Emma grins wider, her teeth peeking out to bite at her bottom lip. “Don’t think I’ll forget it.”

Mimicking her smile, she catches Jones’ tongue skim across his teeth. “Trust me, Swan. I don’t want you to.”

 She rolls her eyes as her back runs into the diner door. “Goodbye, Jones.”

 Just as she knew he would, Henry’s patiently waiting for her on the sidewalk outside the inn. He’s leaning against the fence, still entranced by whatever book he’s reading this time.

 (She really is lucky that her son has taken to books and not technology when boredom hits. Sure, he loves his video games, but that’s something she can control. If Henry had a smartphone, Emma isn’t sure she would ever talk to him in person again.)

 As she approaches, Henry shuts his book and smiles up at her. Silently, she hands her son his box of food. He opens it to make sure it’s what he wants, then takes a delighted whiff.

 “Sorry, I got caught up talking to someone,” she explains.

 “Who were you talking to?” Henry asks, turning toward home.

 “A guy from work,” Emma says. At his raised brow, she rolls her eyes and wets her lips. “It’s the captain of the ship I work on.”

 “Really?” His voice goes up an octave, he’s so thrilled. “Can I meet him?”

 Emma shakes her head and ruffles his hair. “Maybe.”

 “I’ll behave, I promise,” he pleads.

 She chuckles. “It’s not you I’m worried about misbehaving.” Taking a sip of her coffee, Emma thinks on the idea. “Besides, you kind of met him. We were on his brother’s boat on the Fourth of July.”

 “But I didn’t talk to him.” Of course he didn’t. Because she didn’t introduce her son to either of the Jones brothers and Henry knows better than to talk to strangers. “C’mon, Mom.”

 “We’ll see,” Emma sighs. And then, as mothers do when they tire of trying to explain adult dynamics to their children, she changes the subject. “How are you feeling? Better?”

 “Mom.” He holds up the takeaway box. “Waffles cure anything.”

 She laughs outright, and pulls Henry’s shoulders into her chest. “How could I be so silly?” She kisses the top of his head and pushes open the gate to their house.

[initiala]

Oh hai.

It's not dead or abandoned! Remember how I started this for @cssns​ 2018???? Just, y'know, life happening, and also several global catastrophes. But it turns out that writer's block is really cured by procrastination, which is why I was able to finally figure out some spots I was stuck on while not packing up my apartment to move.

Please enjoy this overly delayed post-wedding fluff and smut.

Also on AO3 and FF.Net

______________

The holidays weren’t really something she paid attention to, not after her parents died. Her mother had loved any excuse to have a party and Emma had grown up with the nondenominational trappings of Christmas in their house, but the tradition had died with Snow and David when she was sixteen. She normally spent the last week of December pulling extra shifts at work, covering for people who had families and wanted the extra time off, and never had a second thought about it. The Pack had their own holidays, particularly around the solstices, but nothing compared to the warm, colorful parties of her childhood -- and frankly, nothing ever would. 

So when their short honeymoon fell over Christmas Eve and Day, Emma didn’t think anything of it. Killian made no indication that he celebrated it, and when they returned home on Boxing Day it was to a chilly apartment without any of the decorations that dotted the windows up and down their street. She turned up the heat a little while Killian took their bags back to the bedroom to be sorted out, and she double-checked the windows were locked tight while turning on a few lights in the living room.

The colorful twinkle outside meshed with the light snowfall in a way that made her heart twist painfully in her chest, a flash of her mother’s laughter ringing in her ears and a brief memory of her father cornering her mother under the mistletoe. Her thumb went to the band on her finger, a lump forming in her throat, and she remembered why she normally worked herself to the bone this time of year.

Work was a distraction from missing them.

“Emma?”

She whipped the curtains shut to put an extra layer between the cold glass and the warming room, between herself and her memories, and turned to face her husband as he came into the room. “Love, what’s wrong?” She shook her head, but his large hand engulfed her own as it went to discreetly wipe at her eyes. “Darling, I don’t know if you’ve forgotten this but I can smell when you’re sad,” he said, his voice soft as he pulled her into his embrace. “We’ve been home five minutes, you can talk to me.”

Fuck, she hated talking about her feelings and her parents and particularly her feelings about her parents. But she’d promised -- she’d vowed -- that she’d be more open and honest with him, and she was fairly sure he wouldn’t be able to get lucky and guess what all of this was about. She hadn’t told him enough about her parents to let him put all of the pieces together. “I just… I miss my parents,” she said softly, and let him hold her as he made a sympathetic noise and murmured soothing things in her ear. “Mom really loved this time of year. She threw the best parties, one year she actually got fairies to make it snow inside and me and the other kids had a snowball fight. She loved the colors and the whole family thing and she really loved the smell of pine trees -- it kind of gave my dad a headache. But we made it work because Dad always said how it put an extra sparkle in Mom’s eye and he loved her enough to put up with it. I normally try to work a lot through this time of year, everyone wants extra time off, but I was kind of hoping this year we could have some new memories to make this time of year less sad. And it helped, it really did, but then I just saw the lights outside and the snow and it just… it hit me a little harder because I’ve been trying so hard not to think about them. So I miss my parents and I’m sorry this time of year is going to suck no matter what and--”

Killian shushed her softly and she realized she was crying as he thumbed the tears from her cheeks. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he said. “If I’d known… well, I don’t know what I would have done. I can’t blindfold you everywhere -- well, I could, but not in the fun way --” He grinned as she swatted him on the chest. “So testy, my love. You don’t have to be sorry about missing your parents. You just need to let me know, so I can comfort you or let you sit and mourn them in peace, or drive you to distraction. And if I need to do so more this time of year, well, let it be my burden to bear. You don’t have to bear this alone, Emma, you can always rely on me.”

And didn’t that just make her get teary all over again? “How the hell do you always know the right thing to say?” she asked, burying her face in his chest.

“Because I’m magic,” he rumbled under her and she pinched his side. “And we’re too alike, you know. Now, what do you need?”

She sniffled and took a breath, taking mental stock. They really needed to unpack and get everything sorted out for laundry, but while that would keep her hands busy her mind would wander and she really didn’t want to keep thinking about the past. But she knew that leaving everything until tomorrow or the next day would bother Killian; she didn’t want to be alone right now, either. “Can we bring the bags back out here and watch TV while we unpack? I know you just put them away but--”

He was already nodding, though, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Whatever you need, love.”

Since he’d been the one to put them away and she was being the emotional asshole, she figured it was only fair that she bring the bags back out. She had no idea how he’d done it all in one trip, not with how narrow the hall was and how much she disliked scuffing her baseboards with the wheels, and surreptitiously eyed them as she made multiple trips back and forth.

No scuffs. “I’m magic,” she mumbled in a sarcastic imitation of her husband’s accent, shaking her head.

Killian had the TV on to the classic movie channel and the unmistakable scent of chocolate lingered in the air. “Dash of cream liqueur, whipped cream, and cinnamon,” he said, handing her a mug as she sat down.

Emma smiled into it, letting the warmth of the drink and the liqueur slide into her belly. “Did I ever tell you Mom’s the reason I like this?”

“Mm, no.”

She watched as he deftly unzipped the largest bag and started sorting through it; she’d done little more than toss everything in without caring about wrinkles, and the whole thing reeked of sex and wine -- they’d had not nearly enough of both over the last few days, but apparently enough to let the scent sink in to all the fabric. A different kind of warmth settled under her skin, but she wasn’t in the mood to act on it just yet. “According to my dad, Mom drank this all the time when she was pregnant with me. Her biggest craving; not that she didn’t like it before, but it was like another level. So then it became our thing, once I was old enough to have some, just sitting together on the couch or in the kitchen or wherever, with our matching cocoa with cinnamon.”

Killian glanced over at her, a glint of mischief in his eyes, and her heart swelled suddenly with reaffirmation of how much she loved him. His bangs fell over his forehead in a way some might call rakish, but when he looked at her like that -- lips quirked up in amusement at his own joke he was about to tell, unable to hide his glee at his own cleverness -- she could only call it boyish. “Sweet tooth before you were even born, eh Swan?”

Maybe not a joke then, but teasing, like they were twelve and he was pulling her tail. “I’m a wolf of taste,” she said loftily, setting her mug aside and pulling up another suitcase to go through. “Unlike some mangy curs around here.”

“Mangy cur?” Emma squeaked as she found herself pinned under him on the floor, his nose brushing against hers and heat flooding her body. His grin promised absolute filth, the hard length of his body pressed against hers deliciously, and the scent of his arousal was enough to make her dizzy. “Didn’t realize we were comparing pedigrees here, princess. Too bad you’re stuck with the mangy cur and not some stuffy purebred.”

“I happen to like the mangy cur,” she whispered, their lips close enough to tease.

“Good,” he growled. “Because he likes you too.”

She moaned into his kiss, which was far gentler than she was expecting, and he let up on her arms enough to allow her the space to embrace him. Her fingers threaded through his hair, then down his back, where she teased the patch of skin revealed by his sweater riding up. “Emma.”

He pulled back and she smiled at how he already looked wrecked. She glanced over his face, refamiliarizing herself with the little details she already had memorized but still loved looking at: the old scar on his cheek, the ginger hairs in his beard, the little freckles and the way his eyebrow seemed to jump up on its own when he got curious about something. He caught her eye with his again and one corner of his mouth ticked up, a sudden shyness in the way his eyes darted around, like he wasn’t sure she was staring at him . “What?”

She shook her head, reaching down and slipping her hands into the back pockets of his jeans, earning a surprised -- and pleased -- noise from him as she pulled him in for a quick kiss. “I just… really love you,” she said when they parted.

His cheeks reddened, but just around his cheekbones, and she loved that she knew that detail about him. If she was further back, she’d be able to see his ears turning the same color, and if she really got to him she’d be able to get his nose to match. She liked the way he could get around her, quiet and unabashedly himself, someone who couldn’t take a compliment seriously and waved off words of praise. It drove her a little crazy, but she’d made her vows to voice her feelings to him and she was going to make good on those vows.

“I love you too,” he said, his nose brushing against hers, and he leaned in to kiss her again.

The laundry could wait.

 ---------------------------------------------------------

“ There she is!” Ruby hollered, ignoring the glares from the other bar patrons.

Emma also ignored the knowing looks on both Ruby and Dorothy’s faces as she shrugged out of her coat. She knew her hair was mussed and she had beard burn on the side of her neck -- Killian had a particular fondness for this dress and the lack of coverage it provided -- and she was definitely late for their night out, but she only felt the slightest hint of guilt over that. Besides, both Ruby and Dorothy knew what it was like to be newly mated, so they could cut her a break. “Hey, thanks for saving me a seat.”

She flagged down a waitress to take her drink order and then grabbed a handful of peanuts. “So… how’s it going?” Ruby asked in a sing-song.

“Babe.” Dorothy elbowed her.

“What? She’s got sex hair and she reeks of it. If that’s her excuse, she’d better dish.”

Emma rolled her eyes, cracking open a shell. “We didn’t have sex, thank you, he just… made it hard to leave.”

“Oh I’ll bet something was hard.”

“Ruby.”

The waitress arrived with Emma’s drink and they ordered one of those mixed appetizers platters to share, as well as another round of drinks. Emma gulped half of her drink after the waitress left again before saying, “I won’t kiss and tell.”

As Ruby made a face, Dorothy reached for her own peanuts. “Some of us appreciate that.”

Emma downed the rest of her gin and tonic; she hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate it, and seeing as how this was a wolf bar the drinks were made to match their metabolisms, but this was the first time she was getting to hang out with her friends since her wedding and she wanted to have fun. Tipsy, ridiculous fun, with no husbands and no responsibilities. Girl time. Catch-up time.

Only, she realized as the conversation started to actually move towards catching up on each other’s lives, she just had stories about Killian.

“Okay, I forbid you to talk about your husband for thirty seconds,” Ruby said, pointing a french fry at her for emphasis. The appetizers had been replaced by entrees, and Emma rolled her eyes as she took an enormous bite of her burger. Fine, she’d just chew instead. “You have to have been doing something other than banging each other silly or going to work.”

Emma took her time with her food, drawing out Ruby’s challenge and taking some small joy in the agitated tick in her friend’s eyebrow. “Well it’s not like you don’t know what I do for work,” she said finally, reaching for the ketchup. “And we’re in a post-holiday lull, so it’s gonna be a bit before things get interesting.”

“One of us has got to get a different job,” Ruby declared, while her mate rolled her eyes indulgently.

Emma didn’t bother to respond, instead flagging down the waitress for another G & T. There was definitely a happy buzz going on under her skin and she wanted it to continue; the burger would only dull the effects before too long.

“Bitch on the prowl, ten o’clock,” Dorothy said suddenly, looking towards the door.

Emma and Ruby turned to look, with what felt like most of the bar’s patrons and staff following their lead. A woman she didn’t recognize was taking off her coat, revealing a dress that would send normal humans rushing to her side in an instant; here, it only added to the allure of her scent. She was obviously in heat, unattached, and looking to rectify the situation.

Already two men were walking towards her, jostling one another to make her acquaintance first; Emma just looked back to her tablemates with a look of resignation. “They’re not wasting any time,” she said.

“Neither is she; she must be the first one of the season,” Dorothy said, watching the situation near the door with mild interest.

“Just glad it isn’t me this time.”

“If there wasn’t any concern about like, us not being turned into a science freak show, I would absolutely watch our version of a trash dating show.”

“Babe, we have too many seasons of Love Island on the to-watch list as it is,” Ruby said.

“Correction, we don’t have enough seasons of Love Island on the to-watch list.”

Emma glanced back at the display happening on the other side of the bar, letting the sound of her friends teasing each other blend into the rest of the noise. This woman was definitely taking no prisoners, making eye contact with one of the men while her hand rested almost possessively on the arm of the other, her lips spread into a wide smile. Hell, she was charmed by this kind of display, especially when the woman demurely glanced at the second man under her lashes for a moment. Maybe Dorothy was right about a dating show… She watched as the woman laughed at something one of the men said, throwing her head back to give everyone a good look -- and smell -- at her neck, and Emma found herself dazedly wondering when she might be able to slip away back home and ravish her husband.

“Oh no, we’ve lost her.”

“Pheromones side effect, tragic really.”

She blinked back to attention. “What?”

Ruby looked annoyed, but Dorothy at least seemed sympathetic. “She’s still in the honeymoon phase, babe, it’s gonna be a while before everything settles down. The coming season doesn’t help.”

“Okay, you can stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Emma snapped. Her drink had been refreshed without her notice and she downed it. “I get it, I’m sorry, I’ll shut up about Killian and whatever.”

Ruby started to respond, but Dorothy silenced her with a look. Whatever silent argument they had, Ruby lost and she huffed as she went back to her meal. The reaction stung -- it’s not like Emma hadn’t sat through hours of Ruby pining and then gushing over her own mate, she could stand being the recipient for a while -- but Emma felt it wasn’t worth it to argue and ruin the evening by just turning it into a fight.

Eventually, they started talking again, Ruby breaking first with some pack gossip. The night never got to the raucous levels any of them might have hoped it could get to, but was overall a nice time and Emma even forgot about getting her feelings hurt. It felt good to get out of the house for a while with friends -- but when someone wolf-whistled as the woman in heat from earlier waltzed out with an entirely different man clutched possessively at her side, Emma thought it might be even better to get back home to her mate.

Even short periods of absence seemed to make the heart grow fonder.

 --------------------------------------------

As the new year rolled through to its second month, Emma and Killian quietly celebrated the one-year anniversary of their meeting, marveling at how much had changed in just a year. Killian noticed that Emma seemed to greet each day with increasing wariness, and his own awareness of the mating season coming into bloom turned into some kind of insatiable itch under his skin.

He’d never participated in mating season before meeting Emma. He’d been soured from pursuing any sort of relationship after the disastrous affair with Milah, and even when he’d been half underwater with alcohol he’d decided he’d never again get snared by any she-wolf’s trap. And to his embittered mind, mating season was just another trap, luring men into siring pups or trying to turn a one-night tryst into a long-term commitment. Even after he’d sobered up and straightened himself out, he’d still felt the sting of rejection in his phantom limb and did his best to stay occupied and aloof in spring.

Until Emma.

He’d known from the start that she was different, that chance encounter with her packmates. She had fire, and the way she’d immediately come at him on the offense had piqued his interest immediately. Then the wind had shifted and he’d immediately known what the source of the problem with her packmates had been, the full-blown scent of a bitch in heat burrowing down to awaken his most basic instincts. He’d done his best to remain a gentleman and let her walk away, as she’d clearly had no interest in acting on her own hormones, and once her scent faded on the wind he’d walked away as fast as he could without rousing anyone’s suspicion. He’d thought that was the end of it, until a chance meeting at a bar led to a delightful night of conversation and drinks…

And the most wonderful, passionate woman he’d ever had the pleasure to offer himself up to the next day.

Poor love had been so miserable when he’d come to see if his magical hangover remedy worked for her that he’d hardly reacted to the overwhelming bouquet of Emma in heat. He’d acted immediately to try and rectify the errors in her spice cabinet, mixing his potion and letting her recover. And as he tidied up the mess he’d made, it became increasingly hard (in many senses of the phrase) to ignore the fact that he was absolutely surrounded by pheromones and the obvious lingering scent of everything she’d done to relieve herself of the ache over the last several days. And when she’d emerged from her blanket nest again and stood there with only a shirt and her knickers and legs that went on for miles and giving him every last chance to run before they’d do something they’d regret?

He’d never wanted someone more in his entire life, mating season or not.

It wasn’t long after he returned home, he realized that long weekend in her bed (and her shower and her kitchen… and one particularly enjoyable occasion with her back pressed to the window and the lights in the living room turned off to keep the outside world in the dark to their activities) would never be enough for him. Liam accused him of moping, his friends thought he needed to get out and meet someone new to get Emma out of his system.

Looking up now, watching her enter the room shyly and holding out a simple padded envelope, he knew just as well now as he’d known then: he could never get her out of his system, even if he tried.

“What’s this, love?” he asked, accepting the envelope from her as she settled in the crook of his arm.

“Early valentine’s present,” she said simply.

They had a reservation at a restaurant that day, so he was a little confused as to why she didn’t want to simply wait until then. “Any particular reason why this is an early gift?”

Her scent changed, a little surge of arousal, and amusement laced her voice, “I kind of figured it was safer to give these to you in private.”

Well now he was intrigued. “Very well then, thank you and I accept.”

Reaching into the envelope, he felt photos -- a stack of actual printed, glossy photographs. He glanced down at his wife -- fuck, he’d never be over that, his wife -- and watched her chew her bottom lip nervously as he pulled the photos out. 

Each photo featured Emma in some way, posed and primping and perfect in all her glory. These weren’t amateur photos by any means, and even her hair and make-up looked like someone else had done the job -- not that Emma did poorly at her own appearance, but she wasn’t one to add such accentuation to her eyes to give them that smoky effect. Killian swallowed hard as he went through each photo, his heart thumping especially loud in his ears: Emma looking directly at the camera in some sort of modernized glamour shot; Emma from behind, shot from the waist up, looking coyly over her shoulder as she slipped a shirt -- was that one of his? -- down her arms to expose her back beneath a wave of blond curls; Emma laid out on dark satin, her hair spilled around her like a halo, wearing what was definitely one of his button-downs and nothing else from the way she gripped it closed. “Emma, how did you--” his throat felt nearly as tight as his pants as he paused at the next photo, her eyes downcast as she lay on her stomach, the curve of her breast visible in the opening of his shirt.

“I am people who know people,” she said simply.

On and on it went, all of them sensual or titillating without pushing the envelope enough to qualify as lewd, until the last one: she reclined on her side, propped up on her elbow, on a pelt that matched her own. Completely bare, her back faced the camera, her hair spilling down her shoulders as she looked to the side, not quite looking over her shoulder but enough to give the viewer a look at her demure profile in an otherwise completely shameless photograph.

“Jesus Christ, Emma…”

She rested her head against his shoulder, by all appearances merely a content wife who was pleased her husband liked her gift, rather than the mischievous seductress she truly was. Minx. “You like them?” she asked.

“Very much. And may I add, excellent call on a private viewing,” he murmured, nosing her hair. “Had anyone else even glimpsed these, I would have had to rip their throats out with my teeth.”

She hummed and he grinned as her scent flared. “The whole murderous, possessive alpha male thing shouldn’t be such a turn on,” she commented, and squeaked as he hauled her up in his lap.

Placing the photos on her lap, he tapped the last one with one finger. “This one should be blown up and professionally framed, I might hang it up in my office. Your arse is a work of art, love.”

“It is,” Emma agreed, “but wouldn’t that go against the whole ‘if anyone else saw these I’d kill them in cold blood’ thing?”

He tweaked her nose; she really was a terrible mimic of his accent. She always made him sound like a Mancunian somehow. “I didn’t say it had to be the main office, and while I admit that intimidating any potential contractors to a better profit turnover would be better, I can’t say I’d be able to get much work done with such a distraction.”

“And it being in your home office would do any better?”

“Well,” Killian said, drawling on the l’s, “for one thing, I wouldn’t have to travel far to take care of any, ah, problems that might arise from a viewing.” Emma snorted, no doubt feeling exactly the sort of problem he spoke of pressed against her bottom. “Though why would I need to look at this if I have the real thing waiting for me?”

“Who says I’ll be laying in wait for you?” she asked, poking his chest. “If our history says anything, I’m the one who pounces on you the moment you walk through the door.”

“Or sooner.”

“Or sooner,” she said. Looping her arms around his neck, she tilted her head. “You really like them?”

He opened his mouth, prepared to remind her that he’d already answered that, but then he noticed the slight furrow of her brow, the nearly invisible downturn of her lips, her wide eyes flicking between his as she tried to read his expression. Killian softened, in several ways, remembering how difficult she found it to be vulnerable; he suspected the act of posing and taking the photographs had been easy -- Emma was a beautiful, confident woman and she knew it -- but now came the hard part: seeking approval. “I love them,” he told her seriously, tightening his hold around her. “A pale substitute for the real thing, but this on my desk,” he flitted through the photos to the glamor shot, “will remind me of the gorgeous woman I have waiting for me at home. And get me through the long , hard days when we don’t see one another.”

She gave him an overly patient look at where he’d emphasized his speech. He leaned down and kissed away the wrinkle between her brows, breathing her in. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve someone such as you, my darling, but I’m grateful every day to whatever thread of fate drew us together.”

Her breath hitched and her arms tightened around him. She shifted, tilting her head up to kiss him; the intensity of it nearly overwhelmed him, telling him without words how much she loved him and appreciated what he’d said. He felt her fingers in his hair, grazing the sides of his face and neck, her lips moving against his with a hunger he recognized well. “Let’s move these,” he rasped, doing his best not to just throw the pictures all over the floor, “before we make a mess of them.”

Killian gladly let Emma take control then, pushing him flat on his back on the couch and straddling him. “Show me what you really think,” she said, and whipped her sweater over her head, the offending garment falling almost protectively over the stack of photographs on the floor.

 ------------------------------------------------------

The dream started the way it always did: she was sixteen again and her body wasn’t cooperating as she tried to climb the height to the challenge grounds. Most of this was pulled from memory, the sounds of her mother and Regina fighting, the bitter cold, the tang of blood on the wind, but while the stones under her were covered in ice and snow, she’d been able to climb with only a little trouble. She’d been more worried about what she’d find than making sure her feet were going in the right place.

In the dream, though, it was like moving through molasses. Images came in flashes -- her mother lunging and scoring a blow on Regina’s side, Regina’s snarl and the moonlight glinting off the ceremonial silver knives, her father bleeding to death on the ground. Her voice stuck in her throat as she tried to scream for help, like her mouth was sewn shut.

She was helpless to stop what was happening; she always had been, and even in a dream she couldn’t change the reality that her parents had been murdered in front of her.

But for the first time she was able to get to the top, only to find Regina fighting Killian instead of Snow. He had no knife, no weapon at all, swinging wildly with his fist and kicking where he could, but Regina seemed to have the upper hand as she dodged his every move. It looked like she was completely fine with letting him tire himself out first before she had to do anything; Emma tried to scream, tried to get them to stop -- why would Killian be fighting Regina? -- but her mouth wouldn’t work.

Killian lunged and Regina dodged with ease, moving on the offense for the first time as she slammed her elbow into his back. He fell with a cry and suddenly a rifle was in her hands. A crack sounded in the frozen night and then Killian lay still on the ground.

Her body moved, freed from whatever had trapped her in place. Regina was gone, and Emma flung herself at her mate’s form. He lay sprawled on his stomach, a dark, wet patch spreading across his back in the same place where he’d been shot last fall. She packed snow against the wound, an animal cry ripping from her throat in a desperate plea for help. She turned him over, trying to see if he was conscious, but he was white as death and as cold as if he’d lain there for hours instead of moments --

Emma woke, a scream stuck in her mouth as she fought to get the blankets that were tangled around her and constricting her movements off. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she tumbled to the floor; the solid impact shook off the confusion between dreams and reality, but it couldn’t get the image of Killian bleeding out in the snow out of her mind. She curled in on herself as her mind blended it with the same sight of her parents that she’d relived over and over again for more than a decade, her chest aching as she tried to stifle her sobs.

It was late, but she hadn’t gone to bed as Killian had still been at work. She’d dozed off on the couch, something she hadn’t done in a long time—in the last few months, the combination of Alice’s crystal magic and the ever-present scent and feel of their mating bond in the bedroom had helped ease both of their night terrors. Their den represented safety and security, giving them peace of mind to rest easily.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

Emma took deep breaths, trying to calm down. She reached for where she’d left her phone, using the hem of her shirt to scrub her face dry with her other hand, and checked to see if there were any messages. A few warm tears leaked out still, even as she checked the time and noted that Killian had texted not long ago to let her know he was on his way home.

As if on cue, the sound of keys in the hall reached her ears, and a moment later they scratched at the lock and then the door opened. “Sorry I’m so late, darling, I—what happened?”

He was at her side in an instant, gathering her into his arms. She lay her head against his shoulder gratefully. “Bad dreams, it’s nothing.”

“Sweetling, the fear-scent hit me full in the face when I came in, it’s not nothing.”

His heartbeat under her ear soothed her, some of the lingering tension in her shoulders easing with the steady thrumming. Her arms went around him and his hold tightened, just a little, as if he could protect her from her own demons just by holding on tight.

She wished he could.

“Bad dreams,” she said again, clearing her throat after her voice came out thick. “A lot of the same, mixed up together in a shitty new brain cocktail I didn’t order.”

He knew about the recurring dream with her parents, and the newer ones from the incident in the fall, so it wouldn’t be hard for him to put together what she meant. He kissed the side of her head. “I’m sorry, darling. Why didn’t you just go to bed?”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep out here. I was waiting for you to get home and just nodded off.” Her book, forgotten until now, lay face-down on the floor, pages bunched up and wrinkled now from when it had fallen from her lap in sleep. “If I’d known you were staying that late I would have just gone to bed.”

Killian sighed. “I’m sorry. I was working on a contract and needed feedback from the overseas partner; it’s morning in Singapore so I knew I could get prompt replies. I should have said something earlier.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No, but I still feel terrible.” He kissed her again and stood, bringing her up with him. “Come on, let’s have a nightcap and you can tell me how to make it better.”

She smiled wanly. “I just need you. That’s all I need to make it better.”

Emma allowed him to lead her to the kitchen. “You have me, Swan, you know that. You’ll always have me.”

 -------------------------------------------------------

She woke slowly to the gentle, teasing press of lips against her own. There was a murmur in the back of her mind that sounded like ‘ wake up, darling ’ and she had the bewildering sensation of being in two places at once before a finger brushed against her neck and arousal surged through her body. Instantly she felt more alert, kissing Killian back with newly awakened vigor, and he groaned as she pushed him back, reversing their positions so she lay atop him. “Cheater,” she accused, only allowing them a moment to breathe before coming together again. 

He stroked her mate-mark once more and the swell of arousal almost hurt; she clenched her thighs together, trying to ease the ache that lay between them, but Killian’s hand moved down, coaxing them apart to tease his fingers between her folds. “So wet for me,” he murmured.

“Yeah, I wonder why,” she said, biting her lip at the feel of his fingers on her flesh, the warmth pulsing through her body, the sparks of pleasure with every stroke. He ducked down, pressing his lips against her neck and she whimpered at the touch, feeling like she was melting into putty in his arms. “ Tease .”

“I’m a cheater, a tease,” he murmured against her skin, punctuating each word with another kiss. “What’s next? Scoundrel ?”

She cried out as his fingers thrust home, filling her with that delicious stretch she craved. She could feel him moving his fingers inside, teasing her further, and she didn’t know how she wasn’t just soaking his hand with how turned on she was right then. With each thrust of his fingers, he seemed to lift her up and it took her far too long to realize it was a combination of his own urging and her unconscious compliance as she rose up above him. She threw one leg over his waist and felt the head of his cock bump against her thigh; Killian withdrew his fingers and she looked down to watch him rub her juices off his fingers onto his cock as he took it in hand, quickly positioning himself in place for her to sink down on top of him. "Oh fuck me," he moaned as she began to move, her lips finding his mate-mark.

His fingers dug into her hip as she rode him, skin slapping as she chased her pleasure. The combination of their teasing each other’s mate-marks was driving her nearly insane with lust -- she barely noticed when she peaked, the need for more clawing its way through her veins. Killian protested when she lifted herself off him, but he seemed to pick up on the general plan when she turned and got on her hands and knees.

She gasped, sharp and shallow as he pushed in again, her hand grabbing a fistful of blanket for purchase. He felt so much bigger this way— always had since the way he’d taken her that first time. "If we're going to do this like animals, might as well look the part,” he’d said then, and she certainly felt like an animal now as she pushed back onto him in earnest, back arching and throat rough as she keened, pleading for more.

“Greedy girl,” Killian panted through grit teeth, his hips slamming against hers as she cried out. “Drenching my cock, begging for it.”

“ You woke me up,” she retorted, gasping again as he hit a good spot. “There--do that again, fuck .” His hand found her hip again, nails stinging into her skin just enough to pull a groan out of her. Again, he snapped his hips forward, but it’s less frenzied than before, sharper, calculated, and the breath that punched out of her lungs at the next thrust felt laced with fire. She turned to look at him over her shoulder, felt her heart stutter at the way his mark stood out dark against the morning light.

She slipped against the sheet, nearly buckling, but his hand was there before she could, sliding up the length of her torso to curl his fingers around her shoulder. Too-fast, she found herself surrounded by him, his weight half-draped on top of her as he pulled her flush against him and oh, oh . Fuck tumbled out of her again as she twisted to claim a rough kiss. Distracted, his hips slowed at the contact, but she pushed back again with a roll of her hips.

The hand on her shoulder urged her down, his weight shifting off her back as he reared back and her head pressed against the mattress. The angle was just right, a keen tearing from her throat as he resumed speed, driving into her hard and fast and -- “ Fuck, Killian! ”

His hand slipped under her, between her legs, found their way to her overstimulated clit and teased, drawing circles around it and pressing--

Killian’s phone started to vibrate on the nightstand. Emma felt her orgasm slip beyond reach for the moment, her concentration broken, and she groaned in frustration. She didn’t even know what time it was, but it had to be too early for anything but an emergency. “Killian, you should see who that was,” she mumbled, her head shifting against the mattress as he pounded into her.

Her husband snarled and that sent a little thrill down her spine, reigniting what had been lost. “Whoever it is should fucking know better than to call when I’m balls deep in my wife.”

She had no idea how to articulate how absurd that was, but he moved his hand again and squeezed her breast, leaving wet streaks of her own arousal along her skin and her core clenched around him in anticipation. He exhaled sharply, another little growl escaping him, and she pushed back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. She felt his fingers move along her skin, dancing up her back and nails scratching just enough to leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake, until they found her mate-mark once more and started tracing around it, lightly circling, pressing just enough--

She saw stars. Burst of color behind squeezed eyelids and an impossible wave of pleasure crashing through her, her legs feeling numb and buckling under her as he rode her through her orgasm until she heard a grunt signaling his own. She slid weakly down onto her stomach, her skin still tingling and her core still shuddering, dragging air into her lungs as fast as she could to try and calm her racing heart. She felt the bed shift behind her, heard Killian’s heavy breathing, then felt him settle between her legs. Before she could fully understand what was happening, she felt his nose brush the sensitive seam of her ass, and then dip lower as his tongue found her dripping, abused, and still fucking aroused cunt. “ Jesus --”

Emma tried to push herself up on her elbows, tried to army-crawl up the bed and away from her insatiable husband’s questing tongue, but he satisfied himself with only a few laps before pulling away. She twisted, flushed and glaring at the smug grin on his face. “Who’s greedy now?” she asked.

“I do love the taste of us together,” he admitted, righting himself and settling back on the pillows.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes and summoned all of her strength to get up and go clean herself. Wobbly as it was, she managed the trip to the bathroom and even brought him a washcloth to clean himself up before giving her weary legs a rest and laying next to him. The heady feeling of arousal still burned inside, though more like a smoldering ember pile than the full-on inferno he’d worked her into before, but she pushed it away; she wasn’t in heat yet and her body had limits.

For now.

“So what was that for?” Emma asked.

“Do I need a reason to wake my wife and lavish her with my attentions?” She poked him in the ribs, a particularly ticklish spot, and he squirmed. “Cut it out,” Killian said, giggling. “Your smell woke me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “My smell?” she asked, her voice flat. “You know, from anyone else those might be fighting words.”

He took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “And far be it from me to challenge you, darling. No, I believe it may be close to time, your scent has… shifted somewhat.”

Emma let her head fall back with a groan. Motherfucker. Well, it was to be expected; it’s the normal time for her to go into heat, it was just… the worst. Though, having a mate would make it exponentially easier than previous years; she had that to look forward to, at least. She just hated being completely ruled by her hormones, hated having so little control over her own body. And of course Killian would be the first to pick up on it, of course he’d know her so well that he’d pick up on even the slightest change in her scent. Idly, she wondered if he could tell because he’d smelled her in full-blown heat before, but in truth she believed he’d know any changes in her body and her scent almost before she did.

Puts the kibosh on any cutesy surprise things whenever we get around to having pups , she thought wryly.

“Judging by your enthusiastic response, you’re still unhappy about the prospect,” Killian remarked.

She sighed. “It’s not that. I love nothing more than using you as my personal sex toy, I just… hate everything else about it.”

“We could try a last-minute honeymoon,” he suggested. “We did talk about going somewhere this spring.”

“It’ll be wicked expensive, not to mention both of our bosses would kill us for leaving so last minute. And don’t even try to tell me Liam would be understanding, he’d find something to harp at you about.”

“Technically I’m my own boss.”

“Yes, but what captain leaves the helm to go fuck his wife silly for a week?”

His teeth flash in a grin that sends a shiver down her spine. “I’m sure plenty do, particularly when the captain’s wife is as beautiful and alluring as you. And I do have minions to keep things running, you know I don’t do everything right?”

“You have to stop calling your officers ‘minions’.”

“I pay their salaries, I can call them what I like. Besides, which is less of a mouthful, Chief Operating Officer or minion?”

“Coming from the man who takes an hour to tell a five minute story.”

His grin widened. “One of the many charms you love about me.” She rolled her eyes and the bed shifted as Killian reached for his phone, which pinged a reminder that he had a missed call and a voicemail. “Though I could have reason for it, seeing as how one of them called at a most inopportune time.”

Emma worried her lip between her teeth as he listened to the message, the tinny voice reaching her ears perfectly as questions even she knew could have waited a few hours were relayed. If he was right, and it was reasonable to assume he was, then it would be easier to just combine the honeymoon and her week in heat. It was extremely annoying that there wasn’t any way to really tell when her body would go into heat, outside of paying attention to signs like any subtle changes in scent, and they couldn’t have planned this ages in advance. The thought of paying all the last minute booking fees made her skin crawl, but she also knew he wouldn’t suggest such a thing if it wasn’t feasible.

Marrying up a couple of tax brackets was going to take a lot of getting used to.

Killian tossed his phone back on the bedside table, muttering darkly to himself, and she settled against him again. “How about this,” she started, “we take today to make sure a quick getaway isn’t going to be a problem, and then go in a couple of weeks? I don’t think it’s going to happen in the next few days and we need some time to get our shit together.”

“Eloquent as always, Swan,” he said. “And the full moon is next week, so we should schedule around that as well.”

Remembering that gave her another sense of relief: for some reason, it wasn’t common for their kind to go into heat the week of the full moon. Some did, but it was extremely rare, and always led to complications with the litter. She thought it might have something to do with how her monthly shifting stopped when she’d been pregnant before, nature realizing that changing forms while pregnant wasn’t good for the mother or the fetus, but it wasn’t like there was anyone she could ask about that. Again, something else that the more scientific-minded of their community were studying, but it was difficult.

And it wasn’t like there was The Scientific Werewolf Monthly to publish any of that research.

Maybe there should be.

“Well, that settles that,” she said, her mood buoyed by the lunar calendar. “We’ll go in a couple of weeks. Plunk me on a beach somewhere that’s not Boston in winter and I’ll be set.”

Killian’s expression was a thrilling mix of joy and sin. “Then I’d better make sure it’s a private beach, because I have no plans of letting you wear anything more than a bikini the whole time we’re gone,” he said, shifting to loom over her as he spoke, the last words breathed against her lips before he caught hers up in another kiss.

 ----------------------------------------------------

The wave of pleasure that had been building inside finally crashed over her, sending ripples up to the top of her head and down to the tips of her toes. She sighed, sated for the time being and pushed away the latest of her spent toys, reclining back on the silk maroon sheets to watch as he took his leave from her bed. They all knew the drill, the men lurking in wait for her summons; she hated for them to linger, but she did indulge in the view as they stumbled away from her room.

For now, though, Regina was tired. That was the third one today, and it was barely noon on the first morning of her heat. She rolled her head on her neck, as much as she was able, joints cracking and muscles stretching. She wasn’t a young pup anymore, as difficult as it was to admit some days, so while being ravished three times by three different, handsome young things in one morning certainly sounded like an ideal way to spend one’s time, it was proving to take a toll on her.

She didn’t like to think too much about what that would mean.

She didn’t care for the reminders, the lines at the corners of her eyes getting a little deeper if she looked too long, the silver strands she kept carefully colored, and now her body tiring a little sooner than it had the year before.

Any slip might give rise to rumors, and rumors often lead to those same men lurking downstairs foolish ideas about power.

No, for now she would rest a bit, take lunch, and assess what else she could do to keep her hand on their leashes until just the right moment.

Her phone rang midway through lunch. Annoyed, Regina answered in her usual, clipped way. “This had better be important.”

- She’s leaving town for a week, her and that British wolf of hers. My sources say it’s probably their honeymoon, but we have to remember the season. If she comes back pupped-- -

“I can make my own conclusions, thank you Sidney,” she snapped, her mood darkening. “Keep tabs on them if you can, and the Nolans. We may have to move faster than anticipated.”

She hung up before he could agree to anything -- it didn’t matter, he didn’t have to agree. He just had to follow orders.

She sat still for a moment, staring at her plate, then moved suddenly, throwing her tablet against the wall. The news that Emma Swan, previous heir apparent to the pack she now ruled, had taken another mate after all the work she’d done to destroy that last relationship had sent her into a rage that kept her people on their toes for weeks. She didn’t need any reason to allow support of any kind for that little bitch to rise, and a newly mated pair with a fresh litter on the way would definitely give reason for people to remember and feel sympathy for the girl. To start rumors or petitions to restore her place.

To revolt.

She’d put in too much work expanding, improving, and keeping her pack in line to let the memory of the old alphas resurface.

Snarling, Regina got to her feet. Rage mixed with arousal, the need to take control of something overpowering anything else, and she pressed the intercom that would summon another one of her playthings to the bedroom.

She hoped he had stamina, though she didn’t quite care if she ended up breaking him in the end. He was easily replaced, just as all the others were.

She was in control here. Not them. Not any of the hotheads she dealt with on a regular basis.

And never, never Emma Swan.

[sailtoafarawayland]

Hope and Surprises

A Captain Swan Family Ficlet...

I’m brushing off a very old collection for this little tale, but it seems like the appropriate home. The first two chapters were written five years ago, but I hope you enjoy them all the same, if you haven’t already. Onto the new addition...

Rating: G

Setting: Enchanted Forest AU

AO3 - FF

Hope and Surprises

Killian felt something tugging him from the warm fog of sleep, whatever dream that had been beneath his eyes slipping from him fully as a soft hand pressed against his cheek, the familiar touch accompanied by a sound that would never fail to make his heart swell with joy.

“Papa,” came the urgent whisper, his daughter's palm tapping insistently against him as he blinked the sleep from his eyes, surprised to see that the cottage was dark, sunrise still many hours away.

He smiled at the sight of her face hovering close to his, her brow furrowed over blue eyes that mirrored his own, the soft dusting of freckles across her cheeks a map of his favorite constellations.

“Wake up, Papa,” she insisted, her teeth chewing at her lower lip with worry as she glanced over his shoulder toward the pile of blankets behind him.

“Why are you up so early, love?” he whispered in return, stroking her soft blonde curls, tangled and wild just as her mother's were in the morning.

She fixed him with a look of great impatience, something else she'd inherited from her fiery mum who was still sleeping soundly on the other side of him.

“You have to get up, Papa – right away.”

She stepped away from the bed, little arms crossing stubbornly in front of her chest, her nightshift bunched and sticking out from beneath the dress she'd tugged haphazardly over her sleep-tousled curls.  

“Very well,” he murmured, carefully extricating himself from the blankets, the cold touch of the wood planks a fleeting discomfort at the sight of his daughter's wide smile. “Tell me then, what mischief have you managed so early this morning, my little cygnet?”  

“Papa, be quiet,” she whined, a stocking foot stamping on the floor as she took his fingers and dragged him toward the far side of the cottage, parting the heavy tapestry that separated he and Emma's sleeping area from the rest of their home. “I tried to do it all on my own, but it was too much to carry.”

Killian shivered in the morning chill, glancing longingly back toward the trunk where his clothing was neatly folded, but the tapestry was already falling back into place behind them, and his headstrong lass wasn't about to give him a moment to gather even a shirt.

His night breeches would have to do.

She pulled him past the table and over to the hearth, gesturing toward an array of destruction and mess he would have needed to have been blind to miss.

“Oh, darling,” he crooned, kneeling and taking in the spread she'd created by the small light of her lantern – the jam smeared and dripping over the edges of a thick slab of bread, the wooden bowl cradling berries drizzled with a golden sheen of honey, the rough mug filled to the brim with what smelled like Emma's morning tea, and all of it set out in a neat line on one of the large wooden trenchers. “Mama will love it. You've done well, my wee lass.”

Hope beamed, glancing eagerly toward the other side of the still dark cottage, her fingers tugging at the back of  her dress that just so happened to be facing the front, laces hanging down to her knees.

“Do you see? I even made Mama's tea, for her belly. Can we bring it in now, Papa? I want it to be a surprise.”

Killian bit back a sigh, instead smiling hopelessly at their daughter. He knew it was far to early to go about waking his wife, but Hope had put such work into her surprise that he couldn't bear to put her off a moment longer.

“Aye, of course we can, love – shall I do the carrying and let you do the waking?”

“Yes, you carry it, Papa. It's quite heavy, and I'll give Mama kisses to wake her.”

Killian carefully angled the wooden platter over the edge of the stone hearth, just enough that he could balance it on his wrist before gripping the other side tightly and rising to his feet. He bit back a grimace as the tea spilled over the edge of the mud, running coldly along his arm and pooling at the base of the bread.

Hope galloped across the dimly lit floor and tossed the tapestry aside, any concern over secrecy long forgotten and replaced by the excitement of sharing her surprise with her mother.

Catching the heavy tapestry with his shoulder before it could swing entirely closed, Killian eased into the small space he and Emma shared as their own, Hope already bouncing against the frame of the bed, her fingers curled into the feather mattress while her legs did a jig beneath the folds of her dress.

“Mama,” she whispered, bumping her pink tipped nose against Emma's, her tiny fingers rising to push back the curls from her mother's face as she tried again, this time more loudly and closer to her ear. “Mama, wake up!”

“Hope,” Emma mumbled, eyes blinking heavily as she drew back and stretched beneath the blankets, rolling her face deeper into the downy pillow. “Hope? What is it, sweetie? Is everything alright?”

“Happy Name-day!” Hope sang, unable to keep still any longer and launching herself onto the bed, nuzzling herself into her mother's chest as Emma shrieked and laughed, pulling her close. “Papa and I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh, you do? Aren't I the luckiest mama in the world.”

“I'll not take credit for this one, love. This surprise is courtesy of our little cygnet,” Killian chuckled, carefully moving the serving trencher toward the bed and resting it across his wife's lap as she wrangled Hope onto the other side of the bed, stilling her bouncing legs with a hand, “but she's done a lovely job of it. Happy Naming Day, my love.”

“Thank you,” Emma sighed, pulling their daughter's head against her shoulder and kissing the top of it soundly. “This looks delicious, and I was so hungry that I was certain I couldn't sleep a minute longer.”

“Were you really?” Hope asked, dipping her finger into a run of honey that had made its way free of the berry bowl. “It's because you're eating more now, I think.”

Killian choked down a laugh as Emma glared playfully at him from the bed before returning her attention to their daughter's gift.

“Are these fresh berries with honey?”

“They are,” Hope nodded, “and I really didn't eat any of them – because today is your special day, Mama.”

“You know what would make this day even more special?” Emma whispered, picking up a bruised raspberry from the top of the pile and holding it aloft. “Sharing this delicious breakfast with my sweet girl.”

“Well, it was a lot of work making all of this,” Hope reasoned, eyeing the berry, “and I think I'm awfully hungry now.”

She plucked the berry from Emma's fingers and popped it into her mouth, chewing happily before snuggling into her mother's side and reaching for a few more. A large yawn followed a string of black berries, and before long Hope's sticky fingers had fallen quietly to her side, eyes flickering closed.  

Killian watched as Emma lifted the cup of tea and took a careful sip, grimacing at either the temperature or the taste before setting it carefully on the small table beside the bed. Hope was beginning to drift back to sleep at her mother's side, and Emma was picking lazily at the berries while she cuddled their daughter. He stepped carefully back through the tapestry, turning to survey the damage that had been inflicted upon the hearth once more.

By the time he'd finished scouring honey from the stone and sweeping crumbs and crushed berries from the floor, he was more than ready for his own cup of tea, but a quick sip of the concoction their daughter had left in the kettle told him that he'd be searching for fresh mint to replenish Emma's supply – surely Hope had used half the jar for one pot. The cold and early morning catching up to him, he made sure the rest of the cottage was as it should be before turning back toward the bed, brushing the tapestry aside.

He pressed the image that greeted him into his heart – Emma curled protectively around Hope as they both slept against the pillows – the trencher of breakfast nibbled on and sat aside. Emma's cheek rested against the top of Hope's blonde curls, and their daughter's hand was pressed to the large swell of her mother's stomach where either a little brother or sister was still growing.

It would be another moon still before the new babe entered the world, and another Name-Day to celebrate – but Killian knew that no matter how many early, sticky breakfasts he needed to clean up in the wee hours of the morning, he would happily relish each one for the rest of his life.

END

Tagging: @justanother-unluckysoul @kmomof4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @donteattheappleshook @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop @karlyfr13s @elizabeethan @rkrbirdgirl @batana54

[justanother-unluckysoul]

A Quiet Moment

Emma's been stressed lately, so Killian takes her to visit a secluded beach. That’s all. Just sweet CS fluff without a plot.

A/N:  For the ever so lovely @teamhook , who has been completely amazing at making me feel welcome in this fandom. I hope this brings a smile to your face in these tough times.

Unbetad as always so mistakes are all mine.

Read this story on AO3

A Quiet Moment

Emma thinks the soft rush of waves against the sand would lull her to sleep if she wasn't so damn cold right now. The ground she’s sitting on is doing nothing to make her more comfortable either, cold and unyielding and she’s getting irritated. She shivers slightly, tugging the collar of her jacket higher on her neck, as if that will help.

“You couldn’t have chosen a warmer night for this?” she asks, careful to keep her voice down. She tries to keep the frustration out of her voice, not wanting to direct it at Killian. It’s not his fault she can’t get comfortable - he had urged her to bring more layers, but it had been such a lovely warm day she had brushed off his warning that it would get cold on the beach.

Killian appraises her with a lifted eyebrow and a gentle smile.

"Sorry, love," he murmurs, "I promise it won't be much longer."

He removes his leather coat, draping it around her and she quickly shoves her arms through the sleeves. It's quite a bit too large on her smaller frame, but that only makes her feel cosier as she nestles into it, protected from the chilly sea breeze by the heavy embrace of the coat, the leather still holding Killian’s body heat.

“Thank you.” She sighs, leaning against Killian contentedly as the warmth returns to her bones.

The sun had slipped below the horizon half an hour ago, and while it had been a beautiful evening, the temperature had dropped rapidly once darkness fell. She feels rather foolish for not rugging up the way Killian had instructed and a little bit guilty for borrowing his jacket, leaving him to brave the cold air without it. Though he never seems as affected by the temperatures as she does. He certainly doesn’t look like he minds now either, staring out to sea with a focused, hopeful expression, and Emma realizes he’s as eager to see this as she is. 

“How many times have you come out here?” she asks softly.

“A few times. Enough to know the cold is worth it.”

A light in the sky catches Emma’s attention and she looks up. A shooting star arcs across the darkening sky, burning brighter than she’s ever seen a star burn before.

“Make a wish,” Emma says reflexively.

“Everything I’d wish for is already right here, Emma,” Killian tells her quietly, and her heart swells with love for him and for the way he never lets pass an opportunity to remind her how he feels about her.

“You’re so cliche.”

He hums in agreement as he brushes some wayward hair away from her face. “And you love me for it.”

She can’t help grinning, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. She does love him for it; for that and for many other things. He dips down to kiss her, just a brief touch of his mouth to hers and then he straightens up again to simply hold her to him, letting out a contented sigh of his own. Emma smiles as she snuggles into his arms. Even if nothing else comes of this evening, it’s been wonderful to finally have a quiet moment, here on the beach under the stars with the man she loves. And while Emma’s body may still be cold, her soul feels warm. All too soon, Killian is shifting and letting his arms fall away from her. But Emma doesn’t have a moment to think about how much she misses his embrace because he’s staring excitedly at the water.

“Look, Emma,” he hisses, and Emma follows his line of sight across the beach. 

Riding the roll of the surf is a small blue and white penguin. Emma’s breath catches on a quiet gasp as the adorable creature lands on the beach, getting to its feet as the wave recedes and beginning a hasty waddle towards the rocks her and Killian are sitting on. It’s even smaller than Emma had imagined when Killian had told her of them. 

“Killian-”

“Ssshh. Just stay still.”

The tiny penguin approaches them fearlessly and comes to a halt just out of reach, its head cocked to the side slightly as it observes the two people sitting in front of it. Its blue-grey feathers contrast with its white belly, soft and downy and still glistening with droplets from the sea. It’s the cutest thing Emma’s ever seen. She hardly dares to breathe, afraid she’ll scare it away. She wishes she could pet it, wanting to know if it’s really as soft as it appears, but Killian had warned her not to. It’s an honor to even be allowed on their beach, love, but we shouldn’t ask for more than that. It wouldn’t be proper. And you mustn’t forget they are wild animals, however tame they may seem. It makes perfect sense, but the temptation remains as Emma watches the penguin step even closer. A second penguin makes its way up the beach now, and distracts the first from its curiosity about the humans, the two creatures letting out soft chirruping sounds as they greet one another. It’s clear from their affectionate behaviour that they are a couple, and Emma can’t help smiling at their antics. Shortly the two penguins toddle off into a gap in the rocks further along the beach, disappearing into the sheltered crevice where they have made their nest.

“Come, love,” Killian whispers, taking her hand, “Let’s not overstay our welcome.”

The moon has begun its climb out of the ocean, not yet full, but more than bright enough to light the way as Emma and Killian walk hand in hand up the winding path away from the beach. On the grassy knoll overlooking the sea, they pause to take in the view. The moonlight catches the curve of each wave in silver as it folds upon the sand. The air around them is damp and salty against the back of Emma’s throat, but the chill of the night doesn’t bother her as much now, not with Killian’s coat still wrapped around her.

“Worth it?” he asks.

“God, yes. Thank you, Killian. I needed this.”

She pulls him in for a slow, passionate kiss, which he returns without hesitation, kissing her deeply and thoroughly as his hand cradles the back of her head, fingers tangling into her hair.

“I love you so much,” she murmurs against his lips.

“I love you too, my darling.” He kisses her once more, before adding suggestively, “Now let’s go home and get you properly warmed up.” 

Emma giggles, slipping her hand back into his.

“With hot chocolate?” she teases.

“Aye, that. And other things.”

And damn, the way Killian deepens his voice like that and leans in close always does things to her.

“Hmm, I like the sound of that.”

THE END

[wistfulcynic]

The Meet-Cute (2 of 2)

In which Ruby decides that what Emma’s love life needs is a good old-fashioned meet-cute, and sets about arranging one for her. Or two, or three, or six... whatever, she’ll set up however many it takes for her friend to meet The One. But it may turn out that Emma doesn’t need any help finding The One after all...

First part on Tumblr and AO3 

a/n: this chapter contains sweetness, quite a lot of silliness, and a big ol’ hot kiss. 

Thanks to @optomisticgirl for the idea and @thisonesatellite, @ohmightydevviepuu, and @katie-dub for support and general delightfulness. 

-

PART TWO:

The next day was Wednesday and Emma spent the morning on patrol, driving around Storybrooke and trying not to think about how far away Friday was. She was just about to take a break and go to Granny’s for some coffee when her phone rang. The name on the screen was just about the last one she would ever have expected, and she frowned hard at it for the space of a good four rings before answering. 

“Graham?” 

“Hey, Emma.” His voice was just as she remembered it, gruff and accented. And faintly apologetic, which was new. “Um. Long time.” 

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. How’s life in the woods?”

“Ah, yeah, it’s good. And, um, about that. It’s actually why I’m calling. Because I can’t come in to town, I mean.” 

“Well I didn’t think it was because you wanted to catch up on old times,” said Emma drily. “What’s the problem?” 

“It’s my truck.” Graham paused and the silence stretched. 

“Your truck?” Emma prompted, her patience wearing thin. She was not in the mood for Graham’s strong-and-silent schtick today.  

“My truck.” He sighed. “It—well, it seems to be out of gas.” 

Emma rubbed her temples. “And how is your lack of forward planning the responsibility of the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department?” she asked, in a voice just shy of a snap. 

“Well that’s the thing, I did forward plan,” said Graham. “I had a full tank last night because I knew that today I needed to drive to Portland. There’s a forestry convention I’m going to—well, it’s not important, but I wanted to get an early start so I made sure everything was ready before I went to bed last night. Then this morning I wake up to find my tank empty and the spare can missing.”

A creeping suspicion was beginning to crawl up Emma’s spine. “So you think, what, someone stole your gas?” 

“I know it sounds crazy, but honestly I can’t come up with any other explanation.” 

“Graham, do you happen to know Ruby Lucas?” 

He paused, and when he spoke again his voice was confused. “Ah, the woman at the diner?” 

“That’s her.” 

“I chat with her whenever I go there, maybe once or twice a month. She seems nice. Why?” 

“No reason.” Emma glowered through her windshield at Granny’s sign as she drove past it. “Listen, I can bring you a can of gas but it’ll take me at least half an hour to get it and get out to you. Does that leave you enough time to get to Portland?” 

“Yeah, it should. I’ll have to change my plans a bit, but it’ll be okay. Only, Emma, what about the person who emptied my tank—” 

Emma set her jaw as she pulled into the gas station. “I’ll take care of it.” 

—

Thursday morning found her in Granny’s early, marching up to the counter with her fists planted on her hips. 

“I could arrest you, you know. I probably should.” 

“What?” Ruby blinked innocent eyes as she prepared Emma’s coffee, with plenty of milk and extra cinnamon and hazelnut syrups. “What did I do?” 

“Emptying a gas tank is stealing, Rubes. You’ve got to stop doing this stuff!” 

Ruby handed her the coffee, and a bag containing a fresh bear claw. Emma scowled at it as Ruby asked “Did it get you a date, at least?” 

“It did not. At least, not in this decade.” 

“Um.” Ruby frowned. “What?” 

“I already dated Graham.” Emma decided that while the bear claw was unmistakably a bribe she could always just eat the evidence, and took a big bite. 

“You did?” Ruby demanded. “When?” 

“I’m surprised you don’t remember,” muttered Emma around her mouthful of pastry and nuts. “It wasn’t long after I moved to Storybrooke. Just before he decided to ‘escape the cage of civilisation’ and moved out to the middle of nowhere.” 

“Wait, wait. It’s coming back to me now. Are you saying that Graham is Mountain Lodge Guy?” 

“Yep.” 

“Fuuuuck Ems, I’m sorry.” To her credit, Ruby did look genuinely apologetic. 

“Well you should be,” retorted Emma, hardening her heart. “And you should stop doing this, Ruby! It’s getting ridiculous. I mean, it was always ridiculous but now it’s branching into minor-felony-level ridiculous. Please, I am begging you, stop.” 

“Ah,” said Ruby, biting her lip. “Um, can I stop tomorrow?” 

Emma’ blood ran cold. “Why?”

“I—may have already put the next plan into motion.” 

“What? What plan?” Emma demanded, just as her phone started ringing. 

Ruby grimaced. “Let’s just say you’d probably better answer that.” 

—

Emma took a deep breath and squared her shoulders before knocking firmly on the door of a large, sprawling house on the edge of town. It swung open immediately to reveal a man wearing a frantic expression, his dark hair standing up on end. 

“Oh, thank God!” he cried, falling to his knees. “Thank God.” The dog at the end of the leash Emma had looped around her hand wriggled in delight as he licked the man’s face. The man hugged the dog tightly, laughing as his cheeks was thoroughly washed. “How’d you find him?” he asked. 

Emma watched the reunion with a reluctant smile. “I had a tip,” she replied wryly. “Someone spotted him in the street and managed to grab him. They let the sheriff’s department know, and we cross-checked his description with reports of missing dogs.” Or at least that’s what she would have done had the dog actually been missing, and not lured into the backseat of a car by Ruby armed with a juicy steak. The dog had spent the morning in the storage room of the diner, gnawing happily at the bone for an hour before taking a long nap on a cosy blanket. And now he was home again, unharmed and with a belly full of steak. All in all not a bad morning for him, Emma reflected, though she felt sorry for his owner. 

The owner who was now rising to his feet and eyeing Emma with the eye of a man who, reassured of his beloved pet’s safety, could turn his attention to other matters. 

“I’m August,” he said, offering his hand. “August Booth.” 

Emma knew this of course, because Ruby had told her, but she took his hand anyway. “Emma Swan.” 

“Emma,” August repeated. “I’ve seen you around, obviously, but—well it’s nice to finally meet you. Can I offer you a drink or anything?” 

She shook her head. “Thanks, but no. I’m on duty and I really should get back to it.” 

“Of course.” He gave her a hopeful smile, as the dog bounced cheerfully at his side. “Another time, maybe?” 

“Ah, maybe.” Emma’s own smile was noncommittal. “Have a nice day.” 

“You too. Emma.” 

__

Emma got home that evening to find Henry with a huge grin on his face and an A on his solar system project. 

“Look, Mom!” he cried, waving the paper at her. “Mr Johnson said it was one of the best projects he’s ever seen!” 

“Wow, that’s great, Henry!” Emma took the paper and examined it with a beam of pride. “Well done!” 

“I can’t wait to tell Killian.’ Henry was bouncing on his heels. “Can we call him? Maybe he can come over again!” 

“Um, it’s a bit late to invite him over now,” Emma hedged. The truth was that she’d been looking for an excuse to text Killian since he’d left her place on Tuesday night, but was also not sure he’d want her bothering him. “But you can tell him tomorrow.” 

“Is he coming over tomorrow?” 

“Um, yeah. We’re going out.” 

“Out?” Henry’s eyes went wide. “Like on a date?” 

“Yeah. Is that okay?” 

“Mom, you don’t need to ask me if you want to date someone. It’s your life.” 

Emma shook her head, lips pressing together in a bittersweet smile. Sometimes her little baby boy seemed so grown up. It had been happening more and more often lately and though she loved to see it, it also gave her an aching twinge in her heart. 

“But you’re the most important thing in my life,” she said firmly, “and I’m not going to date someone you don’t like.” 

“Well, I like Killian. So as far as I’m concerned, date away.” 

She laughed, and pulled him into a hug. “So you can wait until tomorrow to tell him about your project?” 

Henry heaved a great sigh, though his eyes were laughing. “I suppose.” 

—

Henry may have been able to wait, but Emma found she couldn’t. Barely two hours later, after they’d eaten dinner and Henry had settled down to do his homework, Emma found her fingers typing out a text to Killian without her permission, and sending it before her brain had a chance to object. 

Emma: Henry got an A on his solar system project. 

She held her breath after she clicked send, nerves fluttering in her belly. But it was barely a minute before three dots appeared below her message and then Killian’s reply. 

Killian: That’s brilliant! Tell him I said well done. 

Emma heaved a breath and felt her lips curve in a silly grin. I think he’d rather tell you himself, she texted back. I was just too excited to wait. 

The reply came almost immediately. Your secret is safe with me, love, it said. I’ll pretend it’s the first I’m hearing of the news. 

The silly smile was still on Emma’s face as she tried to think of a way to extend the conversation. Before she could come up with anything the three dots appeared again followed shortly by a message. 

Killian: How was your day, Swan? Any exciting crime on the mean streets of Storybrooke?

Emma’s cheeks began to hurt as her grin widened further, and she settled in to regale Killian with the story of the dog, minus a few key details of course. When she finished he told her about a frustrating patron he’d had, who was looking for a very particular book but could not remember its title or author, or in fact any details about its plot or characters. All he could recall was that it had red on its cover. 

Which, as I’m sure you can imagine, did not much narrow things down, Killian remarked. 

The conversation drifted then onto other topics, flowing so easily that before Emma knew it they had been texting for three hours. When she finally got to bed that night—an hour later than usual—she drifted off with a smile still on her face, thinking of him and of their date the next day. 

—

Wear something warm, Killian had said, and so late on Friday afternoon Emma changed out of the thin blouse she’d worn all day and into a sweater. A new sweater, one she’d bought on an impromptu trip to the boutique that morning. It would be winter soon, she’d reasoned, and she could always use another warm layer. It was definitely not because the sweater was a pretty shade of rose pink that complimented her complexion and made her feel soft and feminine, or because its slim fit hugged her breasts in a very flattering way. 

Not at all. 

She finished the look with dark jeans and a brown leather jacket with a sheepskin trim and headed out into the living room, ten minutes early. 

Henry was watching TV but when she came into the room he looked up and his eyes widened. “You look awesome, Mom!” he said. 

“Thanks, kid.” Emma rubbed her damp palms on her jeans. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so nervous. “Are you sure you’re okay with staying here by yourself?” she asked Henry, who rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, I’m sure,” he said. “I have your number and Killian’s number and the hospital’s number and Mary Margaret’s number. Mary Margaret is just upstairs if I need her and she’ll come in to check on me at bedtime and make sure I’m not throwing any wild parties.” He gave Emma a sardonic look and she couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Dinner’s in the fridge,” Henry continued, “I’m supposed to do my homework so it’s done for the weekend then I can play video games, and you’ll be home by midnight. Did I forget anything?” 

She put her hands on her hips and shook her head at him. “No, I think that covers it.” 

He got up from the couch and gave her a hug. “I’ll be okay, Mom,” he said reassuringly. “It’s just for a few hours.” 

Emma nodded, squeezing him tightly. “I know.” He was still her baby, though, and it was a mother’s prerogative to worry. 

Henry seemed to sense her mood because he gave her a cheeky grin. “Be sure you’re home on time, though, or else I might turn into a pumpkin,” he teased.  

She laughed. “I promise.” 

Just then the doorbell rang, sending Emma’s heartbeat into overdrive. She took a deep breath and then another as she smoothed her hair and adjusted her clothes. Henry smirked at her and went to open the door. “Hey, Killian!” he greeted. 

“Hello, Henry,” Killian replied, and God, Emma thought, his voice was even sexier than she remembered. “How are you?” 

“Good,” said Henry brightly. “I got an A on my solar system project!” 

“That’s brilliant, lad!” said Killian, catching Emma’s eye and giving her a wink. Probably the least stealthy wink she’d ever seen, more of a full-face twitch. 

Fortunately, Henry was too busy grinning with delight to notice. “Thanks for helping me,” he said.  

“It was my pleasure.” Killian smiled at Henry but his eyes kept flitting to where Emma was standing behind him, hands clasped and trying not to twist them nervously. “Swan,” he said, transferring his smile to her. “You look lovely.” 

“Thanks.” Emma flushed at the compliment and searched for the right words to return it. Killian was dressed in a sweater as well, a thick fisherman’s one in a deep blue shade that brought out his eyes. “You look...” Hot. Gorgeous. Highly fuckab—gah. No. She shook that thought from her head. “…um…” 

He shot her a small smirk, one that said he knew what she was thinking, even as his cheeks went pink. “I know,” he said.  

She rolled her eyes. Of course he did. 

They stood grinning foolishly at each other until Henry gave a loud cough. 

“Ah.” Killian scratched behind his ear, the flush in his cheeks deepening. “Are you ready then, love?” he asked. 

She nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Henry, are you—” 

“Mom.” Henry gave her a stern look. “I’m fine. Go.” 

“All right, all right,” she sighed. “I’m going.” 

She allowed Killian to guide her out the door and down the stairs with a hand hovering just over the small of her back. From another man such a gesture would have felt controlling but from him it just seemed sweet—old-fashioned, like the way he spoke and the general air of courteousness he carried.  

“Where are we going?” she asked, when they exited her building and turned down the sidewalk. 

He smiled, soft and a bit nervous. “You’ll see.” 

They chatted lightly as they walked, conversation made easier by all they had shared in the texting marathon of the previous evening, and when they arrived at the docks a good twenty minutes later Emma felt as though no time had passed at all. 

“What are we doing here?” she asked, looking around in confusion. 

“Come with me.” He held out his hand and she took it without hesitation. Briefly she wondered at how easily she trusted this man she hardly knew, she who almost never trusted anyone, and then he led her up a gangplank and onto a long wooden sailing boat and she forgot everything else in her astonishment. 

“This is yours?” she exclaimed.

“Aye,” said Killian with a small shrug. “You can take the lad off the sea but you can’t take the sea out of the lad. Or something.” 

Emma laughed. “You bought this after you left the navy?” 

“I did,” he replied. “Lived on board for a few months. I was going to stay on her while I was in Storybrooke but Belle said that was ridiculous when there was an empty apartment above the library, so…” 

“Yeah. And doesn’t it get cold at night? On the boat I mean.” 

“I have blankets. And rum.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and she laughed. “But yes, the apartment is much more congenial as a place to sleep, so I’m grateful for it.” 

On the boat’s deck a blanket was spread out, with a pile of cushions on one side and a small camp stove on the other. “I thought we could make grilled cheese,” Killian explained. “Henry, ah, told me it was your favourite. And everything tastes better under the stars.” 

Emma felt a lump rising in her throat. “There—there aren’t any stars,” she said. 

Killian smiled at her. “Not yet.” 

She made herself comfortable on the blanket while Killian produced a leather satchel, from which he removed plates and napkins, bread and butter, and a dizzying array of cheeses. 

Emma gaped as he lined them up in front of the stove. “I usually just use the kind that comes in pre-wrapped slices,” she said. 

“Aye, I have some of that.” he replied, holding up a small, square parcel. “Though I thought, maybe, if you were in the mood for it, that you, ah—might be up for trying something new?” 

His expression was so hopeful, so open, and she knew that he wasn’t just talking about the cheese. He meant the way she’d been living, closed-off and untrusting. Alone. He was asking her to let him in, and God, Emma thought, she wanted to. 

“I—yeah.” She swallowed hard, but the smile she gave him was genuine. “I’d like that. But, I’m gonna be honest here, I have no idea which one.” 

Killian laughed, a deep, rich sound that warmed her inside and out. “Try the gouda,” he advised. 

“I don’t even know what that is,” she said, laughing with him. 

The warm smile remained on his lips but there was something deeply solemn in his eyes. “Do you trust me?” he asked. 

Emma swallowed again. “Yeah,” she replied, and it was true. She really did. 

Killian nodded. “Gouda,” he said firmly. 

She nodded back. “Okay.” 

—

The gouda turned out to be delicious, melting into the kind of stringy, gloopy mess that had Emma’s eyes rolling back in her head with delight. Its flavour was mild, almost nutty, and absolutely delicious—way better, she was sure, than the soft, smelly stuff Killian put on his bread. 

“This is amazing,” she said around a mouthful of melted cheese. “That, on the other hand…” 

He chuckled. “It’s an acquired taste.” 

“I’m sure. So... why exactly did you acquire it?” 

An odd look crossed Killian’s face. “Sometimes you eat what’s put in front of you, love, and learn to like it later,” he said, in a voice grim with not entirely pleasant memories. “I’ve been in places where to refuse the food would be a grave insult, and a grave insult could result in... well, let’s just call them unpleasant consequences.” 

“Wow.” 

He gave shrug and an offhand smile. “I mean, not to be dramatic or anything.” 

“Oh no, obviously not.” She munched her cheese, trying to think of a lighter topic. “So, um, what made you become a librarian? No offence but you don’t really seem the type.” 

“No, probably not.” His smile warmed and softened and Emma felt herself relax. “I wanted a quiet life after the navy and I’ve always loved books, so it seemed like a natural choice.” 

“Yeah, I guess I can see that.” 

“It’s been healing,” he said softly. “In more ways than one.” He was silent for a moment, then turned to her with a quirked eyebrow. “And what about you, Emma, what brought you into law enforcement?” he asked. 

“What don’t I seem like the type?” 

“On the contrary, it seems a perfect fit for you. I’d just—like to know you better.” 

Emma felt a flush rise in her cheeks as her heartbeat quickened. “I was in bail bonds before I came to Storybrooke, but there’s not much need for that here so I sort of fell into sheriffing,” she explained. “I didn’t even intend to move here, I was just passing through. But I had car trouble and got stuck for a while, then the job opened up and I just—stayed.” 

“It’s a good place to stay,” Killian remarked. 

“Yeah. Way better than where we were living in the city. Henry was really little when we moved and I’m glad he’s growing up in a place like this.” 

“Aye, it seems an ideal spot to raise a child.” 

There was a wistfulness in his voice that made her heart thump harder. “I just realised I never asked you where you live,” she said. 

“Ah.” He scratched behind his ear again. “That is a question. I’ve been in Boston for the past few years but I’m starting to think I need a change. One of the reasons I was glad for this break in Storybrooke.” 

Emma focused on keeping her breathing steady. “Where do you think you might go?” she asked. 

“I might”—he shot her a mildly wary glance—“stay here.” 

“Here? As in Storybrooke here?” 

“Aye. There’s a job opening up next year at the high school library that I’ve applied for.” 

“I—” She blinked in surprise. “Wow.” 

“I hope it doesn’t freak you out, love,” said Killian, stumbling over his words in his haste to speak them. “It wasn’t because of—well, it isn’t as though you aren’t a factor, but mostly I just—” 

“You could see a future here.” Emma nodded. “Hey, I get it. Same.” 

He visibly relaxed, expelling a long breath before continuing. “I actually put in the application before we met,” he explained. “About fifteen minutes before, in fact. But I’d be lying if I said the prospect of staying here didn’t grow considerably brighter when I realised there was a chance you could be part of that future.” His eyes widened when he realised what he’d said. “I mean, I—” 

“Yeah.” Emma reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I know what you mean.” 

Dusk had fallen by that time, and the stars were beginning to appear in the sky. Killian quickly tidied up the plates and utensils and cheese, then produced from his seemingly bottomless satchel a thermos full of hot chocolate. 

“Mmmm,” said Emma, “that smells amazing. Though I usually have mine with some—”

“Cinnamon?” Killian grinned at her as he held up a small jar of the spice. “Aye.” 

“Henry told you,” guessed Emma. 

“That he did.” 

“When did you have time to mine my son for information about me?” she teased him. 

“We had some quite interesting conversation in between discussions of moons and planets,” he informed her. “It’s a truly wonderful boy you have, love.” 

“Yeah,” she agreed, accepting the steaming cup he offered her. “He really is.” 

Cradling their cups of chocolate, they relaxed back against the pillows and gazed up at the darkening sky. As the stars grew brighter Killian showed her some constellations, pointing to them with one hand while the other lay next to hers on the blanket, close enough that she could brush his little finger with her own. She slid her hand closer and let her fingers curl around his, and when he turned his hand to grip hers more firmly she relaxed against him, resting her head on his shoulder as they sipped their chocolate, looked up at the sky, and talked. They talked about everything, likes and dislikes, pastimes and pet hates. Their childhoods and their dreams for the future, their hopes and their fears. She told him, haltingly, about Neal, and he replied with the story of his affair with a married woman, which had led to him leaving the navy. For two such different people they had a surprising amount in common, she realised. Not so much in the specifics of their lives as in the way they looked at the world, and the experiences that had shaped them. Emma had never in her life felt so understood. 

All too soon her phone buzzed in her pocket, reminding her that it was almost midnight and she had promised Henry she’d be back before then. 

“I have to go,” she said apologetically. “Henry—” 

“Of course,” he replied. “I’ll walk with you.” 

He kept her hand in his as they stood and headed back to her apartment, twining his fingers with hers and brushing his thumb feather-light across her knuckles, setting her heart racing in her chest. His hand was warm and rough and the gentle movements of his thumb sent sparks dancing up her arm and all across her skin. 

When they reached her door she turned with a smile, still holding tight to his fingers, loath to break the contact until she absolutely had to. 

“I had a wonderful time,” she said. “We should do this again.” 

His own smile lit his face, stealing her breath as it always did. “Any time, love,” he murmured. “Perhaps next time we can go for a sail.” 

“I’d love that.” 

His eyes were soft as they caressed her face and she found herself holding her breath as they swayed in each other’s orbit, easing closer and closer, and then closer still until she felt his fingertips brushing across her cheek, until he cradled her jaw in his palm and their lips met. 

The kiss began gently, tentatively—sweet brushes of lips and sighs of breaths that soon grew deeper, hotter, more insistent as the hands they still held gripped tighter, as his fingers left her cheek to tangle in her hair and hers fisted in his sweater to pull him closer. A deep groan rumbled in his chest and Emma felt herself pushed back against the door, his lips insistent now, his tongue hot in her mouth and his body firm against hers. She released his sweater to curl her arm around his neck and hold him tight, pressing herself as close as she could get, rolling her hips over the hardness she could feel low against her belly. 

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this way, if she ever had. Like she couldn’t get enough of him—his feel and smell and taste—like she wanted to tear off his clothes and have him right here, and damn the consequences. But also she felt safe, secure in the certainty that while he clearly wanted her just as much, once the kiss ended he would say goodnight and go, no pressure, no demands, no resentment. She was certain of this because she trusted him, and the inherent decency she’d sensed in him from the beginning.  That kind of trust was freeing, she realised in a bright and stunning flash of understanding. Wonderfully freeing, to let down her defences and put herself into the hands of another person, knowing he wouldn’t take advantage or use that trust to hurt her. Her heart soared as she hugged Killian tighter and kissed him with everything she had, and when the kiss finally ended and he rested his forehead against hers, all she felt was happiness and the stirrings, deep in her heart, of a far stronger emotion. 

“That was—” he gasped, blinking dazed eyes and clearly struggling for words. 

“Amazing?” she supplied. “Incredible? Hot as fuck?”

He gave a breathless chuckle. “One hell of a goodnight kiss. Plus yeah, all those other things.” 

He pressed another kiss on her lips, brief and chaste and gentle, then released her and stepped back. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said. 

Emma tried not to feel bereft at the loss of his warmth and closeness. “Maybe you could come over for dinner,” she said. “I mean, if you’re not busy. It’s just Henry would love to see you, and—” 

“I’d love that,” he said, gently interrupting her before her stream of words could get out of control. “Let me know what I can bring. Not brownies this time.” 

His eyes twinkled with amusement and she gave a slight wince. “Was it that obvious?” 

“I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, Emma, but you’re a bit of an open book,” he replied. “One I’d very much like to read more of.” 

“I—I’d like that too,” she said softly. “And my favourite dessert is lemon bars.” 

“Lemon bars I can manage.” He smiled, a bit wistfully but with a new light in his eyes that made her feel like she could fly. “Goodnight, Emma,” he murmured. 

“Night, Killian.” 

She watched him until he disappeared around the bend in the stairs then slipped into her apartment, shutting the door silently behind her and leaning against for a moment. She closed her eyes and ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, then gave herself a little shake and took off her jacket and shoes before padding silently into Henry’s room. He was fast asleep, with the blankets kicked off and bunched around his waist. She pulled them down and tucked them in around him. 

“Mom?” he muttered. 

“Yeah, kid. I’m home,” she whispered. “Go back to sleep.” 

Henry blinked heavy eyelids. “Did you have a good time?” 

“I did. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. Go back to sleep.” 

“K,” he replied, and in his next breath she could tell he was asleep again. 

—

The next morning Emma dropped Henry off at a friend’s house and went to Granny’s for some coffee. Ruby greeted her with a scowl. 

“You here alone?” she demanded.

Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “I am.” 

“August another no-go, then?” 

“I have to admit, he was closer than the others,” Emma conceded. “Probably your best attempt yet.” 

“But not good enough?” 

“Nope. Not good enough.” Perhaps once there may have been a time when someone like August would have caught Emma’s eye. Before Neal. Even, possibly, before she’d met Killian. But now...

Ruby planted a fist on her hip and shook her finger at Emma’s nose. “I’ll get you, Emma Swan,” she declared. “Sooner or later, come hell or high water, I will find the man for you. I swear it.” 

“Ruby—” 

“Nope.” The shaking finger became a palm in Emma’s face, which she irritatedly pushed aside. “I know you don’t approve of my tactics,” Ruby continued, “but the gauntlet’s been thrown down. My honour is at stake.” 

“Your honour? Seriously?” 

“Yes, seriously! I’m going to find you a guy or die trying, and that’s just how things are. Now, here’s your coffee.” She thrust a takeaway cup into Emma’s hand and Emma sighed heavily, watching Ruby through narrowed eyes as she handed another cup to another customer, before finally taking a long sip. 

It was a minute before her brain registered the taste of what was in her mouth and then she spit the coffee out with a choking gasp. 

“What the fuck is this?” 

“Coffee,” said Ruby, who was standing ready with a pile of paper napkins. She fluttered her lashes innocently. “Why, is there something wrong with it?”

Just then Emma heard the sound of vigorous coughing and a very familiar voice spoke up from behind her. 

“Excuse me, lass, but I think you may have given me the wrong drink,” it said.

“Oh did I?” cried Ruby. “I am so sorry! What seems to be the problem with it?” 

“Well, it’s, er, very sweet.” 

Emma sighed and turned around to face Killian. His face brightened in surprise and pleasure but she spoke before he could greet her. “I think you must have mine,” she said. “You take it black?” 

“Aye.” 

“Here.” She held out the cup she was holding. “This one’s yours.” 

“Ah. And I suppose that makes this yours.” 

They exchanged cups and smiles, Killian’s bright but confused and Emma’s resigned, especially when their fingers brushed and her heart began to race. 

“Wow,” said Ruby loudly, “what a funny mix-up. You two should definitely get each other’s names, in case it happens again.” 

Killian opened his mouth to reply but Emma gave a tiny shake of her head and he closed it again, his forehead wrinkling with a baffled frown. Emma turned to Ruby. 

“All right,” she hissed. “You win. 

“I—what?” 

“I like this one. I’ll take him. Congratulations, you did it.” 

Ruby looked genuinely nonplussed. “Are you serious?” 

“Yep.” 

“What’s the catch?” 

“No catch.” 

“Well I am a bit of a catch,” piped up Killian, who was watching the exchange with amusement and dawning understanding.

Ruby’s eyes flitted between them, narrowed in suspicion. “Emma Swan,” she growled, “if you’re fucking with me…” 

“I’m not! Honestly. Here, look, I’ll prove it.” 

She set her cup down on the counter and turned back to Killian, watching his eyes go wide and the smirk fall from his face as she grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him in for a kiss. Dimly she heard the sound of Ruby’s gasp and of Killian’s coffee cup hitting the floor, but then his arms were around her and he was sighing against her lips and all Emma could think was that what she’d told Ruby just now was true. She did like this one, and she damned well would take him. For the first time in far too long Emma truly and honestly envisioned what her life could be with a man in it, a partner to share it with, and found that the prospect didn’t scare her. She was excited for it. She wanted it. She wanted Killian. 

For all its heat and passion he kiss ended softly, and she smiled up at Killian, still clinging to his jacket, pressing her forehead to his. He grinned back, delighted if slightly dazed. “That was rather forward of you, lass, considering we only just met,” he said, deadpan. “But I can’t say as I object.” 

“Mmmm,” she hummed. “What do you say we take our coffee somewhere quiet and get to know each other a bit better?” 

“I’d say that’s an excellent plan. But as to the coffee, well—” He indicated the steaming puddle at their feet.

“Here you go,” said Ruby, and they both turned to see her holding out a fresh cup. “On the house.” 

Killian shook his head. “Oh, I couldn’t—”

“Look, anyone who gets a kiss like that off Emma is going to need it,” said Ruby firmly. She raised an eyebrow at each of them in turn. “There’s something going on here that I don’t know about, and rest assured I will find out what it is,” she informed them. “But for now take your coffee and go. You two are distractingly hot together and I have other customers.” 

“Well if you’re—” 

“I said go!” Ruby glared until Killian took the cup from her. “Enjoy. Oh, and Emma—” 

“Yeah?” 

“Call me later.” Ruby tapped a sharp-looking fingernail meaningfully on the countertop. “Or else.” 

—

@kmomof4, @stahlop, @spartanguard​, @mariakov81, @teamhook 

[ohmightydevviepuu]

the last test and proof / part four

oh hey hai guess what we’re still here celebrating @profdanglaisstuff.   A VERY MERRY UNBIRTHDAY, etc.  ❤

@katie-dub and @thisonesatellite again deserve thanks for their insights, as ever.  @shireness-says and the NO!  CURSE!  RENAISSANCE!!

part one | part two | part three | AO3

Things Emma and Hook Haven’t Talked About Yet:

1 - Neal 2 - The time she’d left him with a giant 3 - The time he’d left her in a cell 4 - Milah 5 - True. Love’s. Kiss.

The time he left her in a cell.

Okay, but.

Hook had left her. He’d left her, locked her in a cell and she could still hear the malice in his voice, the way it dripped from every letter, from every syllable. Emma closed her eyes and could hear it, the bite and the anger when he said, The time for that is done.

When Emma looked into his eyes and understood exactly what her mistake might cost her.

Just as I am done with you.

She rolled over, the sheet slipping away from her in the bed that wasn’t hers, sunlight streaming in through the open curtains, and waited. She waited for that feeling, that feeling in the pit of her stomach that always told her to run--but there was only the feeling she got when she thought she’d have to leave, like she was missing something. Home.

Emma got up from the bed and looked for her jeans on the floor, her jeans and her shirt and her underwear, and thought again about the qualities of a werewolf’s hearing because she was in one of the rooms at the B&B, the room that--apparently--Granny had given to Killian so he could “use the facilities” or whatever, like Emma even believed that.

Granny had a crush and Granny liked to look and Granny totally had a plan and they had played right into it which was fine. Great, even. Orgasm(s) and Feelings and she had kissed him and she hadn’t made out with someone like that since--ever, god, just lying there and feeling the other person against her as the kisses went from sweet to sexy and back again, her heart pounding as his eyelashes brushed against her cheeks and she felt the softness of his hair in her fingers.

Killian was gone but there was a note on the table with a little swan drawn at the top and the words i’ll return soon, please stay as long as you like and a little hook drawn underneath and next to the note was a cup of coffee mixed with exactly the right sugar-to-coffee ratio and a generous splash of milk. It was still hot.

Neal had never learned how she took her coffee.

Speak of the devil: Neal was in the diner, in a booth with their son and a plate of French fries between them. Emma watched them and couldn’t stop herself imagining the same scene playing out with Killian at the table, probably teaching Henry how to cheat at dice or poker or whatever games pirates played when they gambled. She couldn’t stop herself imagining another version of the scene, between Hook and Baelfire on the decks of the Jolly Roger where he’d apparently stayed for a time in Neverland.

Teaching him to fight with a cutlass that sat in his cabin some two hundred years later.

Neither of them ever talked about it, but Hook had taught Neal to sail and to play cards and to pick locks, never break in without a plan to break out and all of that; Hook had cared for him, maybe even loved him. Knew him well enough to decipher the drawings on the cave wall, port and starboard and a hook and an abandoned accounting of time when all hope was lost. Only that last one Killian knew the same way Emma knew, from painful personal experience. The look you get when you’ve been left alone.

They were--all of them--sentimental; Killian with the cutlass and Baelfire with his scrawled memories and Emma with the weight of an old keychain around her neck like an albatross.

They were, all of them, Lost Ones.

Emma slid into the booth next to Henry and grabbed a fry. (Wondered if Killian knew she preferred onion rings.) Met Neal’s look as it shifted from a smile to something less pleasant--yes, Neal, sex hair was a thing, too bad they so rarely got to do it in a real bed with so many orgasms; Emma smirked and raised her eyebrow.

Henry, smart kid that he was, excused himself to go to the counter and sit with Ruby, climbing over the divider in his haste to escape.

“Jesus, Em,” Neal muttered.

“Don’t be a dick, Neal,” Emma snapped.

“Fine,” he said. “Fine, how about I just break into your room and--”

“I was right about her.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Neal said.

“None of this is okay,” Emma said. “You showing up here acting like Henry’s father--”

“I am Henry’s father!”

“Do you even care at all about me, what it’s like for me having you here, the mess it’s making with Regina--”

“So the Evil Queen gets a say?”

“She’s his mother,” Emma said, exasperated. “He loves her.”

“And Hook? You don’t know what I know about him.”

“So tell me. Tell me what happened.”

Neal ran his hand through his hair and looked around and said, “Emma, he killed my mother.”

Emma’s response was immediate. “No, he didn’t.”

“As good as--he might as well have torn her heart out himself!”

“Seriously?”

“He wanted to kill my father,” Neal said. “He tore my family apart.”

“Neal.” Emma tipped her head to the side. “You know that’s not true. Your family--they were a disaster. They left you. Both of them. You told me that.”

“So that’s how it is now,” Neal said. “A good screw and you’re just--”

“Fuck you, Neal.”

“--is that what he told you, now you’re just making excuses for what he did, apologizing for him after--”

“Wait, what?”

“Come on, Emma, you know he tried to pull this with me the other day. He wanted to talk. About his regrets or some bullshit. You know I wished we could have been a family, Bae.” Neal rolled his eyes and suddenly Emma knew exactly what happened.

Not on the Jolly Roger. Only Neal and Killian would ever truly know that, but--in the cells.

And, well, maybe on the Jolly Roger. Because this--this was what Neal did: he lashed out, he pushed, he blamed everyone but himself. It’s what she did, too, and once upon a time it had been something they’d had in common, that fuck-the-world mentality.

And Killian--he’d pushed back. Let his anger overtake him, because that’s what he did, that’s how he coped, how he covered up his hurt and his pride and that’s what she’d seen in his eyes when he’d looked at her all just as I am done with you.

Disappointment.

And it was so easy, wasn’t it, to play down to expectations; Hook left her because she left him and now--

“Neal,” she said. “I can’t live in the past anymore.”

“You’re never going to forgive me, are you?”

“No. I’m not.” Emma shrugged. “The time for that--it’s done. You know that. I want to stop running.”

“You think Captain Hook is going to stay here, with you?”

She did. She believed.

The door opened and every head in the diner turned.

Not Emma’s. She didn’t look away from Neal, couldn’t, really, not before she said this: “No, Neal. I believe that Killian Jones is going to stay here. With me.”

And then she turned and the fry in her hand dropped onto the plate and her mouth fell open because Killlian-fucking-Jones had just walked into the diner like he’d stepped off of the pages of, like, GQ or something--in perfectly-fitted blue jeans and black boots and a red partially-unbuttoned Henley under a black vest and a black leather blazer.

A leather blazer.

And Emma didn’t miss the coat at all because--that view, it deserved to be on display. Wow. Did it ever. Granny was gonna break her neck, seriously.

Killian Jones walked in, not Captain Hook, and Tink trailed in behind him clutching a bag in her hand and looked around and saw Emma and winked and waved and gave her a smile, all, It’s good, right and fuck, yeah. It was. Killian turned back to Tink and followed the direction she was looking and saw her with Neal and Emma didn’t even think.

She left the French fry on its plate and stood up and walked straight over to him and this part would get easier, right? They’d figure out the routine and the comfort level but right now she just wanted to touch him, to let him know that she was there.

She understood.

She’d already known but now he was there in the clothes and she understood.

“Hello, beautiful,” she said and watched the smile blossom on his face.

Killian Jones was going to stay here. With her.

--

@optomisticgirl @spartanguard @kmomof4 @stahlop @carpedzem @karl0ta @captain-emmajones @mariakov81 @therealstartraveller776 @klynn-stormz @withaheartfulloflove @gingerchangeling​ @scientificapricot​

[seriouslyhooked]

Can’t Say No (At Christmas)

CS one-shot set in the future. Hope is three and Emma and Killian are still very much in the throws of a happily ever after, but Killian wants to do something special for Emma for Christmas. With the help of their family and the town, he manages to fulfill a Christmas wish for his wife in exactly the kind of over-the-top fluffy and sweet way you’d expect from me. Includes holiday surprises, Christmas cheer, and a healthy dash of true love. Rated T. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey all! I really did not know if I was going to be able to get this drabble done, but I am so happy to say that I did and to share it with you all tonight. I know that this Christmas is going to be so different for so many of us, and that it has been a hard year of uncertainty and stress. My gift to our little fandom is this story, focused on Emma and Killian a few years after we got to see them in the show. It’s inspired by the spirit of Christmas, the cheesiness that only Hallmark movies can provide, and the song ‘No Problem’ by Dylan Schneider. I love the idea that Killian cannot deny Emma anything, and that at Christmas he has to make Emma’s wishes come true. I hate to spoil any more of this, but I will just say thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

“I don’t know how the hell you pulled this off, mate, but I got to hand it to you, this is really something special.”

The words David uttered from the bottom of the ladder were high praise, despite the dig at Killian’s favorite endearment. Tonight though, Killian would let the jab slide. He simply didn’t have the time or energy to pretend to argue with Emma’s father. Instead he hustled down the rungs and back to solid ground beside his friend. He took stock of the room once more, running his hand through his hair and tracing each corner of the barn with his gaze. There was very little about the place that was recognizable. It had been sufficiently transformed, from an old, dusty tomb of farm equipment, to a space fit for the evening ahead.

“It pays to be a good guy in the end,” Killian joked. Playing up the early days of their knowing each other when Killian was anything but a hero. “Turns out I’ve helped quite a lot of people these past few years. They were eager to return the favor.”

“That’s true enough, but I think the fact that you did this all for Emma plays a big part too.”

There was no doubt about that, and the mere reminder of his wife brought a smile to his lips. She was going to be surprised by this, and there was nothing that he loved more than surprising his Swan. Killian could hardly wait for the look of excitement that would spread across her face, and the light that would appear in her jade colored eyes. Her cheeks would flush from realization, and her hands would move unbiddenly, as if she couldn’t quite contain the excitement or suspense. Emma was always the most beautiful of women, and a miracle to be sure, but when treated to a gift that was truly worthy of her, she was transcendent, his own personal star and tempting taste of heaven.

“Any word from Snow?” Killian asked, checking his watch and seeing they had made good time, despite the hecticness of the day. He had enough time to catch a shower and prepare himself, but he needed to be sure that Emma and Hope were sufficiently occupied in the meantime.

“Better – she sent a video while you were hanging the last of the garland.”

David offered his phone and Killian laughed at the sight. Snow and Emma had taken Neal and Hope out of town to a nearby ski resort that was hosting all sorts of winter activities for kids. In the video Emma, Hope, and Neal were all making snow angels, until Neal gave the signal and he and Hope pivoted to throwing snowballs at Emma. The only problem was Hope was far too little and bundled up in snow gear to be effective. She was having the time of her life though, and at the end of the video, Emma scooped their daughter up and nuzzled her close, bestowing a kiss on her curly brown hair, which had escaped its winter cap. Hope was a dazzling blend of him and Emma, but her goodness and ability to inspire love was totally her mother’s doing.

“Perfect. You good here for the time being?” David nodded, pivoting from his assistant role to commander in chief with the quickness of one-time prince. Content that his tasks were in good hands, Killian headed out, eager to put the next parts of his plan in place.

Things moved quickly from there. He showered and readied himself for the kind of night his Emma had imagined, ignoring the strangeness of his reflection as he did. He would never feel quite right in these damn tuxedos, but Emma’s wish was specific and it included the blasted suit. It also included a number of gifts for Emma and for Hope, which he pulled from the one place in the house Emma never ventured to – the garage. From the back of the storage space there, he grabbed a number of boxes that he’d stuffed away last week, and brought them all inside. After checking the contents were free from any water or dirt, he was convinced things were as they should be, and he left the gifts underneath the Christmas tree.

The only thing left to craft was the note for Emma that would set her surprise in motion. He hadn’t dared to write it out before, wanting to save it for this moment. It felt right to speak from the heart and to put in words exactly how he felt tonight. Still, it took time to get the letter exactly right, and he must admit he grew a bit sentimental when crafting it. A time or two he fell into recent and more distant memories of their lives together, feeling the warmth in his soul that could only ever come from the truest love. Luckily, he had enough of his wits about him and time was on his side. Soon he heard the sound of a car pulling up the drive just as he closed the envelope with Emma’s name and placed it on the tree, and with the stealth accrued in his past life, he slipped out the back door just before his girls came in.

“Mama, look! Santa came early,” he heard Hope say as he quietly rounded the side of the house. For a moment he was truly tempted to steal a look and watch this scene play out, but he reminded himself that there was still more to be done, and instead headed down the street to where a not so patiently waiting Snow was parked.

“Killian, thank God! I thought you’d never get here!” she exclaimed as he opened the door, but before he could reply, young Neal let his own thoughts be known.

“Mom, it’s been like sixty seconds. Literally. Look, I timed it on the stopwatch Henry gave me. 63 seconds.

“No, has it only been a minute? I’m so excited I can’t tell. It feels like forever. I was waiting for this all day. It was so hard not to spill the beans.”

“But you didn’t, right?” Killian checked, pivoting to Neal for the truth. When the boy gave him a thumbs up, he let out a breath. “Good. But it all might be for not if we don’t get a move on.”

“Oh, right. We’ve got to go. We’ve got a Christmas miracle to deliver.” Neal groaned at the words and Killian remained quiet prompting Snow to ask the question, “Sorry, too cheesy?”

“For tonight? No, strangely it’s just right.”

And with that, they pulled away from the curb, headed back towards the barn and the long-awaited surprise.

……………….

“Mama, look! Santa came! Santa came!”

At first Emma didn’t understand the words from her daughter. She was just trying to get her bearings after peeling the snow clothes off of Hope and discarding her own jacket on the hook by the door. Her boots were barely off and her scarf was still wound around her neck. She couldn’t imagine how Hope still had so much energy, but then she remembered – three year olds were like comic book characters, with a super power of endless energy.

“Christmas Eve is tomorrow, honey,” Emma said, righting her clothes and letting go of a big breath, before walking towards the living room. “Two more sleeps until Santa.”

“But look, Mama, pwesents!”

Emma followed her daughters pointing finger across the way, and low and behold there were gifts under the tree that had not been there this morning. Her curiosity was peaked, but when she saw the white envelope secured in the branches of their evergreen tree, she had an inkling of what was happening.

“Killian,” she murmured walking forward, and running her fingertips across the delicate paper.

“Daddy?” Hope asked excitedly, and Emma nodded as she opened the envelope, only to fight off tears of love when she read the letter.

My Dearest Emma,

There are no gifts that I could ever give you that compare to all you’ve given me. I know and accept that, but this time of year is different. It’s a season predicated on love, light, and yes, even a bit of magic. So I had to try, for your sake and for mine.

Christmas is about showing the people you love what they mean to you. It’s about giving love and feeling love, and knowing that even in the dark of a winter night, there is hope and light ahead. It’s about reminding loved ones that you care, that you’re rooting for them, and that their dreams are your dreams too. You taught me that, you and Hope and Henry, and I swear to you that all I could ever want is to make you happy, and to grant the wishes you carry in your heart.

“Ooo, pwetty,” Hope said, dragging Emma’s eyes down to where her daughter had already begun opening the parcels below. Inside the white garment box was a gorgeous crimson colored dress, breathtaking in its elegant design. The satin and the beading were exquisite, and the color was to die for, and like something from a dream. Hope offered the box to her, knowing even at age three that it wasn’t the right size for her. “For you, Mama.”

“Thank you, princess,” Emma said, taking the box in hand, wanting to look at it in full, but knowing the letter was still more important.

You are everything to me, Emma. Everything and so much more. You and our children hold my whole universe in your hands. Tonight, I hope to take your hand in mine, and remind you that in life, all you really need is the perfect partner.

“He didn’t,” Emma whispered, looking down from the letter which had been signed with love by her pirate. Then she looked at the other presents Hope was opening. A beautiful pair of heels, a white fur muff, and a necklace that sparkled, along with all the same things for Hope that were more their daughter’s style and perfect for her size. The last gift was another envelope, with a card. On the top in cursive script it read ‘Selected Suitors for Emma Jones’ and the only name was Killian’s. “Oh my god, he did. It’s a dance. He planned a Christmas dance for me.”

“Dance?” Hope asked and Emma crouched down to help her daughter really open her own garment box, where a beautiful princess-style dress was waiting for her. As soon as she saw it Hope let out a sound of pure delight, clapping her hands together at a hastened clip. At that moment, the front door opened, and Emma looked, expecting to see Killian but instead seeing her son, dressed up in a tuxedo and looking downright dashing. It would have been a shock either way, but this year, when she’d been bracing herself for her son being away for the holiday, it felt like an even greater gift.

“Henry?” she asked, as Hope bolted for her brother. Instinctively, Henry scooped her up, accepting all her hugs and kisses before turning his eyes back to Emma.

“Surprise! Well, part of it anyway. But we’ve got to get a move on, or we’ll be late.”

“Where are we going?” Hope asked. Henry responded by whispering in her ear, low enough that Emma couldn’t hear. Whatever he said made Hope gasp. “Really? We’re going there?”

“Sure are. But we have to get ready. Don’t worry, Mom, I’ve got Hope. You do what you need to do.”

Emma was spurred into motion, grabbing the gifts marked for her and heading upstairs. In thirty minutes, she and Hope were both ready for whatever awaited them, and though Emma had her suspicions, she was in no way prepared when they arrived at the old McDonald farm. Pulling around back to the barn, there were dozens of people milling around. Everyone in town was here tonight, dressed up and partaking in merriment, but when they left the car and walked inside, Emma was truly stunned.

“It’s beautiful,” she said aloud, taking in the gorgeous decorations. The space was totally transformed, a perfect blend of rustic refinement. The colors were vivid and vibrant, the air was warm and filled with the scent of cinnamon and honey, and the joy here was palpable. There was a buzzing electricity that crackled in the air. This was what all those Christmas movies strove to recreate but could never quite capture, and Emma took it all in knowing that her husband had made this just for her.

Scanning the room for him, Emma was first greeted with the sight of her Mom and Dad and brother. They came forward immediately, hugging her and Hope and Henry and extending their thoughts.

“Oh, honey, you look spectacular!” her mother exclaimed with tears in her eyes, holding her hands and looking at her red dress. It was a truly wonderous design, that hugged every one of Emma’s curves just right while still feeling of the season. It was classic and timeless and more than a little sexy, but it was appropriate for the night, when everyone was dressed to the nines.

“So do you guys,” Emma said honestly, taking in her mom’s sapphire ball gown, and her Dad and brother’s tuxes.

“I’m a princess, Grandpa,” Hope said happily and Emma’s father immediately agreed as the band began to play a slower melody.

“There’s no denying that. Care to dance with me, Princess Hope?” He asked, bowing to her daughter. Hope giggled but took Emma’s hand instinctively, looking at her for permission and clarity.

“What about you, Mama?”

“Don’t worry, sprout,” Henry said nodding across the room and using his favorite nickname for his sister. “Dad’s got her taken care of.”

Emma’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Killian, as if this was a first date and not years into their marriage. She couldn’t help the butterflies swarming within her, and then, like magic the crowd of people parted, and there, across the room was her man. It should have come as no surprise how handsome he would look. Emma was well versed in how roguishly hot her pirate could be, but in a tux it was a whole other story. Maybe it was the rarity of seeing him like this, or maybe Killian was just one of those men who was born to wear a tux, but either way she was struck by him. Everything seemed to stop around her, and all she could sense was the man who completely owned her heart.

A few moments later they were together again. Emma hadn’t even realize she’d been walking towards him, and him to her, but when he took her hand she felt her blood hum in anticipation. She was caught in his eyes, sensing the mixture of love and desire that was so intoxicating, and waiting for him to speak, because words in this moment truly failed her.

“You look stunning, Swan,” he said to her, the gravel of his tone washing over her and sending a shiver down her spine in that delicious kind of way. “The fantasies I’d conjured in my mind’s eye could never do you justice.”

“So you were fantasizing about this, huh?” she asked, her voice thready as she turned, purposefully taunting him with a view of all her best angles. This time he let out a low growl that spiked her desire to tease him. God damn, there were people around! How could she be this hot and bothered? Oh right, she was married to a sinfully attractive and impossibly romantic man. This was par for the course.

“Aye, love, and I promise those musings will prove more than satisfactory when we get home.” His voice dipped low and she swallowed hard, trying to tamp down her own building need. Then something shifted in his eyes, and she knew before he said a word that something immensely thoughtful was about to be shared. “I hope it’s everything that you wanted, love. Those blasted ‘Hallmark towns’ have a lot more built-in Christmas cheer than Storybrooke, but all it took was a hint that this was what you wanted, and everyone came together.”

It dawned on her that the wish he was referring to was one that she’d made a few weekends ago when they were laying in bed watching TV. She usually skipped the Hallmark Christmas extravaganza, but this year she was feeling sentimental. Maybe it was the fact that Hope was finally hitting an age where she was starting to understand the season, or more likely it was the pregnancy hormones from their little one on the way. She was only twelve weeks along, and wasn’t even showing yet, but her self-coined pregnancy induced crazy brain was in full swing, and had been from the start. The only thing getting her through most days was Killian, and then he went and did something like this… it was too much for her, she couldn’t take it.

“I love you,” she confessed, blurting it out like it was some big secret instead of established fact. “Like a lot. A lot a lot.”

“A lot a lot,” Killian parroted with a grin, pulling her with him out to the dance floor before taking her in his arms. She melded into his muscled physique, trying not to swoon as the melody carried them away.

“You know I’m not as good at the whole poetic declarations thing as you are.”

“Few can be, love,” he joked. She raised her brow at him in quiet consternation, and he only laughed before turning her into a low dip on the dance floor and reminding her that he was in total control of himself out here. “But where words might fail you, action is your strong suit. You show me every day how much you love me, Emma. And every day I thank my lucky stars to have that love.”

He made a fair point. Emma was, after all, a woman of action, and so she decided to take some now. Though they were dancing, she stalled their moment to pull him in for a kiss, giving them both a taste of what was to come when the night drew to a close. The sparks between them ignited instantly, and without looking, Emma knew some of her magic was radiating from within. When they pulled apart she was almost dizzy from the delight, but Killian was even more effected. He had that boyish grin of his in full display, and that tiny hint of bashfulness that came when he’d done something really well. Only when she heard the oohing and aahing of the people around them did she realize their magic had created stars along the ceiling of the barn, making it appear that they were all dancing under an inky black sky bursting with constellations.

From a distance, Emma heard her daughter ask if it was ‘magic time’ now, but before she and Killian needed to step in, Regina told her ‘Not tonight, kid,’ and Henry whisked her off for her another dance. This gave Emma and Killian time, time to enjoy the fruits of all he’d done, and to revel in this moment for as long as they could.

“Merry Christmas, Killian. You’ve made it so perfect, I never want it to end.”

“What is it they say in those movies, love? Oh right – every day is Christmas when we’re together.”

And even though it was horribly corny, and she should have rolled her eyes at such a lame joke, Emma found that she couldn’t. She was simply too happy and grateful to feign otherwise. Instead she savored every moment of their Christmas dance, and the night they shared thereafter, knowing this would be one of the best days she’d ever had, and that somehow, some way, her pirate would find other means of making the future just as bright.

……………………

Girl I got a no problem Yeah, it's a bad habit, the way I gotta have it With or without you around All ya gotta do is call me, and tell me that you're lonely You're always stringing me out Yeah, they say the first step to quitting it Is admitting it, so here it is Girl, I think I got a no problem On my hands, 'cause I can't say no to you Once you start you know I can't stop it Even if I wanted to Yeah, I get tongue tied every time I try To do what I oughta do Girl, I got a no problem Yeah, 'cause I can't say no to you Girl, I should know better, yeah, I should know never To let you in just to leave If it's just two letters, then why can't I ever Find a way to piece 'em together Let's say the first step to quitting it Is admitting it, I'm admitting it, here it is Girl, I think I got a no problem On my hands, 'cause I can't say no to you Once you start you know I can't stop it Even if I wanted to Yeah, I get tongue tied every time I try To do what I oughta do Girl, I got a no problem Yeah, 'cause I can't say no to you Those smokey blue eyes staring back at me Yeah, you already know if you're asking me What the answer's always gonna be It's gonna be, yeah Girl, I think I got a no problem On my hands, 'cause I can't say no to you Once you start you know I can't stop it Even if I wanted to Yeah, I get tongue tied every time I try To do what I oughta do Girl, I got a no problem Yeah, 'cause I can't say no to you Those smokey blue eyes staring back at me Can't say no to you Yeah, you already know if you're asking me Girl, I got a no problem That the answer's always gonna be 'Cause I can't say no to you Girl, I got a no problem 'Cause I can't say no to you

Post-Note: So, what did you think? Hopefully you enjoyed this little dose of holiday cuteness and none of this is offensive in any way or to any story line. Most of you know I never watched the last season of the show, so I don’t know what they say happened to Henry and everybody. I only knew Emma and Killian did eventually have a baby girl named Hope. Anyway, I want to wish all of you a very Merry Christmas and healthy holiday season. I am grateful for you all, from the ride or die readers who comment on every post, to the people passing by who just wanted a little bit of Christmas cheer. You are such a force for good in my world, whoever you are, and I thank you for your light and kindness in these trying time. I wish you all the best this Christmas and in the New Year, and more than anything I wish you love! Sending my best vibes your way now and always, xE.

The Captain Swan Mixtape oneshot series:

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,Part 10,Part 11, Part 12,Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24,Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31,Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, Part 36, Part 37, Part 38,Part 39,Part 40, Part 41, Part 42, Part 43, Part 44, Part 45,Part 46,Part 47, Part 48, Part 49, Part 50, Part 51, Part 52, Part 53,Part 54,Part 55, Part 56, Part 57, Part 58, Part 59, Part 60,Part 61,Part 62, Part 63, Part 64, Part 65, Part 66, Part 67, Part 68,Part 69,Part 70, Part 71, Part 72, Part 73, Part 74, Part 75,Part 76,Part 77, Part 78, Part 79, Part 80, Part 81, Part 82, Part 83,Part 84,Part 85, Part 86, Part 87, Part 88, Part 89, Part 90,Part 91,Part 92, Part 93, Part 94, Part 95, Part 96, Part 97, Part 98,Part 99,Part 100, Part 101, Part 102, Part 103,Part 104, Part 105,Part 106, Part 107,Part 108, Part 109, Part 110,Part 111, Part 112,Part 113, Part 114, Part 115,Part 116, Part 117, Part 118,Part 119,Part 120, Part 121, Part 122, Part 123,Part 124, Part 125,Part 126, Part 127, Part 128,Part 129,Part 130, Part 131,Part 132,Part 133, Part 134, Part 135, Part 136, Part 137, Part 138,Part 139,Part 140, Part 141, Part 142, Part 143, Part 144, Part 145,Part 146, Part 147, Part 148,Part 149, Part 150, Part 151,Part 152, Part 153, Part 154, Part 155, Part 156, Part 157, Part 158,Part 159, Part 160, Part 161, Part 162, Part 163, Part 164,Part 165, Part 166, Part 167, Part 168, Part 169, Part 170,Part 171,Part 172, Part 173, Part 174, Part 175, Part 176,Part 177, Part 178, Part 179 , Part 180, Part 181, Part 182, Part 183, Part 184, Part 185, Part 186, Part 187, Part 188, Part 189, Part 190, Part 191, Part 192, Part 193, Part 194, Part 195

[sailtoafarawayland]

Entwined: Family Outtakes Ch. 1

Summary: A collection of family-centered outtakes from the Entwined series. Enjoy some touching moments as we get a peek into the lives of Emma, Killian, Hook, and their three children as they grow and find their stride as a family in the peaceful town of Storybrooke. 

Rating: G - T (to be safe)

AO3 - FF

Some SwanRook fluff and happiness inspired by and dedicated to @teamhook 

Chapter One: All The Small Moments

“Hey, hey!” Emma called, coffee mug sloshing to the counter as she darted across the kitchen after the two kids barreling through the front door, snatching the two brown bags waiting on the tabletop. “Don't forget your lunches!”

“Oh – ” Henry spun around first, a distracted look on his face as hopped back up the stairs, his gaze lingering on the screen of his phone as he took the bag she waved back and forth in front of him. “Thanks, mom.”

“Sure thing, kid,” Emma smiled, wanting to reach out and ruffle his hair as she'd done so many times before, but at  fourteen, it was gesture he didn't find nearly as endearing as he used to.

Alice strolled back to the house at a more sedate pace – for being a year younger than Henry, she was always a bit more restrained, and Emma couldn't help but wonder if it was still her uncertainty in this new realm, or just all the space that she wasn't quite used to having. Both thoughts made her chest tighten. Emma offered the paper bag with a smile, relieved when Alice returned it with one of her own.

It was more reserved then the beaming, open grins that she gave her Papa, and not quite as free as the ones she shared with Killian –  especially when he did something silly to make her laugh – but it was a smile all the same, and Emma counted each one as another victory against the witch who'd left her daughter to be imprisoned in a tower.  

“Thanks, Emma,” Alice murmured, her smile widening just enough that it finally reached her eyes before she turned and hurried after Henry, her son already holding out his phone to show her whatever was catching his attention as they shared the walk to school.

Emma tugged her cardigan more snugly around her waist and headed back into the house, her own smile lingering as she mopped coffee from the counter and thought about picking up bear claws to bring into the station – Killian's sweet tooth wasn't as bad as hers, but even he'd picked up her habit of enjoying pastries in the morning, though Hook still mostly turned up his nose at the sugary confections.  

/

The house was quiet, Hook and Killian down at the docks helping Leroy get his boat into the dry dock and prepared for winter storage, and Emma could only just hear the sound of Henry's video games filtering through his closed door from upstairs. Alice was probably reading or painting in her own room, and for the first time in what had been a hectic week at the station, she found herself able to take a long breath and relax.

The chill outside was just bitter enough that it made its way into the house through the old windows, and she found herself boiling water for hot cocoa, humming something softly to herself as she found her favorite mug – most likely a tune she'd picked up from one of her boys – and got out the whipped cream and cinnamon.

“What are you doing?”

Emma jumped, grateful it was only the whipped cream that fell to the floor and not a mug of hot cocoa, a smile pulling at her cheeks as she tucked her hair behind her ears and bent to pick it up.

“Sorry,” Alice muttered, shifting from the balls of her feet to her toes as she took in the whipped cream and cup. “Are you making hot cocoa?”

“Yup,” Emma grinned, “it's the perfect day for it – you know what else it's the perfect day for?”

“What?” Alice took a few more steps into the kitchen, casting her gaze around the room to see if she'd missed anything else.

“Cookies!” Emma sang triumphantly, reaching back into the fridge and pulling out a canister of the ready-to-bake chocolate chip version.

She'd noticed a while ago that on days like this, the ones where the house was empty – Henry wrapped up in whatever game or book he was stuck on, the fishing season keeping Hook busy at the harbor, and Killian and Emma working separate shifts – that the quiet seemed to get to Alice a little more, to creep up the stairs to the third floor and ruin the happiness she'd found in painting or reading.

It was something Emma remembered from her time in the system as a kid – Am I alone? Is anyone coming back? Can I trust the quiet – and she'd wanted to find one way she could remind Alice that here at least, in this house, the quiet was just that, and that she was never alone – not anymore.

Cookies had seemed like a good option. Emma definitely wasn't a baker, but even she could manage a canister of prepackaged dough, and the thought of the kitchen smelling like baking cookies seemed like just the homey type of thing they could both appreciate. No one bakes cookies when they're the only one to enjoy them.

“Those are cookies?” Alice questioned as she eyed the tube suspiciously, an eyebrow cocked in such a way that Emma's heart skipped a beat, the gesture mimicking her father so closely.

“Well, this world's version of them, at least...or maybe my version.” Emma rolled the canister in her hands, perusing the very simple instructions she was sure she couldn't mess up. “So, how about it, want to make some cookies with me? They'll go perfect with hot cocoa...”

“Yes!” Alice enthused, nodding her head vigorously and giving Emma one of those smiles that were coming a little easier each day. “Cookies sound great, Emma.”

“Alright, kid, let's find a baking sheet and...”

The afternoon drifted away, the noise spreading from the kitchen as Emma and Alice wrangled cookie sheets and mugs to the second floor as Henry won his game with a whoop and nearly galloped down the stairs to see what they were up to.

By the time both Hook and Killian strolled in from work, everything was far less quiet than it had been that morning. They stopped in the doorway to soak up the cozy view of their family gathered around the coffee table – mugs of hot cocoa and a plate of half eaten cookies spread among the deck of cards that neither of them recognized.

“Uno!” screeched Alice, slapping her card down on the table hard enough to make the mugs skitter, her knees bouncing with excitement against the floors.

“How did you get all the wilds?” Henry moped, eyeing the piles of cards as if he was going to spot some form of trickery. “Is this deck stacked?”

“It's just Uno, kid,” Emma consoled, her hand darting out to muss his hair as he leaned dramatically away, swatting her off. “I'm pretty sure you can't stack the deck.”

“Oh, I don't know, darling,” Hook mused as he shed his boots and both he and Killian joined everyone in the family room, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips as she smiled up at him, “a pirate always finds a way.”

/

Emma waited nervously outside the school, Henry barely pausing to give her a lopsided hug before taking off with his friend Jake for a weekend of video games, junk food, and boy jokes that Emma was perfectly happy to miss out on for once.

She kicked the light blanket of snow aimlessly beneath her boots, watching as the kids filtered out, joining other waiting parents or heading down the streets toward home by themselves. It didn't take long before she spied a familiar head of long blonde hair, her blue beanie pulled low over her ears, hands tucked inside the grey pea jacket she'd picked out herself.

“Alice!” Emma called, waving her over, her stomach only churning a little as Alice paused in confusion before jogging to her side – Emma wincing as she nearly slipped and fell on an icy patch before finally arriving in one piece.  

This was the first time she was walking Alice back to the house instead of Hook, but he hadn't been feeling well, and Emma had insisted he stay home in bed while she went, reminding him that the break from the station would be nice. Alice was probably old enough to find her own way back, but neither Hook nor Alice seemed ready for that, and after everything they'd gone through, Emma wasn't about to judge him for still needing the assurance that his daughter was safe and sound – and though Alice was almost a teenager, she'd spent enough of her life alone.  

“Emma!” Alice trilled, her words a puff of smoke in the cold air, “I didn't know you'd be walking me home today.”

“Your Papa isn't feeling so hot, so I told him to stay home while I came to get you. I hope that was okay,” she explained, biting back the sinking disappointment that maybe for Alice it wasn't, instead focusing on staying in step with her...step-daughter, she supposed...as they headed back toward home.

“I'm actually really glad you came today,” Alice confided, looking up at her shyly before turning her gaze back to the sidewalk stretching out before them. “I wanted to ask...well, is it okay if I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Emma stammered, brow furrowing as she wondered what Alice could possibly want to know – hoping it was something she could answer without needing to run it by Hook first. “Shoot, kid.”

“Shoot?”

“Sorry, that just means go ahead, ask away – you can talk to me about anything, Alice. I hope you know that...”

It was more of an offering than she would normally give someone, but Alice wasn't just someone. She was family – and Emma had stopped bringing up her walls for family a long time ago. If there was anything she wanted Alice to understand, it was that she wasn't just a part of Hook's family, and by extension, herself and Henry and Killian's, but that they were all in this together – all five of them.  

She wanted her to know she was cared for, that she was loved.  

“Yeah, I know that,” Alice murmured, her cheeks reddened by the cold beneath her hat, “and, well, I really don't want to ask Papa about this...what if you like someone, Emma. How do you get them to like you back?”

“Oh, well that's...” Emma faltered, suddenly less cheerful about the fact that Alice was opening up to her. She'd never had these kind of conversations with Henry – other than the one time in Camelot – but it hadn't been like this, not really. This was...this was something else entirely, and Emma didn't even have any memories of someone else having them with her to fall back on. “That's kind of a complicated one, but what's most important is understanding that someone should like you for who you already are. Does that make sense?”

“Kind of,” Alice hedged, her lips drawing into a thin line as her jaw clenched, another reminder of her father and Killian, “but what if, what if they wouldn't normally like someone like you?”  

“Alice, Emma spoke, her voice soft but serious as she stopped and waited for the young girl next to her to look up. “You are brave, and smart, and fierce – and I've never met someone who's been through so much and still has the kindest, most trusting heart. Don't think you ever need to change, or pretend to be someone else just to get a boy to like you. Because if they don't see how great you are, they're crazy.”

Unwanted memories of Neal flickered through her head, memories of being scared and terrified and so desperate to not be alone that she overlooked every red flag that had popped up in that relationship.

“It's not...” Alice whispered, nibbling on the edge of her lip as she looked up at Emma with a furrowed brow. “What if it's not a boy? What if I like a girl, and I wished she liked me back?”

“Oh, well, the same rules apply,” Emma shrugged, “you just remember to always be yourself, and one day someone will come along who loves you for exactly who you are – boy, girl, it doesn't matter.”

“Did you ever like someone who didn't like you back?”

“Oh, for sure. Devon Sawa, for starters – I had it bad for him.”

“And he didn't like you back?”

“Didn't even know I existed,” Emma deadpanned, remembering flipping through the pages of a teen magazine at the bodega before the owner had yelled at her and run her out, “but you'll probably meet a lot of people that you like, kid, and sometimes, there will be people who like you, but you don't feel the same way about them.”

“That sounds complicated.”

“When it's right, you'll know it, because you'll look at each other and just know that there's something special there, something different – something worth fighting for.”

“You think?” Alice whispered, her lips pulling into a grin that Emma was slowly getting used to seeing more of.

“I sure do,” Emma nodded, ruffling Alice's beanie before offering her a gloved hand. “Come on, this section of the sidewalk is solid ice up ahead – let's try to get home in one piece.”

“No one cleaned it? You'll have to give them a ticket,” Alice advised, the rest of their conversation veering into territories Emma felt she had a better grip on – homework, and the day's lessons, and what was happening for dinner – it was lasagna, Granny's doing.

And as Alice chattered on about plans to invent a recipe that had at least one thing everyone in the family liked in it, it hit Emma that there was a time topics like homework and what was for dinner had felt pretty daunting too, and she thought that just maybe she was better suited to this parenting thing than she'd ever thought possible.    

/

“Henry! Alice! Come on, guys!” Emma yelled, doubling back into the kitchen and snatching the brown paper bags from the table before hollering up the stairs at Killian and Hook to hurry up – everyone seemed distracted by something this morning.

The door slammed behind her as she jogged down the stairs and whistled sharply, Henry's head whipping around before he realized what they'd forgotten and headed back, tugging on Alice's sleeve to get her attention.

Alice pulled the headphones from her ears and looked back towards the house, watching as Emma strode toward them with the two bag lunches swinging in her hand.

“Thanks, mom,” Henry smiled, putting some extra twinkle into it since he knew everyone in the house was already running late for their day – and Emma had already mentioned more than once she had new office staff in to train that morning.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma huffed, unable to keep her frown up as Henry flashed her a grin and one of the bags disappeared from her hand, Alice's fingers reaching and tugging the second free.

“Yup, thanks, mum!” Alice echoed, already moving to plug her headphones back into her ears before her hand paused in midair, an uncertain set to her lips as she turned and met Emma's eyes. “Is that...is it okay if I call you...”

“Hey,” Emma reassured, reaching her arms around the young girl and giving her a tight squeeze, her own eyes tearing up as she pressed a firm kiss to the top of her head. “I would love if you called me mom.”

“I've never had a mum,” she whispered, eyebrows lifting as she tried to stifle the wide smile that was threatening to break over her face, “but I've always wanted one.”

“Well, you've got me now, kid. You know, I didn't have a mom either – or a family at all when I was your age – but then I found them.”

“Henry and Killian.”

“And your Papa, and you, Alice.”

“I like that a lot,” she nodded, “that we'll always be together – all of us.”

Emma nodded in agreement, stepping back as Alice tucked the headphones back into her ears, waving a shy goodbye as she hurried to catch up with Henry, who over the past year and half had become more and more of a brother to her.

“Is everything alright, love?” Killian asked, his hand settling onto the small of her back as she watched the kids round the corner ahead.

“Yeah,” she rasped, the word falling a little harshly from her lips as she cleared her throat and swallowed heavily, her eyes burning. “Everything's great.”

She turned at the sound of familiar footsteps, Hook stopping to join them. Both men were sharing identical looks of concern as they took in the glistening at the corner of her eyes, the way her smile was a little less steady than normal.

“What is it?” Hook worried, his gaze flickering to Killian to confirm that he was just as in the dark. “Is everything well with Alice and Henry?”

“Alice just asked if she could call me mom,” Emma beamed, swiping halfheartedly at the tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks. “I just thought – ”

Her breath flew from her in a rush as Hook swooped her into his arms, nearly crushing her against his chest as Killian leaned against them to press a kiss to her cheek.

“I had a feeling she'd get there soon,” he murmured into her hair as Hook wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I've seen the way she adores you, looks up to you.”

“It's just been so long since you became Dad to both of them,” she stammered, turning in Hook's arms so she could rest against his chest, her fingers wrapping with Killian's as he beamed at the memory. “I just kind of figured she was more comfortable having me just be...Emma.”

“Oh, love,” Hook murmured against her, his lips pressing soft kisses into her skin, “You've never been just anything. She only needed to get there in her own time – to realize it wasn't biology that makes a mother, but being there for all of the small moments.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed, sweeping Emma into his arms the moment Hook let her go, the three of them overjoyed at the family moment that felt like such a huge step. “She's lucky to have a mother like you, Emma, as is Henry.”

Emma couldn't help the happy tears that started every now and then throughout the day, those memories that belonged to a little girl sitting alone on a bed – alone in a house that didn't want her – washed away by how full and meaningful her life had become.

END

Tagging: @justanother-unluckysoul @kmom0f4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @donteattheappleshook @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop

If you’d like to be added or removed from my tag list, please let me know. Be aware that I keep one list for all story updates. 

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: “A Litter More Than They Bargained For”

Hey there friends and shipmates! I’ve taken a couple of weeks off on the Self-Promo Sunday posts, but I was looking back through some of my older pieces and found this fluffy one shot offering from a couple years ago. (It was part of the amazing @cspupstravaganza event in 2019.) I didn’t make it any cover art before, so I’ve added that to it as well. Taking place sometime post- season six; Hope is present and a toddler, but Henry is still there as well. That makes it canon divergent future fluff, I guess? Apologies if you’ve read this one before, but maybe you’ll get a little smile from revisiting it.

Also available on both AO3 HERE and on ff.net HERE

“A Litter More Than They Bargained For”

One pet she could have handled. One pet would have been perfectly manageable. A single, sweet-natured, reasonably well-behaved small pet - maybe a cat or a rabbit or even a hamster - wouldn’t have really changed anything about their lives in the seaside house or their daily routine that much. In fact, she and Killian had already been discussing a surprise for Hope in the form of a kitten from the litter her mom and dad’s barn cat had recently birthed, completely charming their pre-schooler upon her first visit to them at her grandparents’ farm.

Somehow, instead, all of Emma’s best-laid plans had been inverted and overturned, as so often seemed to happen in their chaotic magical town. When they had gone into the station that particular morning, they had found a large, mud-caked, burr-riddled dog tied to the bike rack and whining pitifully upon first sight of them. Emma was too disgruntled at the culprit for figuring out that their whole three person department were soft touches for strays as she charged foward to untie the poor beast, to even realize that the critter was already rooting into her affection. Needless to say, rather than their intended adoption, they had managed to take in a shaggy, slobbery mixed breed almost as large as a Shetland pony, with at least some Irish Wolfhound in its ancestry, according to the shelter attendant.

Gleefully mimicking that last declaration in her toddler voice, Hope had leaned over out of Killian’s arms to reach for where the huge hound lounged panting on the exam table, tongue lolling and tail thumping happily as she babbled, “Wolfie! Wolfie!” and patted along the dog’s back and shoulders as well as she could.

The thick, scruffy grey fur covering the animal’s lanky form did indeed resemble a wolf to some degree, and Kililan chuckled good naturedly at the easy moniker their daughter had seemingly bestowed. “Well, it would seem our little love has already christened her, Swan,” he commented lightly.

Emma wasn’t fooled by the casual demeanor covering her True Love’s words. She felt her last chance of finding a more suitable home for a dog of that size outside the town limits (preferably with acres for it to run) fade as she realized that her husband, as well as her little girl, was already attached. Killian wanted this dog more than he would admit.

Reaching out to stroke the gentle giant’s head resignedly, Emma reluctantly admitted to herself that the poor stray really was a sweet dog, despite her astonishing proportions and the amount of extra responsibility she herself would no doubt be taking on. “Hear that, Wolfie?” she questioned, looking the dog in the eyes rather than either member of her family, whom she could feel nearly vibrating with excitement beside her, “I guess you’re as good as ours.”

Henry only confirmed the permanence of the decision when he got home from the high school after his editors’ meeting for the school paper. Though a dog had never been something he had particularly asked for - they had spent so many of his growing up years being flung from one realm to another, either trying to rescue some member of their family, or seeking the needed magic item to fight some new villain, that it hadn’t left a lot of time for house training puppies or taking one for leisurely evening strolls. Still, as Henry came up the walk and saw Wolfie stretched out on the porch, Hope cuddled against her side and Emma and Killian curled together on the porch swing, the way her nearly adult son’s face had lit up and he’d rushed forward in excitement had shown Emma that kids didn’t really grow out of loving dogs, no matter their age.

Ruby, or perhaps the irrepressible brunette’s inner wild animal, seemed to find their new addition, and the rather obvious name Hope had latched onto, especially entertaining. Due to Wolfie’s size, the Jones clan now ate outside at the patio tables when they stopped for breakfast on the way to drop Hope off at Ashley Hermann’s Pumpkin Seeds Daycare, and before Henry took off for class and they headed on for the station. Her mother’s best friend didn’t even try to hide the fact that she saved back either bacon, sausage, or ham especially for Emma’s pet each day, laughing when after about a week Wolfie came to her the moment she exited the diner’s front entrance, before she could even reach their table, and began nosing at her pockets for the expected bounty.

However, it was Granny herself who startled them with a matter of fact question about a month after Wolfie had joined their family. The diner’s proprietress had come out to wait on them herself that morning, a real nip in the air as November neared, and explaining that Ruby was lying in for a while after the full moon the night before. Her half-spectacles perched on the very end of her nose, eyes sparkling with every bit as much pep and mischief as her exuberant granddaughter when she neared their table, sleeves rolled up to her elbows despite the chill and a pencil tucked behind one ear.

“The usual, Captain?” Widow Lucas asked with a playful nod to Killian, “or are you and your crew feeling adventurous this morning?” While awaiting their answer, she reached into her apron for her order pad, also pulling out a juicy ham bone for Wolfie.

“Here you are, darlin’ girl,” she continued, bending to offer it to their canine companion, much to Wolfie’s approving delight as she barked a ‘thank you’ and took the treat into her drooling jowls with an almost humorous care, then immediately dropped to hold it between her massive paws and began gnawing away.

When Granny stood to face them again however, a knowing smirk was painted across her face, taking their breakfast order seemingly long forgotten. “You don’t have a clue that dog is carrying a litter of pups, do you?” she asked, shaking her head at what she seemed to think was their dense naivete.

Crossing her arms, Granny watched a variety of reactions cross the four faces before her. Henry looked awed and curious, while Hope practically bounced on Killian’s knee asking, “Puppy? Puppy! We having a puppy?” 

Killian’s brows rose in surprise, and Emma was already shaking her head in disgruntled exasperation. “Really?” she sputtered, narrowly eying the diner owner as if she might be playing some sort of elaborate joke at her expense.

Then, plunking her head down to rest on her arms crossed on the table, she sighed as her daughter contiuned to chortle in delight and Henry and Hook laughed heartily, in spite of their manful efforts to hold back for her sake. “Why am I even surprised?” Emma muttered. “Of course, she is.”

***

From there, they learned that apparently the shelter owner did not have it out for them, but that it can be genuinely hard to tell when a dog is expecting until they are quite close to their due date. It also turned out that Granny’s lupine sixth sense had been right on the money. Within another couple weeks, they could see for themselves that Wolfie’s stomach was rounding and she was nesting in corners throughout the house, particularly favoring the warmth of the laundry room between the dryer and the wall. Seeing as how canine gestation was only eight or nine weeks from start to finish, and their mother-to-be was already showing, it was a bit of a scramble to prepare, knowing the litter of pups would soon be on its way.

As had become typical since Wolfie’s arrival, this too went well beyond what they had expected. On the night they returned from Hope’s Thanksgiving Play at the preschool to tiny yips and whimpers greeting them the second the door opened, the entire Jones family was stunned to discover eight small wriggling bodies jostling for place against Wolfie’s exhausted form where she lay curled into the mound of old blankets and towels they had created for her once her fixation on her laundry room nest become plain. Various rather wetly bedraggled and squirming balls of grey, black, white and mottled mixes of those three colors in coat greeted their eyes, prompting Killian to comment rather drily, “Well, now there are nearly enough of us to crew a pirate ship.” He chuckled, shaking his head, as he added, “Mayhap we can give them proper nautical names this time, rather than letting Hope call them the first word that pops from her mouth.”

“Paaa-pa!” their daughter protested indignantly, stomping her little foot on the linoleum tile and placing chubby fists on her hips. “I did not!” In her two braids, beaded headband, and fringed brown “Indian” dress from the play, she made more an adorable than a threatening sight as she intended, but Killian nodded to their daughter dutifully all the same. “My apologies, little lass. Of course you didn’t. I must have been mistaken.”

Emma rolled her eyes and shook her head at his mannered playfulness with Hope, though her heart warmed inside her as well, loving that their little girl had never known anything but a devoted, adoring, present father, who might have to be pulled back from spoiling Hope at times, but would never let her down or abandon her. The two of them could melt her every defense, just as Henry had always done. Even if it did sometimes leave her trying to be the voice of reason, Emma didn’t truly mind.

Henry, for his part, snorted inelegantly at their nonsense, crouching to pet a nervous-looking Wolfie on the head and scritch under her chin the way she liked. “Don’t worry, girl,” he mumured soothingly. “We won’t hurt them. You’re all safe here.”

Her son grew thoughtful for a moment, mulling something over, then looked up when he asked excitedly. “What if we did pick nautical names for them all? Like Jack and Jib and Scurvy?” He was grinning from ear-to-ear now, as his Author’s love of wordplay awakened - an expression Killian quickly mirrored.

“Aye, lad, those are great! And perhaps Scoundrel and Buccaneer as well?”

“Hey, hey, guys,” Emma broke in, trying to stop their now-steaming train before they got any more carried away. “Let’s not get too into naming them. The families who adopt them may not be looking for pirate dogs.”

But her husband and son were already on a roll, adding Barrie (in a nod to the Englishman who had created Killian’s literary counterpart) and Doubloon to the list of potential puppy monikers, and not paying her words the slightest bit of attention.

***

Finding homes for their doggie brood proved more difficult than Emma had hoped. If nothing else, it had worked out that they were being weaned just in time to join a family for the perfect child’s Christmas present. And, much as she had intended for them to have a quiet little tabby kitten padding after her through the house rather than a train of panting, yipping, running and tumbling balls of shedding fluff, the pups were sweet and incredibly cute. So she couldn’t understand how every time she thought she had someone poised to take one home, it fell through at the last moment.

With a sigh, she turned away from the sidewalk where old lady Hubbard was walking away. Still cradling Cutlass and Matey to her chest, one in each arm, Emma crossed the porch to sink onto the porch swing with a dejected air. She bent to press a kiss into each of their soft, fuzzy foreheads, murmuring what good babies they were and that it wasn’t their fault. Intellectually, Emma knew it was rather ridiculous to be trying to comfort two puppies who were now playfully rolling and tumbling in her lap, not the least bit concerned at the interview’s outcome. They really had been particularly good as their potential new owner had arrived to meet them; sitting calmly without barking or jumping up, sweetly licking the elderly woman’s fingers affectionately when she offered them, and looking even more adorable than usual with their coats freshly bathed and brushed, so black and silky that their fur nearly shone. All their neighbor had seemed able to focus on though was that they might get under her feet and cause her to fall. When Emma had spoken to her before, the older lady had seemed so anxious for some company now that the last of her many children had left the house, but once she had arrived to see the puppies, all she kept saying was, “I’m all alone out there. If I fell, I might lie for days, unable to get up, and no one would know.”

Emma shrugged her shoulders and ruffled the pups’ fur once again; annoyed, but not sure what to make of the situation. Standing, she was about to take the two little rascals back inside when Killian arrived home for the evening.

“They’re both still here?” he asked curiously, one eyebrow arched in question.

Something niggled at the back of Emma’s mind with his question, whispering that he didn’t seem especially suprised. Shaking her head in silent answer, Emma ushered man and dogs back into the house and headed toward the kitchen, where she still had all of the dog dishes to fill.

“Ah well, Love,” Killian replied, something about his voice just a shade too nonchalant. “Perhaps it’s for the best. As energetic as these scalliwags sometimes get,” he laughed and scratched Matey’s belly when she rolled over to bare it in supplication, “they might have proven a walking hazard to one of advanced years.”

Emma was about to question him further, shocked that Killian had hit on exactly what had stopped the potential adoption, but at that moment Wolfie and the other six of her offspring burst into the kitchen and set up a chorus of barks and howls for their dinner, toenails clicking on the floor and tails thunking against the cabinets. So it wasn’t until later that night, as she was speaking to her mother on the phone, bemoaning yet one more failed attempt at finding the pups permanent homes, that the niggling puzzle piece at last slid into place.

“Well,” Snow offered hesitantly, “I’m sorry it fell through, Sweetie, but you know Mrs. Hubbard isn’t all that steady on her feet these days…”

Suddenly, it all added up: Mrs. Hubbard’s unexpected concern with puppies tripping her up around the house, how Ashley had at first thought they might take one of the puppies, only to be convinced by someone that mice would be much more fitting for class pets at Cinderella’s daycare, and how Aurora and Philip’s second child, Hope’s little friend Rory, had suddenly decided she wanted a white Persian kitten whose hair she could put a pink bow in, “like ‘Rie from ‘Ristocats” Aurora had explained in her daughter’s own words when she’d called to tell Emma.

“Oh my word!” Emma shouted, startling her husband, kids, and the pile of dogs sprawled over them in the living room where they were watching tv. “It was you all, wasn’t it? My whole family has been working against me this entire time!”

Looking sheepishly guilty, Killian and Henry both wordlessly shook their heads in denial. Her mother floundered for a defense for a few seconds and then simply fled by ending the call. But when Emma’s eyes came to rest on her daughter, Hope merely grinned widely, a shameless glint of mischief in her green eyes, and nodded her head in confirmation.

“Why?” Emma sputtered.

“Then the puppies are all ours!” her toddler chirped happily, falling back against Wolfie’s shoulder with a giggle, to which Wolfie merely huffed at the impact, then nosed Hope a bit further from the edge of the couch, as if she had one extra pup to watch out for and was making sure the child didn’t fall.

“We’ll see about that,” Emma grumbled, staring each of them down in turn. But, when she flopped down on the armchair in the corner, trying to hold onto her righteous indignation, and Scoundrel came over to check on her, pawing at her leg until she picked him up, and then nudging his grey snout flecked with white patches into her armpit as he stretched out across her chest and promptly fell asleep, Emma was smart enough to know when she had lost the fight.

They were the family with nine dogs now - an entire seaworthy crew.

Tagging a few who may enjoy (or enjoy again!): @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @thisonesatellite @artistic-writer @hollyethecurious @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @thislassishooked @therooksshiningknight @spartanguard @shireness-says @ohmightydevviepuu @ohmakemeahercules @scientificapricot @gingerchangeling @teamhook @revanmeetra87@resident-of-storybrooke @elizabeethan @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @xsajx @donteattheappleshook @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89

[raineydaywrites]

working on from then til now (part 2 of 5)

link to part 1 (x) link to ao3 (x)

Angus didn't sleep much the night after he'd learned what Taako had done. He tossed and turned, replaying the evidence over and over again in his mind.

Technically, Taako didn't mention where exactly all this had gone down. So Angus couldn't actually confirm it, really.

But the few pieces of specific information that he had been able to pry out of Taako had been damning enough.

And what were the odds that there had been two instances of traveling chefs poisoning their audience in the same year?

Angus had to face the facts, little as he wanted to. It had been Taako. There was no other explanation.

Taako had killed his parents- but it had been an accident. He hadn't been trying to hurt anybody. The image of the violent criminal who wanted to hurt others that had lingered in Angus' mind for so long when he thought of his parents' killer was no more. It had never been true in the first place.

There was no malicious intent behind the death of his parents. It was just an accident.

A part of him felt better to know that. He liked Taako, and he didn't want to have to turn him in for murder. The fact that it had been an accident, that Taako so clearly regretted it, that he'd worked to make sure that nothing like that ever happened again, meant that Angus could try to- he wanted to forgive him. He really did.

But there was another part of him that was screaming at the injustice of it all. There was no villainy behind his parents' deaths. Just a simple mistake. There was no true justice to be had. He could ensure that his parents' killer be caught, but it wouldn't make him happy, because he cared about Taako, and he didn't feel that Taako deserved that.

His parents had died and there had been no purpose to it. No sense. It hadn't done anything for anyone. It was just unfair.

Angus was aware that life wasn't always fair, but never had he felt such rage about that fact as he did now. He found himself thrown back into the mindset he'd had before, whenever anyone talked of justice. He didn't want his parents' killer to be punished, especially not now that he knew the man in question. Knew him to be likeable, and decent, and someone who was currently risking his life to try and save this plane, no matter how aloof and selfish a front he put on.

Angus didn't want Taako to be punished. He could tell that Taako had already spent a lot of time punishing himself.

He just wanted his parents back.

-

When Angus finally got some sleep, it was restless and frightened. He dreamed of his parents' killer- the anonymous figure that he'd always envisioned before, twisted together with Taako now in a way that felt deeply wrong. The grin on dream-Taako's face was twisted and inaccurate, and the wizard seemed to tower over him in a way he never did in reality.

And the dream changed, as Angus proved Taako to be guilty- a moment that had always felt triumphant when he dreamed or imagined it before, that now felt rotten and sickening.

He saw Taako curled up, vulnerable, dying, all because he made a mistake. A really bad mistake, yes, but a mistake regardless.

He saw the disgust and despair of the other Bureau members when they looked at both of them. How could Taako do something like that? How could Angus endanger their mission by turning him in?

He saw the world consumed in darkness, the relics left to roam free, destroying everything in their path until there was nothing left.

He woke feeling no more rested than he had been when he laid down.

-

Taako had known that this would happen. He should never had told Ango about the last show. The kid hated him now. He'd acted like it was okay when they'd spoken, had seemed to be really interested in the weirdness related to his Umbra Staff, and Taako had hoped that would be that. The kid would let it go, stop asking questions and move on to something else.

He should have known better though, especially considering how much info the kid had pried for before the Staff had it's weird freakout and burned the wall.

Angus had insisted on drawing the word, saying that it was important to keep a record of all pertinent case details- the nerd- before Taako had figured that it might be a good idea to magic the wall back to its normal state. Didn't want the Director on his ass for vandalizing or whatever, especially because he didn't think 'my staff has a mind of its own' was a very believable or reassuring excuse.

But it wasn't gonna matter anyway. Because Angus hated him now, and he was going to tell the Director everything, and she'd kick him out because why would they keep a murderer on staff when they had two other perfectly capable Reclaimers in the form of Magnus and Merle?

And Taako really hated that thought. Not just because he didn't want to have to go on the run from the law again when the Director or Angus let the authorities know about him, either.

He liked it here. He liked Magnus and Merle, working on a team with them, being friends with them. They were comfortable in a way that he couldn't explain but really appreciated. And he liked the Director too, especially when she let herself joke around with them as she did on rare occasion. He liked Davenport, even though the guy couldn't communicate much. He liked Killian and Carey, and Avi and Johann. He had fun messing with Leon for his and his friends' amusement.

He even found himself really liking the whole 'saving people' thing, which he hadn't expected. He was selfish, always had been, always had to be. He hadn't thought that saving other people would feel as fulfilling as this. But there was something really satisfying about it, and even if he didn't think he'd make heroing a full time career after he'd finished up this stuff and got himself enough good to have a real good setup, he kind of understood now why some people did.

And now he was going to lose all of that.

Angus had been alternating between completely avoiding him and spending time with him but being super skittish and distant the entire time. Probably was hoping to get more information out of him before turning him in.

Angus had asked Taako where exactly all this had gone down, after the other questions. Taako's self-preservation instincts had finally kicked in to do their job then, and he'd refused to say, but he'd answered a bunch of other important questions first, like when it had happened, how many people had died, and several other very pertinent details that would make it very easy for anybody to connect it to Glamour Springs, let alone someone as smart as Angus.

Really, Taako thought that he probably deserved this. He had killed all those people. He hadn't meant to hurt anybody- oh fucking gods, he'd never meant to hurt anybody- but he had. He wasn't just going to hand himself over or anything, but yeah, he probably deserved to lose out on having this sweet setup.

Still, didn't mean he had to like it. Didn't mean that he wasn't absolutely kicking himself for admitting so much of that stuff to Angus.

With everything else he stood to lose, he found it surprising that the one he kept coming back to was the loss of Angus' respect and affection. He hadn't even realized that he particularly valued that in the first place. Little shit could be fun sometimes, but Taako had really only agreed to teach him out of boredom and guilt for the whole silverware incident, not because he really craved spending time with him.

But he just couldn't seem to shake the image of Angus' horrified expression out of his mind. Kid had looked absolutely heartbroken.

Well. Everybody had to learn that even the people you look up to most will let you down eventually. It was a good lesson, would save the boy a lot of pain in the future.

Taako still hated that he'd been the reason that he'd learned it.

part 3 (x), part 4 (x), part 5 (x)

[let-it-raines]

What a Wicked Game {13/15}

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: thanks to @captainswanbigbang​ for making this possible, to @resident-of-storybrooke​ for being the best cheerleader/proofreader, and to @captainsjedi​ for making me beautiful artwork and also being a wonderful cheerleader!

This is the last *official* chapter. The next two are epilogues to honor the original story and it’s epic crazy epilogue. 💕

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 

-/-

November 10th, 2018

Elsa gives birth to a girl.

It happens quickly, a quarter past five on the morning on November tenth, and the text wakes Killian from his slumber to find a picture of Elsa holding a small, red-faced child named Elizabeth.

Princess Elizabeth Amelia Zara Jones.

Lizzie.

“She’s beautiful,” Emma whispers over Alex’s head as his small limbs kick into Killian’s stomach like they’ve been doing since he was dropped off last night by frenzied parents.

“She looks demonic right now.”

“Stop,” Emma hisses with a roll of her eyes. “All babies are the most gorgeous creatures on the planet. You’re not supposed to point out that they can look demonic and be unattractive.”

“If it’s not my child and I’m not saying it to the parents, I can say whatever the hell I want.”

“And if it is your child?”

Killian reaches his hand over to tug on Emma’s waist, pulling her closer to him so that her freezing feet tuck between his calves and they won’t wake Alex with their whispering. “Now, Swan, we’ve talked about this. We’re just practicing with our naked sleepovers. No babies are going to be involved.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Not right now,” Emma huffs, but he can see her smile. “Can you believe Elsa and Liam have another baby?”

“Aye. Known it would be happening for awhile now. Elsa’s ever burgeoning stomach gave me a few clues.”

If she didn’t have a toddler between the two of them, he knows that she’d slap his shoulder over his cheekiness and maybe a little bit to get back at him for accidentally slapping her earlier. Instead she reaches across Alex and cups Killian’s cheek, thumb running across the bone.

“Do you remember the night you told me Elsa was pregnant again?”

He does. He remembers how distraught he was over thoughts of this child growing up in the same way he had. He’d shown up at the pub a complete mess and tried to get Emma into bed instead of talking through what was bothering him. But she’d known him so well, knows him so well, and made him talk about what was bothering him instead of drowning himself in her and in alcohol.

That was only six months ago, and his world has flipped on its head several times since. It’s so much that he barely knows what to do with any of it. Really, all he knows is that he’ll never have to worry about Liam treating Lizzie in a different way than how he treats Alex. Brennan will never understand or realize how awful he is and how backward his mindset can be, but that won’t truly matter. Not when Alex and Lizzie have incredible parents who aren’t going to fall into the trap that this family seems to keep falling for.

Not when they’re going to change everything about this family so that future generations will never go through what they’ve been through.

Emma. All of this is because of Emma.

She’s changed his world.

(And is changing a monarchy.)

“Yes,” Killian whispers back to her.

“So much has changed since then. Everything really. You and your family are an actual family, babe. A family with issues and that one awful relative that we’ll pretend doesn’t exist, but there’s also so much love. It’s amazing.”

“It’s all because of you, Emma.”

She laughs, so quiet so as not to disturb Alex in this hushed conversation, and he knows she’s going to brush it all off.

“I mean, I was at the root of some knock down drag out fights, so I wouldn’t say that.”

“I would.”

“Killian, if the relationship you have with Liam is better, that’s all you. You fought for what you deserved, no matter how hard it was, and I’d like to think that you’ve got a winning strategy.”

Except for with his father…

But no matter, this woman next to him with red pillow crease lines on her cheeks and tangles in his hair continues to change his life, and if it wasn’t for Alex between them and the day he knows he has ahead of him, Killian would get the engagement ring out of his shoe in the closet and ask her to marry him right now.

Having that ring made while they were broken up was the most idiotic idea, but he thinks much like Emma and her lightning bolt tattoo, a part of him knew that it would all be okay.

Best stupid decision he’s ever made.

“I love you. I think I might love you too much”

And it’s true. As sentimental and slightly vomit-inducing as it might be to some, he does love her so much that his chest pangs.

He loves her not simply because she is beautiful and a light in his life who makes him laugh even when he doesn’t know how anymore. He loves her for the way that she enjoys watching stand-up comedy even when it’s bad and stops her runs to dance along to the music playing through her speakers. He loves that she is kind to others and compassionate about those who she cares for, and he loves the energy she brings to her own life. He loves her not for what she does for him but for who she is. She’s Emma, a mess of good and bad qualities.

She’s brilliant in a multitude of ways.

And she’s here and not going anywhere. He’s not going anywhere either. It’s a constant reminder between the two of them, something they both need to hear, but Killian knows deep in his belly that they’re not going to go through another separation again.

Will they have other shit to deal with? Of course. But they’re doing it together.

“Not possible,” Emma murmurs before kissing his nose. “I love you, too. I’m glad you won’t call our babies ugly even if you think they are.”

Killian laughs loud enough this time that Alex stirs between them and groggily opens his blue eyes, looking between he and Emma. He stretches his arms above his head and kicks Killian’s stomach before turning into Emma and wrapping himself into Emma like the little traitor he is.

“Emmy,” he giggles, pressing wet kisses over Emma’s face. “Emmy is here.”

“Yeah, buddy, I am. How do you feel about going to take a bath? You and Killian need one before we go visit your new sister.”

“Noooo.”

“Yes,” Emma confirms, squeezing onto Alex and scrunching up her nose. “Especially Killian. He’s smelly.”

“Oi,” Killian scoffs. Every kind thought he had about this woman has disappeared in that exact moment, but he can’t wipe the smile off his face. It’s been a good morning. A good few weeks really. “I’ll have you know I bathe quite frequently thank you very much.”

“Then you’ll have no problem taking a bath right now.”

-/-

Emma is visibly nervous when they arrive at the hospital and are surrounded by people, fans and photographers alike. Her leg tapping up and down is shaking the entire car, but she doesn’t say anything in protest to getting out. When he asks if she wants to stay inside, she shakes her head and turns in the backseat to unbuckle Alex from his car seat before exiting the car to a loud clamor of voices.

The press have a field day seeing Alex walking into the hospital holding Emma’s hand, all of them calling out questions and trying to get Alex to pose or wave for the cameras. When Emma picks him up, resting him on her hip and telling him to wave, he happily complies as long as Emma waves with him.

Good. That’s a good start.

As they’re nearing the stairs a photographer yells out, “Emma, why is Prince Alexander walking with you and not Killian?”

Killian thinks Emma won’t answer. Her relationship with the press is abysmal as best. It was like that before the accident, but ever since, she’s hated them even more. He has too. All of the ones here today may be here to celebrate the birth of a new member of his family and may not mean any harm, but it’s easy to clump them all into one category.

They could have killed the woman he loves all over a picture, and Killian will never forgive anyone for that – not the press, not August Booth, no matter any of their motivations. If the three of them were able to go inside today in a different entrance, there would be no question as to how they would enter the hospital. At least no one is asking about the bloody breakup. That’s been a constant topic every time he’s stepped out into public lately.

Small wins and all.

“To tell you the truth,” Emma begins, shifting Alex on her hip. She’s talking to the people, the ones who aren’t holding professional cameras and microphones, and that makes a bit more sense to Killian. “Alexander here is always telling me that he loves his Emmy more than he loves his Uncle Killian because I know where we keep the good cookies…I mean, biscuits. Still getting used to the change in vernacular no matter how long I’ve lived here. That one will always throw me off.”

“Biscuits,” Alex joins in, raising his hands in the air and then rubbing his belly, causing the reporters and the crowd to roar in their laughter.

“Killian can’t give them to him because we hide the biscuits from him. He’s got a bit of a sweet tooth, you know.”

“Well, that’s why I love you, darling,” Killian teases. “Because you’re so sweet.”

“He’s also apparently got a thing for cheese,” she tells the crowd, throwing a wink at him. And he should have known that she would tease him when given the opportunity. Her heart has to be hammering in her discomfort, but she’s trying her best to be a part of his world.

There are parts of him that are still so fucking livid that he doesn’t know how to function seeing the flashes and hearing the clicks of the cameras, but he knows that he can’t do anything about it. At least not now. Right now all he has to worry about is making sure that Emma and Alex are safe.

Killian leans down to give her a quick peck, making Alex cover his eyes with his hands like he does nearly every time, and he can hear the laughter mixed in with the clicks of the shutters on the cameras. Some will be mad that Emma came with him to the hospital, but those without a stick up their ass will see the moment as a simple every day, family moment. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks, and if they have something to say, every press privilege for an official will be revoked in the snap of his fingers. He’s glad she’s here. Always.

After making a few more pleasantries and waving goodbye, the three of them are ushered inside by Graham, who is almost scarily professional while working. The man is an old friend and Ruby’s boyfriend, but no one would ever know that for the job he does.

Good.

They can be mates at dinner or when he’s off duty. For now, Killian wants the assured protection for his loved ones.

“My boy,” Liam greets once they’re in the maternity ward and away from most prying eyes. “I have missed you.”

“Papa,” Alex squeals, squirming out of Emma’s arms to run to his dad and be swooped up into his arms for a bracing hug. “Emmy gave me biscuit.”

“For breakfast? That’s nutritional.”

Emma huffs and crosses her arms over her chest even as Liam walks toward her and brushes his lips over her cheek. “He had oatmeal for breakfast. We just happened to be talking about biscuits outside. How’s Elsa?”

“Tired, happy, wonderful,” Liam laughs with genuine joy, eyes reddened from lack of sleep and tears of joy. “She just woke up from a nap to feed Lizzie, and I know she’s chuffed to see you all.” Liam turns his attention to Alex now. “Are you ready to meet your new sister?”

“She’s here?” Alex gasps. “Not in tummy?”

Killian chuckles and shakes his head. They went over this on the ride here and this morning, but the concept might be too big for a toddler to understand.

“She’s here, Alex, and I know that Mummy is ready to see you again. She’s missed you.”

Liam starts to walk away, Killian walking with him, but then he notices that Emma hasn’t moved from her spot, and Killian makes some half-assed excuse about letting Liam take Alex to see the lad first and that they’ll join them later.

“Hey,” he says to Emma, cocking his head to the side, “what are you doing? Don’t you want to go see Elsa and Lizzie?”

“I just...I need a moment.”

Killian arches a brow, but she doesn’t see it. Instead, she closes her eyes and leans back against the wall, her chest visibly heaving.

“Tomorrow or in a few hours or at some point in time,” Emma whispers, eyes still closed, “Elsa is going to walk out that door in heels and a pretty dress with a newborn in her arms and be photographed within an inch of her life. She’s still going to be wearing a damn diaper under a five-thousand-dollar dress, and I...I…shit. The people don’t scare me, but the press does. I flinch at the sounds of the cameras, am constantly worried that someone else is going to chase me or want something from me and I - ”

Emma opens her eyes, the green watery. He’s got no idea what’s happening, and he feels like he should.

He knew she was nervous when they were in the car, that it was a big deal for her to come with them today, but he foolishly thought she’d made it through the experience unscathed.

“I know that it’s an adjustment,” she continues, “and I’m only just learning, but I...if we have kids, I don’t want them on display like that. I don’t want myself on display. I don’t want to disrespect your customs and traditions, but I also want to respect myself and our kids. They shouldn’t have to be terrified of the click of a camera like I am right now.”

“Emma - ”

“I’m fine,” she sniffles, wiping her eyes. “I really am. That was just a lot outside, and I’m tired and I wanted to let you know how I’m feeling because that’s something we’re working on. I - ”

Killian steps forward and tucks her hair behind her ears, swiping his thumb across her cheeks to wipe away the little flecks of mascara. “It’s a process, my love, and if you think I’m not still fucking angry over what happened to you, you’re wrong. I’m livid. It’s not going to be something either of us get over in a blink of an eye or possibly ever, but I will do everything in my power to protect you and these hypothetical children and dogs or cats or even lizards.”

“Lizards?”

“They’ll get their own security guard too.” Emma laughs and leans forward into him until her face is buried in his shoulder. “I’d go to the end of the world for you. Every damn day.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“I try.” Killian rubs his hand over her back and kisses the side of her head. “Thank you for sharing what was going through that head of yours.”

“Thank you for not making me feel like I’m crazy.”

“I’ve given you a pass on that for today.” Emma huffs into his shoulder, and he kisses her hair again. “Are you ready to go into the hospital room now or do you need more time?”

“I think I can handle going to see that ugly baby you were talking about earlier.”

“Please don’t tell them I said that. I did not call Lizzie ugly.”

“It was implied.”

Emma gasps when Killian lightly taps her ass, but he doesn’t get to see the look on her face since he’s quickly walking ahead of her toward Elsa’s hospital room. She catches up, slapping his shoulder before hooking her arm around his and holding onto his elbow.

When they walk into the hospital room, Elsa is sitting in the bed wrapped up in a robe with her hair in a bun, and she’s holding both Lizzie and Alex while Liam sits at the edge and quietly talks to all of them. Killian feels like they’re intruding on a moment, like this isn’t meant for him and Emma.

His brother is a good but broken man, and Killian is happy for him. For all of them.

“They look so happy,” Emma whispers in his ear before placing her head on his shoulder.

“Aye,” he agrees. “I think they are.”

“Would either of you like to hold her?” Elsa asks them, waving them into the room even though Killian thinks they might need to slink away to give them privacy.

“Can I?” Emma asks, voice small as if she wasn’t just directly asked.

“Of course you can,” Elsa answers, motioning for Emma to come closer. She carefully hands Elizabeth over to Emma, the both of them cradling Lizzie’s head. “She’s wavering in and out of sleep.”

“Oh, she’s so beautiful, Elsa,” Emma compliments, running her finger over the covered swaddle of Elizabeth, before tacking on, “and Liam. I guess you possibly had something to do with this, though I think she’s likely to get all of her good looks from other members of the family.”

Liam laughs, actually laughs at Emma’s tease, white teeth flashing in an exuberant smile that Killian has rarely seen in his life.

Well, he’s seen it lately. A lot actually. But he’s not accustomed to any of this yet.

His brother is his friend and is capable of joking with Emma. It’s pretty much some kind of miracle even if he knows it’s through a hell of a lot of hard work and tough conversations.

If he looks back too quickly, Killian will get whiplash.

“I think that sounds about right,” Liam chuckles, moving over to stand next to Killian and throwing his arm over Killian’s shoulder. “You best hope your children get their looks from you and not this one here.”

Emma’s face flushes red, but she doesn’t say anything back, just shoots Killian a timid smile and mouths “he’s right” to Killian. She throws in a wink just for extra emphasis. Killian is hit with a sense of want – want to have children, want to have those children with Emma, and want for those children to look just like her – that he has to stifle, just winking right back in response.

They’re not ready. They can talk all about future plans and wants for that time, but they’re not ready. They’re still so young, and they have all of the time in the world to figure things out. They’ve just gotten back, and he doesn’t want to rush anything.

But it’s undeniable how incredibly, stupidly jealous he feels of Liam for getting all of this.

Is it possible to be genuinely thrilled for someone and jealous all the same?

Elizabeth starts fussing in Emma’s arm, a slow cry that’s only going to get bigger, and he watches Emma hand the baby back to Elsa and sit down on the bed to talk to Alex, who is absolutely enraptured with his sister. Killian wonders just how long that’s going to last before Alex is absolutely cross with all of the attention Lizzie will be getting.

“She’s doing so well,” Liam says suddenly, arm falling from Killian’s shoulder.

“Elsa? Yeah, she seems to be doing great, the tough lass she is. I’ve never quite understood how women are able to give birth.”

Liam just chuckles, shaking his head. “Brother, when a man loves a woman - ”

Killian gently slaps his brother’s shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

“Aye, I do. I can’t quite understand it myself. I think they might be magical. And Elsa is incredible, bloody amazing really. I’m forever in awe of her. It’s just that I was talking about Emma. It takes a strong woman to stay with the two of us despite our lives, and we’ve found some of the good ones. I’m sorry for everything before. I can’t say that enough.”

Killian doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to deal with hearing everything he’s ever wanted to hear from his brother yet again, so he redirects the conversation. “So a little lass, huh?”

“I’m already out of my league.”

“You’ve been batting out of your league for your entire life, brother.”

Liam barks out another laugh. “Was that a baseball term? Have you ever seen a baseball game?”

“I’m dating an American whose father is obsessed with baseball, so I think you can fill in the blanks.”

Killian doesn’t want to intrude on Liam and Elsa, knowing just how exhausted Elsa has to be and how special this time is, but then Liam is asking if Killian and Emma would like to stay with her while he takes Alex home to be with his nanny and to keep his schedule from deviating too much. They insist that they can watch him for the day, but Liam and Elsa both would rather him be home and don’t want to burden the two of them.

It’s not a burden at all.

But that’s how Killian ends up holding Lizzie as she sleeps, little sputtering noises escaping her lips. She doesn’t at all look like a little red demon now, and he was wrong to have said that earlier. He thinks they’ll be rather good mates.

“I think she likes you,” Emma whispers, trying not to wake Lizzie or Elsa.

“Well, I’ve been told that the hair all over my body makes me comfortable to sleep on.”

“Whoever said that is brilliant.”

“Aye, I think so.”

“Do you think we should put her in the bassinet?”

“I’m scared that if I move it’ll disturb her.”

“It won’t,” Elsa mumbles, still mostly asleep.

He and Emma both quietly snicker, and carefully, Killian stands from the couch and walks to the small rolling bassinet, placing Lizzie down. She doesn’t startle or wake up, and he takes it as a win.

“I’m going to go get some tea or coffee, love. Do you want something?”

“Coffee. See if you can charm a nurse to get you the good stuff instead of the ones at those stations outside.”

Killian winks. “I’ll try.”

When he walks outside the hospital room door, he nods his head in acknowledgment to Elsa’s security and his own, telling Graham that he’s going in search for coffee, and Graham directs him to a small coffee and tea station around the corner. It’s exactly the bitter stuff he didn’t want, but since he doesn’t see any nurses or doctors to charm into letting him use the good pots in their lounges, this will likely have to do.

He got so little sleep last night that he’ll take anything with caffeine to bring a little life back into his eyes and his body.

Just as Emma’s disposable cup is filling with bitter coffee he knows she won’t drink without copious amounts of creamer, there’s the sound of doors opening and the loud clatter of footsteps moving down the hall.

It’s his parents and their security.

Shit.

He didn’t think they’d come for a few more hours.

“Killian,” Allison blushes, her smile growing in size as she scurries through the hallway to embrace him, her frame so small in his. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Aye, Emma and I brought Alexander to see his sister and mum a few hours ago and have been keeping Elsa company while Liam takes Alex home.”

“Well, that is a wonderful surprise. We knew Alex and Liam had gone home for a bit, but I didn’t know you were here. I can’t wait to see my new grandchild.”

Killian pats his mum’s back before pulling back and kissing her cheek. “She can’t wait to see you. Why don’t you go on to the room? I want to speak to Dad for a moment.” Allison raises her brows. “I’ll be fine. Go meet your new granddaughter.”

Allison nods and steps away from him, and Brennan begins to do the same until Killian places his hand on his chest and keeps him from walking down the hallway.

“Do you need something?”

Killian swallows and sets his shoulders back before directly looking in his father’s eyes, ones he’s never seen show kindness to him, ones he doesn’t expect to.

At this point, he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t need that. He’s not looking for the approval of this man.

“I’m going to say this one last time,” Killian begins, clenching his jaw to keep himself as steady as possible, “and if you don’t listen, I will go through with every word  I’ve ever said about exposing you and ruining that pretty image you like to keep up.”

Brennan’s jaw clenches, but his age shows on his face instead of his anger. “You’re my son. I don’t have to listen to you.”

“There are hundreds of people out there, each of them with a camera on their phone. That doesn’t even take into account the news outlets. In less than two minutes, I can ruin you. Do you understand that?”

Brennan blinks and looks away before turning back to face Killian, no emotion on his face. It must be from years of practicing or possibly years of uncaring. “Go on then.”

“I’m marrying Emma. I don’t know when, but I am. When that time comes, you will sign every necessary piece of paper and approve every detail of the wedding. You will lie and say that you’re happy for me because it’s good for your image, and you will not fight with us behind the scenes. You don’t have to like me or Emma, but you will not continue to cut her down. I won’t let you, Liam won’t let you, and I can guarantee that Mum won’t have it anymore.”

“Anything else you’d like to command of me today or are you done asking for things I don’t have to grant you?”

Bastard.

His father is a bastard, but Killian is in this now. He’s not backing out now.

He’s not losing Emma again.

“Emma will get a full team of security protection under your personal pay until we’re married and she can legally have the same arrangements as the rest of us, you’ll agree to cut off any press from official events if they try to slander or attack her again, and you will release statements to have her protected so she doesn’t almost fucking die again. She could have died because people wanted a picture of her, and I will not stand for that again. These aren’t negotiations. These are demands. Any kind of protection Elsa has, Emma will have as well, whether we’re married or not.”

“How do you - ”

“No negotiations,” Killian repeats, refusing to back away from his father. “I’m happy to help set all of this in motion for you if you need me to. I’ve been working on a few things. I’ll send them to your office tomorrow.”

When Brennan doesn’t say anything and doesn’t move from his sport, Killian raises his brows and inches closer. “Do you understand? Stepping out of line will have repercussions for you, and threatening me will do you no good. I’m willing to step away from the cushions of this life. I’m not dependent on the coin purse and the good publicity. You are.”

“None of this is going to be pretty for you. The public will continue to despise her and think that everything she does is wrong. Every misstep will be magnified, and your popularity will plummet.”

Killian scoffs and shakes his head. This man is never going to get it. “The beauty of the whole thing is that I don’t fucking care about any of that. I am going to choose Emma every time. I’ve never loved this lifestyle or craved the approval of the press like you. I’ve never wanted any of this. I respect the history of our family, and I can guarantee that Emma and I will do our best to honor that. However, we’re forging our own path with our own family, and if I end up having to leave this family later for Emma’s well-being, there won’t be a second thought to it. Now go greet your new granddaughter. I hope she never has to know what a bastard you are.”

Brennan nods his head before quickly stepping away and storming down the hallway, the swinging doors quickly closing behind him with his security following after him. Killian needs a moment to breathe, to calm himself, because there’s a pretty good chance he could vomit right now.

That has to work.

That has to be the final time. That has to be the nail in the coffin and the thing that gets them moving forward. He can’t move backwards. He can’t.

They can’t.

Moving forward and moving on to something real and concrete is what he needs, what Emma needs too, and that has to work. Getting knocked down on his ass again isn’t an option.

Emma getting hurt again isn’t an option.

May his father have one modicum of decency. Or really, may he be so damn scared of losing public favor that he complies. That’s Killian’s ace up his sleeve, and God, he hopes it works.

(It’s going to.)

“You having trouble working the coffee machine?”

Killian huffs and turns his head to look down the hallway to see Emma walking toward him. “No, I think I’ve got it figured out, but I believe the coffee I made for you may be cold by now.”

“Guess you’ll have to make me a new one then.”

“Guess I will.” Killian opens his arms, and Emma walks right into them until she’s nuzzled into his chest and his chin is resting on her head. “Did you see my Father?”

“I did.”

“Did he speak to you?”

“There was a slight nod.”

“Of course,” Killian scoffs, rubbing his hands up and down her back as she does the same to him. “I just gave him an ultimatum, finally, and God, Emma, I hope that it works.”

“Me too. We’re going to be okay. I don’t know how, exactly...I just know, okay?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, kissing the top of her head, I know that too.”

They only linger in the hallways long enough to fix one new cup of coffee before a nurse rounds the corner and offers to take them to the lounge where they have the good coffee and tea. He didn’t even have to charm someone to get the stuff that wasn’t going to be acid in his stomach, and he’s thankful for small miracles.

He’s also thankful for Emma. She has every right to be angry or closed off or even nervous as hell when they go back to the hospital room where his parents are. She’s not making some herculean effort to make conversation with his dad, but she’s also not letting him push her into a corner where she can’t enjoy being around people she loves.

Killian’s been learning to do that his entire life. Emma has nearly perfected it in a few months.

Emma nudges his shoulder, and he looks down to see a napkin in his lap. God, he’s missed passing napkin scribblings back and forth with each other. He’s got a box full of them somewhere in his apartment.

Your mom has been looking over at us with “please fuck and give me grandchildren” eyes for the past ten minutes.

He snickers and leans in to whisper in Emma’s ear. “I’m sure there’s somewhere around her where we could get that done.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“You’re the one who said my mum was thinking about us fucking.” Killian brushes his lips over the shell of Emma’s ear, flicking his tongue so that goosebumps rise over her skin. “Would you like to go home now?”

“I would.”

Killian tucks the napkin in his back pocket and stands from the couch, holding his hand out to Emma behind him. They say their goodbyes, both of them kissing Elsa’s cheeks and running their finger over Lizzie’s stomach, before telling his mum not to hog the baby for too long. It takes far longer than it should for them to take their leave, but eventually they’re walking back to the entrance of the hospital with Graham in front of them.

“Every time this door opens for the next two days, all of these people are going to think it’s Elsa stepping out. There’s going to be shouting and photographers. Can you handle that?”

“I know,” Emma tells him. “And I can.”

Emma threads her fingers between his, her palm as warm and soft as always, Killian sucks in a deep breath, and he hears Emma do the same. “You ready to go, my love?”

She squeezes his hand, the tightness lingering a second too long, and answers, “I’m ready.”

-/-

-/-

@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​

[cutieodonoghue]

dark gray (10/?)

summary: Killian Jones operates a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, preferring a life of isolation, until one day a woman and a baby wash up on his little island and change his life forever.

read it on: ao3, ff.net

and also catch up on tumblr!

///

Ten

During Henry’s naps, Emma has taken to reading for most of the day. So far, she’s made her way through almost thirty books, which must be a record of some kind. 

If anyone had told her two weeks ago that she would become a stereotypical housewife for the better part of a month, she would not have believed it. 

In the real world, she’s a police officer in Storybrooke with her father, who is sheriff of their little town. It's not a busy place, but it suits her well enough. 

She gets plenty of time off and she spends a lot of it helping her mother with preparing for her classes at Storybrooke Elementary. The woman is a saint, but sometimes she does need someone to help her balance such a heavy workload.

One of the things she’s most excited about is getting to sit with her mother while she eagerly wonders about every little detail of Emma’s life. It can be annoying, sure, but her mother has to be one of the most genuinely kind people in the world.

That kindness is something that Emma takes into consideration while she pours focus and heart into her day-to-day efforts with both Henry and Killian.

Pondering what one act of kindness she could perform for Killian, Emma makes a less-than-half serving of oatmeal for herself. 

Henry sits on a blanket on the floor nearby, playing with a makeshift doll that she’d fashioned out of an old shirt. 

He is a cute little boy, with his little dimples and his sweet, excited babbling. But the more important thing is that he seems happy, despite everything that’s already happened in his life. She’s glad he won’t have to remember this experience. One day, it will just be a story she’ll tell him and he probably won’t believe it. 

The front door opens with a squeal and comes clattering back as Killian steps inside. He looks over at her with worry in his eyes. "We've got some unwelcome company."

Emma furrows her brow. "What do you mean?"

"Every so often, a ship of pirates comes off the coast of the island. I've never dealt with them directly. Usually I have to signal back to the mainland for help, but since I've disarmed our radio, we need to make all appearances that we are not home."

Fear rushes into the peace of the morning faster than she can think to breathe. Her heart begins beating faster, whirling thoughts and worries silencing her.

She turns the stove off and moves the pot to keep the breakfast she’d been preparing from burning.

Killian already makes his way through the small house, flipping off lights and ousting the fires that keep them from freezing.

Emma nervously bites at her lip and crouches down to gather Henry up into her arms. He chatters sweetly in her ear and she smiles, setting her palm to his belly as she gives his cheek a reassuring kiss.

"Come on, baby. We're going to play somewhere else." 

She steps into the living room where Killian enters in from the bedroom.

"The fires are out. Hopefully they haven't seen the smoke yet."

Emma nods. She doesn’t know what to say. Pirates weren’t on her bingo card of potential worst case scenarios, so she truly finds herself fearful and out of her depth.

Killian tips his head toward the bedroom. "Why don't you and Henry hide in there in case something happens?"

In case something happens.

Whatever dangers he thinks these pirates are capable of sends shivers up her spine. 

"What about you?"

He goes over to the bookshelf, digs into a box he keeps higher up, and removes a gun and its components.

“I'll be fine, love.”

Emma wants to argue, but he comes up to her and presses a kiss to her forehead, his hand warm against her arm. She squeezes her eyes shut, not realizing that she would be so worried over something that the circumstances are so unclear over.

It hits her as he's leaving a kiss to the top of her head that he's trying to comfort her. That maybe he's worried about the end. That maybe he has no idea what’s about to happen.

She watches him as he walks away, then takes a shaky breath. "Be careful, Killian."

He turns, his eyes filled with anguished determination. "Stay hidden. It shouldn't be long."

Emma holds the back of Henry's head and walks with him into the bedroom, shutting the door behind them. She carries the baby to the bed and sits him down, taking a few steadying nervous breaths as she stands by him, watching his curious little eyes light up. 

She wonders what Killian’s doing, if he's sitting out in the kitchen or if he's going to go outside. She can't really hear anything, and it produces a sinking feeling in her gut as she tries to keep Henry occupied.

After a little while, she hears shouting voices, but she can't make out the words for the life of her, and she bites hard on her lip as she gathers up Henry in her arms. 

Quickly, she goes to the opposite side of the room, ducking to hide as best she can behind the bed. She holds Henry tight to her chest, determined that she will protect him at all costs.

She’s shocked when she hears gunfire and her eyes widen, holding the little boy ever tighter, especially when he whimpers fearfully. He can clearly sense that something is going on, so she puts her hand over his ear and her chest against his other, allowing him to listen to her pounding heart instead.

"It's okay," she hushes him. "We're going to be okay. Killian is going to take care of us."

Emma clamps her eyes shut. She doesn't know if she actually believes that or if she just needs to hear it from someone. 

The doorknob to the bedroom jiggles before it opens.

Fear crawls along her skin, but she manages a deep breath, recalling her training as an officer. Prepared to fight, she decides she’ll put Henry under the bed to protect him before making her move and grabbing the shovel that leans against a chest opposite the bed.

She hesitantly looks up and over the top of the bed, expecting the absolute worst.

Relief fills her chest at the sight of Killian standing there instead.

She rises to her feet. "What happened? I heard shots."

"I took care of them." He clearly isn't very distressed about what happened, but he trembles a little upon closer examination.

Emma crosses the room to stand before him at the door. "Are they gone now?"

Killian nods. "For the moment at least. They've taken my warning."

Acting on impulse, she wraps her free arm around his neck, burying herself in his grasp. He tightens his arm around her and she hears him sigh.

"I was worried about you," she admits softly. 

He allows her to rest in his embrace for a few solemn moments before he speaks. "How is he?"

Emma shuts her eyes and breathes him in, taking the moment to be thankful that they’re all safe. 

She takes a step back, looking at Henry where he hangs over her hip. He chirps and babbles, making her smile as she tugs at his little makeshift outfit.

"He's good."

Killian smiles softly when she looks at him, reaching out to tug at Henry's foot. "That's a lad. Did you keep Emma safe for me?"

Henry makes a noise that makes them both laugh.

Emma kisses the crown of his head and smiles when he decides to collapse against her collarbone with his hands clutching at her hair.

When she looks at Killian again, he admires her with eyes she's seen more often lately.

He's been getting better with Henry, but the little boy still prefers her company to his, probably because Killian refuses to hold him for very long. He helps when he wakes up crying in the middle of the night and sometimes sings to him and plays with him in the evenings when they're all gathered in the living room with nothing else to do.

"How are you?" she asks him. "Did they hurt you or anything?"

He shakes his head, a smile playing at his lips. "I was the better arm."

"Thank you," she says again, seriously.

He nods once. “How about you, love? Are you alright?”

She takes a breath, assessing, and nods. "Yeah. I am. Just a little shaken up, I guess.” 

On another instinct, she brings her hand up to his face, gently thumbing over the apple of his cheek. She feels him lean into her ever so slightly, his eyes falling shut briefly when her hand meets his face. “I'm just glad nothing happened to you."

His eyes are full of longing. It's downright ridiculous..

"Emma," he breathes out, shaking his head slightly.

She feels her chest tightening and she doesn't know what to say. She pulls her hand away and swallows at the lump in her throat.

He looks at her for a long few moments, then steps a little closer to her. He pauses and cradles the back of her head with his hand, pressing his lips against her forehead in a lingering kiss.

Without another word, Killian turns to go. 

Emma takes a deep breath, unsure what that was about.

/

She laughs with Henry when she has him sit in the tub to take a bath. 

He's happy to be in the water and he splashes her far too much, but she doesn't mind. Emma spends quality time scrubbing his hair and putting bubbles onto his nose to make him giggle.

Maybe being a mom isn't such a bad thing. In fact, she kind of likes it. A lot.

She wraps Henry up in a big warm towel and dries him off, cuddling with him on her way back to the living room. 

The front door opens and closes as she's wrapping Henry's make-shift diaper over him, smiling as he watches her with curiosity. Emma pokes his belly and he flails his legs, making her laugh.

"You are a very lucky boy, Henry. And I'm lucky that I met you."

She strokes up at his hair, making it into a little wispy mohawk before she pulls him into an outfit created by one of Killian's old tee shirts.

Henry kicks his feet and clutches at her hair as she kisses all along his little face. Her heart swells warmly.

"Hey, I love you, little guy. Do you know that? I love you."

Henry just blinks at her.

"I'm going to love you for a long time," Her heart races, because she's never loved anyone like this before. "I promise nothing is going to hurt you as long as you and I have each other."

Emma gives him another kiss to his cheek and sits with him in her lap, her hand pressed against his belly while one of his hands examines her other one.

She glances up, finding herself looking at Killian leaning against the doorframe. She wonders how long he's been watching her when he unfolds his arms and crosses the room.

Killian sits beside her on the sofa and she turns to look at him with a cautious smile.

"Did you finish working?" Emma wonders as casually as she can.

He nods and looks down at Henry when he chirps. 

"He's a noisy fellow, isn't he?" Killian asks, smiling a little.

Emma laughs, nodding in agreement. "He's really happy right now. He loves having baths."

Killian reaches in and strokes Henry's soft cheek with the back of his hand.

"You're good for him," Killian tells her softly. "You make a good mother."

Emma feels a blush fill her cheeks, something she thinks he must notice, because he smiles at her softly.

"Maybe the ocean brought us here for this," Emma muses. She turns her attention onto Henry. "I mean, since it'll probably never happen organically… this is my one shot at being a mom."

When Emma looks up at him, Killian furrows his brow at her in confusion.

She rolls her eyes at her own logic. "You know, because I do so much better on my own. I chase off decent guys and cling to stupid ones."

He hums thoughtfully. "And where do I fall in that spectrum?" She opens her mouth, her ears reddening and words not coming forward. He chuckles, resting his hand against her thigh. "I see."

Emma gapes at him. "It was just a kiss. I don't think that constitutes being on the spectrum. I thought you didn’t even want to consider… us being… involved."

Killian tips his head to the side in thought.

Her jaw falls open in mild surprise and she shakes her head. "We're only going to be here for another week and a half, Killian."

He stares at her for a few seconds and sighs, pushing his head down so he stares at his lap. "I know."

Emma stares at Henry. He's sleepy, his head drooped and his eyes falling shut.

"I know I keep asking you this, but, when we leave, what's going to happen to you?" she asks boldly. "Are you going to stay here?"

Killian stares at her, his gaze unfailing. "Emma-"

"If you can't tell me you don't want to come with me, then it's not worth the heartache."

Emma manages to smile at him, regardless of the tight feeling in her chest. She stands to take Henry into the bedroom to sleep. As she stares at the boy in his cradle, she thinks about the absurdity of it all.

He’s all on his own here. He has a clear cut way out if he leaves with them, but he won’t take it.

Determined, she marches back out into the living room and faces the sofa where Killian's still sitting.

"Why are you here? On this island?"

Killian looks up at her and shakes his head, wordless.

"You know that you're not cursed, right? You've had some horrible stuff happen to you, but that doesn't mean that everyone you care about has to die, or that you’re never going to have a life like you had before everything happened."

Killian clenches his jaw and stands up, clearly getting a little wound up by what she’s saying.

“Just because you're here, Emma, and just because we're friends, it doesn't mean I'm ready-"

"That’s crap. Don’t tell me you’re not ready.” Emma shakes her head. “You keep telling yourself that and you're never going to have any space in your heart to move on.”

He laughs, spiteful. “You’ve been here two weeks and suddenly you’re an expert on what I’m ready to do?”

“I want you to come home with us,” Emma argues passionately. “Okay? I want you to come home with me and Henry, and watch him grow up, and… meet everyone I love and learn new things and go new places…” Feeling weary, she sighs. “I want you to stop hiding out here.”

“I’m not…” he stops himself, falling quiet.

Searching his eyes, she waits for him to finish his reply, but he doesn’t. 

“You’re not alive so you can act dead, Killian.”

Pivoting fast on her heel, she goes into the bedroom, but knows they're not done with this fight.

/

The couch is an uncomfortable bed, but he's gotten more or less used to it in these past few days. He drags a blanket over him and stares at the wall across the room.

His heart races and his mind is a blur as he considers Emma's frustration over his choices. Maybe he's being stubborn, but it's for a good cause. His life has been one disaster after another.

Killian thinks about Liam, how strong his brother had been up through the end of his life. Liam probably wouldn't want him wasting his life away just as much as Emma doesn't.

On a grimace, Killian shakes his head. No, Liam's gone, so he doesn't get to have opinions, and Emma barely knows him.

But still, it feels like he's falling into the deepest, darkest pit and he's never going to be able to get out. The heart of him cries out in silence, begging him to follow Emma and Henry away from this island.

She wants him to. She wants him.

It terrifies him, the thought of living a life away from here. Especially after stranding himself here for so long.

Emma might be worth it.

/

She wakes to the sound of Killian's voice.

Her eyes open slowly and she realizes in a jolt of awareness that he's sitting at her side, his fingers pressed against her arm to try and shake her awake. 

The room is softly lit by early dawn's glow, and she'd think nothing of Killian being here, but they did just have both pirates and a pretty serious argument. His being at her side this early in the morning could be for anything, as far as she knows.

Emma pushes herself upright. Her eyes blink open wider and she forces herself to wake up as she asks, "What's going on? Is everything okay?"

She places her hands between her thighs and looks up at Killian, who sits in silence. He wears a dark expression on his face, something sorrowful knitting his brow.

Suddenly, he slides his fingers down her arm until he finds hers. Emma's eyes meet his in surprise and he smiles slightly.

"There are reasons," he tells her. "Reasons I didn't pursue you when I had every opportunity." He scans her face with determination. Clearly, he's trying to fight something in his mind. "But I'm tired of waiting on the demons from my past."

With her heart in her throat, Emma notices that there are dark circles under Killian's eyes, as if he'd been up all night thinking about the weight of the world that rests upon his shoulders.

If he’d been up all night thinking about this, then what she’d said to him must have been meaningful.

“I… don't..." Emma pauses. She shakes her head. This is something she never would have expected. Her fingers fit easily between his and she stares down at them with her heart still racing. "Killian, I don't want to get hurt when I can leave."

He smiles a little, his eyes absolutely flattering her with the way they light up with adoration. "I don't know if I'm ready to leave, but I know I want to keep you in my life."

She tilts her head, resting it on her shoulder. "Killian-"

He smiles as he mirrors her, clearly captivated by something about her.

"I'm terrified of what it means, but I want to be with you, Emma." Killian says solemnly. "When we kissed, it exposed something." Her gaze shifts back to his. Her heart races at the words tumbling from his lips. "I never thought I'd be capable of letting go of my first love, of my Milah, to believe that I could find someone else, that is, until I met you."

Her heart squeezes tight and she feels tears for no actual reason prickling at the surface of her eyes. She knows he's being serious, because of that deep, meaningful look in his eyes. 

Emma takes a deep breath, like the moment before taking the plunge, and leans in close to him. He's warm and kind when he kisses her, not demanding a single thing from her.

And as she kisses him, for real this time, she feels something she isn’t sure she’s had in a very long time. She feels hope so tangible that she almost worries that it’s too good to be true.

[captain-emmajones]

Love, Emma (4/7)

(Art by the wonderful @carpedzem​ <33)

Loosely based on Love, Rosie (2014). Killian and Emma are best friends and neighbors. They’ve always been – until he leaves for the Navy when his brother dies. When he comes back, nine months later, summer has begun and childhood is ending. Emma can tell something is changed in him, but she doesn’t know what. Until she does. He’s fallen in love with someone else.

And then, suddenly, they’re kissing on her nineteenth birthday. When she asks him to forget their night out, and never talk about it again, Killian thinks she means to tell him she regrets the kiss they exchanged. Except she has no memory of it.

Killian and Emma will dance around each other, until their heads spin and their legs hurt, and everything becomes blurry and it has to stop – for both of their sake.

Title is from Taylor Swift’s Peace – which clearly inspired the mood of this chapter. 

A huge thank you to @profdanglaisstuff who beta’d this and gave me her usual precious advice, and also big thanks to @carpedzem who screamed at me in the best way possible <3 

Friends to Lovers - Mutual Pining - Angst - Fluff - 6000 words - ao3

Last scene of the last chapter was Killian arriving in NYC after the whole Neal stole watches and Emma impulsively runs away thing. This chapter opens on Killian, Emma, MM and David in MM’s kitchen -- right after Emma and Killian’s hug.

Part 1 - Mirrorball , Part 2 - AUGUST, Part 3 - HOAX, Part 5 - This is me trying, Part 6 - Cardigan,  Part 7 - INVISIBLE STRING

PART 4 - PEACE 

Would it be enough

If I could never give you peace?

.

Four years before Emma’s wedding – New York.

As Killian makes small talk with David and Mary Margaret in the kitchenette, Emma is quite thankful she cried this hard. While she really went all in, wept with both her eyes and her nose for a good ten minutes and clearly smeared Killian’s sweater for life in the process, Emma must confess that she does feel better.

Scientists didn’t lie about dopamine. The grey feeling in her chest is twirling in a salt puddle, but Emma knows it won’t be drowned forever. (Not when hazel lingers behind her eyelids, anyway.)

As she sits next to Killian, in front of a plate of scrambled eggs, Emma feels like she might be floating on a cloud. She’s almost tempted to close her eyes, and get some well-deserved rest, but Killian might leave again and her eyes shoot open at the thought.

She did not forget his text. He said he would be busy. Why isn’t he, suddenly?

Her fork slides to the right, and nearly stabs her cheek. Emma sighs, embarrassed, but they don’t notice her, engulfed in their conversation. That’s for the best.  

A nasty hope raises her heart. Maybe, just maybe …

But then, no. No. She deserves better than this, better than being left hanging for him to look back at her. Knowing he never does.

“Well, I’m glad to see you two are still the most infuriating couple in town.”

Emma looks up to see a smile on Killian’s face. He is peeling an orange, and its smell fills Emma’s lungs with Christmas memories and Ingrid’s tender smile. She must be worried sick.

Guilt circles Emma’s throat, until she gets distracted by the orange peels dropped next to her. They look like petals.

Emma thinks, as Killian sits next to her, all upright and proper and Navy, that she sees him for the first time in ages. That the strawberry cloud surrounding him has blotted – somewhere between their last goodbye and the moment she realized she was blaming him for her grey, fuzzy feeling. She doesn’t know if she is allowed to blame him. Probably not. But it still itches.

David and Mary Margaret obviously like Killian. She sees it in the way David presses his shoulder when he reaches for butter, and Mary Margaret makes sure his cup of coffee is never empty. She thinks they always did like him more than they liked her. But that’s fair. She also liked Killian better.

“Aha, thank you, mate ,” replies David, and he has a green apron on his right shoulder and he looks very much so adult and Emma frowns, feeling like she missed an important step from teenagerhood to adulthood. “What about you, any lovebird?”

Well, now that was quick.

Mary Margaret’s swiftly elbows David in the ribs, but it’s too late. The eggs are already stuck down Emma’s throat, and it feels like a strong hand is strangling her. She coughs loudly, and a glass of water is pushed in front of her. Killian.

He won’t let her be mad, will he?

“Careful, Swan.” He even dares to smile. She wants to yell at him but Mary Margaret and David would stare, and she would have to explain why she’s yelling, and then she would have to talk about this funny, funny feeling in her belly when she thinks about M, and… She drinks up.

Killian gives a small chuckle then, but Emma barely hears it. She only hears the fickle buzzing of her heart.

“Sorry mate, I’m not the type to kiss and tell.” Killian’s words are sure and calm.

Without a glance, Killian hands Emma an orange slice, as if it were the most natural thing in the world – and sure, for a while it was –  and she shoots him a death glare but she takes it all the same.

What does he think he’s doing? Does he think she’s just his to pick whenever he feels like it?

The small slice is very delicate and it leaves tangy, sugary drops on her fingers, but she does not think too much about it and shoves it in her mouth. It explodes in orangey sweetness.

“Can we change the subject?” asks Mary Margaret, and Emma isn’t looking up but she knows she’s staring at her with all of the compassion and the pity in the world and it makes Emma even madder.

Everything is so bitter. She doesn’t know where to look, where to be, for the pain to flatter.

“I need to get out,” Emma exhales suddenly. She doesn’t mean to say it like that, but those are the only words her brain comes up with.

“Oh. Alright. Well, David and I were thinking about going to the Christmas market but—”

“— It’s fine. You guys can go to the Christmas market, I’ll stay with Emma.”

Emma doesn’t offer Killian a glance, instead buries her nails into her palm. How dare he.

“Are you sure, Emma?” asks Mary Margaret, and Emma wants to snap back that she should have thought about it before inviting Killian over, but then she sees the gentle glint in Mary Margaret’s eyes and she can only sigh.

“Yeah, don’t worry. Killian and I need to talk, anyway.”

She hopes Killian’s heart makes a loop in his chest and the tip of his ears turn scarlet, as they always do when he is embarrassed. It’s all he deserves.

“Well, then it’s settled.”

And Emma wishes it didn’t smell like oranges and Christmas in the room, because then it would be easier to hate Killian Jones, for sure.

.

Bare are the trees of Central Park as Killian and Emma walk in, their boots crushing the fresh snow. Crunch, crunch, it sings. Emma loves that sound.

She is wearing her biggest red coat and a huge beanie but she is still shaking. She buries her hands in her pockets, walking ahead of Killian, and when she looks back he isn’t by her side. Panic rises in her mind, until she gets a glimpse of him a little down the street, queuing next to a coffee shop.

As she walks to meet him, her stomach twists. He’s getting her a hot cocoa. A green and viscous fury creeps from Emma’s toes to her heart. When he hands her the steaming cup, his fingers brush against hers and she blames the cold for the shiver that tingles her skin.

“Thanks,” she hisses, but still will not look at him. Twirls of chocolate steam escape the cup, it smells like heaven.

But Emma is very determined to hate Killian, from now on, and she hides her grin behind her cup.

“Should we sit on the bench?” offers Killian, and she loathes the gentle tone of his voice.

“Yup.”

Down the park, families are strolling and Emma’s heart sighs loudly. Oh, this is very much so unfair. What’s even more unfair, though, is the fact that when Killian presses one hand down her back, she doesn’t want him to stop.

She wants him to linger there. And when his hand quits her back as he sits down on the bench, it leaves frostbite.

She licks her lips, squeezing her thighs together. “Are you alright, Swan?”

She nods and sips the hot chocolate. Clouds of cinnamon tickle her nose. It makes her smile against her will, and then it makes her sad. He knows her by heart. Can you really leave someone you know by heart behind?

“I’m fine. So, we said we would talk,” she quickly mutters, and takes another sip of her warm drink.

Ah, this hot cocoa is definitely soothing her soul.

Killian crosses his legs, and she knows he only does so when he is uncomfortable and she is glad. He better be.

“What do you want to talk about?” Christmas lights twinkle in the trees behind him. They form the shape of a snowflake.

“First, who called you?”

They are green, red and yellow, the lights. Their sight should not tighten her throat like this.

“Ingrid. She was worried about you. She wants you to come back, Emma.”

She nods, a small, quiet cloud of white smoke escaping her lips.

“I thought she’d hate me. I thought she wanted to get rid of me.”

Killian’s furious stare burns the side of her cheek, and Emma blushes but she won’t look back at him.

“Why would she hate you, Emma? Ingrid’s always cared for you.”

She wants to tell him that he cared and he still left, but then she would start to cry, and she does not want that.

“Yeah, right. Well. I’m not used to someone putting me first.”

It’s hard to shake Neal’s smile from the cobweb of her thoughts. She thought he liked her. Hell, she thought he was in love with her and she was the one incapable of moving on from her teenage crush. She thought she was the one throwing away their chance at happiness. She was wrong.

And Killian reaches for her then, breaks their secret and unspoken oath of distance and loneliness and grabs the hand she let linger on the cold, wooden bench, and Emma can’t control the great dive of her eyes into his.

And blue are his eyes, icy blue, and so full of warmth, and she wants to drown in them. She clenches her jaw.

“I’m sorry for what happened, Emma. You deserve so much better than that scumbag.”

Well, does she? Anger burns deep within her. It’s a wicked flame.

She snatches her hand away from him and in that gesture she catches a smell of peeled oranges and everything sucks again.

“You were with her, right?” she attacks then, pushed by this bold fury in her heart, and they have to talk about it or it will kill her.

He opens his mouth then, but no sound comes out, and Emma swallows frozen stones.

“I…I was.” A pause. “How long have you known?”

She shakes her head then, blonde hair dancing over her eyelids. “Since this summer.”

But also, far before that. She thinks she knew the moment he stopped answering her calls at midnight and their texts got more scattered. That was probably the moment she knew.

She buries her hand in her pocket, so that he will not grab it again, and she drinks long mouthfuls of her hot cocoa. She swallows too fast and the vindictive liquid burns her throat. She winces.  

“I see. And since we’re talking great revelations, how long has this thing been going on with Neal?”

So much for friendship, she thinks. So much for loyalty and comfort and trust. It nearly hurts as much as the savage burn left by the hot cocoa down her throat. Liar.

“This summer,” she lies.

She wants him to think she never cared, even if she most clearly does, or she wouldn’t be clinging to her hot cocoa this way.  

There’s a scoff next to her. “I see.”

And then silence falls, and Emma doesn’t want this battle to end. But when she glances at him, his hands are calmly spread out on his lap, his cup of cocoa long forgotten, and she wants to shake him, to tell him to fight for her, for them, but he is already defeated and he doesn’t care.

“That’s it?” she asks, and her voice is hoarse with tears.

He looks at her then, shrugs. “What do you want me to say, Swan?”

Anything. Anything but his silence and his mature smile and his soft eyes that don’t see her.

“We’ve made mistakes, both of us, in keeping secrets from each other.” A pause. “I made a mistake. I should have talked to you. You’re my best friend, after all.”

“But we didn’t, Killian.” And this is very dangerous, because there is a sob curled up in her throat that is very eager to come out, and she cannot, she cannot let it out.

She needs him to understand.

“Why didn’t we talk about it, Killian? Why didn’t you say anything? Why?”

And he’s staring at her with his big blue eyes, and she feels miles away from him.

He must feel it, he must know how wrong this whole situation is, for them to be with anyone else, he must feel it or she’s been wrong all along.

“Because –” he starts and she’s glad to hear his voice is quivering, too. “— because I care too much about you. I didn’t want it to change anything between us.”

The Christmas lights are so very sad suddenly. “But it has changed everything, Killian.” A snowflake lands on his black, tousled hair. It’s snowing.

“Are you mad at me for leaving?” he asks then, and it’s such a quiet whisper in the snow, she barely hears it.

Anger turns to sadness. It always does.

She peers at him through her eyelashes. “No. Yes. ” A pause, the cold is biting her lips. “I tried to hate you for leaving.” And then he looks sad, and she remembers his own sorrow, and guilt circles her throat. “But I couldn’t.”

Her tiny cold hand leaves the safety of her velvet pocket to grab his palm, and she hopes he hears it. I’ll love you until the end of time.

And in a heartbeat, she presses her lips against his scruffy cheek, discovers his skin cold and damp, and there is a stubborn, stubborn hope in her chest – the hope that he might turn his face at the last moment and drink her breath.

He doesn’t.

When she backs away, her hand lingers on his face as she gazes at him intensely – to remember the gentle shadow dropped by his thick eyelashes on his cheekbones, his cheeks that have turned crimson, and his lips, vibrantly red and tasting of chocolate, his entire face as she allows herself to run after him, one last time.

Her hand leaves his face for the cold wetness of his coat, the bracelet at her wrist ringing, ringing, but she cannot let go, not quite now.

“I’m sorry, Emma.” He whispers, and finally turns his face towards her. It’s unfair. He is twenty seconds too late.

Her heart skips a beat. She thinks it echoes all through the park.

“I never meant to hurt you.”

She nods, and she should find peace in that, but she doesn’t. And it’s fine. She doesn’t need peace, not when this soft flame burns within her. Not while it keeps her alive.

“I know that, Killian.” And she glances down at his lips, stares intensely at them, and she is this close from kissing him, this close, but he backs away, and she smiles – defeated. “Thank you for coming, even though you were busy.”

And she watches him lick his lips, frown. “I’d drop everything for you, Emma. I will always have your back.”

She nods, her heart bursting. Her hand falls down his arm, a pink petal dropped in the snow, and reluctantly settles for holding her cup of hot cocoa. It feels like something is being ripped from her flesh. But that is also fine.

She stares straight ahead, at the Christmas trees and the families, and she exhales: “Let’s go see that Christmas market, huh?”

“Aye.” And he stretches his hand for her to hold, and the tip of his fingers is red and frozen and, before she knows it, his lips are pressed against her cheek, and a flower blooms in Emma’s chest.  

And when she looks up, she swears she sees him bend towards her, a liquid flame burning in his gaze, and her breath gets caught in her throat. But then he stops, and snow melts on her lips.

The distance between their bodies, the unfinished course of his lips towards hers, the heartbeat she misses, all of this is fine.

She links their arms as they walk, muffling the voices in her head. They tell her she shouldn’t play with fire, but she has nothing to lose anymore.

.

Killian throws their now empty cups of hot cocoa in a nearby bin while Emma calls Ingrid. A weird pang lingers in his chest. This crisp winter day carries Christmas smells with it that fill Killian’s lungs with nostalgia and a strange kind of hope.

As he watches Emma pace restlessly in front of him, unaware of her surroundings, he feels proud of her for reaching out to Ingrid first.

Killian watches as Emma clenches onto the phone, throws a strand of hair behind her back and frowns, heels clacking on the pavement, and he notices just how different she looks. Her hair has grown, and she styled it to form golden curls over the red of her coat. She’s wearing lipstick as well, a bright red shade, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her with it.

She’s changing. Evolving without him. It shouldn’t feel like this, in his throat, but it does, and in a blink he looks down at his feet to conceal his feelings.  

His thoughts go back to Neal then, Neal who’s hiding somewhere and he desperately wants to find him and smash his pretty, pretty face.

But then he hears the click of Emma’s black boots on the snow coated pavement, and he looks up, forcing a smile on his face. There’s not much else to do but smile.

“Come,” she smiles and grabs his arm, “Everything we need is right in front of us.”

Oddly enough, they spend a good day together, one that brings Killian back to summer nights and long walks along the beach, and her hand in his, and the feeling, the conviction that this would last forever.

As they eat crepes and toasted marshmallows and somehow their laughter echoes between New York’s brick buildings, forever is merely a word and they are fighting against the passing of time.  

All of this is ephemeral. But then again, everything is. Perhaps it is the reason why he wraps his arms quite as hard around her when she whines “I’m so cold, so cold” by a street corner, and she is so small in the crook of his neck, and his lips linger on her forehead as a chuckle shakes both of their shoulders.

(They never join Mary Margaret and David.)

And when nighttime falls, and they’ve finally reached Mary Margaret’s building, and it is time to say goodnight and goodbye, always goodbye, he makes a conscious effort in memorizing the features of her face. The pavement shines, glints, glistens under New York’s street lights, wears its prettiest fluorescent feathers.

And Emma’s face is inhabited by that same green, wet light. Her curls have loosened throughout the day and a crown of baby hairs is escaping from her beanie. She only looks more beautiful and touching. Her cheeks and nose are red from the cold and her eyes are two green lakes shining with gentle sparkles and her mouth is wet and he desperately wants to kiss her.

It would be easy to cave in, lean forward and drink her breath. Easy to take advantage of her broken heart and mold it with his hands.

And then what? Emma does not like him like he does, Emma is in love with Neal, she always has been it seems, and kissing her wouldn’t lead anywhere but to more heartache.

And he thinks of Milah then, Milah who’s betrayed him but whom he deeply cares for and who is willing to be with him. Milah who loves him, and whom he might love, if only he allowed himself to.

He wants to tell Emma then, join me in my hotel room, I did not come all the way here just to spend a few hours with you, come lie next to me and we’ll – Sweet, sweet fantasy.

Where would that bloody lead them?

“So, this is it. I’m expecting you to call me once you’re safe and home at Ingrid’s,” he finally whispers, and he sees it, this strange glimmer in her eyes.

She’s smiling, nods, seems at peace.

“You never told me her name. What is it?” she suddenly asks.

Frozen, frozen snowflakes fall all around them. The fire burning between their two bodies is still excruciating.

“Milah.”

She nods again. Breathes in and, he’s starting to understand as well, lets go. Very resolute, very brave when she kisses his cheek – for just one instant. And then her lips vanish.  

And she smiles again, and Killian finally understands he is losing her forever.

He watches as she carefully cuts the golden string tying her to him, and his hand has a small jolt but he is not quick enough to stop her.

“I’ll see you around, next summer, I guess,” she simply mutters and does not wait for his reply to turn around.

The din of her boots echo on the pavement, until it does not.

And just like that, he’s lost her.

.

Watching Ingrid’s yellow bug park in front of Mary Margaret’s building, this Sunday morning, really stirs something strange and unfamiliar in Emma’s chest. She doesn’t know quite why but suddenly there is this heavy, heavy weight on her chest and it is hard to breath.

“It was nice to have you here, Emma. Do come back, when you are not in trouble, some day,” smiles Mary Margaret, and then she’s wrapping her arms around Emma’s body.

And Emma breathes into her, and she thinks everything is terribly overwhelming, but maybe it is a good kind of overwhelming for once. She clutches onto her friend.

“Thanks, Mary Margaret. I’ll be more than happy to come back.”

And then David’s pulling her into another hug, and Emma starts to think life doesn’t suck as much as she wants to believe it.

Ingrid gets out of the car, rubbing her hands together. “Well well, they don’t lie about New York weather.”

And Emma cannot tell but her face is definitely splitting into a ridiculous, ugly smile, and her chin starts quivering. An ocean of unfamiliar emotions is swallowing her. But maybe, just maybe, as Ingrid’s green eyes find hers and shine so very softly, maybe she is allowed to feel them.

“Emma.”

“Ingrid.”

And then Emma doesn’t know who reaches first, it’s her, it’s her stretching her hand and grabbing Ingrid’s shoulder and pulling her against her, until the weight on her chest explodes into thousands of strawberry bubbles of happiness.

And it’s really hard to swallow the tears that threaten to come out of her eyes when Ingrid’s hand finds her scalp and gently massages it, and her smell fills her lungs, and she never realized Ingrid had a smell and that it smelled like home.

And then Ingrid’s lips are on her temples and Emma is nowhere to be found, melting into a puddle of glittering happiness.  

And when she looks behind her back, Mary Margaret and David have disappeared.

“I’m sorry I ever made you feel like you couldn’t trust me, Emma.”

And then Emma shakes her head, nods, laughs a little. “It’s fine, Ingrid. It’s fine. It was equally my fault.”

Ingrid grins, her hands cupping Emma’s face, and Emma feels safe and loved, and she forgives both of them.

Emma learns during their car trip back to Storybrooke that Ingrid found the jewelry store where the watches were stolen, and she gave them back, and the shopkeeper was so happy he withdrew his complaint.

Neal is nowhere to be found. But Emma thinks that’s quite alright, because this pain will fade away with time as well.

And when Killian sends her a text “Safely landed. Already missing you”, Emma ignores it and shoves her phone down her bag.

This pain will fade away with time as well.

.

Six months before Emma’s wedding.

Emma’s running. She’s running like she’s never run before. Mind you, as deputy Sheriff of Storybrooke, for two years now since David left for New York, running is part of her job description. But she’s never run with this kind of fervor before.

She’s running as if Killian Jones might close his eyes and never wake up.

“Family?” asks the hospital nurse without a look at her.

Big, big pearls of sweat roll down Emma’s temples as she stares at the nurse with eyes wide open, trying to catch her breath. “Y-yes,” she lies, in the blink of an eye.

And then the nurse glances down at her left hand and Emma knows she sees the ring on her finger and thinks –  but she is mistaken and it is fine.

“Alright. His room number is 815.”

And Emma turns around like a devil, like she’s possessed really, and she thinks she is, she is possessed by a fear that’s tearing her heart down and setting it on fire.

“Miss?”

“Mmm?” What again?

“You might want to prepare yourself. He was given a huge amount of morphine, to lessen his pain. He probably won’t be awake when you come in. ”

Emma nods, swallows downs a disinfectant smell that burns her tired lungs. If she could prepare herself she would. But there’s no preparing for that.

.

As she steps into Killian Jones’s hospital room, Emma feels like her heart is thrown at her feet and the whole world is joyfully trampling on it.

Her entire universe stopped spinning when she received the call. (She’s still his next of kin. That thought alone infuriates her.)

But as she faces him, lying still on this small bed, his skin, so pale, so pale he nearly seems dead, with his eyes resolutely closed and this enormous, horrendous bandage around his wrist, she wonders by which miracle her legs manage to hold her.

“Killian…”

She tries to convince herself she won’t cry then, but her eyes do not care for her pride and are soon filled to the brim with tears as a smile crinkles her face, but it’s not a smile, it’s a terrible, terrible sob that won’t come out.

She drags her boneless legs towards the bed, and then she’s faced with an awful dilemma: where to touch him, where to tether herself, and not to hurt him in the process?

Her eyes twitch, she blinks, and settles for brushing slightly his cheek.

“Hello there,” she whispers then, “Heard you had a very bad fall. I came as soon as I could.”

Flashes of Neal’s anger and disappointment and anger and more disappointment linger behind her eyelids. He was furious.

He couldn’t understand why she would drop everything, why she would drop him on the spot, just to save this childhood friend she hasn’t seen in a year.

“When, Emma, when are you going to choose me over him?”

And he tried to take her engagement ring away, the one she is turning around her finger, swirl, swirl, the golden ring, the golden cage.

A very viscous bile climbs back up her throat.

“I missed you,” she exhales, and clenches onto his bruised knuckles.

She gathers all of her willpower not to stare at the void, the void where his hand is supposed to be, and she licks her lips because she is scared this is one blow will simply be too much to withstand.  

Life has a peculiar fondness for punching Killian Jones straight in the face, it seems.

.

Opening one’s eyes is really the most natural thing to do. Until one’s eyelids seem as heavy as lead, and there isn’t much for one to wake up to.

His life really fell apart, in those last months, huh. Which is why, as this bloody machine closed on his wrist during the ship’s inspection, Killian Jones really wasn’t that surprised. He would have chuckled if not for the pain, taunting Fate with a very sharp “Oh, is that what we’re going for now?”

That’s what he got for being promoted to Lieutenant. Any good Lieutenant made sure the ship’s mechanics were properly checked before sailing away. And he did, bloody hell.

It was the worst ship launching the Navy had seen in years. Killian would be proud if not for the pain, again.

And then he hears her voice. “Hello there,” and for a minute he fears he is dead.

But then her hand is on his face and the sun couldn’t possibly shine in hell, could it?

He wants to reach for her, but the only hand he has left refuses to move, and it is driving him mad. Her smell fills his lungs, fills it with ginger and herself and meaning.

And then she leaves the room and it is darkness and void and silence. And he wants to scream.

.

David and Mary Margaret stand up as one in the waiting room, as Emma shuts Killian’s door behind her.

Seeing them is such a relief, it makes her forget the pebbles in her belly for one instant.

“Emma, honey,” and Mary Margaret’s arms are around her, and it’s a wave of comfort. “We came as soon as we could.”

Emma drove all night from Storybrooke to Portsmouth and coffee is starting not to be enough to keep her eyes open.

“He still hasn’t woken up?” asks David as he presses his hand on Emma’s shoulder.

She shakes her head. “Nope. He went through surgery last night. He should wake up any time now.” This bitter taste in the back of her throat will not fade and the thousands of coffees she’s had only worsen it.

“How…How did Neal take it? Considering he was opening his pawnbroker’s shop this weekend?” risks Mary Margaret, in a very small voice.

Right. Neal.  

Mary Margaret doesn’t mean to hurt Emma any further, but there it is, the weight on her finger, swirl, swirl, swirl.

“Bad. Very bad. But he’ll manage.”

Emma tries to ignore their concerned eyes then, because they know too much and she doesn’t want to prove them right. Although every inch of her being is probably giving her away anyway.

Swirl, swirl, swirl.

But she wants to belong to someone, and Neal knows her, in spite of everything, he knows her and he chose her, and it is enough. Hell, he fought for her, for two years, showing up every day at the sheriff station once he learnt Graham had taken Emma under his wing, he showed up and he showed her he cared.

And she quite literally put him through hell before giving him a second chance after his first betrayal.

“I never meant to let you go, Emma. I swear it to you, but the police were at my back and I couldn’t bring you into all of this. But I never stopped loving you, I never did, and I’ll love you until the end of time – only if you’ll let me.”

And sometimes, all one really wants is to be wanted, after all.

“Do we… Do we know if she’s coming?” asks Mary Margaret in a very quiet tone, as if she doesn’t want to utter the words.

Emma has a big sigh then. “No, she’s not. Killian definitively broke up with her three months ago.”

David and Mary Margaret both stare at her with something terrible in their eyes. Emma pretends she does not see it.

“He found out she’d been cheating. Again,” she lies. It’s easier this way.

Emma doesn’t tell them that Killian didn’t tell her about the breakup, and she just learnt about it from the mouth of Killian’s superior, doesn’t tell them they have hardly spoken since she started dating Neal again, and especially doesn’t tell them that Neal proposed three months ago and she sent Killian a text to which he never replied.

Nope. That’s a cross for her to bear.

.

He moves. Emma’s eyes shoot open. He moved . It wasn’t really perceptible, but she felt it, the small clench of his fingers around hers.

Emma sits up straight. She thinks he is frowning. This is good. This is good. He is waking up.

“Come on, Killian. You can do this. Push through this.”

And finally, finally , his eyelids flutter, flutter, until blue emerges and his eyes go wide. She smiles, and it’s the most genuine smile she’s had in months.

“Ems’,” he begins, a hoarse whisper. His throat must be dry.

She presses her fingers softly, swiftly, against his dry lips. “Shush, Killian, it’s going to be okay.”

She rushes to the small sink in his bedroom. A plastic cup was left there, and she fills it with water, before tenderly pushing it against Killian’s lips.

He closes his eyes, drinks slowly as her other hand cups the back of his head.

And then the cup is put down with her bravery, and she grabs his fingers. She sees the waves of terror in his eyes, the waves exhaustion cannot quite hide, and it reminds her of their childhood and she desperately wants to mend him, to soothe his soul, but there is so much to heal and he won’t let her.

She presses a very trembling kiss onto his forehead. She sees him close his eyes into her touch, and her entire being is screaming.

“Feared you wouldn’t come,” he manages to whisper. She watches as he swallows down.

She shakes her head. “Of course I’d come.” A pause. “You absolutely do not have permission to ever scare me like this again.”

He manages to smile, somehow. “You don’t have to worry about me, Swan. I’m a survivor.”

Her chin quivers then, and she hates herself because she should be the strong one. But it is exhausting to remain brave when he seems completely, utterly defeated.

“Fancy that red-leather jacket of yours.”

And he makes her chuckle, the bastard, he is the one lying on a hospital bed and he makes her chuckle.

“Thanks, Killian.” And she brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, and she sees it. The glint of her ring under the yellow ceiling light. And he sees it too.

And he stares at her ring then, that glints, glints, and a lightning bolt shatters the blue of his gaze and she wants to throw it away so that she will never have to stare at this deep, dark blue sea of sadness.

Instead, she smiles. There is not much else to do but smile.

.

“Neal?”

“Emma, I’m so glad you called. I wanted you to know that I’m sorry, and I understand, I really do…”

“Don’t bother apologizing. I just wanted to warn you that I’m going to stay a while with Killian. He needs me.”

“…He needs you? He needs you? What about your job? What about me, Emma?!”

“Graham agreed to this. He owes me so many days off. And I will ask you this once, Neal: quit talking about Killian as if he doesn’t matter, or I swear to god, I will give you back your ring. And there will be no third chance.”

“See? See how you react, Emma? As if I’m the villain in this stupid little story of yours and I am tired of th—”

She hangs up.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

@winterbaby89@ohmightydevviepuu @yasbio2015 @bubblegum1425 @daenerysmyhsa @dancingnancyy @elizabeethan @farewell-courgette  @beca0912 @stina-g @tenaciouskittynightmare @noensnaringnet @klynn-stormz @sekretny13 @tiganasummertree @vvbooklady1256 @brustudyblog @peggyyswan @thisonesatellite @courtorderedcake @snowbellewells @kingofmyheart14 @teamhook @mariakov81

As usual, if you wish to be added/deleted from the list, please let me know <3