#Merry Christmas ya filthy animals

[pseudowho]

can you bully me into studying for my SATs?

I could, but I'm ruthless. The only person I bully into working hard is myself, and I promise you do not want me to speak like that to you.

I always tell myself, be your future friend. Would future you be happy with past you, for knuckling down and studying? Or would future you be disappointed with you for slacking off and wasting an opportunity?

Be your future friend. If you can do something now that will benefit the you of the future, you should, frankly, give your head a wobble and fucking do it (barring any serious, significant restrictions, including mental health, life being on fire, etc etc.)

Here is the bullying: this is how I talk to myself. I abhor this and I do not talk to anyone else like this...are you ready? Are you sure you want to go ahead? Do you mean it? You must know I don't think this about you...but here we go. Bullying below the cut.

If you want to be a worthless sack of shit and die anything less than the best version of yourself, then sure, slack off. If you want to be pathetic and make lame excuses, then sure, slack off. Otherwise, stop being a little bitch, put your toys away just for now, and WORK. You see that nice thing over there that you want? You see it? Fucking earn it. Don't expect life to be handed to you on a silver platter, because of you want to have even a fighting shot at beating Nepo baby after Nepo baby, then pull your finger out, get your head down and fucking challenge yourself. Will it be hard? Yes. Will the you of the future be proud of the you of the past? Also yes. So you fucking focus just for now, eat well, drink well, sleep well and work well. Work hard: play hard. Get on with it and stop finding reasons not to.

Alright. Good talk, kiddo. I love you. Don't hate yourself like I hate myself.

(nobody in my life ever spoke to me like that; I did it all to myself I'm afraid, and continue to do so)

Love,

And good luck,

-- Haitch xxx

[highdefhoetry]

Behind the Blindfold, ch. 4 [Gojo Satoru x reader]

tags: NSFW!!! female reader, jealousy, possessiveness, marking/biting/hickies, penetration (penis in vagina), unprotected sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex (vaginal), tickle kink, creampie, finger sucking, big dick, aftercare, exhibitionism, hair pulling, doggy style, overstimulation, forced orgasms, multiple orgasms, post orgasm torture, size kink, size difference, reader is short, gojo is feral af and a bit sadistic

summary: after a big argument fueled by jealousy, gojo satoru is determined to prove you wrong.

word count: ~4,477

read part 1 here! read part 2 here! read part 3 here!

read on ao3 here!

“Hey! (Y/N), wait!”

Heavy footsteps echo behind you as you rush through the crowded streets of Tokyo. You push your way past unassuming people, simmering quietly as you make your stormy escape. You hear someone calling for you, but the sound of his voice only serves to ignite you further. You pretend not to hear and keep going.

“I said wait, god damn it!”

You dip into a nearby alley and find yourself at a dead end. Shit. The footsteps that had been following behind you for the last several blocks pause, and you sense a foreboding presence behind you. You swing around to glare at Gojo Satoru, who’s staring back at you from behind dark tinted glasses with an uncharacteristically serious expression. He had barely broken a sweat during the chase, despite how quickly he was walking to keep up with you. Your attempt to run away had been futile.

“You’re a real piece of work. You know that?” he rubs the back of his neck, rolling his head backwards from side to side. “How many times am I going to have to chase after you like this?”

“I thought I told you to leave me alone.” 

Your voice is sharp and full of venom. He shoves his hands into his pockets, the corners of his lips turned down in displeasure.

“Calm down, firecracker. Why are you so angry all of a sudden?” he whines. “You’re more worked up than usual.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” you snap back furiously.

“Okay, okay,” Gojo puts his hands up in an act of surrender, letting his sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose. His radiant blue eyes peer over them, studying you intently. “I’m just trying to figure out why you’re so pissed off.”

“You know exactly why,” you spit back, trembling a bit from anger. “I should have known you’d pull something like this. I should have never gotten involved with you.”

“Huh? What on earth are you going on about?” annoyance begins to seep through his voice. “What the hell did I do?”

“I fucking saw you, Satoru. With my own two eyes.”

“Saw me what?” His volume increases, and you sense his own patience is wearing thin. “Spit it out already. I’m tired of this damn guessing game.”

“You were flirting with her! Right in front of me!” the tears you had been forcing back finally break through. You feel a few of them drip onto your burning cheeks and quickly wipe them dry. Your entire body feels hot. You hadn’t realized how agitated you had become. How he always managed to get under your skin was beyond you.

“Flirting with who? ” he pauses for a moment, tilting his head to the side with brows furrowed. “...Hold on a second. You mean the barista?”

“Yes,” you hiss. “I saw you take her number.”

You shoot daggers at his perfect face while he gawks at you, taking a moment to process your words. Then, his frown slowly starts to fade. A slow smile creeps across his face as he looks back at you with an incredible amount of satisfaction, chucking quietly in that low baritone of his. 

That goddamn smile. It made it almost impossible for you to cling onto the anger. 

Almost.

“Ah. I see what’s going on.”

He closes in on you, taking advantage of the fact that you’re up against the wall with nowhere else to run. 

“You’re jealous.”

Lacking the energy to come up with a comeback, you simply cross your arms and scowl. He lets out a bitter laugh, shakes his head a little. 

“Well, I can’t help that I’m ridiculously good looking and charming. It’s not something I can control,” he says, wearing the biggest shit-eating grin. “But she’s not my type at all. I just accepted it to be polite. You know, because somebody is always on my ass about being nice to people?”

You scoff angrily, but a few seconds later, he pulls you into his embrace. He wraps his arms around your back, pulls you into his chest. It’s such a sweet gesture. You don’t have the heart to push him away.

“You don’t need to get all grumpy about it,” his velvet baritone melts in your ear, his breath tickles your skin. “I told you, you’re the only one I’m interested in right now. That’s why I asked you out on this date, no?”

He takes your chin in one of his big hands, then pulls your face up, forcing you to return his gaze.

“Have a little more faith in me. How many times do I have to say that I only want you?”

He leans down and plants a kiss on your lips, twirling his tongue with yours. You close your eyes, allowing the last tears you’d been suppressing to drip onto your cheeks. He catches them in his thumbs and wipes them away. You’re not fighting him, but still find it difficult to get into it. He senses your hesitation and pulls away.  

“You still don’t trust me,” he furrows his brows again, looking a bit forlorn.

A tinge of remorse stings your heart, but you remain silent. He sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets once more before backing away. He looks towards the sky as if contemplating something, pondering silently for a few moments, then turns back towards you with a stoic expression.

“You know, I’m a patient guy, (Y/N),” he finally speaks. His tone is darker, more embittered. “But even I have my limits.”

He narrows his eyes to glare at you intensely. The sight of him barely containing his unbridled frustration fills you with both fear and excitement. Your heart skips several beats; you recognize that look. You knew what this meant.

Those wild, insatiable eyes. 

The way he’s purposely leering over you, a quiet reminder of your height difference. 

He could ravage you as he pleased, take you whenever he wanted, as he’d done many times before.

And he was about to do it again. 

Still at a loss of words, all you manage to do is stare back at him and watch as the sweet Gojo you’ve come to know becomes something sinister.

“What do I gotta do to prove myself, huh?” he towers over you as your back presses against the wall with that same crazed look in his eyes he had whenever he was about to take something, or someone, down. “Do I have to grovel at your feet? Kiss the ground you walk on? Tear my skin off so you can see me bleed for you?”

He slams his hand on the concrete wall beside your head and stares into your soul, locking those stunning baby blues with yours. 

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

You’d seen this side of him only once or twice, when the two of you were exorcizing a particularly difficult curse during one of your assignments. It was hard enough back then to focus on combat while you watched his fingers work their magic, curling and twisting as he used his jujutsu technique, reminding you of how skilled he was with his hands and how good they felt knuckle deep inside of you. His hair had been wild and unkempt as it flowed around his head. His eyes were fierce and untamed. His smile was wide and full of malice. He snickered as he worked, full of twisted pleasure as he tore the curse apart.

And now, his attention was solely on you.

“Maybe I’ve been too nice. Maybe I need to be a real bad guy for you to finally understand.”

Before you have a chance to respond, you feel one of his big hands wrap around your neck, holding you tightly in place. His grip is firm, but not painful. Your breath becomes shallow and frantic, and there’s nowhere to look but up. Your eyes meet his and his hands start to roam, slipping between your thighs to feel the warmth between them. His fingers touch your wet mound, then start to massage your swollen hood. He grins menacingly and lets out another dark chuckle.

“You like that, baby? You want me to be mean? You’re already soaking wet.”

His thumb traces your bottom lip, admiring its softness. You part your lips, inviting him inside, and he takes advantage of this invitation by shoving his thumb into your mouth. You wrap your lips around it, marveling at the taste and feel. It’s clean, soft, and a bit chapped from the dry air. Your mouth moves forward and backwards, reminding him of the talents of your tongue. His grin grows bigger, stretching his beautiful pink lips across his face.

When he can’t wait any longer, he pulls out his thumb and picks you up in a smooth, seamless fashion. He grabs the back of your thighs and lifts you into the air, pushing your back up against the alley wall while holding your legs at both sides of his waist. It happens so fast that you don’t have time to protest, to claim that you’re too heavy or that it’s too embarrassing. It’s like he’s carrying a basket of feathers; you’re practically weightless to him. Your legs dangle in midair for a second until they wrap around his waist as his thick, strong hands rest on your ass, cradling each cheek in his wide palms. There was no sign of strain or discomfort in his expression. Only an insatiable hunger, one that only you could feed.

God. He was so fucking hot.

“You want me to fuck you in front of her?” he growls into your ear in between the frantic neck kisses he’s peppering over your skin. “I’ll bring you back there right fucking now. I’ll show her how badly I want you.”

His mouth hungrily consumes you, his lips press themselves against every inch of your face. You’re caught between breathy gasps, sultry moans, and half-giggles. The sensations almost overwhelm you. 

Your hand sneaks around to the back of his head and grips it tightly. His teeth sink into your neck, causing you to cry out and dig your nails in his skin. They wander upwards, scratching and clawing his buzzed undercut, and once again you are blessed with the sound of his sweet moans. 

“Tell me who you belong to,” you demand, grabbing fistfuls of his silk hair, drunk off the beautiful, desperate noises he’s making. 

“You,” he grunts while humping against your mound. He’s rock hard; it won’t be much longer until he forces it inside you once more. 

“Say it louder.”

“You. I belong to you.”

“That’s right,” You cup his face, pull him in towards you until his lips meet yours. You whisper loaded threats in between each stolen kiss. 

“You’re mine. All mine. I’ll fucking kill anyone who comes near you.”

It’s intense. Even you frighten yourself a bit as you voice your internal thoughts. But this is what Gojo Satoru has done to you. 

“You’re scary, (Y/N),” he teases, laughing a little. “But it’s really fucking hot.”

You are starting to grow tired of words. Feeling brave, you run both hands through his hair, then yank it softly as you pull his head to one side. There’s a momentary look of shock on his face, but his confident grin quickly returns. 

“Taking charge now?” he chirps. 

You lean forward and whisper in his ear, mimicking all the times he’d done the same to you.

“I want the whole world to know you’re mine.” 

It’s subtle, but you see him shudder as your words wash over him.

You begin to trail a path of kisses from his lips to his neck. Once you reach the smooth, blemish-free skin, you begin to suck, lick and bite ever so gently. He makes a sudden noise that’s shockingly high pitched before letting out a long moan. You hear his voice shudder as you do it again, alternating between tender kisses and aggressive bites. Each time you pull away, you look at his pale skin and see another red mark in the shape of your lips and teeth. But the other side looks bare. You gently pull his head to the left, allowing you access to the untouched. Your lips meet his skin once more, your teeth leave indents as you nibble and suck. 

The sounds coming out of his mouth are heavenly. Like a chorus of angels warbling in the air. His voice flutters with every kiss, every bite, every new mark left that claims him as your own. His beautiful blue eyes roll back in his head as he makes sweet, fluttery noises, just for you.

“(Y/N)...” he murmurs, barely able to form coherent words. There was something oddly satisfying about seeing a grown man like him turn to putty in your hands. The greatest sorcerer in the world, brought down by neck kisses and hickies. And you were the only one who could bring him here.

You lose track of how many times you mark him, but when you’re finished, you trace each one with the tip of your finger. Admiring your work. Your marking has left him in a dream-like state; the only thing that comes out of his mouth is an airy, bubbly giggle. His skin quivers as your fingers trail across his neck. He’s just as sensitive as you are, if not more.

Your lips press against his, reawakening his desire. His hands grope your thighs. His fingers press deep into your skin, wanting to leave their own mark on you. 

He can’t wait any longer. He sets you down, back on your feet. Wobbly hands grab your panties and yank them down your thighs. The hem of your skirt rides up, and you feel a rush of cool air between your legs. You suddenly remember you’re in public; your eyes dart around to see if any passersby are peeping at your lewd act. He notices this and laughs.

“Oh, are you feeling shy now?” he derides. “I forgot. You like your privacy.”

You start to talk back, but your surroundings change in an instant, and once again you find yourself in a totally new space far from the dirty, rancid alley. Gojo and his goddamn cursed technique. He just had to show it off whenever he had the chance. 

You briefly glance around, and after a few seconds it dawns on you that you’re at his place. You’d only been there once or twice, but you recognize the smell of expensive cologne and the piles of black clothes scattered around the floor. The essence of Gojo Satoru.

He carries you to the couch and plops you down, then climbs on top to straddle you. He seizes your wrists, holds them above your head, then uses his free hand to poke and prod at your sides. It happens so fast, you have no time to prepare yourself for the electrifying sensations that shock your nerves. You scream, you laugh, you thrash around wildly as he torments your sensitive body more than ever before. All while cackling maniacally like some sort of evil villain. 

“Satoru, stahahap!” is all you can manage to spit out. 

“What’s the matter? You like this, don’t you?” he taunts, tickling you even harder. “I’m just getting you warmed up, sweetheart.”

“Stop, it’s too much! I can’t take it!”

“That’s right, baby. Beg for me.”

You feel like you’re going insane. He’s tickling you to madness, digging into your worst spots and tweaking your soft skin like he’s playing an instrument. Your laughter starts to sound like a hysterical melody. You’re struggling like hell to get out of his grasp, but the tickling has weakened you and eventually you resign yourself to laughing. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and he watches your futile attempts to escape with sadistic glee. You start to babble, pleading him for mercy, but all that earns you is more wicked laughter.

“You cryin’?” he taunts, wiping a tear off your cheek and licking it. “How cute. No mercy for you, though. I’m a bad guy now, remember?”

A moment of respite. You grovel, appeal to his sense of mercy, but in the end he ignores you and resumes his torment. His fingers dance across your ribs, following your body’s movements as you twist and turn. At this point you can’t even form words, and despite how much you’re shrieking and giggling it still seems like he’s laughing even harder. 

You’re not sure how much time passes. It could have been a few minutes, or half an hour, or longer, but he finally lets up, allows you to catch your breath. You take deep gulps of air, still giggling lightly when you feel his hand rest on your stomach. 

The momentary respite ends too soon. He slides his hands down your waist, rests them on your hips, taps them with his long fingers. The feeling makes you jolt, and the sight of you quivering under his touch amuses him further. He chuckles again, staring down at you with a crazed, feral look in his eyes. Your heart is thumping so loudly you wonder if he can hear it. 

“Turn around.”

It isn’t a request. He doesn’t give you any time to decide whether or not you’re going to be obedient or defiant, quickly flipping you over so he can gain access to what he wants most. He grabs your hips again and lifts them into the air, forcing your face into the suede cushions on the sofa. You feel his soft lips press against your cheeks as they plant sloppy, wet kisses and love bites across the seldom-touched skin. You cry out softly, overcome with pleasure and just the right amount of pain. Out of nowhere, his tongue flicks your taint, making you squeal and buck your hips forward. You had not been expecting that. He simply pulls your hips back, slamming them against his own before licking the hyper-sensitive area once more. All while stroking his fingers up and down your sides, putting you in overstimulation hell. The sounds coming out of your mouth are inhumane.

Several minutes pass, and he finally decides he’s had his fill of your suffering. At least for now.  Ready to be inside you, he yanks down his pants and boxers, throws them off to the side. They must have knocked over a lamp or something, because you hear a loud crash on the other end of the room. You turn your head to look, but don’t get the chance to see what it was. His hand pushes down on your neck, forcing you down once more while the tip of his cock pushes itself against your hole. You cry out when he shoves it inside. No matter how wet you are, his dick will always take you by surprise by its sheer size and girth. It feels so fucking good. It’s driving you insane.

The palm of his hand moves from the back of your neck to the lower part of your scalp. He makes a fist and pulls, softly at first to ease you into it, then with a bit more force. It forces your head back as he pumps his dick inside you over and over. It’s different from how he’s fucked you before. This time, there is no slow buildup or loving thrusts. Just him slamming his cock deep in your hole with rapid, deep strokes. 

His other hand is gripping your waist, gently squeezing it every now and then to mess with you. Each time you feel that tickly feeling, your hole clenches around his member, coaxing more feral grunts and moans from his beautiful lips. Your back arches, your ass cheeks slam against his hips, your voice grows hoarse from the guttural moans emerging from your throat.

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” he croons. “Your perfect little hole is mine.”

“Satoru! Aaaah…”

“You want me to fill you up, sweetheart?”

“God, yes! Yes! ”

A few more strokes, shoved deep inside of you, and finally he comes. And he comes hard . He lets out one more loud groan before busting a load inside you, filling you once more with warmth and satisfaction. His cock twitches as it rests inside you; his moans grow softer, quieter. He stays there for a while, and you relish the full feeling his giant cock provides. When he finally pulls out after several seconds of cockwarming, you feel his seed dripping out. It soaks the cushions below. 

But he’s not done with you yet. He manhandles you again, turning you over so you’re on your back and your legs are wide open, giving him full access to your cunt. His head dips down. His lips press against your throbbing clit. His tongue dances and twirls around, then his mouth consumes you completely. You’re already soaking wet, full of his cum and yours, and the intensity of his tongue movements are pushing you over the edge. You grip the fabric of the couch and arch your back, losing yourself in the ecstasy of his touch. 

It takes quite a while for you to reach the edge, but he works you over with steadfast patience. He chuckles as he listens to you whimper and moan, and doesn’t resist when you grab his head and shove his face further down. His expert tongue and soft lips send waves of pleasure through your body, never ceasing even after you climax. Ecstasy courses through your veins. Pleasure vibrates through every nerve ending. You throw back your head and practically scream. You’ve never come this hard before, not with anyone else but him.

He’s not finished. As you’re panting and heaving, he slips one finger into your hole and slowly pumps it back and forth. Still writhing from the earth-shattering climax he just gave you, there’s little you can do but cry in frustrated pleasure. With one curl of his finger, he brings you to another climax, this one much more intense than the last. Your entire body arches upward. Colors and shapes explode in your vision. Your mind is starting to go fuzzy, but he still doesn’t stop. When the second orgasm has finished washing over you, he sticks in another finger and curls it up. Then he does it again, and again, and again…

With sweat plastered across your forehead and skin flushed so deeply it feels aflame, you whisper quiet pleas to your merciless lover.

“Satoru…” you splutter in between haggard breaths. “No more…”

He simply grins at you in response, devouring the sight of you with his voracious six eyes.

Ten long fingers rest on your hips, stroking them lightly. They crawl up your sides, then back down again. They follow your body’s movements while you thrash wildly, laughing and screaming in octaves you never knew you could reach. Every light flutter, every feathery claw feels like an electrical surge on your skin. All those successive orgasms have left you insanely sensitive. It’s the closest thing to torture you’ve ever felt. Gojo watches you with cruel satisfaction, laughs maniacally when you try to beg for respite. It’s unhinged, the way he’s giggling so cutely while making you suffer. Part of you is scared he’ll never stop. Part of you hopes he never will.

Fortunately, he does. After god knows how long he finally lets up, although he keeps his hands on your waist and his eyes focused on you. You can’t imagine how you must look; your eyes are bleary from all the tears he’s forced out, and your hair is strewn wildly about your head from all the struggling and wild movements. Your skin is warm, your throat feels dry. He damn near killed you with this little game of his.

He senses your exhaustion and stands up to grab you something to drink. He’s back in a split second, pressing the glass of cold water against your lips.

“Drink,” he commands, and you obey without protest. You finish the whole cup in a few gulps. 

He pushes some of your hair out of your face, strokes your cheeks gently before kissing each one. His lips meet yours, and once you pull away he takes you in his arms and cradles you as you lay against his chest.

“Fuck…” you finally speak once you’ve regained your strength. “You’re a goddamn monster.”

That makes him laugh. He hugs you a little tighter and plants a kiss on your head.

“Are you still upset?"

"Upset about what?"

Oh. Right. You'd forgotten all about that. He smirks victoriously, proud of himself for getting one over on you once more. Asshole. But you don’t have the energy to say much else. Instead, you close your eyes, ready for a fucking nap after all that stimulation, but something stirring on the other side of the room gets your attention. You lift your head up, scanning the place for the source of the sound before your eyes fall on the figure sitting in the corner. The same corner you had heard that crash earlier.

A look of horror crosses your face as the realization hits you. 

Someone else was in the room.

And she’d seen the entire thing. 

It’s the barista from the coffee shop. The one you had accused. The poor girl gapes back at you both in disbelief and confusion, frozen with panic.

“Satoru!” you shout. He erupts into laughter, finding great amusement in your shock.

“Don’t worry. She’ll probably think it’s some sort of dream or vision,” he says in an attempt to console you. “Anyway, give me juuuust a second…”

He stands up, walks over to the young woman, then places a hand on her shoulder. They both vanish from your sight, and a few seconds later he reappears.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” you shout again, earning another chuckle in response.

“I told you I’d fuck you in front of her.”

He hovers over you, his face so close to yours that you can feel his breath on your cheeks.

“Next time, believe me when I tell you how I feel. Then we won’t have to play these silly games.”

You gawk at him for a long time, a million thoughts running through your mind. You want to scold him, tell him off, rip him a new asshole, but god. You’re so damn tired. And you can’t argue when he’s looking at you like this, with his big baby blues full of affection, like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

Two big hands cup your cheeks, brushing away the last of your sweat and tears. You close your eyes, and a soft pair of lips kiss your eyelids and forehead. When you open them again, his beautiful face greets you with a gentle smile full of adoration.

Gojo Satoru was a fucking enigma. The more you got to know him, the less you understood. But you were past the point of no return.

As you found yourself lost in those eyes of his once more, you knew there was no going back. 

[rainyssafespace]

less sfw version under the cut

[wanderinthedeep]

annual holiday hoe pics ✨

[oidingus]

Daggers Christmas Tree!

[gretavanfleetposts]

Watch and Learn

Author's Note: I know everyone who reads Valence is sad right now so here, have some absolutely disgusting filth that isn't even remotely sad. Big shoutout to @samkooszka for instigating and beta-ing

Summary: You and Danny find your third and try something very, very new

Content Warnings: all of the warnings, y’all, this is filthy, swearing, threesome, fingering, oral (m. and f. receiving), light bondage, dirty talk, double penetration, anal (18+ minors do not interact)

Word Count: 8k

You couldn't even remember who had suggested it.

"This is a one time thing, got it?"

Only that it had been suggested. And now that the seed had been planted, there was no unplanting it.

"Got it," Sam agreed, his face giving you a look, however, that said he did not in fact get it.

You and Danny didn't even consider yourselves anything special. Just friends who happened to enjoy having sex with one another. A lot.

"I'm serious, Sam. It's never happening again."

And then somehow the idea of a third had sprung up from the ground with a smirk already born there and Sam seemed more than eager to join you and Danny.

"Yeah, no, for sure."

"Danny."

"Just say it like you mean it, Sam. Trust me, it'll be better for all of us."

That's how it had started, although where it was going you hoped would be better.

"Okay fine. It's a one time thing. Until you ask for more."

"On second thought, I don't know why we even agreed to this."

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," Sam relented finally with his hands on your shoulders. "Just let us take care of you, okay? Please? I won't make anymore jokes, I promise."

He seemed serious enough although you knew Sam better than that, enough to take it with a grain of salt.

"You promise?" you reiterated in a serious tone.

"I fucking swear it, princess," he said with a sweet smile, very Sam-like.

Your eyes flickered over to Danny, showing some hesitancy. But the smile Danny sent back was reassuring, like a nudge forward if you were still willing to take the step. And with the certainty in his eyes, you turned back to Sam with a nod, his lips finding yours almost instantly.

It was the first time you had kissed Sam and although it was nothing like kissing Danny, you felt heat growing inside of you as you opened your mouth for him, the smallest of sounds escaping your lips as his hands explored the expanse of your body, a sound that Danny seemed to hear and one that he certainly understood, having heard it plenty of times before when he was the one kissing you.

"Bedroom, Sam. Now," he ordered.

Pulling away, Sam took your hand and led you into your bedroom while Danny trailed behind, getting a good view as you walked with your short skirt and letting his hand smack your ass once, a giggle erupting from your lips that Sam ignored until he pulled you into the room and immediately brought you into a kiss against him.

Another small noise escaped your mouth as Danny's hands found your body from behind, feeling the buzz of anticipation as Sam's mouth commanded yours and Danny's lips trailed along your neck, his hands at your hips.

But Sam pulled back again, seemingly displeased by the position and the proximity of his friend.

“You know, you’re the one that always gets to have his fun,” Sam started, pulling away and addressing Danny even as his eyes fixed to your lips as he rested your chin between his fingers.

"Yeah, well, this is our thing," Danny mumbled as he pulled you back into his chest before reaching forward to grab Sam's shirt and pull him into you.

Danny moved his hand into your hair and gently pulled your head back, angling it just so to let Sam easily meet your lips again. But the kiss was brief before Sam pulled back yet again.

"Well the point of a third is to do something a little different, isn't it?"

His eyes flickered between you and Danny, a hint of a smirk teasing at his lips, plush and almost kiss-swollen already.

Danny said nothing, only hummed inquisitively before Sam continued to the point.

“Maybe you’re better off sitting on the sidelines this time.”

“That wasn’t the deal, Sam,” Danny was quick to chime in, though admittedly, you didn’t hate the idea of Danny watching for a bit. Not sitting on the sidelines entirely, no. But perhaps watching and waiting, forced to be patient which he most certainly was not when it came to you. It was enticing, to say the least.

He caught the glint in your eye that must have matched Sam’s before you even said anything as he stepped from behind you to meet you at your side as he confronted Sam, his eyes turning to yours instead when he found the look there.

“Not a chance in hell I’m not touching you tonight,” he argued again, the heat of anger suddenly seeping into the lust already heavy behind his eyes.

"Well, Sammy is right,” you shrugged, trying on a sweet tone to see if you could convince him to try something new. “We should mix things up a little bit."

“Fuck you, Sam,” Danny scoffed in answer, never letting his eyes leave you. Or his hands.

“You wouldn’t do that for me?” you tried again, letting your arms reach up to circle around his neck. “You wouldn’t want to watch him try and make me come the way you do?”

He was considering it, you could tell, even if he didn’t want you to know it. But the idea of the competition was certainly one Danny could never really turn down and after a moment of chewing his lip, he sighed finally.

“Only if I get to touch after.”

You gave him a wide smile.

“Always. He'll get to touch after, won't he, Sammy?"

"We'll see how good he is."

Danny sent him a glare which Sam ignored, opting instead to find a chair as you moved your hands to Danny’s chest, trying to bring his focus back to you.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

His eyes followed him out the door so you took his face in your hands, bringing his gaze back to yours.

“Just relax, beautiful, I’ll make it worth your while,” you smiled.

You pulled him into a kiss, one that started gentle as he melted into your hands, tasting you for the first time that day and finding it suddenly hard to breathe. The kiss quickly turned much more heated as his hands found your waist and pulled you in, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip just before he let his tongue slide into your mouth. He was just as in control as he ever was before Sam interrupted with a chair in his hands, setting it down behind Danny and distracting him from your lips.

“Y/n, maybe you should make Danny a little more comfortable.”

That was all you wanted, to make Danny comfortable, to treat him right.

You wasted no time pushing Danny back to sit in the chair, moving to straddle him and reattach your lips, letting yourself grind down on him ever so slightly as you kissed him, moreso for your sake than his admittedly.

Your hands worked his shirt up over his head as your lips parted only briefly, exposing the smooth expanse of his toned chest with a tuft of hair beneath his collarbone and the tantalizing trail down by his navel, dipping into his sweatpants. He was almost impossible not to stare in awe at but the sweetness of his tips, the taste of his tongue on yours, the gentle moans that rolled from his chest like Sam wasn’t even there, it was all too much to sit back and enjoy the view. You wanted to taste, you wanted to touch.

Your hands worked at the ties of his sweatpants soon after you tore your lips from his, letting him watch breathlessly as you pulled the soft material along with his boxers down around his thick thighs and worked them off his legs, freeing his long, hard erection that you couldn’t help but stare in awe at.

It was like Sam faded into the background as you moved to straddle him again, this time slowing your movements to really feel him, resting there between your legs, building light friction between your bodies as his cock throbbed and pulsed against your clothed clit. You wanted nothing more than to yank your panties to the side, line him up with your entrance, and sink down on him, to ride him slowly through bliss, working him through it easily and letting him cling to you while you did. He wanted it too, if the sounds he moaned against your lips as you licked into his mouth again were any indication.

But it was short lived.

“What the fuck, Sam?!” Danny yelled suddenly, his arms being pulled away from you one by one as they disappeared behind the chair, where Sam still stood, now looking busy.

You couldn’t tell what he was doing hidden behind the chair but you realized it soon after Danny’s outburst: he was tying Danny to the chair.

“Sam, untie me,” Danny barked, struggling against his friend to free his wrists while being careful not to knock you off his lap.

“But we don’t want you interrupting,” Sam answered plainly, continuing what he was doing.

“Sam, un-fucking-tie me right now,” Danny tried again, anger heating again behind his eyes as he turned his face sharply to try and get a look at Sam.

“Well that’s just not even nice,” Sam only mumbled.

You moved your hands back to Danny’s face, forcing his eyes back on yours. Of course, the idea of Danny being tied up and helpless did go straight to your center. But you would never do anything he wasn’t comfortable with, no matter how insistent Sam was.

“Do you want me to untie you?” you asked simply, trying your best to ignore Sam.

Danny’s breathing had quickened, partially from the heated kiss, partially from his anger at Sam, but you could tell there was part of him that still wanted to play along for your sake, the lust and need growing hot behind his eyes, his pupils blown wide with it and his cock aching because of it.

“You’ll make it worth it?” he asked between clenching and unclenching teeth, his chest rising and falling fast.

“I’ll make it worth it,” you promised with a nod before snaking your hand between your bodies to stroke the thick erection that was already desperate and angry for your touch.

He sighed at the contact, his eyes falling shut as he swallowed hard.

“Y-you can leave me tied if and only if you’re prepared to suffer the consequences after.”

You gave him a smile that he caught as he reopened his eyes, a whisper of a, “Yes sir,” on your lips just before you climbed off his lap and dropped to your knees in front of him.

“You remember our safeword?”

“Always.”

With that, you were ready to take him in your mouth and reward his open-mindedness but Sam had other plans in mind now that his friend was safely secured to the chair and unable to prevent whatever was about to happen.

“Uh uh uh, he’s just watching right now, remember?” Sam stopped you with a hand at your shoulder, holding you back, even as your mouth watered for Danny’s cock.

You wanted nothing more than to take him into your mouth so far that you gagged on him, just to hear those sweet sounds that he always made, but you obeyed Sam's reprimand, giving Danny an apologetic look instead as you left him with nothing more than a kiss to the swollen ridge where the head of his cock met his shaft, standing to meet Sam in between the bed and where Danny’s chair sat.

Danny could do nothing but watch as Sam helped you strip down to your bra and panties, taking you in with a subtle gasp at his lips as he stood back to admire you, almost bringing a blush to your cheeks as he did so.

"Jesus, you are beautiful. Danny is a lucky man."

"Not tonight, it seems," Danny chimed in angrily even despite Sam addressing him like he wasn’t even in the room.

"Does he always pout like this when he doesn't get what he wants?"

"No, he usually gets what he wants.” You gave Danny a knowing smile and he flashed a smug look back, looking proud of himself despite the way he still flexed against his ties to try out their integrity.

"Fucking right, I do. Now stop talking about me and touch her already so I can watch her wish it were me."

"Need to teach him some manners," Sam mumbled as he stepped toward you again and let his lips reconnect to yours, humming against you as he backed you up slowly to the bed behind you until the backs of your knees hit the plush material of the mattress.

Danny might have seethed if he could have felt the way your heart did a flip in your chest at the sudden anticipation.

"Why don't you show him what he's missing," Sam continued as he pushed you down onto your knees with one hand on your shoulder while the other began working at his belt and jeans, the strain in his pants beginning to look more than uncomfortable, having grown while he had watched you straddle Danny with excitement and desperation.

You ignored the ache of the hardwood against your knees as you turned to the side to give Danny a good view of your actions, slow and teasing as they were while you took over Sam’s task for him, unbuttoning his jeans with a flick of your thumb and dragging the zipper down in an agonizing pace that had Sam visibly twitching with excitement as you went.

You’d never seen Sam naked but the outline in his boxer briefs as you worked his jeans down his legs didn’t leave much to the imagination. He wasn’t quite as girthy as Danny was but he was just as long and he leaked for you just the same as you let your thumb swipe along his tip over the material that still separated him from you.

You reveled in the way he groaned at the feeling of your fingertip following the curve of his outline in his boxer briefs, smiling to yourself at the sharp inhale you heard from above you as you finally hooked your finger into the waistband of the material and pulled them down to join his pants around his ankles, watching in captivation as his throbbing cock sprang free of its confines, bobbing up and down in a mouthwatering rhythm.

You sank further down onto your knees to take him in your mouth, spreading your thighs apart ever so slightly to do so and moaning at the brief contact of the cool floor against your center. But before you wrapped your lips around him, you decided it was only fair to treat him the way you usually treated Danny, do all of the things you knew he liked, just to see what Sam liked too. So instead, you started the way you usually did with the drummer still tied to the chair, by nuzzling your nose up against the underside of his shaft as you licked all the way from the base to the tip, dragging your tongue in as much of an agonizing pace as you had backing your movements with his zipper.

Sam twitched immediately at the tease, a gentle curse falling out of his mouth in a breathy moan, but Danny seemed much less satisfied, seeming to notice what you were doing instantly.

“Fucking brat,” he mumbled, unhappy from his view much too far away even as you caught the way his own dick twitched against his stomach, no doubt wishing and imagining it were him instead.

You laughed out a sickeningly sweet sound that had Sam groaning as he pulled your hair up into a makeshift ponytail with one hand, guiding your head back away from his cock and angled up to his face instead.

"Open your mouth, pretty girl," he instructed, being met with no resistance as you opened your mouth and let your tongue slide out to catch the spit he dropped from his lips, not letting your mouth close before letting his cock rest against your tongue again, smearing the saliva along the underside of his shaft before you took him fully in your mouth.

"Fucking christ." You heard Danny strain against his ties from your right and you tried to stifle the arrogance you felt over making him sweat the way you were, all without ever touching him, as you turned your focus to Sam’s cock nudging at the back of your throat and the saliva already running down your neck, down your chest.

"Feels even better than it fucking looks," Sam answered Danny breathlessly, even though Danny most certainly was not asking, as his head fell back and an ‘o’ shape formed on his lips, a silent curse escaping as you built to a steady pace of gliding your mouth down around him, letting him nudge the back of your throat, and pulling off with a tight suction, all to repeat the actions again and again.

You took him deeper into your mouth, gagging yourself lightly on him, just enough to bring tears to your eyes to run your mascara and a throaty noise to his lips that had you sinking a little further down to grind against the floor.

You were rewarded with a strained sound from both boys that time as you moaned at the feeling, sending a vibration up Sam’s cock and a metaphorical vibration through Danny’s spine as he watched you grind shamelessly against the floor the way you usually did against his thick thigh when he was in the mood to really make you work for what you wanted.

You didn't exactly feel bad though. He deserved to work a little, too. It was only fair.

You turned your head to look at him, Sam’s cock still in your mouth but now pressed into the side of your cheek as you watched the boy who wanted so badly to rip out of his constraints and take you right there on the floor. His eyes looked desperate even though his jaw was clenched tight, internally battling himself trying to keep his composure and his control, unrelenting as ever. But his eyes gave him away.

"Does he look desperate?" Sam questioned with his eyes fixed to where his cock disappeared between your lips, still sucking at his head, unable to look away but wanting to keep the control he had in that moment.

You only managed a hum, trying to make the sound sweet for Danny to let him know you loved what you saw just as much as you loved what you tasted. And you really did love both judging by the pool of moisture between your legs puddling in your panties.

"Don't get used to him in your mouth, baby," Danny finally unclenched his jaw to speak, watching you with an almost dangerous look as you ignored his desperation in favor of the boy standing in front of you, sucking on the head of his cock like a lollipop, letting your tongue circle it taste the precum beading at the top.

"Oh but doesn't she look so pretty with her lips wrapped around me?" Sam was quick to chime in despite his near breathless voice, a slave to your mouth in that moment, really.

"She'd look even better with my cock in her mouth."

Sam tutted at Danny before pulling you off of his cock as you gasped and helping you stand to your feet. “Always a competition."

He looked somehow almost fucked out already, his eyes heavy with torment, wanting to keep you on your knees until he came but wanting to come inside of you even more. A true dilemma.

"Get naked and sit," he instructed, gesturing to the bed as his other urges won.

“Such a gentleman,” Danny scoffed, even as you did as you were told, sitting at the edge of the bed and letting your thighs rest open ever so slightly, giving Danny a teasing view of what you knew he loved. And missed.

“I don’t think our girl likes a gentleman,” Sam fired back, taking a few steps backward to stand next to Danny as they both fixed their eyes to you.

You gave them a smirk as you squeezed your legs shut, disrupting their view only to add, “Being gentle is overrated, I think we can all agree.”

Danny hummed in agreement as Sam’s eyes raked up and down your naked form, clearly far too distracted to register your words.

"Spread your legs for us," he ordered instead, suddenly looking a little less patient than he had before.

"Finally we agree," Danny commented back, and suddenly you were all too aware of the gazes fixed on you, waiting, wanting, doing obscene things to you with their eyes, in their minds. It brought a blush into your cheeks, even as you did what you were told.

They were like sharks looking at their last meal.

You were dripping when you spread your legs with a sheepish look on your face, letting your knees fall open as you spread your ankles wide and leaned back with your palms against the mattress, awaiting your next instruction.

"Play with yourself. Show us what your fingers do when you're alone," Sam ordered again, his eyes lost in your body and his mind clearly short-circuiting.

You could have sworn it made Danny smug just knowing he had something Sam wanted so desperately.

You let your fingers fall between your legs as you propped yourself up with only one hand behind you then, tracing your fingertips up through your folds and letting them stretch the moisture that had collected there to give them a show of how wet you were, a bit more theatrical admittedly than you were when you were alone. It seemed to please, though, as you watched Sam wrap his hand loosely around his cock to stroke himself lazily and watched Danny wish he could do the same, both of them in an almost trance-like state.

"If you're not gonna touch her then let me," Danny growled as he watched you draw wet circles over your clit, the muscles in his shoulders more tense than you had ever seen them as the head of his cock leaked angrily, swollen and red.

You let yourself moan loudly at your own touch, imagining it was Danny first and then Sam instead of your own fingers, long and lean and pumping beautifully in and out of you. But it was only your own, drawing lazy circles on your bundle of nerves, not getting you nearly as far as their eyes alone did as they watched, each practically holding their breath.

After a moment of only working yourself from the outside, you dipped two fingers in, sliding them inside easily with the slick that had been collecting long before you had gotten to that point, sticking between your two fingers as you tried to push them as far in as Danny usually did, to no avail really.

Danny was skilled with his fingers, much better at getting you off than even you were when you were alone. And you could only imagine how skilled his bassist friend was with his, silently hoping you wouldn't have to imagine for long as you gave them both another pornographic moan, scissoring your fingers inside of you the way Danny sometimes did, though it felt nothing like when he did it.

"Oh, I'm going to touch her," Sam corrected finally, unable to keep his hands off of you for any longer despite only having watched you for mere moments, dropping to his knees as soon as he reached the bed.

He looked beautiful on his knees, you had to admit. He gave Danny a run for his money the way his lips parted and he took hold of your ankles, hoisting them up over his shoulders as he dragged you closer to the edge of the bed, his eyes so lost in desperation that he almost seemed frantic to lick you, like he might pass away from dehydration if he didn’t bury his tongue inside of you right that second.

You were desperate for him to taste you too, to ease the ache growing between your legs that your fingers simply couldn’t stifle, not on their own.

"Make sure you look him in the eyes when you say my name," was all he said before he delved between your legs and pushed his tongue into you before withdrawing it to flick against your clit with fervor.

"Oh fuck!" you gasped at the sudden contact, having to catch yourself with your other hand against the mattress to keep from falling backwards as Sam worked his talented tongue against your throbbing clit.

You tried to find Danny’s eyes against the weight of the pleasure threatening to pull your eyes shut as you whispered Sam’s name, a plea for him to lick you faster, to give you relief from the pressure that was already beginning to build thanks to the teasing of your fingers and the shameless friction you sought against the hardwood floor as you had sucked Sam’s cock.

You gasped lightly as his tongue expertly worked over your clit, trying to keep a shred of dignity as Danny’s eyes watched you intently, though why, you weren’t really sure. It’s not as if you’d ever had that much dignity to begin with, certainly not when clothes came off.

"What's the matter? You're usually way louder than that," Danny smirked, not that he was in much of a position to tease.

You scoffed in exasperation at him, still trying to move your hips to glide your clit against Sam’s tongue yourself to get more friction, to drive you closer to the edge. But as Sam moved a hand off your ankle and let one of his long fingers tease at your entrance before slipping in to pump in and out of you, the damn of muffled sound that had built finally burst.

"Sam, shit, yes!" you cried as he curled his finger upward, all while letting his lips suck and his tongue lap at your clit.

Danny was silent but you could tell he wasn’t happy with the way Sam’s name rolled off your tongue so easily, the way you fell apart so quickly when at the mercy of his hands and mouth. You couldn’t bring yourself to care, though, the only object of your attention being the way Sam was making you feel, like you were fucking floating.

"Tell him how good it feels," he mumbled from between your legs before setting his tongue to work again, licking you in a relentless rhythm as his finger worked, dragging out almost completely before pressing into you again each time.

"Feels so fucking good, oh my god," you panted.

You were a mess really, the way your chest heaved and you clawed at the sheets. But Danny was visibly struggling too, his cock twitching against his stomach, his muscles taught and flexing, and his jaw snapping shut so hard you suddenly worried he might shatter his teeth.

And his breathing seemed just as heavy and uneven as yours, like he felt it too.

"Fuck," he whispered under his breath, and then louder, "Do you think she deserves to come?"

It was mean of him to try to deny you even though you weren’t the one tied up, though you knew he was desperate for any ounce of control he could get, feeling out of his element unable to touch you, unable to be the one to undo you, to taste you.

And you knew Sam would want to play that game too, even before he pulled his tongue away from your pussy begging to be licked as he replaced his mouth with his thumb against your clit, earning a whine from you as you mourned the loss of his warm, wet tongue pressed against your clit, even as his thumb did it’s best to keep up the light circles.

"Hmm, maybe not quite yet. What do you have in mind?"

You couldn’t help but send Danny a death glare, suddenly angry that he was interrupting your path to a mindblowing orgasm in Sam’s mouth.

"I think she needs to work a little harder than that.” You could have cursed him for how pleased he suddenly was with himself. “She did let you tie me up, after all."

And then your anger turned into pleading as you realized Sam was going to abandon your sorry pussy altogether and deny you.

"Shit, no, please, please let me come Sam," you begged the boy still working you with his hand, trying to give him the most desperate look you could manage to convince him to take pity on you and just let you come already. But it was no use.

"Maybe on my dick while you watch?"

The question was directed at Danny but you answered in his stead, breathing out a quick and frantic, "Yes, please, please, anything."

"Greedy," Danny uttered under his breath, still smirking wickedly.

"So greedy,” Sam agreed, finally stopping his movements altogether and eliciting a pathetic whimper from you as he did so. “And to think, you’re the one over here being touched while poor Danny can't even touch himself."

He stood to his feet and crossed to the side of the bed, climbing on top and moving behind you before pushing you forward onto all fours and letting his fingers shove into you harshly to collect your slick, using it to smother his cock and make his fist glide better as he gave himself a few pumps.

"You get all of this and what does he get?" he breathed as he lined himself up, conveniently ignoring the fact that it was his idea to tie up Danny, like he was pitting him against you just to make you both work for it.

It was cruel but the moment he pushed the head of his cock between your folds, your anger fled your body.

You both moaned at the feeling as he bottomed out, your own lips forming a sound that was an obscene mix of his name and a curse.

"God, she feels so fucking good,” you heard Sam gasp from behind you. “I can see why you can't keep your hands off her, so fucking warm and wet and tight."

Another gentle tease to incite Danny’s anger that had the desired effect as Danny practically growled, "Shut up, Sam," a little less smug now that Sam’s cock was buried inside of you and you looked like you were in ecstasy.

The way Sam had filled your mouth was nothing compared to the way he filled your tight pussy, reaching all of the right spots as he found a rhythm that had you grasping at the sheets in front of you and almost unable to make any noise at all.

"You should try taunting him a little, it's fun," Sam’s voice noticeably strained but he didn’t relent his teasing.

You might have even listened, too, but another sharp thrust sent the head of his cock pressing roughly against your g-spot, hitting that spot over and over again as he quickened his pace, and the words it elicited from your mouth were enough for Sam to make Danny regret ever letting him force him to the sidelines.

"Oh shit, Sam, right there!"

"Right there?” he parroted back in a smug question. “Hear that, Danny? I think I found it."

You both ignored the unhappy sound that fell from Danny’s lips, delicious as it was.

"Fuck, yes, right there. Right there, keep going." It was like a chant on your lips as you felt that familiar feeling of pleasure build inside of you, forcing the breath from your lungs as your mind began to go blank and you snaked a hand down to your clit to rub the familiar pattern there as Sam’s cock continued to find the spot that made your eyes roll.

"'Right there. Keep going',” Sam mocked you in a mean tone that hurt Danny much more than it did you, “She's easier than she looks."

Danny struggled against his restraints almost instantly, looking dangerously close to freeing himself, so much so that Sam’s movements hesitated ever so slightly for a moment as he watched in wonderment, going back to fucking you hard when Danny was still tied soundly to the chair after the struggle.

"Uh-oh, I think I made him mad."

He looked dangerous that way, a scary look behind his eyes like he couldn’t decide what he would do to you once he was free: tease you relentlessly or simply skip to the part where he shoved his cock into you and made you cry from how many times he made you come.

Probably a mix of both.

You didn’t care what the consequences were, really, unable to stop yourself from pressing back into Sam to meet his every thrust, feeling his skin slap against the back of your thighs and shuddering at the obscene sound it made in the otherwise quiet room.

"Come on, talk to me, dirty girl,” Sam coaxed you, taking a less-than graceful fistful of your hair and using that as his grip instead of your hips as he continued pounding into you relentlessly from behind. “I know you want to."

Danny's eyes seemed to be giving you a warning, like he was cautioning you against it, preparing to make you pay for every word you spoke to Sam in that state. It made it even more delicious to give Sam what he wanted, knowing how far it pushed Danny.

"Jesus christ, Sam, you feel so fucking good filling me up," you gasped in one breath, never letting your eyes leave Danny's.

Sam seemed to catch on almost instantly given the look in Danny's eyes, fiery and dangerous.

"That's it," he coaxed you along as he continued his movements. "Make him sorry for feeling entitled to you."

It spurred you on as you dug your heels into the mattress and used your thighs to meet Sam's thrusts harder, practically bouncing against him with the force of the way you met each other’s hips.

"I could bounce on your cock all day long," you moaned again in the sweetest voice you could manage, even as Sam's thrusts knocked your breath into a shaky cadence, "let you fill my tight pussy whenever you wanted."

"Jesus," Sam whispered, his pace coming harder and quicker as he began chasing his own pleasure while pushing yours along with it.

Danny looked like he was losing his grip too, watching you chant Sam’s name like a prayer, begging him to let you finish on his cock.

“Oh my god, Sam,” you gasped, no longer a taunt as your brain began to go fuzzy the more the electricity sparked throughout your body.

“Fuck,” Danny gasped along with you, watching your eyes begin to tear up.

“Say his name,” Sam grunted as his movements began to turn sloppy and feverish. “Make him wish it were him.”

A light whisper of his name was all you managed as you met his eyes, his eyes that pleaded with you to give him something, anything, even though he remained silent, like he was afraid to open his mouth, afraid of the frustrated whimper that would escape if he did.

“Louder,” was all Sam said as he himself struggled to form words.

“Danny, fuck!” you repeated louder, earning a frustrated groan from the boy still watching you with his hands tied to the chair as his eyes screwed shut and he tried to shake the unholy pleasure off.

“That’s more like it,” Sam grunted, though you were feeling far too lost in the desperation of being close to even register his praise.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna come,” you breathed a bit more urgently as you teetered over the ledge, staring down at the chasm of pleasure Sam was about to drown you in.

“Tell him,” he demanded through now clenched teeth.

“Danny, I’m gonna…I’m so fucking close, I’m gonna come.”

“Shit, shit, s-shit,” Danny muttered in a trance-like state, looking like he was about to lose it completely with his mouth dropping open and his eyes rolling as his head fell backward, jutting his chin toward the ceiling as his hips jutted forward, like his cock was desperately seeking a touch that wasn’t there.

It was a fucking sight to see as Sam pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck, yes, right there, right there, don’t stop," you practically sobbed as you felt it begin to wash over you, just barely.

But it was Danny who snapped first, spilling onto his abdomen with a string of filthy moans and curses as his biceps flexed and strained hard, his breathing coming in hot bursts as he was unable to touch himself and coax himself gently through his orgasm. Even Sam's movements slowed as you both watched in awe as Danny's arms and wrists tensed so hard that the ties binding him that Sam clearly didn't tie well enough loosened, and with another grunt as he came down, he was freeing himself from the chair, looking like he was ready for someone to face the consequences of what had just happened.

You heard Sam breathe out a low, "Shit," as his movements stopped altogether, only watching as Danny sauntered over to you, still a dripping mess, and wrapped his hand around your throat, forcing you to look up at him.

“Clean it up,” he growled, grabbing you by your hair and guiding you forward into the cum dripping down his abdomen. “Clean up the mess you made.”

You felt the vibration of the filthy moan that dripped off your tongue before you ever heard it and you felt Sam chase your hips as he watched you press your chest into the mattress and drag your tongue from where Danny’s cock met his pelvis, through the tuft of hair marking his happy trail and collecting the release through the lines of his stomach.

“Holy shit,” you heard Sam breathe, hardly even a word so much as it was a gasp for air.

Danny hummed in satisfaction above you as you swallowed down the first gulp, barking orders to Sam as he pulled you by your hair off the bed and shoved you down onto your knees in front of him.

“Sam, on your back," he ordered, a protest following from Sam not long after that Danny was quick to stifle. "You're not in charge anymore. But don't worry, I'll make you both come."

It seemed like a promise and one that Sam believed as he quietly moved into the position Danny had not-so-nicely requested, wrapping his hand around himself as he did so and watched you lap eagerly at Danny's abdomen, squeezing your thighs together to somehow stifle the arousal you felt, dizzyingly thick in the air around you.

It was far past filthy, having Sam watch as you licked Danny’s cum off his abdomen and swallowed it dutifully, returning your tongue to his skin eagerly after each gulp. The image alone could have done you in.

"Good girl,” Danny cooed sweetly before finding his stern tone again. “Now straddle him.”

He pulled you up to your feet again and turned you sharply toward the bed, slapping your ass not exactly gently as you climbed back onto the mattress and moved to straddle Sam, letting your thighs settle at his hips with his cock leaking angrily between your legs.

"Don't be shy,” you heard Danny tease from somewhere behind you, “let him fill you up."

Even through the shaky breaths of anticipation and uncertainty as to what Danny was about to do, Sam still stared up at you with lust-blown eyes, wrapping his hand around himself, still glistening from when he had been inside of you moments earlier, and helping you lift your hips to line up with him, his eyes falling closed with a soft sigh as you sank down onto him again.

You weren’t sure Danny wanted you to move but you really couldn’t resist doing so with the sight of Sam beneath you, cheeks flushed pink and lips parted as he panted, and the feeling of him inside of you, stretching you with ease and nudging against your cervix. So you didn’t deny yourself what you wanted and lifted your hips once, bringing them back down slowly, letting yourself glide over him as he whimpered.

But the sound of Danny lathering his still hard dick in lube behind you caught your attention, though before you could turn to look, he was dipping the mattress with his weight, bringing his chest flush with your back and his cock heavy against the swell of your ass.

"Since you like to be so full," he mumbled against your ear.

And then suddenly you felt what he was about to do as he lined himself up with your ass, not something you and Danny hadn’t done before but something you certainly hadn’t done in front of another person. Or, on top of, rather.

You suddenly felt the consequences for what you and Sammy had done.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly in your ear, keeping his cock in his hand and pushing no further until you gave him a meek nod.

“Sam, you okay with this?” he asked a little louder.

Sam could see what was happening from his angle but it seemed the anticipation had stolen the breath from his lungs, just as it had you, and all he managed was a breathy agreement but an agreement nonetheless. And with it, Danny dropped his soft demeanor and pushed into you, causing you and Sam both to moan loudly at the feeling as his cock glided along Sam’s not too far away.

“Holy shit,” Sam gasped, throwing his head back into the pillow behind him and moving one hand to fist at the sheets next to him while his other gripped at your hip to try and prevent you from moving, having been pushed dangerously close to the edge by Danny’s single thrust.

“How does that feel, two cocks in you at once?” Danny practically growled into your ear.

You fought the urge to remain silent. He deserved to hear how he made you feel, especially after watching Sam have his fun with you for half the night, although words seemed nearly impossible in that moment.

“F-fucking in-incredible,” you gasped, feeling the words slur off your tongue like you were drunk on both of them.

Danny thrusted forward once, a long, languid thrust that both you and Sam felt every inch of, and the feeling alone had Sam moaning out an unholy sound as Danny’s name fell from your lips like a chant.

“Shit!” Sam cursed as Danny withdrew and worked himself into a slow yet blinding rhythm, stretching you almost as far as you could go with the two of them inside of you.

It was like nothing you’d ever felt before, being filled by both of them at the same time. It felt wholly indecent, like a sin you’d need to repent for later while silently waiting with baited breath until you could feel it again. It was fucking breathtaking and you could tell Sam was losing himself beneath you just as quickly as you were.

"Getting close already, Sam?" Danny asked in a teasing tone as he moved one hand to grip your hip and the other to hold your throat to keep you from falling against Sam.

"Fuck, I can…I can hold it," Sam promised in a huff, not exactly believable given his state.

"Wrong answer," was all Danny said back, pushing into you harder and faster, setting a dangerous pace that threatened to split you in half.

You watched through the stars clouding your vision as Sam’s head pushed further back into the pillow, watched his mouth fall open, watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat, right before he lost the fight altogether.

"Come on, be a good boy for her and fill her up," Danny urged in a low, husky voice that filled your ears like honey, dripping in lust.

Sam didn’t need the coaxing though. He was already gone, coming hard inside of you with one of the more lewd noises you’d ever heard, a beautiful sound that went straight to your core.

You were practically drooling, dizzy at the feeling of Danny inside of you, barely enough room for his heavy cock with Sam also stuffed inside of you, filling you to the brim with his cock and his cum.

"Fuck, please," Sam pleaded, pleasure suddenly turning into overstimulation as Danny seemed to quicken his movements, thrusting into you harder to bring you closer to your orgasm while simultaneously making Sam pay for ruining his.

"We're not done until she comes," Danny growled, unrelenting.

"Oh my god," you breathed, still feeling pure pleasure even as Sam began to squirm beneath you, trying his best to hold it together until you came around him.

"Yeah? Does that feel good?" Danny asked, gripping your throat tighter.

"O-oh my god," you repeated, your lungs hardly able to make a sound.

"I think you said that one already, sweetheart."

You were undeniably close, spurred on by his words, teasing as they were, and by the way he pounded into you without a care for the way Sam squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to breathe through the overstimulation, curses falling more regularly the longer Danny moved.

"Danny, I'm-" you started, cut off by a gasp that halted the words in their place on your tongue as your eyes began to roll back and your hands desperately sought a grip, anything really, finding Sam’s hands as you searched frantically.

"You're what?"

Danny was far too smug for your liking but jesus, if he wasn’t going to be your undoing.

"I'm gonna-" you tried again as Sam gripped your hands hard, trying his best to help you ground yourself through it.

"Come on, baby, you can do it," Danny urged, his tone suddenly going much sweeter.

"God, please, I can't. T-too much," Sam gasped beneath you, squeezing your hands a little harder as tears began to form in the corners of his eyes.

"Oh but she's there, aren't you, y/n?"

You most certainly fucking were. And thank god too because it looked like Sam was about to snap in half and break completely.

"Oh my god yes, I'm there, I'm fucking there!"

"Good fucking girl," Danny praised you, barely a sound you could hear as he released you from his grip and pushed you down onto Sam who buried his hand in your hair and let you claw at him while you came around him, harder than you ever had before and clenching around him so tightly that the pain of overstimulation suddenly sent him into blinding bliss for a second time as you milked him of everything he had left to give.

"Stop, please fucking stop, I can't take it anymore, Danny, please," Sam begged again as the pleasure was much more short lived than the first time. And Danny halted his movements immediately, leaning down to kiss your shoulder blade as you came down from your high in Sam’s arms.

"You both still with me?" he asked, no hint of smugness or dominance in his voice any longer.

You and Sam both gave meek yeses, earning a chuckle from Danny as he pulled himself from you carefully.

"Hang on, let me clean you both up."

Danny stood silently to get a washcloth, leaving you to push yourself off of Sam with his help, exhausted as he was. You collapsed next to him the moment your hips met the mattress, curling into his side as he tucked his arm under your neck and pulled you close.

When Danny reappeared, he had a washcloth to throw to Sam who began to wipe himself off as Danny helped you get cleaned up with a second in his hand, easing into bed on your opposite side once it had been discarded in the hamper.

"That was…" you began, too tired and braindead to even complete the sentence.

"Exhausting," Sam finished for you without even opening his eyes.

Danny agreed with nothing more than a nod as he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled himself in closer, sandwiching you in warmth between himself and Sam.

"Okay…maybe not a one time thing," you said in a whisper after a beat of silence save for the heavy breathing slowly returning to normal.

"I fucking knew it!” Sam exploded suddenly, finding energy to revel in his rightness.

It earned a laugh from both you and Danny.

"But we’re tying you up next time," Danny added quickly.

[incorrect-candela-obscura]

Jean: If you bite it and you die, it's poisonous. If it bites you and you die, it's venomous.

Nathaniel: What if it bites me and it dies?

Sean: That means you're poisonous. Fucking hell, LT. Learn to read.

Marion: What if it bites itself and I die?

Auntie Bee: That’s voodoo.

Marion: What if it bites me and someone else dies?

Jean: That’s correlation, not causation.

Marion: What if we bite each other and neither of us die?

Sean: That’s kinky.

Nathaniel: Oh my god.

[intervalart]

for an advent calendar in a discord server i'm in

prompt was "descry"

[allthingstv]

Merry Christmas ya filthy animals! | Home Alone (1990)

[lizartgurl]

For Christmas this year, I will be drawing the Bad Batch as male leads in a cheesy Hallmark Christmas Rom-Com.

To start us off, here is Wrecker, who is always inexplicably chopping wood. Maybe he'll find the perfect tree for the small town's Christmas tree decorating contest.

[sherlockig]

its christmas eve and i am getting ready for standing by the stove for a couple of hours making paella and aioli to the family and extension to it. 💕i also really like glitter dresses and to have the reflection of the window in my glasses.. 💕

So if you celebrate christmas, have a merry one, and if you dont, have a good sunday either way. love yall! 💗❄️💗❄️💗

[wicked-jade]

Oh, no! It’s Christmas Eve and I still haven’t finished wrapping my presents!

Carmen was nice enough to let me borrow some of her wrapping paper. Let’s do this!

I think I’ll start with LaRusso’s. How hard could it be?

I didn’t know what to get him at first. He loves bonsai, but he already has like, a gazillion of those stupid little munchkin trees. Miguel said it should be something personal. So I got him this handsome little guy!

Now when LaRusso gets the urge to kick me in the face, he can practice his crane kick on Plushie Johnny, instead. Pretty smart, right?

Okay, I’ve got this. Just fold this here, and slap some tape there…

Almost got it…

Tada!! Check it out! Awesome, right? Turns out, I kick ass at wrapping presents! And the kids thought I couldn’t do it.

Still, I’ve got like, almost a dozen more presents to wrap. And I’m running out of time! Maybe I’ll just put the rest in gift bags. Think Robby will like this one?

Wishing you all a Merry Christmas, and a Kick-Ass New Year!!!

[seraphim-seeker]

Martha May Whovier Santa Outfit

Just saying either one of them could pull it off

[thatsojasminesworld]

Merry Christmas Ya Filthy Animal

[alexandralyman]

New Fic: Not Another Hallmark Movie

Hi Everyone! Coming off my long fic hiatus with a Captain Swan holiday story. I hope everyone has a very safe and happy Christmas after everything that’s happened in the past few years.

                                  Not Another Hallmark Movie

The little fishing village of Storybrooke Maine was just like those quirky small towns you'd see in one of the Hallmark Channel's never-ending lineup of Christmas movies, so it was no surprise when it was chosen as the filming location for one of them to the delight of everyone in town.

Almost everyone.

Deputy Sheriff Emma Swan was less than thrilled to have Christmas come early in the form of a cast and crew that it was her responsibility to wrangle all over town, the prickly Scottish location manager Merida, seven surly Teamsters, the pretentious assistant director Arthur, and the two leads, former teen star Christina Bell and her love interest, up and coming English actor Killian Jones.

Well, maybe Killian wasn't so bad.

With Storybrooke fully decked out for the holidays several months early, a star-struck son, a totally not jealous brother, and Christmas music blasting everywhere she went, all Emma wanted was for the movie to finish and life in town to go back to normal.

(though a bit of flirting with the handsome lead actor certainly helped to fill the time until then)

AO3 Link  /  FF.net Link

“Merry Christmas!”

Emma gave a nonplussed stare to the teenage barista on the other side of the counter, who was holding out the coffee she’d ordered in a festive red and green paper up instead of the normal white one.

“Seriously?” she replied, one eyebrow raised.

The barista gave a cheery smile that it was far, far, too early for.

“We’re getting into the spirit! We should be getting a delivery later today with gingerbread syrup and pumpkin spice to make holiday lattes.”

“Great,” Emma muttered, taking the coffee and taking in the silver and gold tinsel strung up along the menu boards and the snowman cookies in the pastry case that she hadn’t noticed at uncaffeinated first glance. When she went outside the Storybrooke Bean & Brew it was more of the same, wreaths on doors, snowflake decorations in the storefronts, lights and bells and it was clear the whole damn town had gone completely Christmas crazy practically overnight. Which would be fine...if it was December, or even November.

It wasn’t.

It was August.

August, the middle of summer, when the chalkboard sidewalk sign in front of the Bean & Brew should have a sun and a beach umbrella drawn on it to advertise iced coffee, not a candy cane stuck in a mug of hot chocolate. The temperature was supposed to hit the high eighties today, for fuck’s sake.

No, Storybrooke hadn’t succumbed to the phenomenon known as “Christmas creep” when stores put out their holiday merch earlier and earlier each year so that artificial trees were on sale next to barbecues and gingerbread men shared shelves with Halloween candy. The little heritage town in Maine that looked like it had been designed by Currier & Ives themselves had been chosen by the Hallmark channel as the filming location for one of their insipid Christmas movies, where toothy, pretty people met, fell in love, and had their happy ending in an hour and a half against a picture perfect backdrop of evergreen trees and twinkling lights. A Holiday Romance, Jingle Bell Ball, New Love for Noel, Tis the Season, they aired them non-stop over the holidays and Emma never really gave much thought to where all those movies actually came from, until a fleet of trucks full of expensive-looking equipment had arrived a week ago.

They’d transformed Main Street into a faux winter wonderland within hours of unloading, and it seemed the townspeople were just as eager to get into character as well. Granny’s Diner was serving a turkey dinner special with stuffing and cranberry sauce, the local radio station had switched over from their usual playlist of songs that had been hits sometime in the 80s to nothing but Christmas music 24/7, and the coffee shop closest to the sheriff’s station was apparently now serving Emma’s morning caffeine fix in the cups printed with holly and ivy they normally didn’t pull out until it was closer to Thanksgiving than the Fourth of July.

It. Was. August.

And on top of having to listen to Bing Crosby dreaming of a white Christmas or Josh Groban calling to all ye faithful every time she got into her cruiser, Emma, in her capacity as Storybrooke’s deputy sheriff, had been tasked by the mayor herself, Regina Mills, to be the official town liaison to the movie people. Madame Mayor was adamant that they feel as welcome as possible, hoping to market Storybrooke as a filming locale to any Hollywood production that wanted small town charm and little red tape. All the permits they applied for had been approved without question, so Emma spent her days dealing with road closures and directing traffic around the sets, working long hours with the location manager, a no nonsense Scot named Merida, or with the assistant director, a jackass named Arthur who clearly viewed Storybrooke as nothing more than a backwater hick town that was stuck in time.

Which it was, but still. Rude.

As unenthused as Emma was having to deal with a woman whose accent she barely understood at times and a wannabe Martin Scorsese, her son Henry was just as excited about the movie coming to town. While not exactly in the Hallmark channel’s target demographic, Henry loved Christmas, loved movies, and loved the chance to actually see one being filmed in his own backyard. The fact that it was a cheesy TV movie aimed at women aged twenty-five to forty who drank wine and dreamed of their own hunky yet tender lumberjack love interest and not ten year old boys who were obsessed with Marvel and Star Wars didn’t matter, Henry had proclaimed to anyone who’d listen that it was the best thing to happen to Storybrooke in the history of ever. Since the last major event that Storybrooke had seen was a bad storm that washed a full container of live lobsters off one of the ships down at the docks and scattered them halfway to the town line, he did have a point.

Storybrooke was a fishing village in Maine. There were a lot of lobsters in that container.

A lot.

Emma had listened with half an ear while Henry spouted off every bit of information he could find online about A Midnight Clear, the title of the movie, scouring IMDB, Wikipedia, and the Hallmark channel’s social media accounts. Since Emma didn’t let him have his own Twitter or Instagram account yet, he’d followed anything remotely relevant from hers so he could keep tabs on them all. He was even more excited when he discovered the male lead in the movie was British actor Killian Jones. While he wasn’t exactly world-famous, with one of those fancy BBC costume dramas and some London theater work under his belt, Jones had guest-starred in a two-part episode of Doctor Who, making him, in Henry’s opinion, hands down the coolest person to have ever set foot in Storybrooke. An opinion he freely shared with everyone from Granny Lucas during lunch at the diner to the mailman when he dropped off the water bill.

David was visibly annoyed by it, which amused both Emma and his wife Mary Margaret to no end.

“I’m cool,” he’d protested, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair with a pout.

“Yes dear,” Mary Margaret deadpanned, patting him on the shoulder.

“I taught Henry how to ride a horse. Could Killian Jones do that?”

“I dunno, maybe,” Emma said with a shrug. “He’s English, isn’t riding a big thing there? Besides, he’s been inside the TARDIS, and sorry David, but that’s pretty hard for any of us to top.”

David threw his hands in the air. “It’s a TV show! The TARDIS is a prop, it’s not like the guy has actually been to space or traveled in time.”

Henry had come back in from the yard with dog and immediately started in again on the movie and how cool it was that someone like Killian Jones was visiting their town, brightly asking, “isn’t it the coolest thing ever, Uncle David?” and making David grumble to himself all through Sunday dinner while Emma and Mary Margaret trader knowing looks across the table at his sulking and Henry’s obliviousness to it. Emma and Henry had moved to Storybrooke because of David, her adoptive brother, and lived with him and Mary Margaret and their golden retriever Fandral on their farm at first until Emma got them their own place. Small town life had been a huge adjustment, at least for Emma. Henry had the ability to fit in wherever he went.

Big city girl with a cute, precocious kid moves to a picturesque small town and falls in love with a rugged lumberjack who looks like he stepped out of a paper towel commercial and proposes under the mistletoe before the credits rolled. Wasn’t that the plot of most of those made for TV Christmas movies? Although in Storybrooke it would probably be a lobster fisherman instead, and Emma’s life wasn’t a movie.

Plus, after the whole lobster incident, she really, really, didn’t want to see one ever again even if it was brought to her on a silver platter by Chris Evans in nothing but his Knives Out sweater.

Emma parked her Bug in the station lot after her stop at the Bean & Brew and went inside to both check in with Graham Humbert, town sheriff, and grab a bear claw from the ever present box of donuts he kept on his desk. More for the bear claw. Normally, she’d eat it at her own desk while going over the morning paperwork and seeing if there’d been any breaks in her one and only open case, the ongoing crank calls to Mr. Gold, pawnbroker and shoo-in favorite if Storybrooke ever needed to vote in an official town Scrooge. Not exactly something they needed to call in the FBI to consult on. But with the movie scheduled to spend all day filming at not one, but two different locations, Emma had to head out again immediately in one of the cruisers, so she brought the bear claw with her and slid behind the wheel, putting her coffee in the cupholder and turning the key in the ignition with one hand while she took a bite with the other.

Mariah Carey came blasting out of the stereo and Emma nearly choked, coughing and sputtering around her mouthful of pastry.

“Oh come on, it’s August,” she muttered, fumbling for the volume control. “Ugh!”

Once she got it down to a level that wouldn’t make her ears bleed, she pulled out and headed towards Storybrooke Town Hall. The trucks were already there when she arrived, cables snaking up and down the street and a sign with the name of the movie’s fictional town in place on the building’s facade. Several locals were watching eagerly from behind the barricades that Emma bypassed, badge on her hip and tossing back the last of her coffee as she went.

“How’s it going?”

She directed the question to Merida, whose cloud of red hair made her easy to find among the mostly male crew. The location manager had a clipboard in one hand, a walkie talkie in the other, a headset perched messily in her curls, and an expression that was the opposite of holly jolly.

“How’s it going? Well, I’ve got seven Teamsters who are all on their union mandated break at the same bloody time, the call sheet had the locations for today backwards so my two lead actors are currently at the wrong sets, which is absolutely grand, and to top it off the snow machine is on the fritz again so we’ve got no snow for our fecking Christmas movie. So that’s how it’s going.”

Emma understood about half of that, and it wasn’t just because Merida’s accent got as thick as oatmeal the more she talked. Henry was the movie expert, not her. Still, she made a sympathetic face, since it was clear things weren’t going particularly well.

“Bummer,” she offered, which made Merida let out a very Scottish sounding harrumph.

“You can say that again.”

The walkie talkie in her hand crackled to life in a burst of static and she started talking to whoever was on the other end.

“You got an ETA on Bell yet? Well, why not? I don’t care what the call sheet says, she’s supposed to be at the town hall, not the park!”

Emma assumed she was referring to the lead actress in the movie, Christina Bell. She’d met her briefly on the first day of filming, a tiny blonde pixie of a woman who Emma vaguely remembered from some soapy teen drama show that had been popular when Henry was a toddler. She hadn’t had much time for TV back then, and her own teenage drama was still too fresh for her to really be into the fictional kind, so she wasn’t nearly as starstruck as Mary Margaret and Ruby Lucas were when they came by to watch some of the shoot.

“Merida love, If you’d just give me the keys to one of the cars I can drive myself.”

“No,” Merida answered without looking up from her clipboard at the man who’d come over to join them. In contrast to the members of the crew in their jeans and black T-shirts, he was dressed in a three-piece suit that he had to be absolutely sweltering in, his dark hair was slicked back from his face and he had an accent that was tea and crumpets to Merida’s malt whiskey.

It was Killian Jones, the male lead and officially the coolest person to have ever set foot in Storybrooke. According to Henry, that is.

“But-“

“I said no, Jones. You’re not covered by the insurance and Arthur will have my arse in a sling if I let you. Or he’ll try to, at least, and I don’t fancy having to explain to the network exactly how their AD got a black eye. You just have to wait until Leroy finishes his break and then he’ll drive you over.”

Regina Mills had been adamant that Emma was to make everything as smooth as possible for the movie people, and if she’d learned one thing about Storybrooke, it was Regina’s town and the rest of them were just living in it. Normally it was beyond annoying, but, what Madame Mayor wanted, she would get in this case.

“I could drive you if it’s that urgent,” Emma offered. “Emma Swan, deputy sheriff. You’ll be safe with me.”

Both of them turned to look at her and she saw Killian’s blue eyes dart down to where she was oh so casually resting a hand next to her badge and then back up to her face.

“A police escort? Well, I suddenly feel very important,” he joked, with an easy smile that could only be described as movie-star handsome. Not that Emma planned on describing his smile to anyone. “Killian Jones, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Officer Swan. Oh, sorry, Deputy Sheriff Swan.”

“Emma is fine. Nice to meet you.”

She shook the hand he held out and smiled back. A few weeks ago she would have scoffed at the idea of playing chauffeur for some spoiled actor, she hadn’t gone back to college to get her criminal justice degree when Henry was old enough for kindergarten just to end up a glorified Uber, but the guy was cute and it beat standing around pretending to watch the crew fiddle with lights and cables in case Regina was in her office and decided to pop out and check that Emma was doing her civic duty.

“Brilliant,” Merida said, scribbling something on her clipboard. “He needs to be at the park, they’re filming at that bench we scouted last Wednesday. Thanks so much, Emma, you’re a lifesaver, in that you just saved Arthur’s life, since this was his cock-up and I was going to kill him.”

Emma knew the bench Merida was talking about, it was a favorite place of hers when she needed a quiet place to think. She nodded and pulled out her car keys, gesturing towards where she’d left the cruiser. “The Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department is always happy to assist. This way.”

Michael Buble informed them that it was beginning to look a lot like Christmas when she turned the key and the radio came to life again. Emma swore under her breath, the volume control was obviously broken.

“You’re really getting into this, aren’t you?”

He said it with an amused laugh and she felt her cheeks flush hotter than the eighty degree forecast. “Yeah, well, it’s the local station. We always keep the radio on them in case someone calls them instead of us, and they’ve been playing Christmas music in honor of you guys filming here even though it’s August.”

She glanced over at his not very seasonal attire and turned the air conditioning up, letting a rush of cold air wash over them both. At least that was working fine.

“You have a very charming little town here, Sheriff Swan. I grew up in a village by the sea like Storybrooke back in England before I moved to London, it reminds me of home.”

Emma had spent nearly an hour the other day listening to Arthur, assistant director and grade A asshole, bitch about the lack of a Starbucks and a decent place to get Thai food in Storybrooke when she’d had to work with him on the logistics of shutting down Main Street in the middle of the day so they could film a scene, as he oh so condescendingly put it, “before the light changes, Emma, you see, we have this thing in filmmaking called continuity.” At least Killian Jones had some freaking manners to go along with his good looks and sexy accent.

Nope. Don’t go there, Emma, don’t even think about it. Do not pass Go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

“Uh, thanks,” she mumbled. Lame, Emma.

The park wasn’t that far away, but she couldn’t take the fastest route thanks to the trucks blocking the streets around Town Hall and had to go the long way instead. With the volume turned down on the radio it was quiet in the car and she could sense him watching her from the passenger seat while she kept her eyes fixed firmly on the road. She was the deputy sheriff, she had to set a good example to visitors about safe driving habits.

Or something.

The long way involved driving past Henry’s school, it was closed for the summer, of course, since it was freaking August, but the message on the signboard out front had been changed from, “See You in September!” to “Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!” because of course someone had done that. Still, she smiled to herself at the reminder of her son. Henry went to day camp during the week with his friend Paige, coming home every night eager to hear everything that was going on with the movie shoot and Emma had definitely earned some cool points in Henry’s eyes for getting to work with the cast and crew. He was going to freak when she told him she’d finally met Killian Jones.

“Did you grow up here?”

It took Emma a second to realize Killian had asked her a question. “What? Oh, no, I didn’t, actually. We only moved to Storybrooke about two years ago.”

“Ah,” he said, voice seeming to go a bit flat. “Well, I can see why you and your husband decided to relocate. It’s lovely.”

She snorted, trying to imagine Neal in Storybrooke. He’d think it was ridiculous, twee and old-fashioned, and he’d probably also complain that there was no Starbucks or Thai food within an hour’s drive of the town.

Not for the first time, she wondered if part of the appeal of Storybrooke was just how much her ex would hate it.

“Nope, no husband. My son and I moved here from Boston, my brother David and his wife have a farm just outside of town. He heard about the job opening in the sheriff’s department and told me about it, and the rest is history.”

Her long overdue breakup with Neal had come on the heels of finally finishing her degree thanks to night school and loans she wouldn’t pay off before Henry went to college, after dropping out on the first go round when she’d had a baby at twenty. Emma knew their relationship only lasted as long as it did because of their son and even though they kept half-heartedly planning to get married, it never did happen. David also wasn’t her actual brother, his mother, Ruth Nolan, had been Emma’s final foster parent before she aged out of the system and the Nolans became the closest thing she had to family.

Not that she was going to share her entire life story with a complete stranger, of course. Even a handsome one with bright blue eyes the color of the ocean just beyond Storybrooke’s harbor.

“You have a son?” he asked, “How old is he?”

He was a good enough actor that he actually sounded interested, even though most guys noped right out of the conversation when they found out she had a kid.

“Henry’s ten, and according to him the movie is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to this town.” she said, and glanced over at him to add, “He’s also a huge Doctor Who fan, by the way.”

Killian’s whole face lit up at that, clearly pleased. “I’ve been a Doctor Who fan since I was ten, so getting that part was the most exciting thing that ever happened to me. You should bring Henry to the set next time, I’d be happy to give him a look at what goes on behind the scenes.”

“You would really do that?”

Emma realized with a start that they were parked and she was twisted in her seat to fully face him. When had they arrived at their destination and why hadn’t she noticed anything except the fact that, up close, Killian Jones had just about the bluest eyes she’d ever seen?

And not only that, he was looking right back at her.

“Of course I would.”

He said it like there was no question that he’d want to entertain an overly excited ten year old boy he didn’t know when he could be…practicing his lines or taking selfies for Instagram or whatever it was actors did when they had downtime on set.

It was a knock at the window that made them both look up and Emma had a very vivid flashback to being sixteen and getting caught parked in a car with a cute boy after sneaking out past curfew. That little stunt had gotten her kicked out of the group home she’d been living in at the time (safe haven for all, her ass) and even though she’d ended up at the Nolans as her next placement and been welcomed with open arms by Ruth, the memory still left a sour taste in the back of her throat. She turned away from Killian and got out of the cruiser with a cough, wishing she hadn’t forgotten her sunglasses.

“Mr. Jones, I’m sorry for interrupting, but we’re way behind schedule today and-”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he said, exiting on the other side of the car and waving off the apology from the harried looking crew member with a lanyard around his neck and another of the ubiquitous walkie talkies they all seemed to carry. “Thank you very much for the official escort, Sheriff Swan.”

She didn’t bother to correct him again that she was only the deputy sheriff, giving him what she hoped was an official looking nod in response. “I’ll be sure to send Merida the bill for using so much of my valuable police time. And you’re welcome, Mr. Jones.”

“Killian,” he offered, before the crew member whisked him away, shepherding him through the maze of trucks and RVs while letting whoever was on the other end of the walkie talkie know that “Mr. Jones was now on set.” Emma thought that he might have hesitated for a bit, lingering for a moment longer with a glance back before disappearing around the side of an Airstream trailer with the crew member and she lost sight of him.

Or maybe she was imagining it.

She needed another coffee.

With their leading man safely delivered, Emma’s next task was to check that everything was running smoothly at this location and if A Midnight Clear needed any further assistance from the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department.

“Another last minute permit…shut down traffic on Main Street again…close the library so you can film in it and have to listen to old Mrs. Hubbard bitch about not being able to read the latest National Enquirer for half an hour…give the ridiculously handsome star a blowjob-”

Emma halted dead in her tracks. Had she actually said that out loud? Shit, she did. Luckily, she’d only been muttering under her breath and it didn’t look like anyone was around to overhear. Her fingers found the badge on her belt, running over the metal star. She wasn’t some teenager crushing on a cute boy she’d talked to for all of five minutes, she was thirty years old, for fuck’s sake. An adult, with a college degree and a savings account. A law enforcement officer, come to…enforce the law.

God, that even sounded lame in her own head.

She really, really needed another coffee.

“Enforcing the law” in this case meant moving an orange pylon the crew had left that was too close to the accessible entrance to the park’s footpath. She’d make sure to note that stellar bit of police work in her daily log back at the station.

Signs had been posted to point the crew towards the set, not that Emma needed them. The bench was set in a clearing halfway down the path, not visible from where she was standing because of the trees. She followed along until it came into view, feeling her breath catch in her throat at the sight.

Henry had called it magic, and she supposed it was. Movie magic.

It was like an invisible snow globe had sprouted around the clearing. The green summer grass had been covered in a blanket of white that glittered in the sunlight the way actual snow would, while several faux evergreen trees had been strategically placed around the bench with more snow dusting their branches and dangling icicles that looked so real it was hard to believe they were probably made of plastic. A loud whirring noise suddenly rent the air, sounding like a motorcycle gang was about to come racing through. But this was Storybrooke, the closest thing they had to a motorcycle gang was when Marco gave Granny Lucas a ride to the diner on the back of his Vespa. A minute or so later, large white flakes started falling from the sky and the noise died down to a quieter hum as Merida’s malfunctioning snow machine had obviously been fixed. It all looked pretty damn realistic, Emma would give them that.

Killian appeared on the other side of the clearing, now sporting a black scarf and a pair of gloves with his suit. He was talking to Arthur, Emma was too far away to hear what they were saying but it didn’t take long before the actual filming started. She’d seen enough by now to know that it was a lot less exciting than it sounded. After watching the lead actress, Christina, film the same five second shot of her character walking into the library umpteen times, she really hadn’t paid much attention to what they were actually shooting whenever she had to babysit the crew on location around town. Regina called it “liasoning with the production” because Regina was, quite frankly, a bit of a snob, but really, it was babysitting.

She hadn’t seen Killian film before, and it was a lot more interesting. Yes, Emma could admit that partially it was because he was really, really good looking and it had been a while since her last date, and even longer since her last good date, but it wasn’t just that though. Something about him just changed when Arthur yelled action, the way he walked, his expression when he pretended to answer his cell phone, he wasn’t Killian Jones anymore, he was his character. Emma had only ever played the pity role of a tree in a school play once, she knew jack about acting. It was cool to watch an actual professional do it, especially when that professional looked like he did. They ran through the scene several times and during one of the breaks Killian waved at her. Emma waved back, telling herself the warm feeling in her chest was from the sun.

It was August, after all.

Henry was very excited to hear that she’d finally met the “coolest person ever to have set foot in Storybrooke” when Emma picked him and Paige up from camp that afternoon. They climbed into the Bug and showed her the popsicle stick snowflake ornaments they’d made in arts and crafts, since the Christmas fever had clearly infected Camp Arrowhead. After dropping Paige off at home and eating dinner Henry asked if they could watch Home Alone on Disney Plus, begging, “Please Mom? Please?”

Emma sighed to herself, putting the leftover potato salad back in the fridge. Whenever Henry was interested in something, he threw his whole heart and soul into it, and right now he was all about Christmas movies. She loved that about her son, while privately wondering where the heck it had come from. Not from her or Neal, that was for damn sure. Emma didn’t actually have a middle name, but if she did it might as well have been Cynical, and Neal, well, Neal never took anything seriously enough to care the way Henry did.

A part of her still loved Neal, even after everything that had happened between them.

She really didn’t want Henry to follow in some of his father’s footsteps, though.

Or hers.

“Home Alone it is then,” she agreed.

Henry settled happily on the living room floor, lying on his stomach with his chin propped in his hands to watch Kevin McAllister get left behind while his family rushed off to Paris. Emma curled up on the couch, feet tucked under an afghan Ruth had made for her when she’d been dropped at the Nolans’ door late one night with a duct-taped backpack and a chip the size of the McAllister’s ginormous house on her shoulder. She’d never really liked this movie, even when she was Henry’s age. Sure, the slapstick humor was still funny even as an adult, but…

But…

That huge mansion, filled to the brim with family on Christmas.

The desperate mother, fighting tooth and nail to return to her abandoned child.

The tearful reunion at the end.

Emma didn’t need a session with town psychiatrist Dr. Hopper to figure out that she had some issues with Christmas. Growing up in the system it was far from the most wonderful time of the year.

It was usually the worst.

Donated clothes that never fit quite right and generic gifts bought for “Girl Age 9-11”, no mother or father out there fighting their way back to her, no house full of family and Emma knew far too young that Santa wasn’t real, magic didn’t exist, and she was alone in the world, left behind to fend for herself not just for a few days, but for the rest of her life. She was the CPS equivalent of a misfit toy, a foster kid who got too old to be wanted. Even after Ruth took her in and David became the big brother she’d secretly always longed for, the damage had already been done. Even now, Christmas movies just reminded her of her shitty childhood.

“That was awesome!” Henry said once Kevin had been reunited with his family and the credits started to roll. Emma exited out of the Disney app and dropped the remote back onto the couch.

“You’ve already seen it about a million times,” she reminded him.

“If burglars tried to break in here, I’d set up booby traps to catch them too.”

She shook her head in exasperation. “No, you’d call 911 and do exactly what they told you to do. This is real life, kid, not a movie.”

“Movies are way cooler,” Henry proclaimed, flopping onto his back as dramatically as any actor with his arms spread wide as he announced it to the ceiling. She stifled a laugh.

“Yeah, they are,” she agreed, standing over him and holding out her hands to pull him to his feet. “Too bad you’re stuck here in the real world with me, huh?”

After Henry went to bed and she’d mindlessly scrolled through Netflix for a while —ignoring the algorithm’s suggestion to watch The Holiday and lingering for a bit on the thumbnail for Doctor Who before putting on a random episode of Nailed It instead—Emma found herself standing just outside Henry’s room. The door was ajar and she watched him sleep under the superhero posters that were dark shadows on the walls, with the Lego Star Wars x-wing fighter that David and Mary Margaret had given him last Christmas in place of pride on his dresser. Their little two-bedroom house in Storybrooke could charitably be called shabby chic, with its mismatched thrift-store furniture and and oddly-shaped rooms, it was a far cry from the McAllister’s giant McMansion and there was no luxury trips to Paris in Emma’s single mom budget, but she’d worked her ass off to make a home for her son and she was pretty damn proud of it

Her phone vibrated and she gently pulled Henry’s door closed before fishing it out of her pocket to check the notification. She expected to see a text from David or that Mary Margaret had tagged her in another Facebook post, instead it was from Instagram, letting her know that she had a new follower on her thatswangirl account, officialkillianjones. Sure enough, when she tapped the screen it took her right to his profile, the picture was definitely him and there was a blue check mark next to his name. The most recent post was a selfie where he had the black scarf he’d been wearing on set wrapped around his face and fake snow dusting his dark hair, one eyebrow quizzically raised while he stared into the camera. It was captioned, “Just walking in a winter wonderland, it’s still August, right?”

Having had similar thoughts multiple times a day over the last week, Emma snorted in agreement. She leaned against the wall, looking down at the screen. Killian Jones was now following her on Instagram, that was unexpected, to say the least. She followed him, or rather, Henry had followed him on her account, but she’d never expected him to follow her back. Had he actually gone looking for her profile or had Instagram just recommended her the way Netflix had recommended a Christmas movie even though it was August? Her finger was hovering over his latest post while she mused on it and the next thing she knew, she’d liked the photo. Seemed like the polite thing to do.

Henry was going to freak out again when she told him Killian followed her. Being “mutuals” on social media was apparently a Big Deal for reasons she didn’t quite understand.

She’d tell him in the morning, just like she’d told him that she’d met Killian on set, had answered all the questions he’d eagerly peppered her with during dinner, yes, he was very nice, yes, he liked Storybrooke, no, he hadn’t heard about the rain of lobsters (she hadn’t actually asked him if he did, to be honest), and yes, she told him Henry was a Doctor Who fan and he was happy to hear it.

She hadn’t told him about Killian’s offer to show him around the set and give him a behind the scenes look at the movie.

Her son wasn’t like her. Henry was cheerful, exuberant, and believed the best of everyone he

met. He would absolutely, one hundred percent believe that an actor in the middle of filming a movie would carve time out of his busy schedule to play tour guide to a random ten year old.

Emma knew better. It wasn’t worth getting his hopes up when the odds were that Killian had already forgotten all about it.

She closed Instagram. It was late, it had been a long day and she was ready for bed. Her own bedroom wasn’t that much larger than Henry’s and there was a serious lack of closet space, but it did have original hardwood floors that David had helped her refinish and a little wrought-iron Juliet balcony off the window. The house was an old sailor’s cottage, and Emma supposed the balcony had been for the sailor’s wife to lean on and look out to sea, waiting for her husband to return to her once more. She could hear the faint sound of the waves crashing on the beach when she opened the window to let in some air, the original features definitely didn’t include AC. It was a far cry from their old apartment in Boston, where there had been no chance of hearing anything except the drone of traffic or a drunken bar fight out of the window. Storybrooke had been a hell of an adjustment, but it was worth it to have a house with a backyard where Henry could play, a steady job with health insurance, family close by in the form of David and Mary Margaret, everything she’d ever wanted.

Well, almost everything, she thought, looking at the empty space on the side of the bed that used to be Neal’s.

Some dreams just didn’t come true.

************

“Seriously, you too?”

The turkey special was one thing, but now Granny’s Diner was fully decked out with little fake Christmas trees sitting on each table, snowflake banners strung up everywhere, red and green napkins in the dispensers and instead of the usual 80s music that was usually playing from the jukebox, it was Michael Buble again, currently informing them in his 40s throwback style that Santa Claus was coming to town. In August.

Granny Lucas looked down over the rim of her glasses. “Oh come on, Sheriff, it’s the most exciting thing to happen to this town since-”

“-since it rained lobsters on Main Street, I know, I know,” Emma finished with a sigh. “But it’s August.”

“It’s good for business,” Granny said. “The lobster bisque is still a top seller, you know.”

Emma hadn’t been able to stomach even the thought of lobster since that fateful day. She ordered her usual grilled cheese and onion rings, not bothering to look at the menu.

“Mom, can I get the turkey special?” Henry asked.

“Knock yourself out, kid.”

Henry wanted turkey instead of a burger and fries, and the woman whose picture could appear in the dictionary under “crotchety” was humming along to Christmas music in the middle of summer while she poured coffee. Everyone in Storybrooke had lost their damn minds. Or almost everyone. Mr. Gold was the lone holdout who’d refused to allow any filming on the properties he owned, his creepy little pawn shop was the only one left on Main Street without any decorations in the windows and Regina was utterly furious with him. Not that he cared, and the standoff between the mayor and the richest man in town didn’t look like it would end before the filming did.

Granny disappeared back into the kitchen and Emma listened while Henry chatted away about camp and whatever was considered new and cool among his fellow ten year olds, which seemed to change on a daily basis and she was barely thirty but god did she feel like she was about a hundred when her son started in on TikTock trends.

“Mom, look!”

Henry’s sudden gasp and grab at her arm came a split second after the bell over the door chimed, announcing that someone had just walked in. Her back was to whoever it was, but Henry’s eyes were as big as saucers and even before she turned around in the booth Emma knew exactly who had just walked into the diner.

Killian Jones was standing just inside the door, looking around with interest. Strangers in Storybrooke always stood out, something Emma remembered well from their first few months in town, and when said stranger was a handsome man who everyone knew was the star of the biggest thing to happen to the town since the lobsters, well, all eyes were on him.

He caught sight of her, and his face lit up with a smile. All eyes were on him, and he was looking only at her while he walked over to the booth.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi!”

It was Henry who replied to his greeting first, practically bouncing in his seat in excitement.

“Sorry to bother you, Sheriff Swan, but I was told this was the best place in town to get real American food and I was wondering if there was anything in particular I should order?”

Again it was Henry who answered, grabbing one of the menus from behind the napkin dispenser and opening it up on the table. “Oh, you have to try a milkshake. And a cheeseburger. I always get it with fries, but Mom prefers onion rings, and-”

“Whoa, slow down there,” Emma interrupted him, while Killian looked like he was stifling a laugh at Henry’s rapid-fire enthusiasm. “Mr. Jones isn’t going to order everything on the menu.”

“Call me Killian, please. And you must be Henry.”

His attention was all on her son now as he held out his hand for Henry to shake and uttered the magic words. “I heard you like Doctor Who.”

By the time Ruby came over to take his order he was sitting in the booth with them, showing a completely enthralled Henry pictures on his phone of the Doctor Who set. Ruby gave Killian a wide smile, her signature crimson lipstick perfect and one hip cocked in his direction when she pulled out her order pad and pen from her apron. Most men (and more than a few women) in Storybrooke were unable to resist Ruby’s bare midriff and wolfish grin. Killian only gave her a polite nod before looking back down at the menu and ordering a milkshake after conferring with Henry on which flavor was the best (chocolate, was Henry’s answer) and a cheeseburger with fries, Henry’s normal go-to meal. Ruby went back into the kitchen with a disappointed pout and Killian went back to telling Henry what he said were top TARDIS secrets until the food was dropped off on plates roughly the size of frisbees.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, looking a little stunned.

“There’s your real American food,” Emma smirked, picking up an onion ring from her plate and biting into it with relish.

“If I eat all this I don’t think I’ll fit back into my costume.”

Henry decided to be helpful. “Mom’ll steal some of your fries when you’re not looking.”

She rolled her eyes. “Thanks kid.”

“Steal?” Killian repeated, putting a theatrical emphasis on the word. “A fine upstanding officer would never steal, unless…why, Sheriff Swan, are you secretly a pirate?”

Henry was giggling alongside him and Emma played along with the joke, corny as it was.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she shot back.

“Perhaps I would.”

They were interrupted by two teenage girls, sharing nervous giggles as they came over to ask for Killian’s autograph and a selfie. He turned to them with that movie-star smile, signing and posing for several pictures with each. When he turned back Emma was holding one of the fries off his plate, the end already dipped in ketchup.

“Oops, how’d that get there?” she mused with faux innocence.

His smile turned to something less suitable for the Hallmark channel’s family friendly reputation as he leaned back in the booth and gave her an appraising look that she met head on while she ate the pilfered fry. She was still pretty good at nicking food when no one was looking, it was a lot more fun now than it had been when she was sixteen.

When Ruby dropped off the bill it seemed like no time had passed, but Emma noticed with a start that the diner was practically deserted, the lunch rush was clearly long over. Killian’s plate was empty, after he’d taken a few pictures to post “real American food” on his Instagram he’d dug in and eaten everything except the fries Emma had filched every time someone else had come over to ask for his autograph or a photo. It had turned into a game they all played until there was none left.

Killian got her back by taking the last onion ring from her plate, aided by her son distracting her, the little traitor. Now she knew how David felt.

“Bye Killian!” Henry said. “See you on Monday!”

During lunch he’d invited both Henry and Paige to visit the movie set on Monday after camp. Emma knew Henry was going to talk about nothing else until then. David was going to be just thrilled to hear all about it during Sunday dinner.

They all slid out of the booth and she went to grab the bill so she could take it up to the cash register at the front, only to see that it had disappeared off the table. Emma frowned, wondering if it had fallen on the floor.

“Ah,” Killian said, and he was even better at sleight of hand than she was because when she looked up she saw he had it, having lifted it without her even noticing. “Let me get this.”

Her initial reaction was to protest, it wasn’t like they’d been on a date or anything, plus it wasn’t just her grilled cheese, it was Henry’s turkey special too on the bill. He must have seen her reluctance on her face because he added, “Consider it thanks for keeping me company, I was just going to get takeaway for one and this was much more fun than eating by myself.”

“Okay,” she found herself agreeing. “Thanks.”

Granny came bustling over from behind the counter. “Hang on, Sheriff, you almost forgot these.”

She handed over two oversized candy canes, Henry snatched one and immediately unwrapped a cellophaned end, sticking it in his mouth like an old man with a cigar.

“Thanks Granny!” he beamed around his mouthful of peppermint before bounding towards the door. “See you on Monday, Killian! Don’t forget!”

“They come with the turkey special,” Granny explained in response to Emma’s questioning look. “And here’s one for our visitor, too, on the house. Come back anytime, Mr. Jones. You were very good for business today. Try the lobster bisque next.”

She handed another candy cane to Killian, looking very pleased with herself. The diner had been more crowded than usual during lunch, now that Emma thought about it, and there had definitely been a higher than average amount of teenage girls. Emma watched through narrowed eyes while Granny went back to the counter and waited until she was out of earshot.

“Take my advice,” she said to Killian, leaning in to murmur it low in his ear, “don’t try the bisque.”

“I heard that, Sheriff!”

Okay, so maybe Granny wasn’t quite out of earshot.

“I think you just made the naughty list, Swan,” Killian chuckled.

“Yeah, well, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

She smirked at his stunned look, feeling something that she hadn’t felt in a long time when she turned and headed for the door, something that made her put a little bit more of a swing in her hips than was strictly necessary and unwrapping her own candy cane as she went. Maybe it wasn’t very professional of her to flirt with him like that, especially when Granny Lucas apparently had the hearing of a woman half her age, but hey, she was off duty and he was only going to be in town for a short while. What was the harm?

The candy cane was pretty good, Emma had to admit to herself.

Hey, candy was candy, no matter what month it was.

***********

David, predictably, was less than pleased at Sunday dinner to hear about Killian’s invitation, and was even grumpier the following week when Henry was still on cloud nine after visiting a real live movie set. He got to hear all about how cool Killian was, and how Henry and Paige got to watch him film a scene while sitting in real director’s chairs, and then they got to be extras in the background and were actually going to be in the movie and wasn’t that the coolest thing ever? Everyone at camp had been so jealous.

“They’re not the only ones,” Emma said with a knowing smile, glancing over at her brother.

“I am not jealous!” David protested. His crossed arms and childish pout told a different story. “Why would I be jealous? Pass me the potatoes.”

Emma handed him the bowl and he started spooning them onto his plate with more force than was strictly necessary.

“Hey Mom?” Henry asked, oblivious to his uncle’s black mood as he took a roll from the basket Mary Margaret was offering to him, “Can I be Prince Charles for Halloween?”

“Prince Charles?” Mary Margaret repeated, putting the basket of rolls down and looking completely baffled.

“Not Prince Charles, Prince Charles,” Emma tried to explain, which only made her look even more confused. “Not the real Prince Charles, I mean. The character Killian played on Doctor Who was named Prince Charles, it was this running gag because he was from a different planet and didn’t know there was a Prince Charles here too so everyone thought he was joking when he said that was his name. Especially since he’s a lot more hand-“

She caught herself before she finished the thought and covered it up with a cough, trying to divert attention away from the fact that she’d almost just called him handsome in front of both her brother and her son. Judging by David’s rolled eyes and Mary Margaret’s raised eyebrows she wasn’t entirely successful, although thankfully Henry didn’t appear to have noticed.

“But, kid,” she continued, “Halloween costumes already? It’s only August. You’ll change your mind ten times before October.”

He shook his head. “No, I won’t, I promise! Please Mom? Please?”

“You said that last year about Iron Man, but then you wanted to be Boba Fett instead, remember?”

“This is different!”

Henry had that stubborn look on his face, the same one he had whenever he’d made his mind up about something, like which was the best Star Wars movie after Empire, (it was Rogue One) or that peas were gross (she agreed with him there), the look that Neal claimed he got from her and boy did that never fail to piss her off. But Neal was back in Boston (with Tamara, that little voice in her head oh so helpfully reminded her, the woman he said she didn’t have to worry about) and while he may have been right about where their son got that particular trait, she didn’t feel like arguing with Henry tonight, especially not so close to Christmas…

…fuck. It was August. She blamed the constant stream of Christmas music and the decorations Mary Margaret had put up already. Her Bug could only pick up the local station and it was too old (or vintage, as she preferred to call it) to have Bluetooth, so they'd arrived at the farm before dinner with the Little Drummer Boy rum-pa-pum-pumming away from the radio to find enough wireframe reindeer set up in the yard to pull Santa’s sleigh and a wreath on the door, while inside the stockings Ruth had made were hanging up on the fireplace mantle and even Fandral the golden retriever was jauntily dressed in a festive red plaid collar instead of his normal black one.

“They won’t make a costume for that,” Emma said instead of saying no outright, trying to let Henry down easy, “he’s not a big enough character.”

He frowned, looking down at his plate and chewing on his lip. She knew she was right, Target wasn’t going to have a Prince Charles costume alongside the umpteen Spidermans and Elsas.

“I could make it,” Mary Margaret offered.

Henry looked up, hope flaring bright on his face. “You could?”

“I’ve been meaning to get Ruth’s old sewing machine down from the attic to make a few, um, projects anyway, it’ll be good practice. Do you have a picture of it?

“Mom?”

He swiveled to face Emma with big, excited eyes. She had her phone sitting on the dinner table in case there was an emergency back at the station, like Mr. Gold getting another call asking if his refrigerator was running or Regina making an urgent report after catching someone littering. With a few taps she opened Instagram, going to Killian’s profile and scrolling back until she found a photo he’d posted of himself dressed in the Prince Charles costume of a long brown coat worn over a white shirt and black vest.

“It doesn’t look easy to make,” she warned, turning the screen towards Mary Margaret. Emma wasn’t the crafty type, not like her “I saw it on Pinterest!” spouting sister-in-law, but that coat seemed pretty complicated. Mary Margaret took the phone to have a closer look and squinted down at the photo, chewing her lip just like Henry.

“I’ll have to look for a pattern that I can adapt into the coat, and it’ll take a decent amount of fabric, but I should be able to copy it.”

“Yes!” Henry was bouncing in his seat, “See Mom? Aunt Mary can make it for me!”

Emma wondered if she’d ever stop getting caught by surprise every time David showed up at her house with his toolbox whenever she complained about the water pressure in the shower or the window that refused to open, or when Mary Margaret made social media-worthy cupcakes for Emma to take to the PTA meeting after she had a late shift at the station the night before and had no time (or skill) to bake herself. Her knee-jerk reaction was usually to protest, to say she could handle it herself, except she had to admit she wouldn’t be able to make anywhere near as good of a costume as Mary Margaret could make no matter which online tutorial she tried to follow.

“Okay,” she agreed, knowing she was powerless against the both of them now that they’d teamed up against her, “but, Mary Margaret, if it turns out it’s too much work for you-”

“Bah,” she interrupted. “What’s family for? Henry’s going to be the best Prince Charles in Storybrooke when I’m done.”

“He’s going to be the only Prince Charles in Storybrooke,” David pointed out. “Sure you don’t want to be Han Solo this year? I can be Chewbacca.”

“Nope!” Henry said, his ten year old mind clearly made up. Which meant he’d probably change it tomorrow, just like he’d gone from insisting that he had to be Iron Man one day to Boba Fett the next last year, but for now, her son was going to be a two-episode character that no one except die hard Doctor Who fans would recognize for Halloween.

David continued to sulk in his chair and stab at his food while Mary Margaret handed the phone back to Emma. It was still open on the photo from Killian’s Instagram and when she looked down she saw the heart was now filled in, meaning Mary Margaret had liked the months-old post.

Crap.

She narrowed her eyes at her sister-in-law, who was calmly serving herself from a snowflake patterned bowl that normally didn’t appear until December. For someone who dressed and acted like a 1950s schoolteacher with her pastel sweater sets and sunny, glass-is-half-full optimism, she had a suspiciously satisfied look on her face.

“Pass the salt, please,” she asked mildly, meeting Emma’s gaze over Henry’s head. “It’s certainly a nice…costume, isn’t it, Emma?”

Yeah, liking Killan’s post was no accident.

************

If there was one place in town that Emma would have bet actual cash on not giving in to the red-and-green wave that had spread through Storybrooke like a zombie apocalypse, only with a horde of gingerbread men instead of the walking dead, it was The Rabbit Hole.

Nope.

The shitty dive bar atmosphere of mismatched glassware and pool tables with faded felt was somehow even shittier with one of those white artificial trees set up in the corner and old-school multicolored lights strung haphazardly around the walls. At least there wasn’t any Christmas music playing—Emma may or may not have looked up flights to Canada one afternoon at the station while plotting how to murder Michael Buble and make it look like a tragic accident—classic rock thumped in the background instead when she walked in the door.

Henry was spending his monthly weekend in Boston with Neal and Ruby had dragged Emma out of her empty house to hit the town. In Storybrooke the pickings were slim, it wasn’t like there were any wine bars or clubs, so they went down to The Rabbit Hold alongside everyone else who wanted to blow off some steam on a Saturday night. Which included a bunch of the movie people, Emma saw the seven Teamsters pounding back beers together at a table and Merida throwing back shots as if they were water, while Arthur was hitting on anything in a skirt. Including Emma herself when they first arrived, which…no. Even though he was a good looking guy and would be far from the first asshole she ever slept with, she did not need to get laid that badly.

“You know it’s August, right?” she said to Ruby, pointing at the headband she was wearing. It had reindeer antlers. She was also wearing a short, sparkly red dress that would fit in perfectly at a Christmas party, but then again she wore red year round anyway.

“So? Lighten up, Emma, you’re giving off serious Grinch vibes, you know.”

She stuck out her tongue and blew a raspberry at Ruby, which probably proved her point. Emma had to admit she was in a grinchy mood, with Henry gone and the house so much quieter without him there.

“You need a drink, and a dick, and not necessarily in that order.”

One thing about Ruby Lucas that anyone who spent more than five minutes with her learned was that while she may live in a storybook town that looked like the very definition of family friendly, she talked like she was starring in her own show on HBO.

“Let’s start with the drink,” Emma said, steering Ruby towards the bar and not having much hope of finishing with a dick.

The thing about small towns where everyone knew each other was that...it was a small town and everyone knew each other. One night stands were super awkward when you had to pull them over for speeding a week later after they never called you back, and she didn’t need Mary Margaret to start wedding planning after hearing from Ashley at the grocery store that her boyfriend Sean had been told by his friend Philip that Emma had left the bar the night before with someone they’d all known all their lives. So she nursed her Sam Adams (you could take the girl out of Boston, but you couldn’t take Boston out of the girl) for as long as possible and watched Ruby work her mojo instead of looking for someone to give her the “D” - as Ruby so unsubtly put it. Not that Ruby herself was leaning that way either, since she ended up doing shots with Merida and from the way they were looking at each other, leaning in close to speak in the other’s ear even though it wasn’t that loud, “friendly” touches to hands and arms and shoulders that lasted a little too long...yeah. Ruby wasn’t going home alone.

Well, she did like red. That extended to redheads, apparently.

“So...looks like your friend is having a Highland fling tonight.”

Emma looked over as Killian Jones sat down next to her in the seat Ruby had abandoned to go visit Scotland instead. He tipped his glass towards the pair, Ruby was now sitting on Merida’s lap with her dress riding dangerously high up her thighs and Emma really hoped she wouldn’t have to arrest her best friend for indecent exposure.

Again.

“I guess so,” she drawled, waiting to see if he was going to leer and make some gross comment about how hot two girls were together. He didn’t though, he just finished his drink and waved at the bartender.

“Another rum, neat, and one of whatever the lady is having.”

He looked good, that knife’s edge jaw covered with dark scruff several hours past a five o’clock shadow, his blue eyes bright even in the dimly lit room. Blue eyes that were fixed firmly on her, making Emma warmer than the liquor or the balmy summer night.

Ruby and Merida disappeared together at some point, Emma wasn’t really sure when. She drank the beer Killian bought her, and then bought him a drink, because she was an adult with a job and her own credit card and he didn’t know Philip or Sean or Ashley.

Especially because he didn’t know Philip or Sean or Ashley.

“Need a police escort home?” she asked, when his glass was empty and she knew the burn between her thighs wouldn’t be satisfied with her own hand tonight. Technically she was off the clock, but it was her sworn duty to protect and serve the people of the town, and that included handsome visiting actors with accents more delicious than candy canes or pumpkin spice lattes. It was just hitting midnight when they left The Rabbit Hole into a clear night of sea breeze coming in off the ocean and the stars above guiding their way like the sailors coming home to the lovers left behind on land. There was heat in the air, heat between them in the heavy-lidded glances they shared that were thick with anticipation, heat in the rum Emma wanted to taste directly from his mouth instead of a glass. She pulled him to her by his necklace, fingers wrapping in the cool metal of the chain and her back hitting the wall behind them.

The music from the bar was still faintly audible when their lips met, bass notes echoing like the beat of her pulse as she felt the kiss all the way to her toes. He caged her in place, hand sliding to the back of her neck and she met him more than halfway, her hips pressing against the bulge she could feel in his tight jeans and sliding her tongue along his reddened bottom lip. She relished his shiver when she grazed it with her teeth.

Killian pulled back, his eyes a glittering line through dark lashes and his voice a rasp of liquor and lust.

“Swan, are you sure?”

Emma really, really shouldn’t be doing this for a number of really, really good reasons, she had a kid, she had to oversee the rest of the movie shoot, Regina would probably kill her if she found out, literally, not figuratively, but, fuck it.

“Yes.”

He was staying in a house that the production company had arranged for him, he explained, a giant Victorian affair with gingerbread trim and one of those wide wrap-around porches that was made for a swing. Killian seemed slightly embarrassed when she couldn’t stop herself from gaping at it, although who could blame her, the house had a damn turret, for fuck’s sake. He fumbled with the lock and muttered that it was far too big for one person but it had been on the market for ages with no takers so they got a good deal on a short term rental. She followed him in when he finally got the door open, catching a glimpse of a kitchen that would have Mary Margaret squeeing over the vintage appliances and a giant bay window before he was on her, mouth latching onto her neck and all thoughts of her sister-in-law and architectural details flew out of her head. Strong hands reached under her thighs, lifting her up so that her legs wrapped around his hips. The line of his erection pressed against the damp lace under her dress with the movement, making them both shudder.

Killian carried, actually carried, her up the stairs, like she was a heroine from Bridgerton or something and not just a blonde he picked up at a bar, and damn if that wasn’t even more of a turn on. They tumbled through a door and onto a bed, her ankles crossing behind his back while he continued to grind between her thighs, his tongue in her mouth and his hands now planted rather firmly on her ass. She didn’t mind that at all and was eager to get her hands on him too, grabbing the hem of his T-shirt to find bare skin that was scorching to the touch when she dragged it up his sides. He had to go up on his knees on the bed to get it off completely, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side as soon as his arms were free. His chest was dusted with a generous amount of dark hair, it turned into a line that went down his stomach and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans with a tantalizing hint of the treasure that lay at the end of the trail. There was something so delightfully male about it, and the noise he made when she raked her nails through the fine mat was even better.

Her dress was next to go, and while she hadn’t gone out with the expectation of getting laid she had worn something underneath that definitely meant she wasn’t opposed to the idea, lace-trimmed and sheer in all the right places and would look damn good on Killian’s bedroom floor. He pulled a bra strap down with his teeth and swirled his tongue around her nipple, bringing it to a tight pebble in his mouth while his fingers worked at the button of his jeans.

“You have condoms, right?” she asked, voice more than a little breathless and her back arching to give him better access.

“Yes,” he answered, flicking his tongue one more time over the tight peak before his dark head came up and he winked at her. “But we’ve got time before we need them.”

He leaned forward then and kissed her, far more softly this time. The hookups she’d had after her breakup with Neal had been more about scratching the itch, getting off and getting out as soon as possible. She’d almost forgotten it could be like this instead. Killian kept his word and took his time, kissing a line down her neck and back to her breasts, lavishing each one in turn with licks and sucks that had her flushed right down to her navel. When he hooked his thumbs in the lace clinging to her hips and dragged it down she was more than ready, slick with arousal under his fingers while he braced himself on one arm to reach between her legs. He slid up and down in a friction that had her gripping his shoulders and holding on against the wave that was poised to drag her under. When he slid two fingers inside and crooked them just right she met his eyes for a moment, the blue swallowed in a dark storm of desire, before her head tipped back helplessly into his pillow and she fell over the edge with a gasp.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. Another kiss was pressed to her lips while she lay panting for air and then he reached over to the bedside table and pulled open a drawer, rummaging around blindly inside until he found the box of condoms. Emma saw that it was unopened, which made her wonder if she was the first woman he’d slept with since he arrived in town. Not that it really mattered, this was just a one time thing, but still.

His boxer briefs were tented with his erection. She sat up and slid her palm over it while he was tearing a condom off the string and his hips jerked into her hand. A smirk played at her lips as she did it again, before toying with the waistband and tracing the lines of his abs with the tip of her nail.

“You said we had time, right?”

His accent was thicker, rougher, when he answered. “I did, didn’t I?”

Emma peeled the cotton down his thighs and pushed him onto his back, plucking the condom from his unresisting hand for later and laying it on the sheets next to his hips. As late as it already was, she wasn’t ready for the night to end just yet. They had time, time for her to lick a teasing stripe up the length of him and watch the muscles in his stomach contract at the sensation, time to take him in her mouth and continue the tease with her tongue. Each gasp and groan that followed made her feel sexy, gorgeous, desired, all the things she didn’t usually have time for in her daily life. When she finally released him her was rock hard and the second the condom was rolled on he dragged her onto his lap, a wrecked look on his face. It was just the right side of rough when he thrust up, hands tight on her hips and breath hot on her neck. His beard rasped against her skin while the thick drag of his erection rocked inside her, she was going to feel it in the morning and she relished the thought.

They found a rhythm, Emma riding him to the tempo only they could hear, rolling her hips and squeezing around him. The bed creaked with the movement and his deep groans mixed with her own higher-pitched cries. He filled her on each stroke, it felt amazing and yet it wasn’t quite enough to bring her off again. Killian seemed to sense it when she started to falter, chasing the high that stayed just out of reach. He tightened his arms around her back and rolled them, settling on top of her and giving a heavy thrust that made her toes curl and her back arch. Her eyes squeezed shut and one of his hands found hers, lacing their fingers together against the mattress and holding tight. The other lifted her knee and changed the angle just enough to give her that last little push she needed to come a second time.

Killian followed her a few moments later, burying his face in her neck and his back slick with sweat as he shuddered through his climax.

“That was,” he breathed, clearly too blissed out to even finish the thought.

“Yeah,” she agreed.

It had been the best sex she’d had in a long time, blowing every other one-night stand completely out of the water. She had no illusions that it was more, he was only in town for a short time and it was all she wanted, anyway.

“Does Granny’s serve breakfast?”

The sudden question from the pleasant weight pinning her to the bed caught her off guard. “What, like right now?”

Killian chuffed quietly into her shoulder. “No, it’s just that I’ve got nought but some tea and toast to offer you in the morning, and I think I’ve finally finished digesting that cheeseburger by now.”

That made her snort, remembering the look on his face when he’d first encountered Granny’s idea of a portion size. It took her another second to realize that he expected her to not only stay the night, but to stay for breakfast. It was sweet, but-

There was always a but.

But if she went to Granny’s Diner with him in the morning, wearing the same dress she’d worn to The Rabbit Hole the night before, the whole town would know they’d slept together before the lunch rush. She should make an excuse to leave, find her underwear, and go home.

Killian kissed her neck and got out of bed, disappearing into an ensuite bathroom. She’d tell him she had the early morning shift at the station, she’d tell him Henry was coming home and she had to go, she’d tell him something, anything, and leave…

The combination of alcohol and incredible sex was making her limbs heavy and the prospect of having to put her bra back on was about as appealing at the moment as a budget meeting with Mayor Mills. Plus his bed was so comfy, king-sized and covered in pillows that she wanted to bury herself in.

Emma was almost asleep when Killian climbed back into bed, one arm snaking around her waist and pulling her so that she was spooned against him with her back to his front. Lips brushed against her ear and he whispered, “Goodnight, love.”

Just before she drifted off completely she felt a pang of regret, that she couldn’t go out for breakfast with him in the morning or go home with him again at night no matter how good looking he was or how good he was in bed.

Or how good he was with her son.

It was just a one time thing.

********

“A grilled cheese and onion rings, right Emma?”

“Yes, thank you Ruby.”

Ruby jotted the order down on her pad and turned to Henry. “And for you, kiddo?”

“No turkey special?”

She rested a hand on her hip and shook her head. “Fraid not. Back to the old menu now, I can do a burger, or the lobster bisque.”

Emma suppressed a shudder. Luckily Henry wasn’t much interested in lobster unless they were raining down from the sky, and he ordered a cheeseburger with fries instead. In addition to the old menu Granny’s Diner was back to the regular decor, the napkins were white, the mini trees were gone, and the jukebox was playing Top 40 hits from the Reagan administration instead of Christmas music. No more Michael Buble, no one was wearing Santa hats, or wishing each other happy holidays, the Bean & Brew was back to promoting iced coffees instead of pumpkin spice lattes and everything was back to normal in Storybrooke.

Just what Emma had been waiting for.

Henry started chattering away about whatever was currently going viral, something that was of vital importance to any self-respecting ten year old. Emma listened with half an ear, waiting for their order. Ruby brought over Henry’s milkshake and her hot chocolate with cinnamon. It was slightly cooler now than it had been a few weeks ago, but it was still almost seventy degrees out. She’d just been in the mood for one.

“Crap, I forgot to add the cinnamon. Sorry Emma, I’ll go grab it.”

Before she left the bell over the door rang, announcing a new arrival to the diner. Emma’s back was to it so she couldn’t see who it was at first, it was Ruby who looked over first and a smile broke over her face.

“Hey, look who just came back to town.”

Emms felt her heartbeat quicken and a flush rise in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the heat coming from her drink. Henry was grinning and waving like a maniac and she took a breath, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. When she opened them and turned around she immediately locked eyes with the man who’d just walked in.

“Oh,” she said, slumping down in her seat and unable to stop the wave of disappointment washing over her. “It’s August.”

*********

“Merry Christmas!”

Emma smiled and took the festive red cup from the barista, a young man wearing an elf hat with his green apron.

“Thanks. Merry Christmas to you too.”

She stepped outside of the packed Starbucks after adding an extra dash of cinnamon from the condiment bar to her gingerbread hot chocolate, beanie pulled down over her ears and her jacket zipped up to her chin. The cold still nipped at her cheeks and her breath immediately fogged the air, it was December, after all.

Fortifying herself against the chill with a sip of her drink, she joined the throng packing the sidewalk. The skyscrapers above, the massive crowds, the Starbucks and takeout places on every corner, New York City was a far cry from Storybrooke.

Henry’s list of exciting things to happen in their sleepy little town now included the day when the FBI had arrived without warning to arrest Mr. Gold. It turned out that the pawn shop owner and richest man in Storybrooke had made his money years prior by defrauding investors in a scheme where he claimed to be able to create gold from inexpensive materials, like lab-created diamonds, that was indistinguishable from the real thing. In truth, it was all a scam and the supposed gold was fake. By the time his investors found out they’d been fleeced, he’d taken the money and run. “Gold” wasn’t even his real name, he’d chosen that as his alias and from Emma’s acquaintance with him she was sure he was probably feeling very smug and satisfied with himself over his not so clever little joke. Storybrooke had been his hiding spot with his young trophy wife and stolen cash, the townspeople none the wiser until a literal SWAT team showed up.

Emma had caught him before he crossed the town line, trying to flee in a car that had just been reported stolen to the local radio station instead of the sheriff’s department. She’d been completely unaware of the special task force that was raiding his house at the same time, a group of highly trained agents who didn’t look too happy that it was a small town cop who’d actually apprehended the man who was fifth on their top ten most wanted list when she brought him in.

Gold had stolen a lot of money. A lot.

As the arresting officer she’d had to come to New York City, the scene of Gold’s crime, to give a formal statement in person at the FBI’s field office, answer the same questions over and over again about a hundred times, sign more paperwork than the Storybrooke Sheriff’s Department generated in six months, and accept her share of the reward money.

Yes Virginia, there was reward money.

Enough to pay off her student loans, put a sizable chunk into Henry’s college fund, splurge on a killer leather jacket that she’d been eyeing online forever and looked damn good in, if she did say so herself, and buy some very nice Christmas presents for the people in her life. She had several things already stashed back in her hotel room for Mary Margaret and David, although her idiot brother was still in the doghouse with her for the little stunt he’d pulled. Bound and determined to prove he was Henry’s cool uncle (never mind the fact that he was Henry’s only uncle) he’d let her ten year old son drive his truck.

Right into a town mailbox.

She should have bought him a lump of coal instead of AirPods. Luckily Regina was too busy gloating over Gold’s arrest and the defeat of her longtime nemesis to notice the wilful destruction of town property before Graham had it removed. Emma, on the other hand, had threatened both David and Henry with a weekend in side by side cells at the station with nothing but bread and water if they ever did it again. Technically that was a misuse of police authority, but considering she had a citation from the FBI with a fancy seal and everything now posted above her desk she felt she could get away with it.

David’s gift was done, Mary Margaret’s was done (along with a few gifts for the new addition to the family that had been tearfully announced at Thanksgiving, Baby Boy or Girl Nolan would be making his or her appearance right around Easter) and while she’d picked up several things for Henry, there was one item on his list she was still trying to snag.

Gingerbread hot chocolate in hand, she crossed 34th street and walked into Macy’s to hit up the special Lego pop-up holiday store inside. It carried several sets that weren’t available anywhere else, not even online, including a limited edition Star Wars themed one that Henry had declared to be the coolest Lego set ever. He wasn’t the only one, it was such a hot ticket item among Lego enthusiasts that the store only put out a few at completely random times of the day to discourage scalpers and they always sold out immediately. There were even Twitter accounts solely devoted to posting when they were available, Emma had followed them all in desperation but had no luck so far. Now she was down to her last night in New York before heading back to Storybrooke and she was going to give it one more try even though she had little hope of finding one.

But for Henry, it was worth a shot.

Like every other store Macy’s was completely done up for the holidays, with garlands of tinsel and greenery draped everywhere, giant stars hanging from the ceiling, and Paul McCartney simply having a wonderful Christmastime over the loudspeakers. The entrance to the pop-up itself was flanked by two six-foot tall nutcrackers made of Lego, and inside there was a Lego Christmas tree that everyone stopped at to take photos. As impressive as it was, Emma was on a mission and she bypassed all the tourists taking selfies to make her way straight to the Star Wars section, feeling a bit like Princess Leia when she knelt down by the life-sized Lego R2-D2 to check the lowest shelf just in case one had been shoved back there.

Hey only hope was dashed when all she found was a line of Baby Yodas.

“Excuse me,” she straightened up and snagged one of the employees walking by in his “Merry and Br(icks)ight” T-shirt, “are there any of those limited edition May The Force Be With You sets out right now?”

He shook his head, juggling an armful of Imperial tie fighters. “No, sorry, we’re already sold out of those for the day. You can try again tomorrow.”

She couldn’t, but she didn’t say it. “Okay, thanks.”

It had always been a longshot, but she couldn’t help the stab of dejection. Some part of her had thought that maybe, just maybe, she’d miraculously be able to find one for her son and make his Christmas dream come true. The employee walked off and she gave one final, resigned look at the display of Millenium Falcons before she left the store too, just in case.

“Excuse me, miss.”

Emma turned around at the voice to find another employee standing behind her, and older man with white hair and glasses. He looked a bit familiar, but before she could figure out how her gaze dropped to the box he was holding. She recognized it on sight even though she could hardly believe what she was seeing, it was the limited edition, impossible to find even on eBay, May The Force Be With You Lego set, number one on Henry’s Christmas list.

“I couldn’t help but overhear, is this what you were looking for?”

She took it from him, almost too stunned to speak. “Yes,” she managed to squeak out, sounding like a little kid, “yes, this is the one my son wants. But I thought it was sold out?”

“Ah,” he smiled. “There was just this one left in the back, I’m glad I was able to grab it for you. Merry Christmas to you and your son.”

“Thank you. Merry Christmas to you too.”

She turned the box over carefully in a bit of a daze, double and triple checking to make sure it was really the right one and she wasn’t seeing things. When she looked up to thank the employee again, he was already gone.

Huh. Weird.

On her way to the checkout she got stopped three separate times by people offering to buy the set off her, it was that hot. It was also ridiculously expensive, like holy shit, how much kind of expensive, but she didn’t even flinch at the total when she swiped her credit card. It was for Henry, and that was all that mattered.

The temperature had dropped some more by the time she left Macy’s and she wanted nothing more than to go back to her hotel and order some room service, since she was on official business all her expenses were paid for and an overpriced grilled cheese and a glass of wine from the mini-bar followed by a hot bath were calling to her, but she had one final thing to do in New York before she left.

When Henry had found out about her trip he’d been incredibly excited, which surprised her because she’d been expecting him to be disappointed that she had to leave so close to Christmas and would miss out on both the Town Hall carol sing and David and Mary Margaret’s annual ugly Christmas sweater party. It turned out he was so thrilled because the nonstop holiday movie marathon that had been going on in their house all month thanks to Disney Plus had included numerous viewings of Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. Henry had all these grand plans for her trip, that she was going to stay in a lavish suite at the Plaza Hotel, visit Duncan’s Toy Chest, and be driven around in a limousine, just like Kevin McCallister did when he got separated from his family, again.

Right.

She was staying at a nondescript Hilton in midtown, was taking cabs instead of limos, and had to break the news to Henry that the toy store in the movie was fictional.

There was one key location though that wasn’t either insanely expensive or non-existent and she hailed a cab, keeping a tight hold on her shopping bag as she slid into the backseat and told the driver where she wanted to go. He pulled away from the curb and Emma watched the streets go by from the window, storefronts all decorated and a kaleidoscope of lights reflecting on the glass.

“The WYNC-FM weather forecast is brought to you by the Hallmark Channel, where every night is Christmas Eve! Tune in tonight for Mistletoe and Memories, a brand new movie about a secret, second-chance romance at the holidays! ”The latest weather forecast has changed again and most of the Eastern seaboard can expect to see a white Christmas this year, with snow expected on the twenty-fourth through the twenty-sixth. Maine in particular will receive several inches spread over the holidays, especially in the coastal parts of the state. And to celebrate, here’s the time-honored classic itself.”

The radio station started playing White Christmas, Bing Crosby’s gravelly voice drifting out of the speakers. Henry would be happy to hear there was going to be snow on Christmas, while it had definitely been cold and blustery in Storybrooke, there hadn’t been any snow yet. He’d asked if the town could get one of those machines they used to make the movie and have Christmas all year round.

Emma didn’t find the idea nearly as unappealing as she might have a few months ago.

“We’re here, miss.”

After paying the fare she stepped out and was immediately looked up. The famous Christmas tree at Rockefeller Centre was a lot taller in person than it was on screen in Home Alone 2, she had to crane her neck to see all the way up to the star on top. It was covered in lights and shone bright against the night sky, presiding over the open plaza below. At the foot of it was a skating rink, and despite the near freezing temperatures it was still full of people gliding back and forth on the ice. There were tourists come to sightsee milling about, couples bundled up against the cold walking arm-in-arm, hot dog carts and souvenir stands and the whole scene was all very quintessentially New York.

Back home in Storybrooke they had their own tree-lighting ceremony on a much smaller scale at the Town Hall a few weeks prior to kickoff the season, followed by the “Gala Premiere,” as Regina called it, of Storybrooke’s very own Christmas movie. The gala premiere consisted of a screen and a projector set up in the high school auditorium, hot drinks catered by the Bean & Brew, and a rented popcorn machine. David and Mary Margaret came, and Ashley and Sean, and Paige and her dad, and a very, very excited Henry with Emma in tow, all to watch the bookish small-town girl played by Christina Bell fall for the visiting, mysterious Englishman played by Killian Jones, against a backdrop of fake snow and careful editing to hide the fact that it had been filmed in August. They’d renamed the movie, instead of A Midnight Clear it was now A Count for Christmas, because the big reveal was that Killian’s character was actually a count.

Henry was already planning next year’s Halloween costume based on it. As David had predicted, no one had known who he was supposed to be in the Prince Charles costume Mary Margaret had painstakingly made when he went out trick-or-treating with Paige in her much more recognizable Scarlet Witch outfit from Target. But Henry hadn’t cared, not when the official Doctor Who Instagram account itself had reposted the picture Emma had taken of him all dressed up.

She was pretty sure she had Killian to thank for that.

So next year her son was going to be a count instead of a prince. The scene where he and Paige were extras in the background had lasted less than a minute, and only the back of his head was briefly visible on screen, but in true Mike Wazowski fashion none of that had mattered to him and he’d proclaimed to anyone who’d listen, Ruby, the mailman, his dentist, Pongo the Dalmatian, that he’d actually been in a movie!

It was cheesy, and sappy, and sentimental, and all the things Emma swore up and down she wasn’t into.

Maybe she was, a little bit.

A clip from it even went viral, of a rather smoldering look Killian had shot to Christina that was very un-Hallmark like and more suited to something on HBO. It blew up on TikTok, to the point where Killian had even been interviewed by several media outlets and gained over a hundred thousand Instagram followers. Emma was happy for his success (and maybe, just maybe a tiny bit jealous that the look hadn’t been directed at her), although she wasn’t as thrilled as Regina, who actually put out a press release about Storybrooke’s role in the clip.

The selfie Emma took with the Rockefeller Christmas tree behind her wasn’t going to go viral when she posted it on Instagram, adding the caption “not so lost in New York”. That was okay,

it was for Henry and his love of Christmas movies, belief in superheroes and magic and all the good things in the world that she might have forgotten about without him in her life.

There was a busker in the plaza in fingerless gloves and a Santa hat, playing the guitar. Naturally, it was a Christmas song. Even though she’d only planned to grab the photo with the tree and then head back to her hotel, she found herself staying to listen.

Emma recognized the irony of it, after all her complaining back in August about the non-stop Christmas music that drove her to secretly plot how to take out the three worst offenders, Josh Groban, Mariah Carey, and Michael Buble (he was Canadian, so it involved a hockey stick and maple syrup) she’d come around and actually didn’t mind the acoustic version of All I Want For Christmas Is You the busker was strumming. A small group had gathered around to listen and when he finished, she clapped along with them. His guitar case was open on the ground by his feet for donations and a few people tossed in some coins and small bills.

She dropped in a fifty, with the reward money safely deposited in her bank account she could afford to spread some extra Christmas cheer to a stranger. His eyes absolutely lit up when he saw it and she smiled to herself.

“Thank you everyone, I hope you’re all having a lovely evening tonight,” he said to the crowd. “Are there any requests?”

The question was directed at her and there was one song, in particular, that immediately sprang to mind.

“Do you know It Came Upon a Midnight Clear?”

He thought to himself for a moment, plucking a few experimental chords on his guitar. Then he found it, and music filled the air again. As far as Christmas songs went it was softer than a lot of the other, more popular ones, it was wistful, with just a hint of melancholy but ending on a hopeful note. Even though the title of the Hallmark movie had been changed, they kept a scene where Christina and Killian’s characters had to meet up at midnight to break into the library and find the stolen deed to Killian’s ancestral estate that proved he was the rightful heir so he could claim his title. The song had played while snow fell around them as they opened the book of fairytales where the deed had been hidden and found it at last.

Emma had heard Merida cursing at the snow machine with insults that got increasingly more Scottish when it kept malfunctioning the day they filmed the scene, even the seven Teamsters were shocked by how colorful some of them were, and that asshole Arthur had been in a giant snit by the delay and was even more insufferable than usual. But it all came together in the end and watching the final result in the darkened Storybrooke High gym with Henry beside her staring in slack-jawed awe at the screen like it was Avengers Endgame, she had to admit it was worth it.

Movie magic, as Henry called it.

“Emma? Emma, are you here? SWAN!”

The voice cut through the music and the crowd, rising above them all and she felt herself frown, turning in a circle to look for whoever the hell it was who was calling her name. She was alone in the middle of New York City, hundreds of miles away from home.

A man pushed his way through a knot of tourists clustered around one of the hot dog carts and came to a halt several feet away as he caught sight of her. Emma froze on the spot, too shocked by the unexpected sight in front of her to do anything except stare as the music and the crowd and everything else faded away.

It was Killian Jones.

She blinked.

He was still there.

Dressed in a black puffer coat with a scarf around his neck but his head bare against the winter chill. His dark hair was longer than it was the last time she saw him back in Storybrooke the day after filming wrapped, a lock almost fell into his eyes and it curled around the tips of his ears in the winter breeze. He looked good and he looked happy, smiling bright as he crossed the last bit of distance between them.

“Fancy meeting you here, Deputy Sheriff Swan.”

“What? How?” she sputtered, not quite believing he was real. “Killian?”

“I saw your Instagram post.”

She saw now that he had his phone in one gloved hand and when he held it up, the photo she’d just posted was displayed on the screen. Her own phone suddenly vibrated inside her jacket and when she pulled it out, she saw a notification that officialkillianjones had liked her new post.

“I came to see if I could find you,” he explained, which didn’t exactly clear up her confusion.

“You came to find me…from London? Did you Apparate here, or something?”

“No,” he chuckled, “alas, I’m only a Muggle. No, I’ve been in New York for a few days now, I’ve been auditioning for a new TV series and I just got out of a meeting at the production office over there when your post popped up on my phone.”

He pointed across the plaza at one of the office buildings that surrounded it and she followed the motion, registering what he’d just said.

“You’re auditioning for a new TV show? That’s great!”

Was that a bit of a blush on his cheeks when he ducked his head or was it just red from the cold?

“Yeah, the meeting was actually to tell me I got the part. It was this whole last minute thing, they’ve been trying to full the role for months but couldn’t find anyone they liked, and then when that scene from A Count for Christmas went viral they contacted my agent to see if I was interested. So, I guess I have your lovely town to thank for helping me land it.”

“Oh, wow. Really?”

Henry was going to flip when she told him. He loved all that behind the scenes stuff and would be so proud that it was Storybrooke’s very own movie that was responsible for Killian getting the part.

Heck, she was kinda proud too.

“Really,” he winked. “I’ll have to thank everyone else in person, when we start filming.”

He couldn’t possibly mean…? She met his blue gaze and saw how intently he was looking at her, as if gauging her reaction.

“Start filming?” she asked, “In Storybrooke?”

He turned a bit sheepish, reaching up to scratch behind one ear. “Yeah, they also told me in the last meeting that they just settled on the filming location and signed the contract. Apparently your mayor put together a very impressive and persuasive proposal last week. Frankly, I think they were too intimidated by her to say no.”

Regina had been in a suspiciously good mood lately, but Emma had chalked that up to Gold’s arrest and to winning the town gingerbread house competition for a record-breaking fifth year in a row. Legitimately, too, even she had to admit Regina’s gingerbread castle was pretty dang impressive.

“So, you’re coming back to town,” she said, slowly, and quickly added, “for your TV show.”

“Looks like,” he agreed. “For at least six months of filming. Maybe longer.”

Killian was going to be staying in Storybrooke for at least six months. The official coolest person ever to set foot in it, according to Henry, and the man she hadn’t been able to get out of her head was coming back.

“Good.”

The single word that fell from her lips grew between them in the air with the promise of something more, something new and unexpected and exciting. Emma didn’t know where it was going to lead, but she was willing to find out.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been nattering on all about myself and I haven’t even asked, what are you doing in New York? Is Henry here with you? His Halloween costume was incredible, by the way.”

She shook her head with a laugh, “No, Henry’s back in Storybrooke with my brother and sister-in-law. As for why I’m here, that’s kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” he said. “Tell you what, why don’t I buy you a drink and you can tell me all about it. There’s a lovely little bar in the lobby of my hotel that does a great hot buttered rum. What do you say, Swan?”

She would say that hot buttered rum and a hot as fuck guy who was about to move to her small little town both sounded like Christmas had just come early.

“Lead the way.”

He offered her his arm like the count he’d played in the movie. She looped her hand through it and they started over to a waiting line of taxis on the other side of the square.

“What hotel are you staying at?” she asked.

“Oh, it’s the Plaza.”

Emma halted mid-step. He was staying at the Plaza?

“Seriously?”

Killian looked down at her, brows knitting together in a frown at her reaction. “Yes? The network put me up there, I understand it’s rather famous?

“Yeah, it is, it’s just, um, have you seen Home Alone 2?”

He made a face. “Once or twice when I was a child, I think. Now don’t go telling the Hallmark people this, but, truth be told, my deepest, darkest secret is that I don’t really like Christmas movies.”

Her shoulders silently shook with mirth, thinking of that interview he did post TikTok blowup where he’d absolutely gushed about them. He really was a damn good actor.

“Well, your secret’s safe with me. Although, really, they’re not so bad.”

The star on top of the Rockefeller Centre Christmas tree winked in the rearview mirror when they climbed into the backseat of a cab and started to drive away, Killian’s arm wrapping around her shoulder like it was meant to be there.

Yeah, Emma decided, Christmas movies were alright.

**********

Henry was thrilled when she came home for Christmas with both the most coveted Lego set on the planet and Killian Jones. He couldn’t leave the country while his work permit for the new TV show was being processed, and she wasn’t going to leave him all alone on Christmas.

David was less than pleased when she brought Killian over for Christmas Day dinner at the farm, although he hid it behind a smile and a handshake while Mary Margaret immediately fussed over their last-minute guest and Fandral the golden retriever ran circles around them.

Emma just hugged her brother and whispered in his ear, “This is payback for letting my ten year old son drive. Merry Christmas.”

[bloodgulchblog]