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just-a-smut-slut · 1 year ago

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Crestellys And Bixim

Chapter Three

Ara had a fitful sleep that night. When she awoke, her blankets and pillows her on the floor. There was even pillow stuffing where she had torn apart a pillow in her sleep. She looked out the window to the dawning of a new era of her life. Everything would be different now. As a single princess, she was given freedom, but as an engaged female, she was bound to her betrothed. They may as well be married for all the freedom it will allow her.

A knock sounded on the door and her maid opened the door, carrying a tray of morning tea and biscuits. She looked at the mess in the room and sighed, setting the tea down at the bedside table and moving to pick everything up.

“Sorry, Una. It was nightmares again,” Ara said in explanation. Her maid, Una, smiled at her and continued her work.

“Don’t worry, Your Highness. It isn’t a problem. Just you eat and get ready for the day. Prince Taulgri is taking you riding this morning,” Una said as if that wasn’t as good as splashing cold water on Ara.

I guess it was a good thing that I didn’t sleep with Killian afterall, she thought. Una picked out a set of new riding clothes for her to wear to impress the prince. Ara didn’t think that a pair of snug, leather pants, boots, and a flowy, white blouse would necessarily appeal to a prince like Taulgri, but she didn’t argue. Una then set her golden hair into a loose bun and pinned a small, gold tiara into her hair. She looked comfortable but still elegant and very royal.

Ara walked to the stable, trailed by a guard that wasn’t Killian. The stables were on the outside of the inner castle walls, still surrounded by the outer wall. As she passed through the courtyard, she was met with congratulations to passing nobles or servants. Ara met every one of them with a smile and thanks. After years of palace life, she could act as well as any actress.

The stables smelled of their usual straw, barley, and manure. Ara loved the scent. She walked to her horse’s stall. Years ago, a warhorse had been injured. The military was going to put him down, but she wouldn’t let them. She nurtured him back to health and he had been loyal to her alone ever since.

Hesperos was a large, dapple gray stallion. He had been ridden into battle many times by some of her father’s best warriors. He whinnied as he saw the princess and walked to his stall door, tossing his head, expecting a treat. Ara took a couple sugar cubes from her pocket and let him nibble at them in her hand. She brushed her other hand against his head and mumbled to him lovingly.

She didn’t notice Prince Taulgri approaching her until he said, “Lovely day for a ride, I thought.”

Ara jumped a bit and Hesperos let out a huff of frustration.

“Prince Taulgri,” she inclined her head. He did the same. “Princess Ara.”

“Who’s this?” The prince gestured to the stallion. Ara noticed Hesperos standing a bit straighter, looking at the prince as if sizing him up.

“This is Hesperos,” she said with a smile and scratched his nose.

“He’s as big as a warhorse,” Prince Taulgri commented.

Ara smirked and said, “He is a warhorse, or a retired one anyway.”

Prince Taulgri’s eyebrows raised, obviously impressed. “He must have really taken to you. Our warhorses usually aren’t so… docile.”

“Hesperos is special, Prince Taulgri,” Ara shrugged.

“Would you mind if we simply addressed each other by our first names when no one else is around? It would make the rest of our lives a bit less tedious.” Ara couldn’t tell if he was joking or not when speaking about the future tedium of their lives.

“Of course. Whatever you wish,” Ara glanced at him up and down. He was wearing riding pants, a loose fitting shirt, and simple boots. He didn’t even wear a crown. He looked so… casual. She had expected him to be dressed in the ravelry of his station when taking her on their first ride together.

“Did my uniform disappoint you, Ara?” A smile tugged at the ends of his lips.

“Of course not!” She answered too quickly. The prince seemed to expect her response and quipped, “Ah, so you find my form pleasing?”

Ara scowled with displeasure. “Don’t be crass, Prince Taulgri.”

“Only joking, Princess Ara,” he smiled a little too playfully. Ara wondered if he had used that smile and that line on other girls. If they had been tricked into his casual demeanor. She would not be so easily fooled.

“Where are you planning on riding?” She asked.

Prince Taulgri shrugged, “I thought you could show me around, actually. Help me get acquainted with the countryside. Especially since this land is to be my home.”

Ara nodded and opened the stall door to let Hesperos out. The stallion walked himself down to the tacking station, not needing instruction from his rider. A servant brought an already saddled bay mare to Prince Taulgri. The prince brushed his hand against the horse’s soft fur and spoke to her as Ara saddled Hesperos. Her horse seemed to eye the other rider warily, which was enough of a warning signal for Ara. She knew to keep her guard around him.

The two of them rode side by side down a lane through the forest behind the castle. The surrounding countryside was worked by the castle staff, so there was no fear of bandits roaming the area. It was quite safe for the couple, however two guards rode their own horses far behind them, giving them privacy.

“What do you wish to speak about?” Ara asked, trying to end the silence that surrounded them.

The prince shrugged, “What do you wish to speak about?”

Ara rolled her eyes. She hated when people turned her questions back onto her. They usually did so in order to gauge where her head was at so that they could say what would most please her.

“You’re the guest. You decide,” she stated.

“Hmm,” the prince thought for a moment. “Well, I suppose we could talk about our future wedding. I’m sure we will both be knees deep in planning soon.”

Ara couldn’t think of something that she wanted to talk about less than that. “I honestly don’t care. You may choose whatever you like for the ceremony, or we will have a planner make all of the arrangements.”

The prince laughed, “I’d expected you’d say as much.”

Ara turned on him, “Did you now? Well, since you know me so well, maybe you can read my mind to find the phrase that I’m directing to you.”

Prince Taulgri had the gall to laugh again, “You’re just as they said.”

This made Ara even angrier, “Am I? And, what pray tell have they said about me?”

“You hate formality. You’re rude but an excellent liar. And, of course, that you’re the most beautiful fae female in existence,” he said this last part as if it were a joke she was in on.

Ara glowered. “You don’t want to know what I’ve heard about you.” She said flatly.

“I’m sure I can imagine,” Prince Taulgri said with a wave of his hand.

Ara wanted to shake him. To make him feel as uncomfortable as she did, so she went on. “Tell me. How many of your lovers exactly have you brutalized and when can I expect the same such treatment?”

Taulgri stopped his horse, surprising Ara. She pulled Hesperos to a halt and turned in her saddle to face him. “Hear me now, Ara. I will never raise a hand to you.”

“You don’t have to touch someone to destroy them,” Ara replied and nudged Hesperos to continue walking.

Prince Taulgri kept his horse a short distance behind her, not continuing their conversation. When they arrived back at the stable, the prince said his goodbyes and they parted ways. Ara wondered if she had pushed him a little too far. She had wanted him to know that she was aware of his history. That she wouldn’t stand for any poor treatment. He wouldn’t dare raise a hand to her, but he may dare to abuse her in other ways.

#faecore #fae #fae fanfic #fanfic blog #fantasy romance #fantasy #romantic #romance

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caught-in-the-filter · 3 years ago

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*pounds fist on table* CS Sacrifice DH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Oh, and Multi Killian (i like the sound of this....)

Hehe thanks! 😏❤️😘

CS Sacrifice DH I started after @djlbg added a Dark Hook gif to this prompt post, because I was already thinking that too but then the gif pushed me to start a doc lol. Then @hollyethecurious yelled at me for giving her ~ideas~ and I yelled back that I’d also started another other other wip because of it lol 😘

In my version of it, I still have to work out the details but I’m thinking that the kingdom sacrifices every firstborn royal to the Dark One for his continued peace and protection. When Emma is the next sacrifice, she tries to make a deal with him to spare her life.

I don’t have very much written for this yet, but *gasp* I actually really wanna write something with a little plot! 😱😅❤️

———

The multi-Killian doc is a chapter 2 for my 12 Days of Kinkmas fic Sharing the Joy, picking up right where that left off. It’s threesome porn, a Killian sandwich with Emma in the middle of his heart-eyes present self and his piratey past self. There’s quite a bit in this doc but I think I’m only like halfway through what I wanted to put in it, but I got sidetracked with other wips. I really love this one and I hope to get back to it soon. It’s a dynamic I’ve wanted to try to write for quite some time and finally gave it a shot and it’s so fun.

Here’s a snippet for you, subject to editing by the time it posts. 😘

“Take a taste of him, lass,” Hook goaded, watching her as he nosed along the crease of her thigh. “Wrap your perfect lips around him like a good little wench, and I’ll put mine back on your clit.”

“Yes please, Captain,” Emma said, hoping he wouldn’t wait. “Lean closer,” she told Killian, parting her lips and taking just the tip of him between them before sucking hard, swiping her tongue over his slit as he hissed sharply and bucked into her mouth.

“Don’t tease him, darling,” Hook smirked as he did exactly that to Emma, pressing his palm to her flesh and brushing his thumb back and forth just above where he knew she ached for it.

“Fucking hell, Emma,” Killian breathed as she took him deeper with each roll of his hips. As his hand fisted in her hair and cradled her head, it took everything in him not to thrust too hard. “So fucking good.”

“There’s a good girl,” Hook praised. Emma jumped as he dragged his teeth down her inner thigh, whining in frustration around Killian’s cock. “Shh, love,” he soothed, “I’m a man of my word, don’t fret. But first, a wench as good as you deserves to wear her Captain’s mark, doesn’t she?” As Hook clamped down on her soft flesh, Emma gasped at the sudden pricks of pain, coughing around Killian as she choked on her own saliva.

“Are you alright, Emma?” Killian asked softly as he reluctantly pulled back and gave her a moment to breathe.

“She’s fine,” Hook answered for her as he worked a small bruise into her skin and used his tongue to lave over the impressions left by his teeth.

“I’m fine,” Emma reassured him, urging him closer again. “I want more of you, Killian, please.” Arching her brow at Hook, she continued, “And I want that you to keep his fucking promise.”

Ask me about my wips!

#the darkdragonfly #Kayla answers

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awritingcaitlin · 3 years ago

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find the word tag

Once again tagged by @muddshadow (thank you!!!!) for one of these! So first I’m going to reverse tag @muddshadow, tag @amayalbooks, @pinespittinink, @sentfromwolves, @kashacreates, and anyone else who likes doing these!

Your words are:

All of these snippets are from SIEGE OF BERTHINGTONN (Book 2) which desires to be rewritten even though I’m in the middle of drafting RELIC OF THE GODS. Thanks. Hopefully this will abate some of the desire to jump ship and work on something else!

YET

Riela noticed, then, that Mama wasn’t back at the bar yet. She did a quick glance around the room and decided that her orders could wait a minute. She went into the kitchen and started for the side door.

Then she heard the gunshot. It had come from the direction of the garden.

She slammed her tray down by the sink and ran out the side door. She heard footsteps behind her and figured Paul or Adrian must be following her.

The sight in the garden next to the peach tree was something Riela struggled to piece together. Mama stood there, holding one of those sword-guns, the shaft of the walking stick lay discarded next to her. Three figures lay motionless on the ground. The one directly in front of Mama was the one who’d been shot. Of the other two, one’s throat had been slit and the other one was missing an eyeball.

Mama slowly lowered the sword and Riela disjointedly realized the handle was the same as the one from her walking stick. Of course.

“Riela,” Mama said, not looking at her. “Would you be a dear and help me dump these… no wait, that’s bad. Can you go summon the guards from their game of cups? Or are they playing bones now?”

EVER

“Honestly,” Janna said. “I want a big wedding here.” She paused, swallowed. “But…” she drew the word out. “I’m not sure I want to wait around and plan with all the unrest we’ve had on the streets. I walk to and from this place every day and the stories of random knifings and men getting brainwashed by those… those women…”

She sighed and Adrian rubbed at her shoulders in a comforting gesture. “This isn’t home right now,” she continued. “And unless inner-town decides to do something to help, it’s not gonna be home ever again.”

Mama heaved a sigh. “I understand you completely,” she said, her voice soft. “So are you staying or are you eloping?”

“I think we’re eloping,” Adrian said.

Mama reached into her pocket and pulled out a large sack of coins. She thumped it on the bar so quickly, Janna jumped a few inches.

“My wedding present to the two of you,” Mama said. “Get yourselves outta here before you change your minds.”

SMOOTH

“Last guard,” Killian shouted. “Where’s the fucking Priestess?”

The Priestess stiffened and turned her attention away from Rinnie. She locked eyes with Killian. Her eyes narrowed in concentration and she formed her left hand into a fist, starting to gather ice into it. Rinnie didn’t want to see that spell come to fruition. She focused her energy and adrenaline into a ball of kinetic force. She threw it at the Priestess.

Without breaking her concentration on the spell against Killian, the Priestess put up a shimmering shield to deflect the kinetimancy. The force hit a nearby table instead, upending it and all of its contents.

The Priestess finished loading ice into her hand. She threw it in Killian’s direction. Rinnie looked at him in horror, having to peer through table and chair legs to see properly. She watched in awe as he turned ever-so-slightly at the exact second the ice would have collided with his face. The motion was so smooth and subtle, he was able to connect it with a punch to a tall fisherman’s solar plexus. Rinnie thought she might’ve seen him smirk.

The ice flew past him and nailed one of the dinner plates hanging on the wall. It shattered and fell to the floor in shards, while an eight-inch dagger of ice remained lodged in the wood.

Rinnie turned back to the Priestess. Riela had fled the area and Rinnie couldn’t say she blamed her.

KNOW

Mica got up, like she usually did, to go get herself a glass of wine or mead. As she crossed the threshold of the library, Rinnie sat bolt upright, energy gathering at her fingertips. Mica froze, wide-eyed.

Killian reached over and put a hand over Rinnie’s. She released the power and quieted, belatedly processing no danger. Her breathing still came labored.

“Relax, Rin,” he told her. “Mica’s just going to get a nightcap. Perhaps you shouldn’t ward the whole library?”

Rinnie frowned at him and took two long breaths out of her nose.

“How’d you know there was a ward?” she asked him.

“Felt it,” he said with a shrug.

“Sloppy,” she muttered to herself.

“Am I good to go downstairs for a bit?” Mica asked.

Rinnie nodded and Killian laughed.

“Maybe get Rin some of what you’re having,” he told her.

“Sure!”

CALL

They went right in at Thiggins’ place. A little bell above the door rang as they entered. Dr. Thiggins came bustling out to the front shortly after. Relief crossed his face as he saw them and Rinnie wondered if he ever slept either.

“Ms. Edgewing,” he said.

“Please,” Rinnie insisted. “Call me Rinnie.”

He nodded. “The man we patched up, Lukas…”

“He’s actually why I’m here,” Rinnie said. “What about him?”

“He’s having all the symptoms of withdrawal, but I can’t pin down exactly what he’s having withdrawals from. I’m wondering if it’s not exactly physical in nature.”

Rinnie hissed. “Can you take me to him?”

#tag game #my writing #siege of berthingtonn #riela #mama cass #killian #rinnie #mica #thiggins

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sailtoafarawayland · 4 years ago

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The Chicken Debacle

Summary: There’s nothing Emma loves more than watching her husband work up a sweat, but being right certainly comes in a close second. In which a hot day, a flock of fowl, and a naughty Emma work together to make good use of some patio furniture.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Humor, Pregnant Emma, Pregnant Sex

Many thanks to all of my lovelies over on the discord - a truly inspiring bunch who prompted my muse to take what was a rather frustrating real life situation and turn it into something a bit more fun, and a bit more naughty.

AO3 - FF

The Chicken Debacle

“You're not going to help?” Killian asked, eyebrows darting up in surprise as he swept his arm across the backyard, gesturing toward the small flock of chickens currently digging through the garden and flower beds.

Emma caught the edge of her bottom lip between her teeth, her cheeks warming as she bit back a smile.

“Nope, sorry, babe,” she shrugged, running her hands down the large swell of her stomach, “I probably shouldn't be chasing chickens seven months pregnant. Besides, I'm not the one who forgot to shut the latch on the gate.”

His eyes narrowing at her accusation, Killian looked as if he were about to argue, but finally sighed and started toward the closest chicken, the heavyset, yellow fowl bobbing her head suspiciously as he drew near, her feathers ruffling as she shook herself and pecked viciously at the ground – readying herself for a fight, Killian imagined.

“I'll keep you company though,” Emma called out, grabbing her iced tea and laying back on the lounger – smothering a laugh behind her hand as her husband leaped toward the chicken only to have it kick up a cloud of mulch in his face and dart between his legs, making for the nearest bush.

“I'm very grateful indeed,” her husband quipped as he turned and reevaluated the situation, casting his eyes around the yard to see if there was anything he could use to ensnare the unsuspecting birds. “Enjoying your iced tea, Swan?”

“Yup, delicious,” she purred, enjoying the way the hot sun was glancing off the sheen on his chest, the summer hot enough that even the smallest amount of activity outside was enough to make them both sweat. “Perfect for a hot day – oh, our little one just kicked!”

A look of genuine contentment washed over Emma's face as she rested her free hand on her belly, her hair falling to frame her cheeks as she whispered something he couldn't hear to the child growing within her – and just like that the frustration fell from his shoulders, replaced with a love so deep he wouldn't begrudge his beautiful wife anything, not even the opportunity to hold something as trivial as the chicken gate over his head, but...that didn't mean he couldn't make his Swan work up a sweat of her own while doing it.

Emma had just looked up from the gently undulating swell of her belly when she saw Killian standing in the middle of their yard, his fingers folded around the edge of his shirt as he lifted the hem up and over his body, his abs and pectorals flexing as he tossed it to the ground nearby, shoulders rolling as he stretched and eyed the closest chicken with a determination Emma recognized immediately– those poor birds were in for it.

She watched as he lunged forward, his sneakers shifting in the grass as he chased the chicken toward a corner of the fencing, just managing to snatch it by the leg before carefully folding its wings in and lowering her over the fence back into the run, the only sign of a bruised ego some few ruffled feathers.

He rounded on the next bird, a smaller one that Emma liked to call Cinnamon – although they were pretty sure she'd never laid, and were somewhat concerned she didn't seem to know she was a chicken at all, preferring to spend her time stubbornly following around the chipmunks and squirrels that frequented the yard. While she wasn't the smartest of the bunch, she was quick, and Emma had to bite back a chuckle as Killian stumbled more than once trying to get near her – eventually giving up and moving on to the larger fowl digging in the raspberries.

Emma enjoyed the cool slip of iced tea down her throat as she feasted on her husband – his skin glistening in the sun as he moved, each hard line and muscle calling out to be touched, stroked, lavished with the sweep of her tongue as she slid her palms over the ridged planes of his stomach, moving lower until she could curl her fingers around the waistband of his shorts and slowly peel them down, her nose parting the thatch of dark curls that surrounded his thick, glorious –

“Ha!” Killian let out a triumphant yell, drawing Emma's mind back to what he was doing, two rather disgruntled looking hens fidgeting in his arms as he hurried them back to the pen and plopped them over the fence.

Her eyes were locked on her husband as he paused to catch his breath, his biceps curling as he ran his hands through his inky mop of hair, a curtain of it falling once more over his face as he bent and tightened the laces on one of his shoes, giving her an eyeful of just how firm and perfect his ass was in those particular shorts – if her husband wasn't made in the image of the gods, then she wasn't sure there ever was such a thing.

The straw she'd been sucking on finally let out a loud gurgle as she drained the last of her drink, her cheeks flushed as Killian turned around and shot her a look that said he knew exactly what she was thinking, and indeed, as she shifted on the lounger, she could feel her desire slick and wet between her legs – but there was still one chicken left to catch – Cinnamon, and her pirate wasn't one to give up before the job was done. She set the glass down on the patio, her fingers brushing against the firm coil of the hose they used for watering the garden, and as she watched Killian sprint across the yard after the last, stubborn bird, she got a perfectly wicked idea.

He'd made a few passes around the yard, Cinnamon dodging into the raspberries when he rooted her out of the garden, but no matter how quick he was, she was faster, her beady eyes never leaving him as she pranced through the grass like a tiny, cheeky dinosaur, always just out of arm's reach. It wasn't until he paused mid yard to catch his breath that Emma struck, the hose already primed and ready as she pulled the trigger and let a spray of cool water douse him, his muscles tensing as he jumped out of range and spluttered, wiping the rivulets of clear water from his eyes, his hair plastered to his head.

“Oh, you'll pay for that, Swan,” he promised, stepping forward with a dark intensity that had her scooting back on the lounge chair, her hands raised in front of her to ward off any tickling he was likely make her suffer.

“You looked so hot,” she begged, her voice rising an octave as he drew closer, droplets spraying from his hair as he shook his head and graced her with a sinful smirk, “hot and thirsty...I just thought – ”

She was about to scream, her body already on edge at the mere thought that he might tickle her, but then he stopped, both of their heads swiveling to the garden shed where they could here the clamor of something knocking and a plaintive bock that sounded for all the world like it was coming from the bottom of a well.

“Well, your punishment will just have to wait, love – that's too good an opportunity to pass up,” Killian grinning, walking swiftly to the shed where Emma could just see the fluffy bottom of Cinnamon framed by two flapping wings, her head stuck in the open neck of an old water can.

Triumphantly, Killian picked up both the bird and the can, soothing her with quiet sounds as he coaxed her free and dropped her back into the pen with her sisters, her soft orange feathers looking only a little worse for the wear as she rejoined the flock with a confused warble.

Emma's heart thumped in her chest as her husband finally turned his attention back to her, no more chickens to distract him, and advanced across the yard, the ripple of his muscles as he moved making her core clench and her nipples harden beneath her tank top – fuck if she didn't always want him, and pregnancy hadn't done anything but make that need more sharp, more constant.

“Killian,” she pleaded, licking her lips as he strode toward her, that same determination she'd seen earlier now focused entirely on her. “You could have gotten heat stroke. It's got to be ninety – ”

She yelped as his large hands gripped the bottom of the lounge chair and pulled it closer, its wheels grating against the patio as she held on, her bare foot running along the side of her leg in anticipation.

“You were quite right, love – I was getting quite thirsty.” Letting go of the chair, he kept his blue gaze locked on hers as his palms traced the firm lines of her calves, pressing deliciously into her muscles and sliding up towards her thighs as he leaned closer, “and now that you've sated that need, I can focus on more important matters.”

“Oh?” she breathed, every other part of her brain shutting down as her body screamed for him to touch her, to take her right there on the lounge chair, “and what would that be?”

“Well, a bit of hard labor always makes a man hungry, Swan,” he growled, his hands swiveling to press against the inside of her knees, her legs falling open on the lounger as he filled the space between them, his fingers deftly pulling the adjustment on the side of the chair and carefully lowering the head rest so she was nearly flat, her view of him suddenly blocked by the roundness of their child – it was the only thing she missed, being able to see him so sinfully enjoying himself between her legs.

“And I intend to enjoy every last bite of my dessert,” he finished, his fingers making her jump as they brushed against her inner thigh, pushing the light fabric of her shorts and panties to the side as he exposed her. “I knew you'd already be sopping wet for me, love...”

Emma whimpered as she felt the welcome press of his stubbled cheek against her leg, his breath hot against her damp folds for only an instant before the sensation was washed away by his tongue lightly dragging through her arousal, her back arching as he curled the tip of it around her clit, just barely nudging beneath its hood to tease the sensitive nerves within.

“Oh my god,” she hissed, her fingers wrapping tightly around the edges of the lounger as she pushed forward, desperate to have his mouth sealed over her, sucking and licking and making her feel as if she could shatter with one flick of his tongue – knowing she would. “Killian, please...”

“Now be a good girl,” he whispered, pulling back as she writhed closer. “I intend to savor this, just as you savored watching me chase those bothersome fowl around the yard.”

“You shouldn't have forgotten to lock the door,” Emma whined – why she was arguing, she wasn't sure, after all, it wasn't talking she wanted his mouth occupied with.

“Ah, but I didn't let the chickens out this morning,” he chided, licking a stripe along her leg before returning to her drenched folds, teasing along the edges of them as he drank down her essence. “I was dropping Henry off at work, if you recall.”

“Oh!” Emma gasped as his tongue slipped into her, stroking another wave of wetness from her walls as his lips massaged her flesh – oh, that was right, she remembered it now, letting them out, dropping the lid to the feed bin on her foot and forgetting to latch the gate. “Oh my god....fuck...Killian, please...”

She could feel his grin against her as he pushed her legs wider, the top of his head bumping against her belly as he moved up. The flat of his tongue licked straight through her wetness and encircled her clit, his lips pursing as he sucked on her small, swollen nub, his scruff razing her thighs and countering the overwhelming roll of pleasure that was spiraling between her legs.

“So delicious, Emma,” he moaned between her sharp gasps, leaving her only a moment's relief before he returned to making her crumble around him, alternating between sucking and laving her clit, his fingers reaching between them to slide into her tight sheath, her walls grasping and pulling as soon as he entered, eager to be filled. “I could feast on you like this all day...”

Something between a cry and a scream fell from her lips as she clutched the lounger, the pleasure building in her core spiraling and writhing and threatening to pull her apart as his rough fingers stroked her swollen walls, his tongue darting down to swallow every drop of arousal that was slipping from her, his breath fast and needy against her hot flesh – and then with a rough press of his fingers and soft flicks of his tongue, she was falling, tumbling, breaking apart around his mouth as her orgasm rolled through her like a storm.

She eased her hips up without realizing what was happening, Killian's strong hands caressing her flesh at the same time he slipped her shorts from her body, leaving her half clothed in their backyard, her mind still spinning from his incredible mouth, the sounds of the outdoors and the cars in the distance only just filtering back to her.

“That was...”

“I know,” he smirked, tossing her shorts to patio as he hooked his fingers into his own and drew them down over the impressive length of his cock, its swollen thickness bobbing against his stomach with urgency, “and now that I've eaten, I think we can move onto taking care of my other needs.”

“Killian,” she rasped, her words muffled against the material of the lounger as he gently lifted and guided her, turning her still reeling body over so that her hips were raised in the air, her sopping folds open and framed by her pale thighs as her face rested against the cushion.

“Yes, love,” he hummed, drawing a groan from her as he ran his cock through her folds, coating it in her arousal before slapping it cheekily against her bottom. “Is there something you wanted to say, perhaps?”

“I left the...accidentally...” she mumbled, coherent thought fleeing her as she felt the thick press of the head of his cock against her pleading center, her folds parting around its velvet roundness as he slowly entered her.

“What was that, darling?” His hardness slid unhurriedly into her, his strong hands holding her achingly in place as she sought that burning fullness that came when he was in her completely, but her walls pulsed longingly around just the tip of him, anticipating when they would be stretched to their limit.

“Fuck...Killian, please, need you in me...all of you,” she begged, wriggling against his grip as he grunted and gave her a few shallow thrusts, the swollen head of his cock so close to that sensitive, ribbed place inside of her that would scream with pleasure as he rolled over it.

“Aye, I know what you need, Swan, but you won't get it just yet...” He pulled out slowly, his fingers grasping her full bottom and squeezing as he watched his cock slip from her, only the flushed, glistening edges of her folds still brushing against his sensitive flesh. “Not until you admit what you did.”

“I forgot,” she hissed in a rush of air, pushing hard against his grasp, his nails almost certainly leaving red marks in her pale skin as she struggled to slide herself back onto his hard length, needing it like she needed to breath. “I left the gate open for the chickens to get – get out...”

“There we are, Swan,” he crooned, his grip easing as he swatted her on the bottom and leaned forward, a keening whimper falling from her mouth as he lodged himself completely within her, her nails dragging across the cushion as she rolled her hips to adjust to his girth. “Now was that so hard?”

She would have laughed if she didn't think she would cry from how amazing it felt to have him buried inside of her, every inch of her core throbbing around him and begging to be stroked by his beautiful cock.

“Very hard,” she breathed, squeezing his member inside of her and reveling in the deep groan it pulled from his chest, a mischievous smile twisting her lips. “Are you mad at me?”

“Never, Emma,” he whispered, his words ghosting along her back as he leaned over her and placed a reverent kiss to her shoulder, his hand trailing along her body until it came to rest against her swollen stomach, drawing small circles against her taut skin. “There's nothing I love more than indulging the beautiful...” He thrust roughly into her, her cry of pleasure lodging between his ribs like the most exquisite knife as he withdrew “...forgetful...” Another drive of his hips buried him in her once more, her body trembling as her walls clung desperately to his cock “...mother of my child...”

A wavering cry hung between them as he sunk deeply into her again, stilling for only a moment before his hips snapped back and he set the punishing pace she was craving, greedy, desperate pleas falling from her lips as he pistoned into her, his skin burning with a heat that roared from deep in his gut to blaze along every inch of his body.

Emma clung to the lounger as Killian filled her over and over again, his member caressing the most intimate parts of her and pulling from her noises she'd only ever shared with him, her panting breaths lost amid the slap of their skin meeting, the back of her thighs stinging from the scrape of his hair as he pounded into her, whispering things into the air that had her core throbbing with sinful pride.

It didn't take them long, the hot sun beating down against them as he roared over her, her upper body limp and clutching the cushion beneath her as he finally came, the vicious pulsing of his cock sending her over that beautiful horizon once more, her tight sheath squeezing him as he washed her insides with his release, their bodies shivering and trembling together as those last waves licked their skin – electric and burning and perfectly right.

His cheek was rough and hot against her back as his cock finally softened and slipped from her, pulling a last whimper from her lips as her wet flesh was left cool and exposed, everything throbbing pleasantly. His fingers traced soothing lines along her legs and sides, a soft chuckle reverberating against her back.

“Something funny, pirate?” she murmured, her back starting to ache even though she felt too boneless to move.

“It just occurred to me that I may very well find the chickens loose more often after this...lovely afternoon interlude.”

“I make no promises,” she quipped.

“I've have always said you've a little bit of pirate in you, Swan,” he rumbled, pinching her bottom before gently rolling her to lay sideways on the lounger, his arms pulling her close to his chest.

“Well, more than a little,” she reminded him, drawing his calloused palm over her stomach, their not-so-little pirate rolling happily against them both as they soaked in the warmth of another lazy afternoon. Everything was bathed in that burnt, hazy afterglow that comes with summer, nearly tempting them to fall asleep – at least until something moving across her field of vision had Emma's eyes springing open, her mouth opening in surprise.

“Is that...Killian, did you check that the latch was actually shut after you put the chickens back in?”

Her husband's stubble scraped her skin as he peeked over her shoulder and watched the slow march of fowl making their way around the edge of the garden, scratching and pecking and looking far more recuperated from their last encounter than he currently felt.

“Bloody hell...”

END

Tagging: @justanother-unluckysoul @kmom0f4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @donteattheappleshook @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop

#Captain Swan #CS fic #cs fanfic #emma swan #killian jones #sailtoafarawayland #humor #pregnant emma #the chicken debacle

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wefoundloveunderthelight · 4 years ago

Text

Waterfall Memories by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Chapter 4/9

Read on AO3: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly

Chapters titles are based on the lyrics from “Stubborn Love” by The Lumineers

Chapter 4: So Pay Attention Now

“You’re going to be a beautiful bride.”

“But I’m just not sure he’s the right man for me, mama.”

“Emma, of course he is. You love him. Don’t you?”

She sat up with a start, her head hurting and her leg throbbing. What was she dreaming? There was a name…what was the name? She squeezed her eyes shut trying to remember the conversation she was just having in her sleep with the dark-haired woman. What did she call her?

Dammit. It was gone.

“You’re awake.” She looked toward the door to see the man standing there, holding a mug in his hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Cold.” She whispered, dragging the covers up over her. Realizing that she was back in her or his pants again.

“Here, drink this.”

“No thank you, the last one knocked me out.”

“That was the pain that knocked you out, not the rum. But this isn’t rum.” He handed her the warm mug and she looked down into the glass at the dark liquid steaming. “It’s cocoa. Figured you might be cold.”

She took a sip and reveled in the warmth that filled her tummy. “Thank you.” She said quietly.

“No problem, Swan.” He turned to walk away.

“Sorry, what did you call me?”

He looked back at her, his hand immediately brushing his ear which was turning pink. “Um… Swan. Figured it was a suitable nickname until we figure out who you are.”

“Ok, but why Swan?”

He smiled warmly before looking away from her. “Uh, you have a birthmark on your inner thigh.” He coughed and exited the room.

She lifted the covers and examined her thigh. She immediately flushed at the thought of him examining such a personal area. She reached under the covers and lifted her pants trying to see in the dark whether he was teasing her or not. She couldn’t see anything and exhaled loudly before taking another sip of her cocoa.

They fell into a quiet routine, Killian would bring her breakfast, lunch, and dinner in bed. He would check her wounds, change her bandages, and ensure that she was feeling alright. Jolly never left her side to the dismay of the man. She was sure she had heard him curse under his breath each night that he called the dog and instead he curled into her side and went to sleep instead of following him into the other room to bunk with him on the couch.

She was beginning to feel better except for the fact that she still had no idea who she was. She hadn’t dreamed again since that night after he set her leg. No clues were coming to her while she stared out the window at the continuing onslaught of rain that fell day and night. She had watched through the window as Killian piled sandbags around the cabin, keeping the pooling liquid from invading their dry space.

He would return soaked to the bone, tearing his shirt from his body before entering the bedroom to find dry clothes, his cheeks turning red as she stared at him from her spot on the bed. She didn’t have to know who she was to recognize that he was an extremely attractive man.

She had to remind herself at times to stop staring at him, getting lost in the blue of his eyes when he would bring her food. He never stayed with her while she ate, choosing to disappear from her sight to eat on the other side of the house.

She finished her current meal and sat the plate beside her, sitting up and spinning her legs to hang off the bed. She hadn’t tried to stand in days. How long had it been? The days and nights seemed to blur together as the rain never relented and the sun breached the clouds. She put weight on her unharmed foot. Reaching out she braced her hand against the wall, stepping down lightly on her injured leg. She winced but was able to hop across the floor to the other side of the bed. She peered out of the door; the rest of the tiny cabin wasn’t much bigger than the room she was sleeping in.

Standing at the sink, the man was washing the dishes in the large basin. He set something in the drawer beside the sink, and then he paused. His shoulders were tense as he stared into the drawer, the running water was the only sound traveling through the cabin as he seemed locked in a trance.

“Can I help you?”

Killian jumped, cursing, and slamming the drawer shut before turning around to face her. “Bloody hell, woman, why are you out of bed?”

“I can’t stay back there forever.” She complained as he rushed to her side, grabbing her by the arm and turning her around. “Please. I don’t want to be in there alone.”

He paused. “Fine, but you need to sit down.” He helped her to the couch and moved a few pillows before he helped her down onto the seat.

Jolly jumped up beside her and rested his head in her lap.

“Damn dog.” The man cursed under his breath. Standing and looking around the room. “Can I get you anything?”

“Killian, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine. Sit.” She watched him contemplating whether to comply or put up a fight. “Please.” She added.

He sat on the other side of the dog, staring toward the window. “I keep thinking the storm is letting up, but it seems to find new fury each day.”

“Is it normal to rain this much?”

“Storm of the century.” He shrugged.

“Just my luck I guess.” She said sourly.

“You still can’t remember how you go out here?”

“Not a clue. I had a dream a few days ago. I think it might have been about my life but…” She exhaled anxiously. “I couldn’t remember it when I woke up.”

“Well, as soon as this storm lets up, we’ll figure it out.” He said flatly.

“But…” She paused, biting her lip. “What if someone bad is out there. You know, looking for me.”

“Why would you think that Swan?” She blushed lightly at the sound of his pet name for her.

“Why else would I be out here in that…outfit.” She added with an air of disgust. “Maybe someone did kidnap me, and I got away.”

“Or you were out here with your boyfriend and had a mishap.”

“Ok but why hasn’t he come looking for me then?”

“I’m pretty far out here. It would take a skilled hiker to find the area, honestly.”

“But I got out here.”

“It is a mystery, I must admit.”

“How did you get out here?” She inquired and she could see the way his body tensed at the personal question.

“Just wanted some peace and quiet, I suppose.” She knew he wasn’t telling the truth. His body language might as well have just pointed a sign over his head that said, I’m lying.

“A lot of people want peace and quiet, that doesn’t mean they live in the middle of nowhere. Surely you have a better reason for it than that.”

“Says the woman who doesn’t even know her name.”

“I have time. I’ll wait.” She smirked, petting the dog between them.

“You really are stubborn, aren’t you?” She thought about it. Was she stubborn? She had no idea honestly. It made her head hurt. “Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to…”

“It’s alright. I just don’t know why I can’t remember anything.”

He chuckled. “That large knot on your head might be the cause.”

She slipped her hand into her hair, reaching back to touch the spot on her head that was still swollen and painful Her fingers got caught in a wad of tangled hair. “Ugh. I don’t have to know who I am to know that my hair is a wreck.”

“I suppose now that you’re feeling better, a bath might be a good idea.”

“God yes.” She groaned, closing her eyes imagining warm water and clean hair. When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her, his jaw tense. He swallowed before looking away from her.

“I’ll draw you a bath.” He stood quickly, walking out of the room.

While he was gone she took a moment to look around the cabin, it was very simple, not a single photo or painting adorned the walls. She couldn’t get a single read on who the man who had been taking care of her was.

He returned to the room after a few minutes, reaching down to take her hand. “Alright Swan, let’s see if you are able to get into the tub.” He helped her up from her spot and walked her to the bathroom, pausing as they stood in front of the tub. She laughed at the height of the walls of the tub in front of her. There was no way she was going to be able to lift her leg into it.

“Well, that’s not going to work unless you want me to fall into it.”

“Ok Swan, watch the attitude.” He smirked, turning toward her, and staring down at her pants. “Just take them off.”

“What?”

“Are we going to do this again? If you take off the pants, I can lift you in and then you can take the rest of your clothes off after I leave.”

She looked between him and the tub and realized she had no other option. “Fine.” Bending over she dropped her pants to the ground, tugging her shirt so that it covered her lower half. Before she had a moment to feel uncomfortable he leaned over, sweeping her into his arms and depositing her into the water.

“Towels are right there.” He pointed to a chair next to the tub and then walked out, cracking the door. “I’ll just be out here.”

Emma undid the buttons on her shirt, dropping it to the floor and sinking down into the tub. The hot water was divine as it covered her body, heating her up from the outside in. She closed her eyes, her head resting on the edge, trying to think about her life. Blurry images seemed just out of reach, words on the tip of her tongue. Why couldn’t she remember?

She ran a hand into her hair, leaning her head into the water and slipping below the surface. Reaching for the shampoo she rubbed it into her hair, struggling to get it through her hair by only using one hand. She was never going to be able to do this alone. She looked around the room with a groan.

“Killian.” She called out and she heard his voice outside the door.

“Swan, are you alright?”

She rolled her eyes, peering down her body at the birthmark very high up on her thigh. “I need help but um…”

“Help with what?”

“I’m trying to wash my hair and I can’t do it with one hand. Can you…can you do it with your eyes closed?” She bit her lip.

“What?” His voice cracked.

“Can you wash my hair with your eyes closed.”

“Are you bloody serious?”

“Please?”

~*~

Killian stood outside the bathroom door wondering what he had done to get stuck in this situation. He just needed this woman to get out of his cabin and now she wanted him to wash her hair? He was Killian Jones, ex-convict, murderer, he didn’t wash strange beautiful women’s hair.

“I’m coming in.” He groaned, closing his eyes, and immediately bumping into the tub. “How am I supposed to do this? I can’t see anything.”

“That’s the point.”

“Bloody hell woman, it’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”

“That’s not the point.” She protested. His eyes opened and she wrapped her arms around her breasts. “You weren’t supposed to look.”

“If you want your hair washed, then I’m going to need to use my eyes to do it.” He reached over and took the shampoo bottle in his hands, squirting the liquid into his palm. Bending over, he plunged his hand into her hair, rubbing the shampoo into her blonde locks, massaging each strand between his fingers. His eyes slipped from her hair, roaming down her soapy wet skin. He tried to stop at her neck, but he found himself roaming her chest, the way her hands cradled her breasts with her fingers splayed out against the moist skin. He could barely make out the milky white flesh hidden in the water, bubbles of soap blocking his view from seeing the expanse of her inner thigh, the delicate swan birthmark hiding in the heated water.

She let a soft moan leave her lips as he continued to massage her scalp in his hands and his elbow almost slipped into the water from the distraction. Bloody hell the woman was a goddess. He stilled his hands. “Alright, love, down you go.” She slipped down into the water and he ran his fingers through her locks, ensuring the soap was gone from her hair as she emerged from the water like a sexy siren. Fuck.

His tongue darted out across his lips as her pert nipples dripped with fresh water, her skin glistening. “Um, yeah so do you have it from here?” He asked nervously, jumping up from his spot on the floor and walking out the door without waiting for an answer, closing it quickly behind him, his head falling back against the wood the moment it clicked shut. His hand slid across the front of his pants, feeling the extent of the woman’s effect on him. He cursed himself internally and walked into the living room, stepping outside of the house, and shutting the door to the cabin.

Standing outside under the porch eaves, the rain dripping down into the mud that had become his front yard, he shut his yes and took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind from the thoughts that were threatening to destroy him.

~*~

Emma lay in the water, her breathes coming out uneven. She couldn’t remember anything about her life, but she was sure that she had just gotten the most erotic hair washing she had ever experienced. The thoughts and images that came to mind as he worked his hands against her scalp had to be illegal. Suddenly she could just imagine what he could do with those fingers.

She was being ridiculous. For all she knew she had a husband or a boyfriend or someone who cared about her. She looked at her hand, there was no ring on her finger. Of course, that meant nothing, she was being ridiculous. But God if she didn’t almost lose it from the way his eyes roamed her body. She ran her hand over her face, wiping the sweat from her brow. Looking around for a towel she tried to stand and realized there was no way she was getting out of this tub alone.

Dammit.

“Um, Killian.” There was only silence through the house. She grabbed the edge of the tub and pulled herself to a standing position. She could do this. She leaned over and grabbed a towel while balancing herself on one leg. Wrapping the towel around her she tried to step out and slipped, a scream leaving her throat.

The door swung open, and Killian rushed to her side. “Sorry, Swan. I realized you may not be able to get out of this bloody thing. Are you alright?”

She smiled. “Yes, I’m fine.” In one move, he bent over and gathered her into his arms, lifting her out of the tub and carrying her to the bed.

“Let me get you some fresh clothes.” He went through his drawers, pulling clothing and tossing them to the bed. “I found these yesterday, I think they will keep your feet warm.” He held up a pair of thick socks and sat down on the bed reaching for her feet. Slowly he pulled the socks onto her toes and up her ankles. He patted her leg and smiled. “There, that should help.” Their eyes met and she felt her throat go dry, the blues of his eyes boring into her. “I’ll uh, I’ll let you get dressed.”

He stood and stepped out of the door. She pulled the shirt over her head, inhaling the scent that smelled of the mysterious man who had taken care of her. Dragging the sweatpants up her legs, she pulled them onto her waist. When she finished drying her hair she hopped to the door, opening it and seeing him sitting on the couch, a book in his hand. He looked up and started to stand.

“I’m good. Stay there.” She smiled and hopped to the couch, lowering herself down onto the seat.

“Feel better?”

“Oh God yes.” She laughed. “I feel human again.”

He smiled at her, the dimple in his cheek causing her to blush. She had no idea why he was having an effect on her. She didn’t even know him, except for the fact he had saved her life. Saving someone’s life is sexy as hell, right?

“So…” She said, letting it hang in the air. “Since I have no idea who am I, maybe you can tell me about yourself.”

He tensed. “Not much to tell.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“About six years.” He said simply without adding any additional details.

“You’ve been out here for six years?” She said, her eyes wide with shock. “Alone?”

“Aye.”

“Why?”

“Long story.” He supplied.

She laughed, looking out the window at the storm. “Don’t think I have anywhere else to be.”

“I uh, had a life in Boston once.” He stared off in the distance. “But uh, things didn’t work out, so I ended up here.”

She waited for him to continue when she realized he was done she snorted. “Wow, that’s the shortest long story I have ever heard.”

He stood from the couch, “Are you hungry?” She tried not to feel insulted by how quickly he wanted to be away from her, from the conversation. She knew he was hiding something. She pushed herself up from the couch.

“Only if I can help.”

“That’s not necessary, Swan.”

She stood anyway. “Too bad.” He rolled his eyes, and she was sure she heard him mumble the word stubborn under his breath, but he allowed her to stand from her spot and he guided her to the kitchen, leaning her against the counter.

“You can cut the vegetables.” He said, resigning himself to her assistance.

Emma smiled and took the onions and peppers from his hands, leaning against the counter she sat them down and looked around for a knife. “Do I tear them with my hands, or do you have a knife?” She teased.

“First drawer by the sink.” He gestured behind her.

She turned around, sliding the drawer out and looking down for the knife. Instead, she was met with smiling faces. In the broken frame were three people, the man standing beside her, a woman, and a small girl all smiling at the camera, their arms wrapped lovingly around each other. She reached around the frame and pulled the knife out of the drawer, sliding it closed without a word.

#waterfall memories #stacy's fics #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #captain swan fics #captain swan au #captain swan modern au

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captain-emmajones · 5 years ago

Note

Prompt - Dark ones Emma and Hook showing off their magic abilities to each other (some fluff before it all went to hell)

My Lover Resembles the Moon

So anon, I added a bit (a lot) of smut to your fluff, but I hope you will still like this :’))

Missing scene 5x10: Emma has found Dark Hook, had reassured him they would get rid of the darkness together by showing him their love is strong enough to muffle the voices. What happened between this scene and the one where he learns Emma has been keeping Excalibur to herself? (You know the one that opens on them kissing and looking very satisfied before it all goes to hell). Basically sex in the forest for our two dark ones, quite eager to show each other their little magic tricks.

3000 words - Smut/Fluff - Ao3

“If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression of something beautiful, but annihilating”

— Sylvia Plath.

“Come on, Hook. Let’s take a few minutes to ourselves – then we’ll join the others and defeat the darkness once and for all” Emma’s soft voice reached his ear as she gently grabbed his hand.

They were still alone, just the two of them among the trees of this endless forest in which the fresh air was a welcoming delight.

Her skin, their skin, was cold under his touch, and it was a bitter reminder that they weren’t properly alive.

However, when she was holding his hand, darkness wasn’t all that scary anymore and he could even begin to imagine getting used to it.

(For him, darkness was a very childish, very bright anger deep within his heart, an anger ready to jump and roar at the slightest noise.)

As she guided him to lie down on the soft grass, Killian noticed Emma’s skin was of a very pale white under the moonlight. Tiny sparkles shone on her face – nothing like the crocodile’s scales – and he wondered by which enchantment she still looked like an angel when she was inhabited by the deepest darkness.

As he settled his head above his free arm – they were still holding hands – and took in the view of a full moon in a sky full of stars, he felt no exhaustion in his bones, just a very peaceful humming in his soul that had replaced Rumpelstiltskin’s voice.

He could hear fireflies fly by them, could see them blink in the dark.

From the corner of his eyes, he caught a glimpse of Emma undoing her hair, and he shifted to see long, white curls fall around her face. She was a sight for sore eyes, with this halo of light that surrounded her entire body.

“You are still so beautiful, Swan,” The shy whisper of admiration escaped his mouth.

“Still?” A small chuckle shook her shoulders as she smiled, amused. “Did you expect me to turn completely crocodile on you?” Her tone was playful but very soft, and he gripped her cold fingers tighter.

It was enough, to feel her next to him. (Much like she had told him his simple presence was enough to distract her from the voices in her head, back in the castle.)

However, he did feel it, the death in him, he did feel it because suddenly he wasn’t tired or cold anymore, and the only thing he could feel was his love for Emma.

She was a tether to reality, to goodness, to hope. He couldn’t believe he had been furious at her a few minutes ago. He had felt betrayed by his love. It had been so easy to listen to the voices in his head and let wrath take him over.

He gazed at her as she rested silently next to him, a content smile on her lips.

She deserved better than this. (Than him.)

“Killian?” she suddenly called him. She did not turn her face towards him, her eyes remained fixed on the moon, and he realized he had been staring and had forgotten to answer her.

“Emma?” he echoed back. He was mesmerized by her beauty.

He saw her lips part in a smile. “You forgot to answer me.”

“You’re glowing, Swan,” was all he managed to exhale. It made her chuckle.

Green eyes find his as she shifted towards him, one hand cupping her cheek, and his heart missed a beat. “To be fair, you are rather dashing too, as you would say.”

A laughter shook his shoulders, and he completely forgot about the darkness. There was nothing else in his mind but Emma and the hand he felt strong in his, Emma and the halo of goodness surrounding her face, Emma who loved him and whom he would love until his dying breath.

“You know,” her voice broke the silence once again, “when I was eight, my foster family had a house near a forest.” She paused, and he heard the emotion in her voice, the little tremor of pain. “The other kids and I, we went to catch fireflies.”

His heart sank. He could imagine her tiny hands wrapped around the small insect, her eyes gazing at it with wonder. “I thought they were fairies” she continued on, smiling widely. “Don’t think I was that wrong, now.” And she tried laughing a bit, and Hook’s heart ached for his very fierce lover.

Leaning on his left arm, he bended towards her. She watched him, her green eyes sparkling with the reflection of the stars. He stared at her for a few seconds more, his face just above hers, and it seemed his love had become a soft ocean inside his chest.

“I love you, Swan,” he told her again. He did not give her the time to answer. Instead, he pressed his open mouth on hers, drinking her breath.

The coldness of her lips and her skin almost made him stop, moved something unpleasing inside of him, but then she was kissing him back with passion and he forgot all about it.

(It was easy to forget the darkness when she was with him, easy to replace it with a lot of love and attention, and perhaps there was no getting rid of it but this way.)

His hand found her hair, found them silky and soft, as his tongue softly played with hers. Her fingers had settled into his hair, brushed the skin of his neck, and then he let go.

He retreated just enough to see her eyes, and she was smiling, of a very content smile. He felt a very strong emotion wash over him. As long as they were together, darkness was nothing to fear.

“Can I show you a little trick?” he suddenly asked, his fingers brushing her cheek as an odd excitation tickled his heart. She smiled into his touch.

“Go ahead, Hook.”

He snapped his fingers, and a firefly appeared on her knuckles. Its tiny, round body sat on the tip of her finger and its small wings reflected the stars, and she looked at it with a lot of caution and care.

It made her smile. “Your magic is red,” she noticed out loud.

He grinned. “Aye, does that surprise you?”

She shook her head, and the firefly flew away. “No, seems very fitting for you.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. It was true that Swan’s magic was a pure light, even as she was the Dark One. “And why is that?”

She bit her lower lip, and he waited for her to answer. “You are a passionate individual,” she eventually uttered, one finger tracing the shape of his open lips.

Somehow those few words seemed to lit a very dangerous flame in his heart. The woman of his life was lying beneath him, in an empty forest, and their only companions were the crickets singing around them.

“Am I?” he tempted, and suddenly the air became incredibly warm.

“Oh yeah.” He held his breath at her quivering words, gazing intensely at her. He could have sworn they were both glowing with desire at that point.

She was the one who lifted her face and kissed him again. This kiss was less gentle than the previous one. It was a wet, trembling kiss that left them both panting by the end of it.

When they finally parted, he imagined there would have been pearls of sweat on his forehead – had he been properly alive. As for the woman lying on her back, her cheeks would have probably been the usual red they displayed when they engaged in such activities in the intimacy of his quarters. (Or for that matter, their room in Arthur’s castle lately.)

“You want to see something impressive?” she suddenly asked him, with this breathless tone that sent shivers down his spine.

“Aye, Swan,” he answered and he licked his lips in anticipation.

One snap of her fingers and suddenly she was naked under the moonlight, and his fingers were touching her skin and his eyes were all over her, and he wasn’t breathing anymore.

He swallowed, felt himself get hard under his leather pants. “That is a very interesting trick indeed,” he whispered, one finger tracing the side of her hip with thorough care, “allow me to modestly imitate you.”

Another snap and he was naked as well.

The forest suddenly seemed to be seriously lacking oxygen, as they both stared at each other. He was urged by the desire to mark each spot of the glowing skin he could see, wanted to kiss her and love her for the rest of his life.

He saw her swallow beneath him, and he realized his cock was strong and conquering against her thighs.

“Very well, Hook,” she whispered, “I see the student has outwitted the master.”

He grinned and then he was melting on her lips, kissing her passionately. She moaned in his mouth, and he shifted to settle between her legs. His hand found her core and he discovered her as wet as he was hard against her skin.

“Excited, are we, Swan?” he whispered against her lips, before beginning to kiss her milky neck.

She buried her hands in his hand while her legs wrapped themselves around his torso. And she was lazily pressing her wet core against his erection, and it was soon a struggle to continue on simply kissing her skin.

“Well, that is very presumptuous of you to say, Captain,” she uttered, and he could imagine the grin on her face.

“Indeed, Swan,” and he left a wet, open mouth, kiss between her breasts that sent shivers in her body.

He desperately wanted to take her, right now, especially when she was rubbing herself like this against his bare skin, and he could only think about what it would feel like to be inside of her, in her heat.

He summoned his inner strength to take his sweet time to kiss her whole body. She soon became impatient, and grabbed his cock to guide him inside of her but he stopped her – pining her hand above her head.

“Bad form, Swan,” he grinned, kissed her cheek, while she angrily rubbed harder against him. “Very bad form,” and he was stepping away to look at her in the eye.

He saw the delicious fury in her eyes, and before he knew it he was suddenly under her. Magic.

“I’ll show you bad form,” she affirmed, now on top of him, and if they had been alive her hair would have stuck to her forehead.

Instead, it hurtled down her back with great beauty. She pressed herself entirely against him to kiss him once again, and he wrapped his arm tightly around her.

She was driving him crazy. Letting his lips go, she took it upon herself to paint his skin with her kisses, starting with his neck. She pressed kisses all along his chest, down his stomach, and he realized he had been shutting his eyes when he opened them and found her gazing straight at him, just above his cock.

“See anything you like, Captain?” she asked him, her breath tickling his sensitive skin.

He held his breath, fisted his hands to hold back the tension inhabiting his body.

“Aye, very much so.”

She smiled again, of that impish, dangerous grin, and he was completely hers.

“Good,” she whispered and then her mouth was over his cock. He clung to the blades of grass under them, breath stuck in his throat.

Her hands had gently grabbed the base of his penis, while she pressed kisses along his length. Although his eyes were close, he could see stars.

“Swan,” he moaned, and she was taking him completely into her mouth, and his toes were curling.

She was ridiculously good at this. It wasn’t fair.

As she sucked, and kissed, and sucked some more, he felt himself get dangerously close to coming.

“Let me go” The small, urgent whisper echoed in the night. Wen she looked up, he seized the opportunity to grab her. “Sorry Swan, but we want this fun to last longer,” and with a swing of his hips, he was on top of her again.

“Very well, Captain,” she chuckled, and her tone gave away her own anticipation, “now if you please could take what is yours…”

“As you wish, Swan…”

She guided him to her entrance while he rested his forearms on the fresh grass. In one long, a bit too abrupt stroke, he was inside of her, and he did not remember her to feel this good.

“Bloody hell,” he whimpered, staying still for a few seconds to allow her to adjust to him.

“Right,” she smiled, arms wrapped around his neck, “the only good side of the darkness—,” she started.

“—is the sex, bloody hell, I can see that,”

He had learned in the secret of their room in King Arthur’s castle that she had been having stronger orgasm than usual. He had, of course, been very intrigued. “Perhaps it only means I’m getting better day by day, Swan.” She had chuckled. “I can assure you, you’ve always been good but it’s as if the darkness amplifies my sensations…” And then he had taken it upon himself to prove her that her orgasm had everything to do with him and none with the darkness.

Clearly, as he rocked his hips with hers, he realized just how very wrong he had been.

The slow friction was soon not enough for the both of them.

She buried a chuckle in the warmth of his neck. “Let me turn around,” she asked him.

“Your wish is my command.”

He withdrew himself to let her lie down on her stomach, and the sight of her ass under the moonlight was quite literally heaven sent.

“Bloody hell, Swan,” he whispered, transfigured by what he was seeing.

She was making herself comfortable underneath him, crossing her arm under her head, and lifting her hips so that he could have full access to her body.

He licked his lips as his open palm traced the shape of her ass, and the line that went down to her clitoris. A shiver shook her as one, lazy finger penetrated her and she muffled a moan against her arms.

She was so very wet.

He couldn’t resist it. He leaned forward and kissed her there, his hand grabbing the full flesh.

“Hook,” she groaned with a husky voice.

He was tracing the shape of her inner folds with his tongue, a tongue that found itself very adventurous against her skin and explored her inner folds as well. He could feel how tense she was under his touch. Then, he was sucking her clitoris and her entire body was shaking.

He felt her come closer and closer, in the way her thighs were lifting, tensed, and that’s when he decided to step back.

“Hook!” the angry whispered attacked him right away.

He chuckled a bit, and bounced back on his knees.

“Coming to your rescue, princess…”

Spreading wider her legs, he settled between them. With one hand, he penetrated her again and she felt so delicious against his skin he closed his eyes in delight.

Bending towards her, he pressed a wet kiss between her shoulder blades while he went in her in long strokes.

When they had both come, she settled between his arm, and he snuggled her close. She still smelt like Emma.

And perhaps was he still just Killian. Perhaps was there a way out for them. (But where had all the fireflies gone?)

As she laid between his arms, he had this terrible, naïve, and selfish thought: they could run away – together. They could run all through the forest and never come back. They could be happy, together, even with this darkness inside of them. There was nothing they couldn’t do. There would be no more Dark Ones but them and their love.

She tightened her grip around his waist, and he pressed a kiss against her temple.

Selfishly, he almost wanted her to choose him – and he recognized the voice of darkness echoing in his thoughts. This voice murmured that he should be enough to make her completely and utterly happy – darkness and all – if only she truly loved him.

(Oh, he was aware of the fact that this simply wasn’t a reality possible for them. Even if he asked her to run, even if she said yes, it would destroy them. Hypothetically, he wasn’t sure how long it would take her to miss her entire family and to want go back and to hate him for having made her chose.

There wasn’t a reality in which she wouldn’t turn around to face him one day, and he would only see in her eyes disgust and betrayal and regrets.)

But the thing was, he knew her to be the only person necessary to his happiness.

She pressed another lazy kiss to his collarbone.

She was his happy ending and his one true love and she would be his light in the darkness as well.

As they lay together on the ground, he couldn’t help but notice the fireflies had stopped blinking in the night.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfics #cs smut #5x10 #missing scene #and the ungoing saga of me writing missing smut scenes continues lmao #hope you will like this anon :) <3 #i apologize for any typos #my brain hurts and refuses to english atm #my stuff #Anonymous

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snowbellewells · 5 years ago

Text

The Case of the Heart in Armor: Part Four

{I apologize again that this story keeps taking longer than I anticipate to update. This particular segment keep growing, and my inspiration and ideas for how to end this one keep ebbing and flowing unpredictably. Anyway, I’ll let you get to it rather than continuing to ramble. Enjoy!}

{This fic was eventually begun as part of the first @csrolereversal event back in the fall, and inspired by this lovely fanart by @courtorderedcake.}

Summary: Killian “Holmes” Jones is rarely surprised or shocked anymore, but that all changes when he meets one very stubborn - and very beautiful - pickpocket, and trouble brews in the distance, hidden by the London fog…

Previous Chapters: Part One Part Two Part Three

“The Case of the Heart in Armor”

by: @snowbellewells

Part Four

It didn’t take long for Killian Jones and Emma Nolan to make their way back through the darkly clouded London streets to reach her home again. Not much was said, and Killian felt this perplexing young woman stealing glances over at him, anxious, ill at ease, and almost embarrassed, if he had to guess - though he couldn’t fathom why. True, they did not know each other well, but they were on the same side. If the older sibling whom she clearly looked up to trusted him, surely she knew she was safe with him, even on this strangely deserted nighttime street unchaperoned. For a second, Jones almost chuckled to himself at the mental image of how she might react to the idea of needing a chaperone at all.

Shaking his head, Killian refocused and stole a quick glance of his own. Though the still-obscuring fog made it hard to see clearly, Ms. Nolan was indeed blushing and fidgeting, wringing her hands together, even as she kept brisk pace with him easily. What had her so abashed? There was no need for her to feel foolish in the slightest; she had thought she was being pursued in a city where a violent killer was on the loose. That was enough to shake even the stoutest of constitutions. She was not made of stone - nor did he expect her to be.

“This is me,” Emma interrupted his inner musings abruptly. She had stopped at a set of steps up into a sturdy brick apartment building, gesturing to indicate they had reached her dwelling.

“Brilliant, Lass,” Jones nodded, acknowledging her words and turning to face her on the sidewalk.

As uncomfortable as she had appeared on their journey, he had fully expected her to blurt out a goodbye and flee up the stairs to the door, but instead Emma shuffled her feet as if reluctant to leave. As fractious as their previous encounters had been, sparking into fire that poked and prodded at his own hard exterior, mocking, infuriating, and then stirring his blood, Killian didn’t know what to expect from her hesitation, but found he wanted her to stay as well.

Finally, she raised those bright green eyes up to face him, piercing him with the strength of her gaze, and spoke seriously. “There was something out there - before I ran into you, Mr. Jones. I gather you didn’t see it, but I was not imagining things. Nor was it some silly, flighty little fancy or whatever you might be assuming.” She squared her shoulders as she drew a quick breath, but she jutted her chin out with determination and pressed on before he could speak in reply. “You wouldn’t be the first to try to dismiss me as some irrational female, but I am not backing down. S-something was out there, and I - “

There Killian had to break in, reaching out to catch her forearm gently as she began to wave her hands wildly with her emphatic speech. “Wait, wait… hold on a second,” he tried, pulling back his hand once again when he realized after stilling her swinging gesticulations that though her voice was fierce and her stance undaunted, he could feel her slight frame trembling when he touched her. She’d had quite a fright and been plowing ahead ever since, trying not to appear as shaken as she must have been. “I didn’t doubt you at all. True, I did not see anything, but the fog was dense and I was coming from another direction, for one thing. For another, one does not work in unraveling mysteries for as long I have without realizing that things are not always as they appear.”

Emma didn’t back down, didn’t blink, yet she seemed to relax somehow. A measure of the tension between them released as she seemed to exhale at last - the tiniest bit of her guard retreating. “You...you believe me?” she finally asked, her voice much softer, almost dazed by his assertion; a definite shift from the sharp antagonism in her voice not long ago.

He nodded slightly, holding her gaze in an effort to broadcast his sincerity. “I promise you, Miss Nolan. I am not trying to discredit you.”

She gave a brief, curt nod, her adorably pert little chin bobbing sharply as she accepted his word without further argument. A tiny part of him wanted to celebrate - even laugh aloud - at the measuring way her eyes sparked, even narrowed in concentration as they were, but he held his reaction in, knowing that would undo whatever truce he had managed to reach with her. “Fine. I’ll choose to take you at your word,” she managed, holding out a hand to shake his before turning to climb the first step up to the door of her building. Then she swung around to face him again abruptly. “Oh, and Jones?” she added, with much less force. “Thank you… for showing up when you did.”

At that, Killian did have to let one corner of his mouth tick up into a pleased half-smile. Simply and definitely, he replied, “Anytime, Lass. Anytime.”

Once up the stairs and at the door in her own apartment, Emma swiftly crossed her small living room to peer out the window and down into the London street below. She didn’t want to admit why she was doing so, but it was dark and no one was going to know about it, so she let a smile of her own stretch across her lips as she got one last quick look at Killian ‘Holmes’ Jones’ lean, graceful figure before he disappeared around a corner and out of her sight. Shaking her head, Emma continued to gaze down on the foggy grey landscape below, the streetlamp lights with hazy halos around them drawing her eye once the antagonistic but attractive detective had left her field of vision. It wasn’t something she was ready to admit out loud, or to anyone else, but she had misread the maddening man. Judging from their first encounter when - yes, admittedly, she had picked his pocket; he just wasn’t meant to notice it - and their second when he’d deliberately provoked and accused her in David’s office, she had been sure he would mock her for seeing things and jumping at shadows.

Instead, he had shown up in the very moment she’d been sure she was about to be caught by some monstrous creature, steadying her, seeing her safely home, and even professing to believe her. It was pleasantly unexpected, and she wasn’t used to people surprising her positively, exceeding her expectations and first impressions. The enigmatic, dark and clever gentleman had stirred something warm and unfamiliar loose in her chest, and she had to admit as she finally closed her blinds and turned to ready herself for bed, that it was more than a little bit thrilling.

The previous fear and unease had almost evaporated from her thoughts after their conversation - and now that she was home and had some distance from the chase and panic she’d experienced. Letting her hair down and shimmying out of her skirt and blouse into her more comfortable silky shift, Emma sat on her bed to remove her buttoned and high-heeled ankle boots, letting out a deep breath to be free of her constricting clothes and the pins jabbing her scalp as they held her updo in place. Running a hand through the loosened waves of her hair, she already felt her eyelids growing heavy; sleep tugging at her after all that had gone on that day and her adrenaline flagging.

She was sleepy enough that she failed see creeping wisps of that same threatening fog slipping beneath the doorframe and around the cracks of the windowpane. Soundless, unnoticed, and gathering without her knowledge as Emma lay down, eyes still closed and lights turned out, leaving her surrounded and yet completely unaware. The smoky fingers slid across the floor, up the bedposts and nearer to her unguarded form as if possessing human purpose. The strange fog silently covered her and slid into her mouth and nose, assuring that her sleep was preternaturally sound. And lost to whatever else might sneak into the room with her, sinister intentions unimpeded.

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

Not knowing what to do with himself after he left the plucky waif who equally consternated and beguiled him, Killian had been too unsettled to simply head back to his own home and bed. He was troubled by the fact that he hadn’t seen whatever horror had been after Emma Nolan, and he didn’t understand how that could be possible when he staked his name on seeing what most others missed. Yet, he didn’t make the mistake of thinking she had dreamed up some pretend monster in an attention-seeking imagination or a nervous temperament. Clearly, she had been dismissed more than enough times to assume that was what he would do, but he already had enough of an impression of her character to know that Miss Nolan was sharp, brassy, and largely undaunted - unless what she faced was a genuine cause for concern.

He had delved in the darker crevices and corners of the city long enough in his job to know that not all things which did happen could be rationally explained. He was far too logical to claim magic, witches and fairies ran wild in the streets of London; yet, he had seen enough to know that there was not a solution to every cause which suited the laws of science and nature for a proper understanding. People did dabble in the occult at the risk of their own souls and others’ safety, and perhaps not all spirits retired peaceably from this world to the beyond immediately upon their physical passing. Whatever the case, as the great Bard himself had once written, “there were more things in Heaven and Earth”, and at the moment, one of those lesser known entities seemed more probable than dismissing out of hand the determined pickpocket for whom he had gained a grudging admiration.

Why he didn’t know, but it seemed his mind had arrived at the resolution without his conscious consent. Therefore, perhaps it would be best to return to the Chief Inspector’s offices and make sure there was no hint of the more ethereal nature in any of those troubling crime scene photos or notes. If the older Nolan, or Graham, were still working at this hour, they might even have reports from the newest victim’s scene for him to study. Mind made up, he strode off in that direction, step brisk and swift. His conscience pricked that Miss Nolan’s brother could also well wish to know of the strange encounter she had weathered this evening, even as some other corner of his being shied away from revealing what he knew instinctively she would not wish to have shared, particularly with one as concerned and protective as an elder sibling. Shaking his head in a brief moment of amused understanding, he remembered Liam’s exasperation at many of his own scrapes and close calls as they were growing up. His elder brother had not meant to coddle him of course, but he had certainly hoped to instill more caution and decorum than a younger Killian had used on his own.

Of course, those thoughts led to the rash actions and wrenching loss that had taught him the deliberation, care, and control that he now had more than enough of to last him the rest of his days. If he had listened to Liam’s cautions to slow down, to think… If he had only taken a bit more time to learn who Milah had been and what she had been fleeing… she might still…

Thankfully, before that train of grim thought could derail much further, his steps led him to the imposing stone structure and tall surrounding fence of Scotland Yard. Without further adieu, Jones made his way across the front walk, through the cavernous entry hall, and back the rather dim hallway leading to the inspector’s office. Nolan wasn’t a man who stood on excessive ceremony, more concerned with doing his job and the necessary results than etiquette and protocol. He doubted the other man would begrudge his unexpected arrival to peruse any new findings and ensure his adopted sister’s safety and well-being.

Sure enough, upon nearing the correct door, Jones rapped on the wooden frame twice and was immediately welcomed forward with a curt “Come in!” in the inspector’s brusquely resonant voice. Entering, he found Nolan standing, leaning over his desk where stark photographs and notes were spread, hands braced on the edges of the sturdy surface - clearly still trying to make sense of the clues they possessed as well. The sleeves of his crisp dress shirt were rolled up nearly to his elbows, and his stumped frustration was clear in the way the muscles of his bared forearms flexed spasmodically. The furrow between his wide, usually clear and calm eyes was deep, his suit jacket discarded in the chair behind him, and Killian could tell he had been at this for hours - with nothing new to show for it.

“Ah, Holmes,” he greeted, a wry, half-smile gracing his face and making the man look much more his usual self. “Just the pair of fresh eyes I need! Come have a look at this.”

“Did the results come back from your most recent victim?” Killian asked as he moved around the desk to where Nolan already stood. Once at the Inspector’s side, he looked down at the scattered gathering strewn across the flat surface. Though they had already noted the troubling savagery and seeming needlessness of each previous murder, the scene now added to the collection seemed almost sedate. There was still more blood than anyone should be comfortable with, but there were far fewer slices and cuts, less outward carnage on display. In fact, the only truly large enough injury to account for the wash of blood beneath the body, the dark puddle in every crime scene photo, was the gaping hole in the chest cavity, open and empty with ripped and cut off valves and arteries - and only those - where the victim’s heart should have been. It looked as though someone - or some thing - had reached in and pulled the heart from the victim’s body.

Leaning in to squint at the image more closely, trying to understand the necessity of getting one’s hand quite so dirty, to commit that amount of overkill, Jones tried to look deeper. What were they missing? What could the killer need with an actual human heart?

“Have all of the bodies been missing the heart?” Killian asked, stunned that this hadn’t been obvious to him sooner. He had studied all the previous site information as carefully as always, but none had seemed so blatantly about obtaining the single, necessary organ.

David shook his head soberly, mouth a thin, compressed line across his weary face. Scrubbing a hand down his features before answering. “No. The first two were missing numerous major internal organs. Then, as the kills continued, the number of organs missing lessened. At first, I hoped that meant the killer was getting sloppy, careless, closer to our capturing him. Then, as no other leads were forthcoming, and this sick hunt continued...well…” He shrugged helplessly, reminding Killian with a sharp twinge of guilt and conscience that this was where he was meant to come in, with his ability to see and deduce things that mere dedication and simple, straightforward policing might miss. “I thought he’d possibly lost his lair, or been interrupted and had to hurry. It never struck me that this could be about a single organ in particular. And even if it is….our suspect must have several hearts by now. So why is he still butchering people right and left?”

Inspector Nolan’s frustration was palpable, and Jones couldn’t blame him for it in the slightest. It was baffling, and more than a bit depraved. The ‘why’ of this all suddenly seemed infinitely more important than the when, where and how - even if that was the way his factual, logical mind tended to process most cases. Letting out his own huff of thwarted tension, Holmes leaned over the pictures again, so close that the edges of the separate scenes began to blur together. Then, a detail struck him that had escaped notice until that moment. For the newest set of crime scene images, out of the gaping darkness of the victim’s empty chest, it seemed something even lighter than the grey hue of the broken skin surrounding the opening stood out. Yes! Maybe... he blinked, trying to sharpen his focus once again. There was an edge of something just peeking out from the wound.

With a sharp indrawn breath, Killian pointed the barest sliver of true white out to the inspector, hardly daring to hope that his eyes were not playing trick on him. “Do you see that, Nolan? Is that… paper?”

A touch of urgency in his voice, Nolan already in motion, confirmed that he did see it and gestured impatiently for Jones to follow him. Their quick footsteps were out of the office, across the hive of the bullpen, and down the dark stairwell to the morgue in short order. “I hadn’t noticed that until you pointed it out, but the body should still be down here. We need to see just what it is.”

They barrelled around the corner at a near jog, Nolan rapping loudly on the door into the medical examiner’s domain, and nearly charging forward before the faint offer of admittance sounded from within. Jones stood slightly back, letting the man with authority and credentials make their request of his colleague. In fact, he found himself offering a half-hearted look of apology to the startled man when Nolan practically snarled that they needed to see the newest body once more and commanded they be shown to the shelf where the corpse had been stored.

Jones cannot be terribly perturbed by the results Nolan’s abruptnes grants them however, when not five minutes later they are looking down at the same view they’d had in the photograph upstairs. And sure enough, barely visible because he knows where to look, is the white edge of what can only be a thick sheet of parchment. The M.E. is still hovering nervously nearby, and at the detective’s motion, moves in with gloved hand and proper instrument to extract the indicated item. In seconds, they have it, though much the worse for wear and thoroughly stained with dried blood. Still, once the parchment had been laid on the table surface, and he and Nolan had donned gloves as well, Holmes found he could unfold the crinkled note and discern the words written in cramped, intense handwriting.

David Nolan still sported a dark scowl as his eyes scanned the strange missive and unusual text upon it. “Another dead end?!” He slammed his large hands down on the surface with a force that made the table rattle. “Why would he plant a paper full of gibberish in the body? Just to taunt us?”

“Whoa, whoa,” Killian cautioned. “It’s not gibberish. It’s Latin.” He could just make out the message showing through the vermillion stain: ‘Not just any heart will do. The only one to use is the heart in armor.’

“You speak Latin, Holmes?” the inspector asked disbelievingly.

Killian couldn’t help but smirk at the other man, waggling his eyebrow at bit despite the somber situation. “You’d be surprised what they teach you in the Royal Navy, mate.”

The inspector’s brow furrowed, looking both piqued and confused at Killian’s statement. Jones meanwhile found himself glad for the other man’s distraction. As the cryptic message began to truly sink in, he was overwhelmed by self-blame. His playful deflection had worked, Nolan had taken his knowledge at face value, and was now moving away to smooth things over with the flustered medical examiner. Thankful for the small mercy that he wasn’t having to explain just why he had closed himself off, why he never mentioned his naval service, and indeed why his own hard heart had felt cold and inadequate for so long, Killian could merely try to steady himself after the disturbing conclusion thrust upon him. Though the how and why were still largely a mystery, he could not overlook the fact that this monster had seemingly butchered all too many people in search of a heart like his.

Tagging a few who have been interested before: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @hollyethecurious @cocohook38 @resident-of-storybrooke @laschatzi @drowned-dreamer @thislassishooked @therooksshiningknight @thisonesatellite @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @darkcolinodonorgasm @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @winterbaby89 @gingerchangeling @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose

#cs ff #cs Victorian au #cs role reversal #cs fanfic for fanart #The Case of the Heart in Armor #part four #Killian 'Holmes' Jones

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caught-in-the-filter · 4 years ago

Photo

My Bad, Bad Devil, You Put the Angel in You

—an angel!Killian/demon!Emma AU PWP for CSSNS21

A/N: A huge shoutout and thank you to ultraluckycatnd for beta-ing this for me, and to the mods of @cssns for giving us another year of this event!

Heads up that this has some sacrilegious uses of Biblical references, and I totally understand and respect if that's a big nope for anyone for any reason. Most of my life, it would've been a nope for me too. I mean no attack or mockery or other ill intent toward Christianity/religion or anyone who practices any form of it.

I grew up in church but I've been questioning a lot for a long time now, and this sort of became my own little personal rebellion. (I guess writing smut in general has been, but this one is on another level.) I kind of have a love/hate relationship with this fic; it was fun when I started it, but then I got frustrated and stuck, and now I'm not sure how I feel about it anymore. And maybe I'll regret it in the future if I ever see the light again or something, but for now, I've resigned to the fact that if I'm gonna go to hell (if I even believe there is one anymore), then I might as well have a little fun with it while I can.

So if this is your thing, I hope you enjoy. If not, dl,dr, and no hard feelings.

Also, I know the title is a little long, but I couldn't resist the Doctor Who reference.

Rated: E; Words: 2904; AO3

——

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Emma purred, closing the distance between herself and the angel standing before her. With a flick of her wrist, she cast him back against the window and commanded the curtains to cross in front of him, spinning him so that he faced the glass before wrapping themselves around his wings and arms to restrain him.

“A daughter of the damned, getting in over her head?” Killian quipped, testing the hold of the thick cloth keeping him in place without fighting it.

“Mmm,” Emma hummed. Taking advantage of the fact that he hadn’t worn a shirt in favor of opening his wings, she reached around his waist and bent her arms upward so she could slowly rake her nails down his exposed chest. “You’re the one tied up, but I’m in over my head?” She twirled a few of his hairs around her finger and tugged, making him flinch.

“You make the mistake of thinking I’m not exactly where I want to be, love.” Killian glanced back at her with a devious smirk. “That is why you’re in over your head.”

“Oh, I know,” Emma smiled. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she lowered her hands and began to unlace his trousers. “I know you want to fall, don’t you?” She freed his hardening cock from its leather confines and slowly ran her hand back and forth along the length of him. “You want to rise and fall and lose yourself in the worst way.”

“With you?” Killian panted, already breathless under her sinfully skilled touch. “Hell yes.”

“Then you’re going to let them watch you fall from grace.” Emma gestured at the window in front of them, guiding Killian’s eyes to gaze out at the possibility of unwitting passersby spotting their activities, before taking him in hand once more. “You’re going to let them see you give all of yourself to a demon.” The guttural groan he made only spurred her on as she continued to pump him. “Unless you can’t handle it.”

Killian’s head fell back when Emma interrupted her stroking to grip his balls with a taunting squeeze, and he muttered under his breath, “God, forgive me,” as his eyes fluttered closed. Bucking his hips, he tried to coax her to go faster, “Yes, Emma, please yes,” but she smiled as she removed her hand and relished the whine that left his lips.

“An angel eager to sin.” She slipped her hands beneath the back of his trousers, kneading his ass for a moment before stripping off the leather, trailing kisses down his spine as she sank to the floor with the material. “Step.” With a tap to the backs of his knees, she removed the trousers completely and tossed them aside.

Emma ducked between Killian’s legs and twisted her body in one fluid motion so that she sat with her back to the window, greeted by his cock pointing right at her face.

“I want to taste you,” she said and lifted his cock so she could lick a slow stripe from base to head, swiping her tongue over the sensitive tip. Looking up at him from beneath her lashes, she cupped his ass and pulled him toward her as she took him into her mouth until he hit the back of her throat. The staccato sounds that left his lips convinced her to hold him there as long as she could, flexing her tongue along the length of him, until she had to lean back to take a breath.

“Delicious,” Emma sighed and took him in again, and again, this time guiding him back and forth, in and out, her tongue darting out to tease his balls with each plunge.

Killian panted her name amidst a slew of encouragements, lost in the way she licked and sucked and consumed him. Her grip on his ass tightened, and he bit back a moan when her finger made its way to the center and circled its find before dipping just barely inside.

“Ooh, sounds like you like that,” she parted from him long enough to tease, continuing her carefully intrigued prodding as she asked, “shall we sodomize an Angel of God?”

“It wouldn’t—” he gritted his teeth as she gave his cock a particularly strong suck, straining against the curtains holding him at her mercy, or lack thereof, “—wouldn’t be the first time, love.”

“Oh?” Emma raised an eyebrow at him, pausing for a moment before bringing him into her mouth once more, staring up into his eyes as he watched her intently.

“Aye. Though I much prefer to give than to receive.”

Of course you would, Emma thought, the pun of angelic nature not lost on her. She hummed her assent around him and sent a ripple of pleasure coursing through his body.

It was too much and not enough. As Emma relentlessly devoured him, Killian fought against the material holding him back. With one forceful downward motion, he tore the curtains in half and freed himself as he sought his glorious ascension.

His fingers laced into her hair, and for once, he allowed himself to take. His frantic thrusts were met with surprised and hungry moans, the vibrations of which sent him soaring over the edge.

“Ohh fuck. Fuck,” he cried as he spilled himself down her throat. He felt it when she swallowed as he held her still and his cock continued to pulse.

“Such a dirty mouth for such a pure being,” Emma remarked as she caught her breath when he at last let her go. She got to her feet and stood facing him, using her tongue to trace the lines of the cross tattoo on his chest as she rose, and she yelped when he pulled her flush against him, his arms tight around her.

“Oh, it can be much, much dirtier,” he growled, making her gasp as he gave a harsh tug to her hair and attacked the exposed skin of her neck with sloppy kisses and less than gentle nips and searing hot breath. She arched up into him, and it was his turn to pin her against the glass. His hand and hook frantically tore at her blouse while his mouth continued its expert assault as it made its way to hers and along her jaw until he caught her earlobe between his teeth. “Would you like that, demon?” he asked, slipping his hand beneath her waistband and trailing his lips down to the swell of her breasts. “Would you like my mouth on you where you’re warm and wet and wanting for me? Teasing you as you’ve done me, making you long for my cock as much as I long for the feel of you around me?”

Emma suddenly couldn’t find the words, too caught up in the thrill of hearing him, an angel, her angel, talk like that. Hoping to get the point across, she threaded her fingers through the haphazard locks on his head and shoved him to his knees.

“Shall I take that as a yes?” he grinned, holding her gaze as he lifted her incredibly short skirt and ran his thumb along the already soaked strip of lace she considered panties before pulling it down to her knees.

Emma leaned forward to allow the remnants of her blouse to fall to the floor before reaching for the support of the window once more as he canted her hips toward himself with the curve of his hook pressed to the small of her back.

Killian’s wing curled forward to assist with holding up the material of her skirt, the feathers tickling the top of her thigh, so he could focus his efforts on her aching core. Too eager to taste her, he wasted no time, choosing instead to start right with his mouth at her clit. She jumped at the unexpected jolt of pleasure, and he steadied her with his hand splayed against her inner thigh, inching his fingers toward her center.

“How can you be from Hell when you taste so divine, Emma?” he praised. “I could spend eternity quenching my deepest thirst between your legs.”

“Then shut up and quench it,” Emma barked. She didn’t really mean it, not completely. She loved his silver tongue, especially when he used it to talk dirty, but right now she craved him putting it to a different use.

“Ask and ye shall receive.” As he gave one more suck on her clit, Killian plunged two fingers inside her, soon increasing it to three as he stretched her and coaxed out more of her arousal onto his expertly explorative tongue.

“God, you’re so fucking good at that,” Emma sighed, tugging his hair as she rode his tongue and fingers, relishing the warm vibrations his pained groans and hungry moans ghosted over her sensitive skin.

“Oh no, love,” Killian said without relenting, looking up at her as he continued working her between words. “Don’t blaspheme. I’m not Him. I worship at your altar, Emma, and there’s no better place to be on my knees.”

“I like your Word better, anyway.” Emma’s head tipped back as her hips began to buck, but her moment of near bliss quickly turned into one of frustration. “No,” she gasped, shocked and almost offended as he pulled away with a smirk and stood to his feet, leaving her clenching on nothing and far from sated. “Come on, Killian, please! I thought you were all about giving! And how is this worship?”

“I meant what I said, love. I adore you, I do. But I am an angel, after all.” Killian chuckled. “We tend to enjoy when someone is brought to the edge before they’re granted their salvation. I need you begging for it.”

“Fucking tease,” Emma huffed, turning away from him with her arms crossed in front of her.

“Mmm,” Killian mused, “perhaps you are ready to receive more.” He nudged her legs apart with his own, a soft blow with the side of his foot kicking one out to the side, and Emma scrambled to reach her arms out in front of her for balance, her hands slipping on the window as her legs spread. Snaking his arms around her, he set his chin on her shoulder as he held her in his embrace and mused, “What do you think, love? Shall we bare you to them as I take you and show them what they can’t have, or should we keep this sinful skirt on and show them how eager you are to be ravished by an angel?”

“On, off, I don’t care which you’re into, just fuck me!”

“A bit of both then.” Killian pressed the side of his hook to her stomach and pulled her to him, holding her so that her back pressed against his chest. Lifting the front of her skirt, he handed her the bottom hem. “Hold this up for me, love.”

With a smirk, she took it between her teeth, stretching the waistband higher and pulling the material taut between her breasts as she leaned her head back onto his shoulder and winked at him.

“There’s a good girl.” He smiled and raised the bit between them with the tip of his hook, taking himself in hand. “You pretend you like to rebel, but you behave so well for me. Now, tell me what you want.”

“I said, I want you to fuck me,” Emma answered, slightly muffled by her skirt, frustratedly trying to swivel her hips in the hopes of getting him inside her.

He draped her skirt over his hand and wrapped his hooked arm around her once more to still her. Her annoyance encouraged him to tease her all the more, and he brushed the tip of his cock between her folds agonizingly slowly as he said, “I need you to be more specific, love. What do you want?”

“Fuck, Killian, I want your cock inside me.” Emma almost dropped her skirt when he filled her in one smooth slide, her jaw instinctively ready to fall open, but she caught herself and clenched it instead, biting down hard on the material with a groan at the sudden stretch.

“Very good.” The tip of his hook dimpled her flesh, dangerously close to piercing her, as he held her against himself and slammed into her from behind. His fingers laced themselves between hers and he caressed up the side of her body as he brought her hand to rest on the back of his neck. Emma raised her other hand in kind, and Killian moved his to her breast, kneading and squeezing it as he lost himself in the feel of her.

“Fuck, you feel fucking amazing around me, Emma. Not even heaven compares to the feel of you.” Killian licked a stripe along Emma’s collarbone and clamped his mouth over the spot, digging his teeth into her flesh. She moaned at the thought of the mark she’d wear tomorrow.

Bringing his arm back, Killian pressed it across Emma’s shoulder blades, pinning her chest to the glass in front of them with an arch in her back that jutted her ass out at him, and this time Emma did drop her skirt as her mouth opened on a loud moan at the forceful change of angles. Killian grunted and tucked his hook beneath the waistband, ripping it apart with the sharp tip and watching it fall as he pounded into her.

“I told you to hold that,” he growled against the shell of her ear. “Perhaps you are a naughty little minx after all.” Killian swatted Emma’s ass with an open palm before grabbing the reddening flesh and massaging it, in theory to soothe the sting but so roughly that she thought he might leave a bruise if he continued, one she’d be more than willing to bear as a reminder of their time for several days to come.

“Forgive me?” she teased in a mocking tone as she met his thrusts with each backward roll of her hips, almost inclined to make prayer hands at him if moving them wouldn’t risk her falling.

“Not exactly a sincere repentance, is it, love?” Killian struck her ass once more before grabbing a fistful of her hair and tugging her head backward. “But it is rather tempting to grant you reprieve nonetheless.”

“Ah, so why don’t you give into that temptation, angel?” Emma gritted.

“Don’t try to persuade. Ask me for it.”

“Please, Killian, I’m so close.” Emma couldn’t take it anymore. “Make me come, angel. Please!” Emma sighed through a string of curses as Killian moved the curve of his hook to her clit, pressing the brace against her flesh just above it as he rubbed quick circles over the swollen nub.

“What say you, demon?” he asked, breathless himself as he brought them both to the brink. “Shall we chance our own breed of Nephilim?”

“Yes please,” she panted desperately. “I’ve already tasted you. I want to feel you. I want to feel you come inside me.”

“I’ll give you what you want, demon, but I want to hear you scream my name when I do, not God’s.” Killian’s mouth travelled from Emma’s neck to her shoulder and back as he pistoned his hips with abandon. His teeth scraped her flesh before he moaned against her cheek as he found his release, “Emma, fuck yes, Emma,” filling her with it and pushing it deeper as it dripped down the length of his cock.

With his brutal thrusts and relentless teasing, Emma granted his request soon after, crying out, “Killian!” at the top of her lungs as her knees buckled beneath her.

He practically lifted her off the ground when he caught her with his arm wrapped around her middle, holding her tightly as he drew every last drop of ecstasy from within her before he slipped from her core and spun her into a lightheaded kiss, caging her against the window with his arms once more.

“Well, that was fucking hot.” Emma smiled against his lips as she pulled one into her mouth to bite it playfully, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. “Who knew you had it in you, angel?” One hand anchored in his hair as the other clutched at his ass, and she pulled him closer to her so she could rut against his leg, letting their releases spill down her thigh onto his and making him groan.

“It was the other way around, love,” he joked with a certainly devilish smirk, “but I concur, it was fucking hot.” Tucking his arms beneath her legs, Killian hoisted Emma into them and carried her to the bed, tossing her not so gently onto the mattress.

Emma giggled as she taunted him with one curled finger, beckoning him to her as she spread her legs wide, an invitation he happily accepted as he knelt between them and crawled above her body with a guttural growl.

“You might just convince me of the divine benefits of your side,” Emma purred, running her hands down his sides to grip his waist, “but I think I need to witness a bit more firsthand to make sure I believe, if you’ve got another miracle in you.”

“Angels are eternal, darling,” he said. “I’ll never leave you if that’s what it takes to really fill you with the spirit.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

——

A/N: "Glorious ascension" to describe an orgasm? Yeah, I'm going to hell.

——

Tag list ❤️: @batana54 @darkcolinodonorgasm @deckerstarblanche @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @holdingoutforapiratehero @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @qualitycoffeethings @stahlop @teamhook @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @wefoundloveunderthelight @xsajx @zaharadessert

#cssns21 #captain swan supernatural summer #cs smut #captain swan #angel!killian #demon!emma #cs ff #cssns 2021 #cs pwp #pwp #angel/demon AU #kayla writes #my writing

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shardminds · 5 years ago

Text

wild animal (livin’ like a fine young cannibal)

pairing: emma swan/killian jones rating: t (maybe light m) wc: 2200 and some change

An abandoned warehouse wouldn't be Emma's first choice for a date location. Killian finds a way to convince her otherwise.

work has been stressing me out and i have a million and one things to work on (i’m looking at you csss part 3!) but this crawled its way out of my brain, massively enabled by @darkcolinodonorgasm and further encouraged by @artistic-writer (who made this beautiful cover! isn’t it great? i’ve never had a fic cover before! i’m still emotional about it). thank you, ladies! this is essentially the blood rave scene from blade only with less violence and more kissing.

tagging: @thisonesatellite @teamhook @kmomof4 @superchocovian@itsfabianadocarmo @killianjonesownsmyheart1 and, if you wanna be added or removed from this list, just gimme a shout!

available on ao3 ♠

He’d told her to dress, as he so bluntly phrased it, good enough to eat. She’d tried her best to adhere to the code, pairing her favourite leather mini skirt and a thin camisole with fuck-me heels and fishnets. She’d foregone a jacket, knowing that Killian would lend her his if the chill became too much. The way his leather hangs off her, arms just slightly too long but still soft and worn, is one of the pros of having a boyfriend impervious to the cold. Regardless, the main appeal of her outfit isn’t practicality, it’s the fact that at least three of the souvenirs Killian has blessed her with are proudly on show—one at the juncture of her neck, another on her inner wrist, and another just peeking from beneath the hem of her skirt. They catch in the streetlights, glowing temporarily in the luminescence as her Uber trails the city streets, en route to the address he’d texted. There are others, countless others, along her ribs, her breasts, her thighs, faint scars she’d asked him for, a curse on his breath every time she did.

Emma never thought she’d be into it, the territorial possession that comes with having a vampire for a lover, that is. In the past, she rebuffed it, not willing to be taken as anyone’s property, human or otherwise. She’d told Killian the same, at first, unafraid of the fangs he flashed with each smirk. He respected her wishes, kept his distance, with the promise of forever in his eyes and one night on his lips. Over time, something about him drew her in, no glamour or coercion, just… something else, a kind of other that intrigued her, in the depth of his eyes and that knowing smile.

Then again, she’s always had a thing for older guys.

Three arduous weeks later, she’d fucked him in the bathroom stall of a club she can’t remember the name of and delighted in the awestruck look on his face as she sank to her knees before him.

It’s a fond memory.

And it was never just one night.

The warehouse is shady at best, murderous at worst, and Killian greets her at the entrance. Everything about him is appealing, from the artful dishevelment of his hair and the dark silk of his shirt, right down to the snug fit of his jeans and that same promise in his eyes. Eternity looks fucking amazing on him, and he knows. At this point, he could wear nothing but a bedsheet and he’d still be the most attractive being she’s ever seen—in fact, she might prefer that. Maybe later, if they make it home.

“I see you took the dress code to heart, love.” He drawls, his eternal smirk present, pulling her in by the waist for a searing kiss. Searing is an understatement, really. Each time he brings her in like this, close enough that she can taste his hunger—iron and ash—masked by the sweetness of rum just before their lips touch, she can feel parts of herself float away. The tensions and stresses from her day dissipate against his mouth, lost in each breath between them. Killian is a fantastic kisser and, as her tongue catches on the point of a fang, she knows that he knows it.

“Hello to you too.” Fighting off breathlessness, Emma pulls away. They won’t make it to whatever it is he has planned if they keep kissing like that. The urge to call another Uber back home already far too prevalent in her mind. It would be so easy, like every other time, just falling into bed with him.

He laughs, keeping his hand at her waist but allowing space between them. “I missed you.”

“You saw me this morning,” She adds, a smile playing at her lips. Instead of pulling away and taking his hand like she usually does, Emma decides against taking him up on the offer of space. “I’ve been wondering about your date night plan all day.”

“It’s... unconventional, to say the least.”

She shrugs, lacing their fingers together. “So are we.”

“Right you are, lass.” Killian’s smile takes her by surprise. It’s not his usual, cocky, self-assured grin. It’s pride, admiration and something warmer that settles in her stomach when she catches it. She pushes it aside, saving it for later as Killian meets her for another brief kiss. “Shall we?”

The warehouse itself is empty, a cavernous space with a creaking steel frame and concrete floors. Each step she takes causes an echo; each breath leaves a puff of condensation in the frigid air. Killian doesn’t seem swayed by this and walks them both across the expanse to a giant metal door, taking the rusted lever in hand and twisting it open with minimal exertion. It groans, hinges protesting as it creeps open, to reveal the cacophony of noise behind it. Thudding bass and warped vocals swelling and falling in time to the heavy beat. Upon entry, they’re met with writhing bodies, lost in the rhythm, crammed into what was once probably an industrial standard cold store. Despite everything, they make way for Killian to enter.

Suddenly, Emma feels decidedly overdressed.

“A rave?” She has to shout to make herself heard, although, come to think of it, Killian probably has no trouble hearing her at all, regardless of the party going on around them. “I never expected this to be your kind of thing.”

He winks then, before pulling her against him, his chest to her back. Emma’s breath catches in her throat, a moan prepared to escape at a second’s notice. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Swan.”

Like that, pressed together so close she can feel every breath he takes, she allows herself to get lost, the white noise numbing her senses to their basest needs. Him. Each time she pushes back, he rocks forward, eliciting the most delicious feelings from deep within. It’s intoxicating, being with him. Not the blood, nor the sex. Just being. Waking up to his touch, falling asleep to his breathing, making coffee, getting breakfast, talking, dancing—the small things. It’s always the small things. He treats her with veneration, a kind of reverence that no one else has, and—as much as she wishes she could deny it, that she could walk away from all this and still be the same old Emma—he’s changed her so irreversibly, she’s not sure what her life would be without him in it.

They’re being watched—no, she’s being watched. Eyes follow them—her as she moves, letting the music take her wherever it will. It courses through her like a second heartbeat, and the voyeurism of it all, familiar and unfamiliar faces flitting back to them—her as Killian trail’s his hands all over, his lips fused to her neck—it’s a heady mix. Whatever he’s got planned, whatever happens next, Emma knows that she’ll be sore in the morning. In the best way, of course. Freshly fucked and freshly drained.

The music never seems to change, the pulse of it thrumming beneath her skin until she can feel the drop coming, inching closer until it reaches its peak. Her stomach falls along with it. He whispers in her ear, but she can’t make sense of his words, falling deaf in favour of the music around them. The caress of his lips on her lobe has her arching back, pressing her ass against him in a tease. She can feel how ready he is, solid against her as she grinds back into him.

The guttural snarl, she can feel, reverberating through his chest on a silenced down beat. His hands go to her wrists, grasping them and tracing his fingertips up her thighs and over her stomach, devilishly slow, one catching over her nipple as he passes over her chest, continuing higher and higher until they’re held above her head, high in the air, alongside everyone else’s on the dancefloor. The music builds and builds and builds, heavy and palpable between them, cementing everyone together in one single goal: to dance. Killian presses a kiss to her ear, tongue darting out to tease as the music pauses for a second in the build-up to yet another drop.

“Don’t be afraid.”

Then the world goes red and she screams.

Cheers erupt from around them as blood pours from the ceiling, sprinkling over the patrons below like a downpour after a drought. The crowd synchronise, palms to the sky, heads tilted back, mouths wide open and jumping along to the discordant thumping as they get their fill of the life source they’re being drowned in. It tastes like iron and chemicals, tacky and cool to the touch, nothing like what Killian had described when he tasted her. He’d compared her to fine wine, to love and sex and everything he missed of being human. Her hands, still held in the air by his grasp, are lined with rivulets of red, each one making its path wherever gravity may take it. The taboo of it has her shivering. Pulling her wrists free and turning to look upon his face, she places her palms on his chest.

It’s chaos.

He’s smiling. A wicked smile, white teeth and dark eyes. He could kill her right now. The recognition of that immediate danger only makes it so much better when he steps closer, eradicating the distance between them.

Fuck.

She wants him, needs him, and when he leans to lick a stripe up her cheek to catch the dripping ichor there, she moans, losing herself to the sensation. He’s a monster and she can’t get enough. In all her life, she’d never anticipated that she’d enjoy such publicly lewd displays of affection but, as Killian laps at the pool of blood gathered above her clavicle, she could not give less of a shit about the hundreds of prying eyes in the room. It’s euphoric, feeling him hard against her as he feeds, taking his fill from the blood trailing over her skin. The familiar lick of her arousal curls low in her belly, demanding to be felt.

She can't stand it—the absence of his lips against hers, tracing over every piece of exposed flesh except the place she wants him most, the chill it brings, the pleasure it ignites within her. There's nothing quite like it. It’s infuriating, maddening, and it reduces her to nothing more than a whimpering mess as his tongue makes its way back up her neck and along her jaw. He comes to a halt there, pausing and pulling back to take her in. He’s fucked, hair soaked through in the initial pandemonium of the bloodbath, eyes glossy and intense but not as dark as they had been earlier, his ocean blue peering through—it only goes to prove the effect he sustenance he’d laved from her flesh is having. He’s covered in blood, completely drenched with it and he’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. Even like this, surrounded by creatures of nightmare and legend, she can’t help but crave him. With lips parted, he leans in to give her what she desires.

“I fucking love you.” It’s a whisper against her lips, punctuated with fangs tugging on the plump skin there and—well, Emma can’t help herself. It’s not the first time he’s said it and it won’t be the last. Killian Jones has walked the earth for three centuries. He kisses with purpose, fucks with passion and loves unconditionally and Emma Swan, with almost three decades under her belt, can’t find the words to say it back. Not yet. Instead, she throws her arms around his neck, finding his lips with a kiss as the blood rain falls around them and the tantalizing beat drives the crowd.

The kiss is wild; deep, needy and feral in its urgency. It’s fangs and moans and tongues and teeth. It’s messy, the cloying copper taste of blood still lingering between them. It’s perfect.

Before Emma can even think to protest, Killian’s hoisting her up, lifting until her legs are securely wrapped around his waist. Tonight was not the night to wear a skirt but Emma can’t bring herself to regret it. She can already feel it riding up, threatening to expose her ass to the crowd. It’s a blessing she’d opted to wear underwear at all, especially knowing that Killian has a habit of tearing them off in his haste to get to her core. The sharp scratch of his fangs against her bottom lip snaps them both out of their lustful haze for just long enough for Emma to know without words what it is he wants. His gaze, hungry as ever, flits to her chest.

Her shirt’s gone in seconds, torn off by her own impatient hands and his dexterous ones. It comes away in two pieces, thrown aside without a care, revealing the black lace of her bra beneath. It had cost her thirty dollars but, sat at his waist, skin tinted red with the sanguine rainfall, Emma can't bring herself to care. The caress of sharp fangs against the swell of her breast, edging her closer and closer to madness yet grounding her at the same time, tethering her to him, is almost too much. She needs the bite just as much as he does. The call of it strikes deep in her bones, screaming for him. She used to be ashamed of it, fearing just how much she enjoys his deadly kiss, but those memories are all but dust now. In their place, only want.

When he takes one look at her, right before his enamelled canines pierce her skin, she's lost to him.

#cs fic #cs ff #captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan fanfiction #ficminds #legit just gimme vampire killian jones forever #i'm not lying #warnings on ao3!

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years ago

Text

It all kind of happens in slow motion.

One second, Emma hears the crack of the bat and the requisite roar of the crowd, and the next her eyes have widened to a size most scientists would likely advise against. Because, standing at home plate, that same home plate multiple baseball players are sprinting toward, is her kid. More or less waiting to be run over. That is, of course, until Killian Jones.

———

Word Count: 4.1K Rating: Flufffy fluff fluff of the fluffiest variety AN: Writing has been something of a legitimate challenge for me in the last few weeks, but earlier this week @ohmightydevviepuu sent a link to this tweet, tagged me, and said what I basically took as an unspoken prompt. Like, you’re going to send me video of a bat boy getting scooped up at home by a player in the middle of the game and then think I won’t write about it? Not possible. Even with the aforementioned writing challenges. Nothing stands a chance against my love of baseball. Here’s hoping the Yankees turn it around in the second half. Neither Aaron Judge or I deserve the season we’ve had so far.

———

Biologically speaking, Emma Swan is perfectly aware that the current positioning of her heart is more or less impossible.

Stuck somewhere between the back of her throat and the pit of her stomach, it makes her all too aware of the now-empty chasm in her chest, stretching out toward her arms and threatening the structural integrity of her lungs, neither of which appear all that intent on working properly. Oxygen is a luxury not currently afforded to her capillaries. Instead, nerves mix with anxiety and the telltale flush of adrenaline that probably also makes her look relatively crazy because her pupils are definitely dilated and she does not know nearly enough about science to be making any of these claims.

Whatever, really.

It feels like that ooze from that movie. FernGully, Emma thinks. With the fairies. She thinks they were fairies. She’s not entirely certain they were fairies.

And the ooze was definitely oil, obviously. There was a message involved in that movie. Not one that she appreciated when she was seven and Tim Curry’s animated-oil voice sort of freaked her out. But, like, she gets it now. The environment, and everything. With or without fairies. With Robin Williams, though.

She’s positive about that, at least.

Robin Williams was definitely in that movie.

Less positive about the ability of her heart to actually split itself in half, as it seems wont to do at the moment. So, as to make it easier when it inevitably soars out of her mouth and falls onto the scuffed-up clubhouse floor beneath her feet. Naturally, this will happen simultaneously. For maximum effect.

Much like the fireworks currently exploding over the left-field bleachers.

She’s not sure if fireworks do explode, actually. That seems dangerous. Likely to lead to injuries and sounds that don’t resemble the oohs and ahhs a ballpark generally inspires. Explode probably isn’t the right word. Maybe something more like…detonate.

No, that’s worse. Way worse. She’s got to learn more words. Find a thesaurus or a dictionary or—a fireworks expert would be ideal, honestly.

Someone who could give her a detailed description of the inner-workings of a Yankee Stadium pyrotechnics display on a Tuesday in July, enough words that Emma’s mind would still for a few moments, allowing her to catch her breath and reestablish a consistent heart rate, and both of those problems could also likely be solved by sitting down, but the chair to her left looks a little wobbly, and her legs appear to have minds of their own because science is rather quickly becoming a lie and—

“Is he alright?” She spins. Nearly falls over. Her knees are also awfully wobbly, that’s why.

Despite all of that, and the overall circumference of her pupils, the voice doesn’t retreat. Doesn’t even flinch. Shows absolutely no signs of imminent stumbling. And that’s probably because the voice is a man, one who is in possession of world-class instinctual reactions, and his hair is still damp from his post-game shower and it absolutely makes her something of an atrocious mother to acknowledge that last thing as quickly as she does.

His shirt sleeves are noticeably sticking to his biceps, so that helps too.

Opening her mouth, Emma is going to say words that are both vaguely intelligent and passably accurate, absolving this Major League Baseball player of any of the guilt he so obviously feels. Which is just patently stupid, really. None of this was his fault. None of it was anyone’s fault, really.

Except maybe the idiot who left his bat at that particular angle across home plate, but Emma’s an adrenaline expert these days and walk-offs are understandably exciting. First walk-offs more so.

She’s happy for Scarlet, really.

They won the game.

Everything is fine. Great, even. She nearly jumps twenty-six feet in the air at the next boom of fireworks.

The pinch between the Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows gets—

Pinchier.

The little roll of skin draws Emma’s attention, effectively robbing her of the ability to respond like an almost-sane person, but she’s also still trying to rationalize why she can remember the words to several FernGully songs while also being unable to recall what flavor PopTart she had for breakfast earlier this week and she figures watching her kid nearly get run over by professional athletes approximately forty-two minutes before gives her a fairly reasonable excuse.

For opening and closing her mouth no less than eight consecutive times.

Like a goddamn fish. There were no fish in FernGully. Least not so far as she remembers.

It’s entirely possible she squeaks on attempt number five.

The Major League Baseball player’s eyebrows do not move. It’s equal parts frustrating and incredible to behold.

“I should probably thank you, right?” Emma asks, not quite regretting the words immediately, but it’s awfully close. That gets her some movement. Of the eyebrow variety. One eyebrow, specifically. Arching up, it somehow still manages to pull her attention directly toward eyes that should be the star of their own marketing campaign. Not quite Yankee blue, but distractingly blue, and it takes everything in her not to huff as dramatically as she wants to. Once the athletic trainer is done with Henry, Emma is going to make him examine her lungs. Rationality rules the day.

Major League Baseball player shakes his head. It’s dumb to call him that. She knows his name. Knows at least some of his history. Is still staring obnoxiously at his freakishly attractive face.

Freakishly is kind of mean, too. As far as descriptions go.

“Unnecessary,” he says, an undercurrent of worry still clear in the letters. Ducking his head, he takes a cautious step forward, almost as if he’s wary of what Emma will do, and she supposes that’s fair. What with the impressive vertical she’s in possession of these days. “Anyone would do that.” “I’m not sure they could, actually.”

At some point in this otherwise shitty experience of a night, Emma is vaguely confident something will go the way she wants it to. Aside from winning. She’s glad they won. Seriously.

“No?” “No,” she echoes, and it’s not like she can feel him. A few feet of space separates them, so whatever heat appears to be wafting off the Major League Baseball player in front of her, with his damp hair, and stupid, stupid, stupid eyes is as impossible as any of the various impossibilities currently taking place within her person.

And yet.

He sticks his hand out.

It’s disarmingly earnest.

“Killian Jones,” he says, confidence replacing the nerves, and Emma begins to see why there are so many stories. And Twitter threads. Regarding his face and the potential for that face to date a variety of other attractive faces across at least four of the five boroughs. Somehow Emma doesn’t think Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, is schlepping out to Staten Island for a date.

Nor does she believe that Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has ever once let the word schlep pass through his conscious mind.

She takes his hand.

It is—

Surprisingly warm. And...not quite soft, that’d be impossible with the job he performs almost nightly. But the calluses on the pads of his fingers aren’t as rough as Emma expects, which also suggests she’s managed to ponder the overall texture of Killian Jones’s fingers in the last twelve point six seconds, and that’s not entirely true. What is true is that Ruby thinks Killian Jones is real good-looking and has determined that the phrase quite a catch is the pinnacle of humor, so, sure, Emma has possibly considered the possibility of paths crossing and intersecting, and her hand looks minuscule wrapped up in his. So, that’s something to think about later.

Their arms move. Bob up and down as society dictates they should, and he’s smiling at her, and she’s trying not to look like a serial killer, straining to hear the voices behind the door, and it does not work.

“Why do you think people are so consistently fascinated by fireworks?” If he’s surprised by her absolutely inane question, he doesn’t show it. That’s points. For what, Emma hasn’t totally decided yet, but it’s something, and it’s probably good, and they’re going to play that clip on loop for weeks. Longer, probably.

Every goddamn day if the Yankees make the postseason.

When the Yankees make the postseason.

Her dad wouldn’t appreciate the buffer. Leaves room for loss, and that is not the Nolan way. Not when there are championships to win, and this was supposed to be the best possible time. Smack dab in the middle of the season, with the All-Star break looming, Henry would get to suit up as batboy for one game that didn’t mean much and wouldn’t draw too strong of a spotlight, no murmurs about nepotism by internet trolls who couldn’t possibly define the word with any sort of accuracy, but also like to shout about canceling and culture with an almost alarming sense of self-righteousness, so, of course, the whole thing was now blowing up in their face.

Much like the goddamn fireworks.

It wasn’t Will Scarlet’s fault.

Wasn’t Henry’s fault, either.

His job was to get the bats out of the field of play. Doing it while the field of play was still active was a mistake any kid could have made. Just so happens that it’s Emma’s kid, and the grandkid of the Yankees’ hitting coach, and that means something to the New York media and the New York fans, and if Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman with an arm that can make cross-field throws with ease, wasn’t also so quick-thinking and sure-footed, scooping Henry up as he crossed home plate and avoiding the ensuing swarm of players at home plate, all intent on celebrating Will Scarlet’s first-ever career walk-off, Emma can only imagine what would have happened.

Trampled. Stepped on. Broken bones. Concussions.

They’re checking Henry for a concussion now. He absolutely does not have a concussion. He was laughing while he was carried off the field. Like he hit the walk-off.

Front office is absolutely petrified she’s going to sue them.

The thought hadn’t even once crossed Emma’s mind. Plus, she’s sort of busy. Holding Killian Jones’s hand. His stupid, warm hand.

“Bright colors,” he says, responding to a question Emma’s nearly forgotten about. Jumping is more challenging when his fingers tighten ever so slightly. “Flash, boom. Taps into baser instincts, I think.” “You think people’s base instinct is to enjoy explosions.” “Phrasing that as a statement makes me think you don’t agree with me.” “You didn’t want me to thank you,” Emma points out.

“Well, no,” he says, and the precise way his eyes drop does something specific to all of her instincts. Leaves her flush with a heat that reminds her of Fourth of July sparklers rather than any sort of massive explosion, and that’s not bad, per se, although it’s admittedly a little surprising. As is the slight uptick of precisely one side of his mouth. It takes her a moment to realize he’s smirking at her. And another for her subconscious to admit that it’s working as intended. Her shoulders drop half an inch. While Emma pulls her hand back to her side. “Thanking me suggests I did anything to warrant the thanks.” “Big words.” “For a dumb athlete, you mean.” “That wasn’t a question, either.” “No,” Killian repeats, “it wasn’t.” “I’d really like to thank you. I—Dad told him when to come out of the dugout, so he definitely knew the rules, but I think he was super worried about you tripping over the bat.”

The smirk becomes a full-blown smile. Which is no less than forty-seven thousand times more powerful. Equivalent to staring directly into a solar eclipse or gazing upon the dark side of the moon, and Emma should at least do some research before coming up with these internal examples. Basic Google searches would provide her with the necessary information.

“That’s more or less what he told me, yeah.” Emma’s nose creases. “Talked your ear off after your daring rescue, huh?” “Keep complimenting me like this, and my ego won’t know what to do with it.”

She hopes she’s not blushing as much as it feels like she is. The state of Killian’s eyebrows and the precise curl of his lips make that seem unlikely. “Your reflexes are unparalleled.” “Something about big bucks and why I get paid them.” “Oh,” Emma laughs, unable to stop herself, and she doesn’t remember deciding to stop pacing, only that her knees appreciate it once she has, “you think you’re real funny, don’t you?” “I think I’m moderately funny, not the hero you’re suggesting I am—” “Oh, I never used the word hero.” “—And you never actually told me your name.”

“Because you don’t know who I am.” It’s not a question, either. Neither one of them mention that.

“I do,” Killian concedes, “Henry was also fairly quick to mention exactly who he was and where his mother was sitting.” Emma’s nose is going to freeze in this position. “But I gave you my name, which makes it only fair that we’re all square and whatnot.” “Whatnot, huh?” “Yup.” He pops his lips on the letter. Which is also unfair. In, like, the grand scheme of the world. The black ooze that is not actually oil when used in this particular metaphor recedes. Leaves Emma with a chest cavity that is partially full of butterfly wings and the growing sense of anticipation that isn’t quite as nerve-wracking as it should be. Like she’s about to step into the batter’s box with two outs and runners in scoring position. She’s totally going to hit against the shift. Fluttering her fingers at her side, Emma doesn’t lift her hand. It doesn’t matter.

Killian’s eyes drop. To the movement. And her. And part of her shies away from that because part of her has spent a lifetime tucked into a shadow that didn’t belong to her and doesn’t belong to Henry, but now there’s some joke about Peter Pan to be made because they live in an internet-age and Killian Jones has a very good face. So. Viral video, enter stage right. Starring Henry Swan, Killian Jones, and the inevitably uneven pitter-patter of Emma’s traitorous heart.

“Emma Swan.” “I think you should sit down.”

“Why is that, exactly?” “I’m worried about your legs.”

Whatever noise she makes can’t quite be classified as a scoff. It hurts her throat too much. And it’s not a laugh, either. Even as the butterflies threaten to rise up in mutiny of Emma’s more rational feelings, and she gets the distinct impression that Killian is reading her mind. Trying very hard, at least.

“Sounds like a line.” “Might be a line,” he admits, which draws another wholly inhuman sound out of Emma’s barely-functioning lungs.

“Did he kick you on the lift?” Killian hums. “You’d kick too if you were just hauled off your feet, so I understand the reaction. What I’m more worried about is the inevitable bruise on my foot from the bat landing there.” “Ah shit, really?” “I’ve had worse.” “But not in 4K video that people will play on loop for the rest of the news cycle. If not longer.” Narrowing his eyes, Killian doesn’t immediately respond. Mind reading requires a modicum of focus, Emma assumes. Instead, he rests a hand on her shoulder, directing her toward the chair and ignoring the soft crack her left knee as it bends. “That’s what you’re worried about.” “Stop sounding so confident.” “I can only sound how I am, Swan.” “Oh, I’m not sure we’ve reached nickname status yet,” she mumbles, pushing down the soft rush of metaphorical insects doing their beset to soar out of her barely-parted lips. “But, yeah, I—I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was totally terrified in the moment.”

“Understandable. Grown men barrelling down the third-base line at your kid are a lot to take in.” She snorts. It’s not cute. Not dignified. Killian smirks. “Should you be concerned that the Scarlet was making such solid headway behind you? Are you exceedingly slow?” “I am league average.” “How fast can you get out of the box to first?” “I’ve never timed it.” “Liar, liar.” “Please don’t make a crack about my pants,” Killian says, “I won’t be able to cope.”

“Oh God, you think you’re charming, too.” “I’ve had no complaints.” “To your face, at least.”

Throwing his head back, the laugh that erupts out of him is not of volcano proportions. Of which there was also one in FernGully if Emma’s memory is to be trusted. An arm circles his middle, stretching muscle and ensuring that Emma notices just how corded that same muscle is, the slight bend of his wrist leaving her off-kilter. When he meets her gaze, she swears his eyes are brighter. “Yeah, yeah, that’s true,” Killian concedes, “no one has flat out told me I was lacking charm to my face.” “This thanking you thing is going great.” “And I continue to not need thanks. Why are you worried about the video getting out there? Filmed in 4K like you suggest, at least we’ll all look great. Sharp pixels and whatnot.” “What do you know about pixels?” “You basically heard the extent just now.”

She’s getting better at laughing. The ooze has almost all but disappeared, Emma twirling a strand of hair around fingers that are intent on moving, and it’s an old habit. One Killian’s gaze catches on. Immediately. Quickly. Seriously, Emma needs a thesaurus. “Baseball’s always been my dad,” she says. “And that’s—well, we’ve lived this game, me and my mom, weekend series and West Coast swings, waiting up for him to get home because the flight got delayed, but Henry’s just a kid, getting thrown into this world because of his last name and who his family is? That sucks. Nothing was supposed to happen tonight.” “Nothing did happen.” “Because of you.” “I’d like to believe Scarlet, ridiculously fast as he might be, would not run over a small child,” Killian says. “And, uh, for the record and all that, I got a bad jump off first because I didn’t know if they were going to catch it in left. No one wants to get caught on the base paths.” “Yeah, that’d be embarrassing.”

He must hear the hitch in her voice because the next thing Emma realizes, her fingers are twisted back up in Killian’s, and she’s warm and falling and flying, and it’s good and weird, and the door swings open.

They both jump.

So, that’s something.

Rushing out quickly enough that he nearly trips over his own feet, Henry’s head leads the way and finds Emma’s stomach, a tangle of limbs, and overly-excited words, all of which rival the now-finished fireworks display in volume.

It takes Henry about five and a half run-on sentences to notice Killian standing there.

His eyes widen. His mouth drops. Killian grins. Emma tries very hard not to die. It only sort of works.

She blames the faulty body parts she’s in possession of.

“Killian,” Henry exclaims, clamoring back to his feet and nearly falling again in the process. Hands that belong to both Emma and Killian dart out, steadying Henry while their eyes meet over the top of his head. Killian winks. He tries. It’s more like a blink than anything. “Hi, hi! You did so good tonight! And we won, and I got to go on the field and—and, it was so,” Henry heaves a deep breath, “we were so good.”

Collective pronouns do something to Emma’s entire state of being.

Flips it on an axis she hadn’t been aware previously existed until it almost feels as if this was the path they’d been directing themselves toward from the start. Her eyes flit toward Killian. Who is already watching her.

“We did,” he nods, “maybe next time, though, you wait one extra second to grab Scarlet’s bat, ok?” Seeing her own nose scrunch reflected back on her kid is not the worst thing that’s ever happened to Emma. The vibrating phone in her back pocket, might be.

It’s one-hundred percent, Ruby.

“That’s what grandpa said too,” Henry grumbles, digging a toe of the cleats Emma’s mother bought him last week into the ground, “but I wanted to make sure you didn’t fall.”

Definitely dying, then. A systematic shut down of all necessary internal organs. It’s not as bad as Emma would have expected.

Neither one of Killian’s knees crack when he bends. That seems heavy-handed.

“And I don’t want you to fall either,” he says, “so we agree, right here, right now, not to let the other one fall, huh?” Emma holds her breath. Ignores the pinch in her lungs and the clearly unstable nature of both her mind and her heart, digging her nails into her palms. To ensure she isn’t tempted to haul Henry back toward her. Or push that one strand of hair away from Killian’s forehead.

Henry nods. “Deal.”

They hook their pinkies together.

It’s adorable and as endearingly charming as everything else Killian Jones, New York Yankees third baseman, has done since he walked into that hallway. Less so when her dad emerges from the office, the athletic trainer on his heels to not-so-quietly inform Killian that he can’t just blow off post-game like that, and the second wink is as bad as the first.

She does her very best to memorize the movement.

And the joy on Henry’s face the next morning when a box arrives on their doorstep, a genuine, game-worn Killian Jones jersey inside. She doesn’t notice the note at first, tucked between the cardboard and the tissue paper someone must have bought for him. He can’t have bought that tissue paper himself. He just—it’s unfathomable.

Emma knows he bought the tissue paper himself.

As clearly as she knows that those numbers in that particular order will lead to Killian Jones answering his phone and that her voice likely won’t shake when she replies to the question written in surprisingly loopy script. Which is why, Emma will argue, she does reply. In the affirmative. To several questions over the course of the remaining season, and they don’t star in any more viral videos, but there are a few pictures once they clinch the division.

Drops of champagne cling to the tips of Emma’s eyelashes and the ends of Killian’s hair, hands on her waist that blaze a quick path up her back and around her middle, and she has to tilt her head up to get the right angles. Of lips. While they kiss in the middle of the clubhouse, the hat someone forced onto Emma’s head falling and it’s impossible to hear over the sound of celebratory fireworks, but she can somehow still hear Henry’s laugh ringing out from the general area near Scarlet’s locker, and his jersey collection is growing at an impressive rate.

No one can withstand the overall cuteness of him.

Emma included. Emma, especially.

Sometimes she worries she’s so happy she’ll burst, unable to contain the sort of emotion her body is still acclimating itself to. But then she realizes just how dumb that is and happiness cannot possibly be quantified, and her head is buzzing enough from champagne that she nearly misses Killian when he says, “people love the bright spots, Swan.” It’s not the most romantic thing he’s told her. Doesn’t crack the top five, quite frankly. She swoons all the same. With her kid laughing and her team winning and that’s about all the sentiment she’s willing to acknowledge before her tongue is in Killian’s mouth. He groans. She grins.

And he’d been right about the video. It wasn’t the embarrassment Emma worried it could be. Was mostly relegated to the corners of the internet set aside for formerly popular content as soon as the season ended, spoken about only in fond recollection as the other seasons went on and the wins kept coming and all three of them stand on a parade float with the World Series trophy a few dozen feet away, several Novembers after that first game.

It’s a Thursday afternoon, then.

And yet Emma never entirely forgets. What the video meant and what it did and she’s not remotely surprised when it finds its way back to the forefront of the sports zeitgeist on a Wednesday in July. Most mentions come with similar taglines and messages. Something about feeling our age and wanna feel old because that bot boy, David Nolan’s grandson, Killian Jones’s stepson, he’s getting drafted now.

Got drafted, technically.

Third round, video of the soon-to-be third baseman for the San Diego Padres makes the internet circuits and garners plenty of interest. It’s not the most exciting video, though. Henry just hugs his family. Who hug tightly back.

What is more exciting is the box that arrives on Emma and Killian’s doorstep. With a note that eventually earns a frame next to the last one and a wholly official, game-worn jersey that has a noticeable streak of dirt across the left sleeve. From sliding head-first into home plate.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #do not ask me why this is so full of ferngully references #i do not have an answer for you #the google doc title for this was: BaseballCuresWritersBlock #thanks baseball

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sailtoafarawayland · 4 years ago

Text

Entwined - (1/1)

Summary: Emma and Killian were not only happy, but life had finally settled into something resembling normal - until an unexpected visitor from another realm arrived, bringing with him something they hadn't known they were missing, but soon found they didn't want to live without.

A series of connected one-shots following the polyamorous relationship of Emma, Killian, and Hook. Each piece can be read standalone and is non-linear, but together will reveal some backstory and how these three came to be. Tags/warnings that are specific to each piece will be posted at their heading, but it is safe to assume all of them will contain both M/F/M and M/M. If this is not your thing, carry on. If you would like to be removed from my tag list, please let me know. Keep in mind, I maintain one list for all of my work.

Rated: Explicit

Relationships/Tags: Emma/Killian, Emma/Killian/Wish Hook, Killian/Wish Hook, Threesome, M/F/M, M/M, Canon Divergent

AO3 - FF

A massive THANK YOU to @hollyethecurious for creating the beautiful artwork you see above. I am thrilled to be able to share it with everyone alongside this story.

Entwined

The curtains played lazily at the window as the afternoon breeze swept through, carrying with it the scent of spring blossoms and the sea as it wound through the room, cooling heated flesh and melding with the soft gasps that fell from Emma's lips as she slid her body along Hook's, limbs entwined and fingers kneading damp flesh as they tasted one another.

Desire throbbed in the center of her as he curled his tongue around hers, their breath traded between gentle nips and hungry kisses, lips swollen and red as they writhed on the sheets, reveling in that intimate heat that only comes from being pressed against another person.

From the opposite side of the room came a long, drawn out moan, Emma rubbing her slick folds more insistently against Hook's thigh as it reached her ears, their kisses becoming more frantic as the sound of Killian pleasuring himself grew, his fist sliding wetly along his shaft as he watched his two lovers explore one another on the bed they all shared.

Emma could hear the occasional thump of the chair legs as he thrust upward into his hand, knew how dark and sinful his gaze would be should she turn to meet it – but she enjoyed knowing he was watching, wanting, nearly as much as she knew he enjoyed doing it, and instead she decided to put on a show for her pirate. Unwinding herself from Hook's embrace, she slid down his chest with a salacious grin, kissing and licking the hard lines of his body as she went, humming at the soft spring of his chest hair beneath her fingers, thick and dark with a scattering of silver hairs.

Her eyes locked on Hook, but her ears listening to Killian as he worked his own cock, she shimmied lower, her ass rising behind her as she slid her breasts down Hook's legs, presenting Killian with a view she knew he loved – her sex pink and glistening, framed by the pale expanse of her thighs, everything he loved on display for his perusal.

A growl of frustration rumbled from the chair behind them as he took in the tableau spread before him.

Emma's teeth scraped across the taut skin above Hook's hop, a groan tumbling form him as he jerked beneath her, her clever fingers stroking through the thatch of hair that framed his manhood before finding the hot weight of his balls and cupping them gently, rolling each of them in her grasp as she nosed his cock and inhaled his heady scent. She was lost in the sensations – listening to Killian as he moaned and sighed behind them, feeling Hook's hand stroking her hair as his wrist cradled her head gently, delighting in the salty musk of his skin as she licked a stripe along the side of his shaft and mouthed his swollen flesh, the velvet roll of it against her cheek.

“That's right, take me in your mouth, darling,” Hook whispered, his fingers rubbing small circles against her scalp as she drew her tongue around the dark head of his cock, hooded eyes watching him. “You know much Killian loves to watch you with your mouth full...and I can't wait to be deep inside your throat.”

“You heard him, Swan,” Killian rasped from behind them, the state of his need growing urgent as he watched her firm bottom sway in front of him, her arousal dripping temptingly from her folds like honey, “wrap those pretty lips of yours around his cock and put the man out of his misery.”

“Aye, you've been quite a tease all day,” Hook agreed, his words falling off into a sigh as Emma finally enveloped the head of him with her lips, her mouth sliding wetly along his shaft before retreating and sucking heavily, her tongue dipping into his slit. “Oh, just like that, darling, fuck me...”

Emma smiled around his girth, wasting no time easing him further into her mouth, the back of her throat slowly opening as she swallowed him down, fluttering around his shaft as he pushed deeper in.

“Isn't she bloody gorgeous like that?” Killian breathed, his face and chest flushed a warm pink as he twisted his hand slowly around his aching cock, thighs spread apart on the chair he was leaning back in, the sight of Emma's limber body framed by Hook's as she pleasured him making pleasure coil in his gut. “Perfect lips wrapped around you...always so hungry for it, isn't she?”

“Aye,” Hook groaned, his hips rolling softly beneath her as he watched his length disappear into her mouth. “She's a naughty little vixen, Killian...makes me want to turn her over the bed and fuck that tight little mouth while you fill her up.”

“Any place in particular, mate?”

Despite feeling almost too full to breathe, Emma moaned around Hook as she listened to their filthy words, imagining hanging over the edge of the bed as Hook drove deep into her mouth, his palm pressing against her throat as her vision swam and Killian plowed into her from the other end, her legs thrown over his shoulders as he bore down on her. She loved listening to the smooth melody of their voices, words laced with a rough need as they shared sinful desires over her body – how they would worship her, use her, pull her over the edge with the both of them.

“I don't imagine she'll rightly care, as long as she's got two thick cocks in her – wherever you want to spill yourself, though I do so enjoy watching it drip out of that tight behind...”

“Fuck,” Killian hissed, and Emma nearly jumped at the sound of the chair skittering across the floor and the sudden heat of his hand and wrist grasping her thighs, no time to take a breath before his mouth was sealed around her exposed sex, his tongue delving deep into her wet channel before he slipped lower to mouth and suckle her clit, his greedy moans muffled within her slick folds as he devoured her.

The sight of Killian tucked behind Emma, his dark hair just visible over the swell of her bottom, his fingers pressed roughly into her pale flesh as he pulled her more intimately against his face – all of it had Hook thrusting more roughly into her mouth, her soft noises of pleasure growing as he knotted his fingers in her hair and pumped into her, his control slipping as she clung to him, her hands gripping his muscled thighs tightly, but not even the pace at which he was taking her mouth could hold back the keening whimper that flew from her as Killian's fingers joined his mouth, the wet sounds of him sliding them in and out of her tight center only driving all of them higher, closer –

And then it was washing over Emma like a wave at sea, pleasure rolling and snapping through her body as Killian's fingers stroked and pushed against her inner walls, his tongue eagerly lapping every delicious drop that ran from her body as she seized around him, a tingling numbness stretching down her legs and toes as one wave after the next fell over her, leaving her breathless and floating and yet somehow completely anchored.

Her body trembled as she came down, Killian's hand and wrist still firmly supporting her as she swayed, his lips pressing soft kisses to the dimples on her lower back. Hook's thrusts had slowed as Killian worked her through her orgasm, and before Emma could decide where to move or how to make her legs cooperate, he was already stroking her hair softly and slipping from her mouth, still hard and weeping in need of release – but he always enjoyed the drawn out game, never in a rush to find his own pleasure, neither of her pirates were. He slid back onto their bed, settling against the pile of pillows like a king as Killian joined them, half lifting Emma on top of him as he moved to recline in front of Hook, his back pressed between his twin's thighs in a position they very much enjoyed.

A murmur of contentment rumbled through Hook's chest as Killian's weight settled over his aching cock, his dark locks brushing against his chest. The last shivers of her release wrung from her body, Emma was already moving over her two lovers stretched out beneath her, their bodies fitting perfectly together in a way that made her heart soar in her chest at how lucky they were – how lucky they'd been to end up her together despite every obstacle that had been in their path. She reached toward the edge of their four post bed and looped the gauzy fabric of the bed curtains around her fingers, pulling one of the sheer panels inward and wrapping it around her wrist as she rose on her haunches over Killian, the head of his cock swollen and shining with his arousal as he waited for her to take what she needed, what they all needed.

Her teeth worrying her lips, she reached down with her free hand and grasped him, a hiss that verged on painful flying from his mouth as he bucked into the delicious pressure of her fingers finally working his cock. She lowered herself slowly, her legs trembling as she angled herself so that her folds slid sumptuously along his length, her clit throbbing beneath the pressure he provided as she rocked back and forth, her soft curls spilling around him.

“Gods, love,” he groaned, thrusting gently into her grasp and relishing the slick warmth of her as she brushed along his shaft, her movements stopping just shy of allowing him entrance.

Beneath him Hook was thrusting slowly against his back, enjoying watching their golden goddess take her pleasure from them, a mischievous smirk pulling at her lips as she dropped Killian's length and dipped into her own wetness, stroking and plunging into her sopping channel as she panted. Sighs slipped from Killian's mouth every time she switched between them, grabbing his shaft once again only to tease her entrance before rubbing herself desperately along his hard length, rolling her slickness over him and reveling in the way he throbbed in her hand, begging for release.

Killian felt the familiar warmth of Hook's arms as he wrapped them around his own, his twin's stump resting over his heart while his fingers stroked muscles tightened by clenched fists as he fought not grab Emma himself and finally pull her down onto his cock.

“You're quite the bloody tease, love...” Killian groaned, his hips jutting upward toward the promise of her warmth as she hovered over him, her wet folds barely brushing the tip of him as she clung to the swathes of white gossamer falling down from the canopy above them, the silky fabric wrapped tightly around her wrists as she balanced on top of him, her pale legs spread wide and revealing the glistening pink of her sex.

“Tell me what you want,” Emma purred, her free hand moving to pleasure herself again, lithe fingers dipping into her entrance and stroking her swollen flesh.

“Everything, Swan. I want to touch you, just like that,” he hissed, jerking against Hook's strong embrace, the hair on his chest pleasant and rough against his back as he squirmed, earning a moan from him as he rolled against where the hard ridge of his twin's cock was pressed firmly against him as they reclined. “I want to bury my fingers and then my tongue back inside that delectable cunt, savoring every last drop of you.”

“And then what?” she breathed, her own fingers pumping in and out of her greedily, her cheeks flushed and chest heaving as she met the eyes of the two pirates who loved her, both of them devouring her display hungrily as she fucked herself above them.

“Then when I've drained every last ounce of pleasure from your body,” Killian growled, his own member angry and weeping in front of him, begging to be touched, to be swallowed by her tight heat, “I'm going to fill you up with my cock, love, breed you so deep you can't bloody well walk the next day.”

“Fuck,” Emma moaned, tossing her head back so that her blonde curls brushed his legs, her arousal slipping from her fingers and dripping down the burning length of his hardness as she worked herself, her legs trembling as she fought to stay upright. “Yes, gods yes, please...”

“Bloody hell,” Hook groaned behind him, his grip tightening as he thrust his hips, rocking his hardened flesh between his own stomach and Killian's back. “Look at our lass, so wanton and needy, Killian, look how badly she needs us to take care of her.”

“Well, if she'd only – ”

Killian's words were cut short, falling into a heavy moan as Emma finally sunk onto him with a keening whimper, her thighs shaking as she dropped fully onto his length, so aroused and slick that he bottomed out quickly despite his size, a sob pulled from her lips at the sensation of finally being full.

“Gods, just like that, love,” Hook whispered, his eyes blown wide with desire as he watched Emma slowly rise up and down, her thighs trembling as her folds parted to accept the other pirate's cock, “ride him just like that, love, nothing I enjoy more than watching that sweet quim of yours spread around him.”

Killian was lost in the ecstasy written on her face as she rode him, her brow furrowed and lips slightly parted as she moan, her cheeks pink and sweat glistening on her collarbone as she she writhed on top of him, twisting and bucking her hips as she moved up and down, the fleeting jolts of pleasure that had been only enough to make him hungrier finally building into a tight roar behind his balls, coiled and throbbing and threatening to explode though he was nowhere done with being buried in her heat.

A frustrated cry fell from Emma's lips as she finally tumbled forward, exhausted and boneless, the curtains framing them in the large canopy bed unraveling from her wrist as she toppled against Killian's chest, panting and searching hungrily for his mouth, her hips still circling him weakly as she sought release. Once again he found himself straining against Hook's embrace, and this time the other man relented, releasing his arms so that he could wrap them around Emma, devouring every moan she poured into him.

“She's worn herself out,” Hook teased, easing Killian's weight from his body as he slid out from beneath and shifted to the edge of the bed, kneeling at eye-level with his partners and wrapping his hand firmly around his cock as he watched their bodies roll together. “Just fuck her until she can't see straight.”

“Happy to oblige,” Killian drawled, grabbing a hold of Emma's hip and taking control, her body bouncing atop him as he bent his knees and used his wrist to stabilize himself on the mattress, thrusting his cock further into her sopping hole as she gasped and moaned above him, bliss suffusing her flushed skin and swollen lips.

Hook groaned beside them, his ringed fingers squeezing and sliding up his shaft as he worked toward his own release at their side, the wet noises of Emma being fucked into by Killian's thick cock making him nearly blind with pleasure. Emma's eyes snapped open at the sound of both her pirate's racing toward their release – Killian wrapped so completely around her and buried inside of her, Hook with his head tilted back and muscles taut as he jerked himself off, his cock bobbing furiously next to them.

“Oh god,” she moaned, one of her hands clutching at Killian's shoulder as the other palmed her breast, gripping the soft flesh and twisting her nipple roughly. “I'm so close, this is so...so fucking hot...”

“Tell me how he feels inside of you, darling,” Hook whispered, a bead of sweat trickling down his neck and running along the firm lines of his chest, soft grunts falling from his lips as his fist rolled furiously over the head of his cock.

“So full,” Emma cried tremulously, struggling to form words as she bounced on top of Killian, his powerful thrusts barely leaving her able to hang on. “Like I'm going to come apart...he's huge...stretching me open...”

“Bloody hell, you're gorgeous, you filthy, wanton thing,” Hook growled, a moan falling from his lips that had Killian's head snapping to the side to pay further attention to him, his rough stubble scratching the tip of him and eliciting a pained hiss before it was soothed by the wet warmth of his twin's lips sucking him down, his tongue laving around his shaft and teasing his slit.

Killian's pace stuttered as he filled his mouth with Hook's cock, groaning around the deep, musky taste of him, a hint of his salty essence leaking from the tip and making him yearn for that finish he knew would be soon, but watching her two pirates take pleasure from each other – Hook's fingers stroking through Killian's hair and cupping his cheek as he swallowed him whole, Emma was hit by another surge of energy, impaling herself on Killian's cock with renewed vigor, her eyes locked on the two men she loved.

Killian's gaze slid back to her, his cheeks hollowed out and a wild, a dark look in his eye as he watched Emma ride him, her mouth pursed in that way he knew meant she was close, her body slamming into his hard enough that they would both be bruised in the morning – but surrounded by the feel of her tight walls and breathy moans, Hook stroking his head and thrusting deeply into his throat, Killian couldn't find it within him to care.

“Fuck, fuck...I'm there,” Emma cried, her walls seizing and throbbing around him as she finally reached her peak, her body trembling on top of him as he thrust desperately into her twice more, grunting around Hook's cock as his seed shot from him and filled her pulsing channel, each breath between them drawing out the pleasure she milked every last drop from his body.

Hook's hand tightened in Killian's hair as the sight of his two lovers climaxing drove him over the edge, his shaft swelling and throbbing as rope after rope of his cum spilled into his twin's mouth, Killian's throat swallowing reflexively around him as his tongue lavished him with soft, needy strokes that coaxed the last of his release free. Relinquishing him with a last, lingering lick of his head, Killian's head rolled back on his neck as he fell to the bed with Emma following.

It was an unconscious thing, the way they slipped to the side and made room for Hook as he lowered himself on shaky legs to lie beside them, damp skin and sated bodies collapsing together in a tangle, fingers and lips stroking one another as they lounged, limbs entwined in the most comforting way as they slowly drifted from their blissful haze into the calm of sleep, knowing when they woke they would find one another just as they were – together.

END

#Captain Swan #cs fanfic #CS fic #emma and hook #wish hook #m/f/m #m/m #sailtoafarawayland #entwined

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distant-rose · 5 years ago

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First Line Meme

Rules: Post the first line of one of your WIPs and tag as many people as there are words.

Tagged by: @hookedonapirate

Look, people, I haven’t written in a while. Life has been chaotic af. Anyway, this is from a story that I plotted with the delightful, beautiful and enormously talented @welllpthisishappening because we both love the New York Yankees and will ever endeavor to use our extensive baseball knowledge to our advantage and keep Killian Jones in pinstripes. I go to Yankee Stadium at least five times a year and this fic was inspired by the deep feelings of intense disappointment after the Yankees lost this year and I just wanted to write a comforting fic for all Yankees fans in which Henry hugs Killian and reassures him that everything is going to be okay, despite being on the chopping block for off-season training. This universe comes complete with New York/New Jersey jokes, the longheld tradition of jumping turnstiles, intense and accurate criticisms of the beloved borough of Queens and its shitty transportation system, reasons why parking your car on the street in Forest Hills is a TERRIBLE idea and scary stalker-level knowledge of the inner workings of Yankee Stadium. I’m probably never gonna finish it.

I’m gonna cheat because my first sentence is one word.

Numb. That’s all Killian Jones feels as he walks out of Yankee Stadium.

Tagging: @shireness-says, @justanotherwannabeclassic, @starlessness, @delightfully-difficult-pirate, @asthewheelwills, @blessed-but-distressed, @welllpthisishappening, @ohmightydevviepuu, @effulgentcolors, @initiala, @killianmesmalls, @optomisticgirl

#meme bullshit #fanfic #I'm such a yankees nerd #that will never change #baseball is a tenant of my personality #killian jones as gleyber torres-seque with a hint of miguel andujar and the trade rumors of clint frazer #if you understood that #your name is probably laura #and if not #kudos to you #also a lot of firsthand knowledge of Hackensack in here #he's the bergen county bomber #okay?

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ineffablecolors · 6 years ago

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THE WIFE [3/?]

The Wife || Ch 3 ~ 5.3 k || Ch 1 Ch2 || FF.NET&AO3 Summary: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are? A/N: Do check the notes on chapter 1 Eternal thanks to @csmarchmadness - if it wasn’t for this event, I probably wouldn’t have gotten my ass in gear and sat down to actually write this thing that is now so beloved to me already. And to all the ladies in the Discord chat - you bring laughter and fanfiction into my life so you’re basically goddesses and I wanna keep you forever. Hope you all enjoy this and follow along for the rest of the journey cuz I have plansTM! :D

To her utter surprise a week is all it takes for Emma to become more or less attuned to the workings of the Jones household.

Much as she guessed the very first morning, catching Killian Jones in the midst of breaking his fast is near impossible. Every morning, by the time she makes her way down to breakfast, no matter how early she tries to rise, the table is set and waiting but any trace of the master of the house is already gone. Usually, he is just down the corridor in his study but occasionally he is already out of the house, meeting his brother for matters of business, by the time Emma – let alone Alice – takes her first sip of tea.

She notices that he makes a point of always sharing at least one meal with her and his daughter and, more often than even Alice seems to expect, he manages to make time to join them for a ride in the afternoon. Indeed, Emma tries not to let her fancy fly away from her and make her feel more important than she has a right to but she can’t help suspecting that it’s her own timidity and anxiety about riding that makes him lend his services to them, seeing as Alice is an extraordinarily accomplished rider.

Emma herself is moderately pleased with the progress she has made. In all honestly, she suspects it was more daring and youthful confidence that made her a somewhat decent rider when she was much younger rather than any proper form or natural talent. But, contrary to her own musings, both Killian and Alice assert that she appears to be a natural and, most of all, that she has managed to make Buttercup fall in love with her with merely a few words and touches, whereas Alice proclaims that Jolly will still be much happier dashing away on her own and Killian begrudgingly admits – at Peter’s ribbing and his daughter’s teasing – that it took months of time spent on his ass in the dirt for him to prove himself worthy of Roger. After a week of almost daily exercise atop her own mare, Emma feels her tailbone tingle with sympathy at the mere thought.

And yet, she has never felt more pleasantly exhausted in her life. The fresh air of the countryside all around them and the emotional and then simply physically taxation of getting back on a horse have taken their toll but she finds herself unwilling to refuse every time Alice appears in front of her with her riding clothes already on.

Perhaps this is the reason she has been unable to awake early enough to catch her husband in his morning routine but it does not serve to explain why she also has yet to see or hear him retire to bed. Aside from that very first night – that she thinks can hardly be named their “wedding night” – she has never seen Killian heading for his bedchambers.

What she has seen is that the library is not as often engaged as she first thought it might be and thus, Emma has already spent many an hour familiarizing herself with its collection and the numerous artefacts from the brothers’ travels. And still, late as she burns her candle in that room, she never manages to make it to the point when Jones – presumably – heads to bed himself. Ruby and Mrs Lucas have on a couple of occasions now asked if she needed anything and bid her goodnight before retiring to their rooms but heading to bed after her husband has proven as impossible as rising from it before him.

Finding and securing the company of his daughter is much easier and that when Alice doesn’t put some scheme of hers into action first. Emma thinks she might be on her way to unravelling another small mystery, that of Alice’s permanent residence away from her home. It takes but a day in the girl’s presence to realize that, charming as it might be, Storybrooke is much too small to contain her. Emma is rather puzzled why Alice does not go more into society here but she can perfectly perceive how the city might be calling to her after a few weeks in her family home.

A home which has proven rather favourable to Emma’s disposition despite the complete chance introduced into her life. So it is with an almost quiet resignation that Emma gasps awake long before dawn on a summer day a little over a week after her nuptials.

Her heart does its damnest to beat out of her chest and the sweat on her back makes her shiver under all the blankets but she regains control of most of her faculties almost immediately and proceeds to deepen her breathing the way she has learnt will help bring awareness of her surroundings and dissipate the dream faster. Her toes are ice-cold but her need to get up makes the bed resemble hot coals beneath her so she dresses quickly, aware that she will not be going back to sleep until night has arrived anew.

As it is, she is forced to take her candle with her, the sun not even peaking over the horizon yet as she makes her way down the stairs as silently as possible. It is only as she heads for the kitchen – her mind on a glass of warm milk – that she entertains the notion that anyone might already be awake.

“—and this girl now. What is the purpose of this?” Mrs Lucas’s voice is gruffer than usual, smudged with sleep and something else Emma cannot place through the door.

“You could be a bit kinder to her,” as for Killian’s voice, it is crisp and clear – he might as well have been awake for hours.

“And you can tell me why it is that you took her in. Lord knows, you probably haven’t told a soul. If any has asked.”

It is in that moment that she realizes herself the topic of their conversation. Perhaps, if it was more in her nature or even, if she stopped to truly consider, Emma might have lingered quietly outside a few minutes longer and gleaned some of that much coveted and hard to obtain knowledge of her husband’s private thoughts. But the sharp shove she gives the door is almost instinctive and has the immediate effect of silencing everyone on the other side.

She may have brought secrets into this house but she does not wish to accumulate new ones while here.

When she walks in, Mrs Lucas looks for all the world as if Emma has been stumbling into the kitchen at ungodly hours of the morning ever since she got here. Killian’s face, however – and Emma has quickly learnt that, for all the coldness and irreproachability that he tries to paint on it, it is a painfully expressive one – is caught somewhere between surprised guilt and uncomfortable suspicion.

But Emma’s state is still rumpled enough and her eyes not quite open enough to alarm anyone and make them believe she could have been eavesdropping.

“Well, there is certainly no need to be this early,” the cook mutters under her breath as she rolls up her sleeve and barely spares Emma a glance.

“Perhaps you should inform Ruby that the sun, as well as us, will be up before her soon enough,” Killian suggests in rebuff and Emma tries not to jump out of her way when the old woman stalks past her, grumbling under her breath that they all might as well not go to bed at all anymore.

“There was no need—“ she starts but Killian waves his hand in the air before he runs it over his face.

“She has been itching to either have it out with me or get out of this room for some moments now. Your appearance ruled rather in my favour.”

Emma nods and clasps her hands in front of her, now questioning her decision to run downstairs from her troubled thoughts. Normally, she uses any opportunity to take a peek at Jones’s inner workings but she questions her current ability for casual conversation, let alone something deeper.

“Were you looking for something?”

“Oh, I was just going to get a glass of milk.”

Killian snaps his fingers as if he should have guessed her reason for being here, already turning toward the stove and thankfully missing her slight jump at the sharp sound. Watching his back, Emma is frozen with indecision.

Far as her sleep-muddled mind planned, she would’ve found the kitchen still quiet and empty and made the drink herself. In the event of Ruby or Mrs Lucas being up already, she most certainly would’ve debated letting them get on with their work and sorting herself out. She did not account for Killian at all and her inexperience with gentlemen of his stature – let alone his manner, which seems rather singular to her – makes her uncertain of how she should proceed.

Certainly it is more befitting for her to take over any tasks in the kitchen rather than him? Yet, she does not feel herself ingrained into the household enough to take any such initiative. So instead she stays where she is and observes with interest the way he moves around the kitchen, operating predominantly with his real hand.

The missing limb seems to impair him extremely rarely when riding and, reading and writing being the other two activities in which she has mainly seen him engaged, Emma has given little thought to what she supposes is a battle wound.

Then he comes to a sudden halt and she straightens along with him, worried that he has somehow sensed, and does not appreciate, her pointed attention.

“Actually… would you like something a bit different?” Killian glances over his shoulder, his manner easy enough that Emma feels her shoulders relax as his lips quirk up the slightest amount. “I believe I already pointed out that a soldier salute is unnecessary.”

Emma frowns in confusion, her brain taking a moment to assimilate the words in the morning light that has barely appeared behind the white curtains, and then she shocks them both with a short burst of laughter. It’s a quick and slightly hysterical thing but with it she feels the last of her dark dreams disperse and drops almost theatrically in one of the hard kitchen chairs.

“Something different?”

“Mm, are you fond of hot chocolate?”

“I cannot answer that, seeing as I have never tried it.”

To his credit, a singular eyebrow expresses Killian’s disbelief before he turns back to his preparations.

“As I told your sister-in-law, sugar is one of my grandmother’s archenemies.”

“Which doesn’t say much about sugar at all with how many she must have.”

“Mrs Jones was equally witty and condemning. You must all have a frightfully low opinion of my family.”

“Rather that singular relation.”

“Well—“ she opens her mouth to say that, vile as the woman is, she constitutes the whole of Emma’s family, before she realizes that is technically no longer the case. “She did say you have a weakness for it.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your sister-in-law. She said you also have a weakness for sugar.”

“Ah. Well, Elsa always likes to know where one’s strengths and weaknesses lie.”

“Then surely you must be flattered that is the only one she has found in you.”

“I can assure you that is not the case. But I do appreciate her choosing it as the one to expose on my wedding day. Now—“

He turns around with a pot in his hand and two cups, dangling by their handles from his little finger. Emma forces herself to remain seated, her hands in her lap and an expectant expression on her face.

Killian sets the cups down with a clatter and no saucers and starts pouring out a thick, dark liquid that makes her nose twitch with eagerness.

“A few centuries ago they used to stuff it full of spices but, as most good things, it’s best in its simplicity,” he nudges one cup toward Emma and takes his own, sitting across from her. “Though I will admit to a dash of cinnamon and vanilla.”

Emma takes the drink and gives it one more experimental sniff, despite the fact that the aroma has already made her mouth water with anticipation. She takes a small sip at first but that is enough – the warm liquid coasts her tongue in a way that simple milk could not have hoped to do – the taste and texture exquisitely rich, and then the flavours explode – teetering on the line between sweet and bitter, both smoothed and enhanced by the distinct kick of the cinnamon and the softness of the vanilla.

So focused on the sensations inside her mouth, she is quite unaware of what her face is doing, though Killian must not be because in the next second his laugh fills the gradually brightening kitchen. She would be rather offended, if it wasn’t for the fact that the sound is absolutely magnificent. That and he does seem – as is becoming usual – to delight in her reactions rather than mock them.

Emma takes another, more generous sip before she licks her lips and sets her cup down.

“Oh, you have made a believer out of me. Plain milk will never do again.”

“You should tell Mrs Lucas to increase her weekly purchase of the stuff then.”

“Me?” now she is very conscious of how her eyes widen with obvious dread of such an interaction.

“She does not actually bite,” Killian’s voice is reassuring but the glint in his eyes as he lifts his own cup to his mouth is anything but.

“With a bark like that I’m sure she does not need to.”

It’s more a snort than a laugh this time but Emma is much too distracted by the way his tongue flicks over his lips to clean them to mind.

In the golden morning light, now edging its way into every corner and crevice of the kitchen, with his jacket and waistcoat absent, his eyes flashing every once in awhile and his lips fitting themselves against the rim of his cup with obvious pleasure, Emma Jones rather likes her husband.

*****

Her knuckles pop a little as she tries to cover her yawn with the back of her hand.

“Why don’t you just go to bed?” Alice’s voice startles her – the girl has collected about a dozen cushions and pillows in front of the large fireplace in the library and is languidly making her way through The Odyssey and a pot of tea that Emma has refused to partake in. “You should know, tomorrow I will drag you out of doors, if I have to.”

Alice has certainly inherited her father’s cheek though not his preference for comfort of his own home. For it seems there is no greater offense to Miss Jones than remaining indoors on a “perfectly lovely summer day”. Indeed, on most days, Emma agrees with her with pleasure or at least without too much protest.

But the exceptionally early start of her day has left Emma both in good spirits and at the same time very reluctant to risk that pleasant, mellow feeling by quitting the house. So she showed some willfulness for the first time and postponed going to the seamstress from who they were to collect the last of her new wardrobe. Killian, receiving a substantial amount of correspondence before lunch, asked not to be bothered with such trifles and Emma hasn’t seen or heard him leave his study since. Alice was all too eager to exchange a trip to the shops for a long ride and was only temporary put out when Emma expressed her disinclination to join her.

So it is that she has spent most of her day learning the last details about the household from Ruby and going over the shopping lists – adding extra chocolate – with Mrs Lucas. Surprisingly the old woman displayed only her usual amount of annoyance in Emma’s presence and even accepted a suggestion or two she made (while declining another half a dozen, of course).

“You do not have to wait on me, I should be going to bed shortly,” Alice continues, breaking Emma out of her retrospection of her supposedly uneventful day. “And you certainly won’t be able to keep your eyes open long enough to see papa.”

“He was up early,” she replies before she can think to feign ignorance.

“He is always the first to light a candle in the mornings and the last to put it out in the evenings,” it is the first time she sees melancholy on Alice’s face, though, for a moment, something livelier and hopeful flashes through her eyes.

Emma frowns in thought – by her personal observations and calculations, it is simply impossible that Killian gets more than four or five hours of sleep.

They are silent long enough that Alice returns to her book and Emma watches the flames dancing in the fireplace – her own book abandoned on the little table beside her – and listens to the very stillness of the house. When the clock strikes 11, the fire is dangerously low and Emma is starting to feel a slight chill in the air. Alice leaves book, teacup and scattered furniture all as is and stretches her arms to the sides, declaring herself fit to go to bed. Her “goodnight” is rather pointed but her eyes are all softness and comfort and Emma stares after her for a minute or ten.

Then she jumps to her feet with a sudden burst of determination that she knows she must seize before it deserts her. A minute later she enters Killian’s study without knocking – Mrs Lucas would’ve probably dragged her out by the hair, if she had seen her.

“Why did you take me in?”

“I beg your pardon?” Killian’s head shoots up – his eyes are bloodshot from staring at the tiny figures before him under the light of a single candle. There is a half-full tumbler of golden liquid beside him but the room smells of wax rather than alcohol and Emma soldiers on.

“I know Regina was looking for a buyer and I know she didn’t expect to get half as good a deal as this. On top of the expenses of a wife, I’d wager she requested a nice commission for facilitating it all—“

“You would wager what exactly?” his voice is harsher than she has ever heard it directed at her and his scowl tells her how little he appreciates her brashness in this moment.

But she does not wish to be so tempted by answers that next time she has the opportunity to eavesdrop on some conversation, she does betray him.

“Nothing. For I have nothing. Some would say that I have ever less than a common girl and I know Regina—“

“Blast Regina. You think she was looking for a buyer?” Killian doesn’t jump to his feet the way she did earlier but the motion is somehow so powerful and full of agitation that Emma takes an instinctive step back. “Aye, that she was. And she wasn’t selling you the nice way either – quiet and private. She was getting desperate and acting like it was a bloody auction!”

She knew, of course. She knew Regina never cared for her and would sell her to the highest bidder. Her own metaphor aligns perfectly with Killian’s. And yet, hearing it from someone else’s mouth, having it confirmed that her grandmother shamelessly put her on the market like a piece of meat, makes her vision start to swim.

Emma tries to swallow around the lump in her throat and feels the tips of her nails digging into the flesh of her palm. Killian’s sharp exhale makes her vision sharpen a little as she tries to focus on him again – he looks rather stricken and she almost opens her mouth to assure him that he hasn’t really told her anything she didn’t already suspect.

“Emma, I—“ he takes a step forward then halts, looking as if he expects her to back away, and takes the next two slower, keeping his eyes on hers. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to—“

“So why did you bid?”

“What?”

She raises her chin and holds his gaze.

“If she was putting me out there like an auction piece, why did you bid?”

Killian slowly tilts his head to the side and regards her in silence and Emma tries to count her breaths so she doesn’t miss any. Finally, he sighs and hangs his head and for the first time since she barged into his study Emma feels like she has stepped out of line.

And for what?

“I will answer that.”

She blinks in surprise.

“Tomorrow. Can we do this tomorrow morning? I—“ he waves almost helplessly toward his desk and gives her a beseeching look.

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

She nods.

“But after the sun has properly risen.”

His mouth ticks up hesitantly on one side and he nods as well.

“After the sun is firmly anchored in the sky.”

“And maybe with that chocolate drink.”

“That can be arranged as well.”

“Alright.”

She nods once more and turns on her heel.

“Emma. I am sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

She turns back and lifts her shoulders, her eyes straying from his.

“I shouldn’t have barged in here like that.”

“One offense does not excuse another.”

“Hmm. I like that.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“Alright. I am not— You are forgiven.”

She is not sure this is the proper thing to say, it comes out sounding much haughtier than she wanted it to, not at all the sentiment she was trying to convey. But the look on Killian’s face stops her from regretting her choice of words.

“Goodnight, Killian.”

“Goodnight.”

“Go to bed.”

His chuckle behind her is tired but not entirely mirthless.

*****

She makes her way down the stairs and hopes with all her might to find Jones in the kitchen again. The library, let alone his study, will certainly hold the stale feeling of late night confusion and overexposed emotions.

Truth be told, by now Emma almost regrets posing the question that has been foremost in her mind ever since she heard Mrs Lucas put it into words, if not ever since she learnt she was to marry Killian Jones. Fairly gained intelligence is all good and proper but she is not entirely sure she is prepared to receive this particular piece of it.

Finding Killian where she hoped to restores a smidge of her confidence but she is still very conscious of the fact that – were he to act like nothing happened, she will allow it. Alas, if the look on his face is any indication, if he entertained the coward’s path at all, he decided to turn away from it.

“The sun is up, as requested. Should we make use of it and take a walk?”

Emma blinks in surprise. She considered the sturdy walls and dark tones of the house more befitting the conversation before them but now feels immense relief at the thought of fresh air and an open space.

Killian pushes off the counter and hands her a cup of what she assumes is hot chocolate and Emma’s straining nerves relax a little when her hand wraps around the warm cup – this one is bigger than the one he served them in the day before, its rim is not curved and instead it has a lid that she supposes will keep the liquid warm longer. For a moment, she wonders if Killian puts this much thought into every single action, if that is why he requested a whole night before he answered a straight question. It sounds both endearing and exhausting.

He holds the backdoor for her and they slip from the kitchen, the air much crisper than she expected.

“Would you like me to fetch you a coat?”

She shakes her head, knowing she will regret it soon enough and clutching her cup tighter. Then she turns to face her husband and, in the direct sunlight, comes to wonder if he has been to bed at all. His shirt and waistcoat are different but his hair looks like it has met with his hand rather than a pillow, the lines around his eyes seem deeper, the shadow under them – likewise.

He has not taken a drink for himself and – whether for his benefit or hers she wastes no time to determine – Emma slips her free hand in the crook of his right elbow. Killian startles but settles soon enough that she decides the gesture has been deemed acceptable.

“I believe it is of no use to do things by halves. So I’ve decided to give you more information than you were probably searching for, in order to make myself quite clear.”

His voice is gruff but not unkind and her surprise at this pronouncement is genuine but not unpleasant.

“I believe Mrs Mills has been struggling to maintain appearances while her finances have been failing her.”

Emma suspected as much herself but doubts she is aware of the full extend of Regina’s presumed troubles.

“I do not wish to be crude but I… I also believe she took stock of her valuables and decided you were the one she was most willing to part with.”

“I assure you, Regina would consider it much too great a compliment rather than an offense of any sort that I am being listed among her valuables.”

Killian glances at her before quickly looking away. He seems somewhat taken aback by her blasé attitude toward her grandmother’s mistreatment but even more so by the intimacy walking arm in arm has brought. Emma is fully aware that this is the closest she has been to her husband – physically speaking, but her main focus at the present moment is how close he is about to allow her in another sense.

“Yes, well… I think her mounting frustrations made her rather careless and… desperation is never a good calling card when the object is an engagement. Perhaps it wasn’t like that at first but— Emma, I am not sure you quite understand how far removed from society I am personally and how rare it is for gossip to make its way to my ears.”

She feels the blazing heat in her cheeks despite the morning chill that has control over most of the rest of her body. It’s a long time that she has been parted with her grandmother’s good – or at least tolerant – opinion and, as for society, Emma never much cared what gossip may spread about her, seeing as most of it will be deserved and she cared little for the company of people willing to be swayed by it.

Yet the idea of what whisperings might have reached all the way to the inhabitants of the Jones household makes the knot in her stomach tighten even further now.

“I do not wish to… to interrupt but I fail to see how that has led us… here.”

Killian sighs and, likely unconsciously, tightens his arm around her own.

“For that I need to… I will have to go further back. What I meant for you to take from this is that, knowingly or not, your grandmother was destroying your reputation and any future aspirations with an alarming – frankly, almost impressive, speed.”

When she lifts the cup to her mouth, it shakes a little in her grasp and Emma tries to tell herself that if the answer to why Killian Jones brought her into his family is pity, it is not the worst answer she could have received.

“My previous wife did not hold our daughter in much higher esteem than your grandmother seems to hold you.”

The change of topic is so sudden that her neck pops a little when she twists in his direction. He glances at her – his smile is tight and dark and his steps almost cease for an instant before he resumes the brisk pace that has been keeping her from truly suffering the coldness that the sun is still working on chasing away.

“Of course, I do not pretend to know the nature of your relationship but at the very least you were allowed to remain in Mrs Mill’s presence. My wife did not allow Alice the same courtesy and send her away to school as soon as such a scheme was feasible. A-and she could carry it out without my knowledge.”

Emma bites her tongue against the barge of questions bubbling up from inside her. Why would any mother want to be parted from her child? She supposes her indignation might be finding some outlet through her eyes but Killian’s are firmly focused on the trees in the distance. She is glad for it because – even as most of her anger is directed toward a woman now in her grave, she cannot quite understand why Killian would submit to such an arrangement after it was made known to him.

“When Alice was old enough and confident enough in herself to express her wish to remain at home for longer periods of time – and received my full support of the idea – her mother adopted a new method of keeping her away.”

Killian watches their feet advancing slowly for a few seconds and Emma takes a fortifying breath.

“My daughter found herself in much the same position as you, only much earlier in her life and, sadly, there could be no question of whether her chances and reputation was being ruined on purpose or not.”

“How could she—“

Killian’s jaw tightens and Emma stops herself from finishing the question.

“I do not mean to present my conduct in a more altruistic light than it deserves, Emma. My brother and his wife were much engaged in the task of introducing me to as many ladies as a man who does not attend dances and dinners could possibly meet. And it was my hope – for whose fulfilment I do wish to express my gratitude to you – that my daughter’s age and temperament would not set the two of you at odds and that your introduction into the family will provide sufficient reason for her to remain here for some time.”

She has drawn and discarded a dozen conclusions in the span of the last quarter of an hour and for each question that has been answered in some form a dozen more have arisen, but if Emma is uncertain that she can receive any more information at present, she is quite certain that Killian cannot give any more with additional pain to himself.

And if there is one conclusion that she has drawn and put safely away as fact, it is that she does not wish to cause Killian Jones any pain.

“So how bad is it?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“How far did Regina go before you could get to her? How bad of a blow is it to be married to me?”

It is the first time since they stepped outside that Killian comes to a firm stop and she tries not to give in to the shiver and stab of pain when he lets go of her arm so he can face her.

“I am a man who has taken many blows in his life, Emma.”

The pointed motion with his wooden hand surprises her but not nearly as much as the warmth of the fingers that settle under her chin and gently urge it up.

“I can assure you, you’re not one of them.”

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#captain swan #cs ff #cs au #cs crew #cs march madness #the wife

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justsomewhump · 5 years ago

Text

Talk to the Hand

A simple whump-without-plot fic I’d written some time ago because I like hypothermic pirates :3 I had forgotten a bit about it, so I took a quick look and decided to post it!

Word count: ~1.8k AO3

“Come on Killian! Don’t stay too far behind!”

Killian followed Emma’s words after taking a last look behind his back. This cursed place had thrown them no less than five traps in the last few minutes. If it weren’t for Emma and Regina’s magic, they would have been doomed by now.

They kept running until they reached a wall. There was a big opening in the ceiling, low enough for them to climb through. This place made no sense structurally, but if they’d understood one thing while there was that the higher they went the safer. They helped each other up, Killian staying last. He could easily grab the ground above and hoist himself up but David and Emma just offered their hands to help him. Killian took a deep breath and raised his hand.

He didn’t really see it happening. One moment he was stretching his hand to them and could see them, the next he was in complete darkness and something solid was around his wrist. He took a few quick breaths before flexing his fingers. It felt like it worked, and then a hand was touching his - it was Emma’s. He immediately grabbed onto her, his feeling of touch growing stronger by the lack of sight.

“Emma?” he shouted. The lack of an echo in the room made his skin crawl. Wasn’t it supposed to be a big room? What kind of magic was taking place there? “Emma!”

Emma’s hands shook his hard. Then he felt a pair of lips touching it, and a soft vibration being transferred to his hand through them.

She was trying to talk to him too.

“Emma,” he said softly this time, his breath growing faster.

Her one hand let go and the other turned his palm up. He felt her fingers tracing letters on his palm. H... E... A...

Hear us?

He smiled slightly when she traced even the question mark. He shook his index finger, then pointed stiffly at wherever he imagined Emma was.

“Bloody hell.”

He tried to shake his hand off the material around his wrist, but it seemed unyielding, and he swallowed hard. If he stayed for far too long there he was running a great risk of losing his only hand.

U ok?

He raised his thumb and picked up her hand again.

He then raised his hook in front of him and gasped when he realized that the wall that was in front of him before was now gone. He waved at the air with his arm and legs but he didn’t hit anything.

A shiver ran down his spine but he had the strangest feeling it wasn’t because of fear.

Emma started tracing letters on his palm again.

Well yet u out

“We’ll get you out,” he told himself. He turned his hand to grab hers tightly. When he felt it was warmer than his he finally realized why he’d shivered before. His toes were starting to get cold, and when he touched his hook gently on his skin, the metal was growing cold as well.

It gave him the motivation to trace the word Hurry on her hand before letting go. Emma kissed his hand and then she was gone. He felt a soft rumbling around his wrist, probably magic trying to work its way through, but nothing happened. Emma’s hands touched his again.

U ok?

He raised his thumb again.

We’ll try again

He nodded without thinking and shivered. It was getting really cold really fast. He tried to rub his arm on his side to warm himself a little, but when it did nothing he started walking on the spot. He moved his head around, trying to catch anything, but he indeed was in complete darkness. No matter how much he stayed there his eyes couldn’t adapt. He shivered again and tried to remember what he could about hypothermia. He knew that exhaustion and lack of coordination would come soon, so he kept moving as much as he could to stay warm.

Then he remembered the flashlight he had in an inner pocket. With a shiver, he put his hook in it and slowly dragged the flashlight out, bracing it against his body. With slow, careful movements - he couldn’t see a thing and more cold was already settling in - he grabbed it with his teeth.

Good. Now what? He felt more rumbling from above and his hand slightly going numb.

Biting down on the flashlight hard enough to keep it in place but not damage it, he felt around with his hook for the switch.

More rumbling, but still nothing.

He found the switch, and desperately fumbled with his hook in effort to turn the flashlight on. He was starting to shiver whole now, the worst symptoms wouldn’t take too long to come. It was so bloody cold…

Then his hook finally pressed on the switch.

And the ground outright disappeared from beneath him.

Killian screamed as he fell slightly, the flashlight slipping from his mouth and falling, falling, falling... until its light disappeared into nothing. He didn't hear the sound of it dropping.

He started panting, the freezing air making his throat hurt as he pointlessly looked up to see nothing. He was literally hanging from his only hand, stuck inside the ceiling. His wrist was hurting even more now as it supported his full weight, and he felt stings of pain travel up his arm, or down, to be more specific.

He felt panic claw its way in. He’d seen, heard about torture techniques that included such suspension… and he knew his time was very limited if he wanted to get out of there safe. It would take less than half an hour for his hand to start rotting from cut circulation.

“Help!” he cried desperately. His voice was broken from the cold and the shivering.

He tried to take normal breaths, but they were becoming too shallow, and every time he breathed it felt like freezing knives were going down his throat. Exhaustion was making his limbs feel even heavier…

No. He wouldn’t go down like this. He moved his free arm, trying to stick his hook in the ceiling. The ceiling was hard, unyielding, but he tried as much as he could until he collapsed, too weak and cold to do anything else.

The tears in his eyes were starting to freeze before they even fell. He thought he felt someone touch his hand, but it was too numb for him to be sure. Emma was maybe trying to communicate with him again, but even if he had the energy to, he didn't have the will to lie to her that he's okay.

By now he’d stopped shivering and the only thing he could think was that it was a bad sign. And if the cold didn’t kill him right then, he would probably lose his only hand. If only the others saved him in time…

It made no difference, but he still closed his eyes.

He was glad he did, as a few seconds later a bright fire appeared in front of him. He couldn’t understand what it was, but it circled around him, then disappeared, and then they were pulling him up.

Grunting weakly, he squeezed his eyes shut when the bright light from above entered his vision.

“Oh my God! Killian!”

“Come on, pull him up. We have to take that thing off from around his wrist.”

Emma touched Killian’s face. “He’s cold as ice!” His face was pale, lips and ears had turned blue and he looked dizzy, his eyes closed tight.

“Emma? I need your help to remove the… whatever that is from his wrist,” Regina said.

Emma looked at the big circle of concrete, or whatever, around Killian's wrist. She’d set David’s sword on fire and he’d cut a big circle around Killian's hand, so now they were dealing with a huge bracelet that was possibly cutting off his circulation.

It seemed that once off its source it was weak, because with one flick of her wrist it broke in pieces, releasing Killian’s hand.

“Killian? Can you hear me?”

Killian only mumbled nonsense.

“He’s hypothermic. He needs to go to the hospital,” David said.

Emma simply took Killian in her arms and held him close, trying to warm him with her body heat. She shivered at the cold feel but sighed when she saw the awful redness in his hand recede.

“I can’t heal that much. Do you think you can?” Regina said.

Emma shook her head. She was too upset to focus on her magic now anyway.

“We have to use the bean. This place is a nightmare. We didn't get any closer to defeating our guy, and we’re lucky Hook didn’t get any worse.”

“Don’t just think about Storybrooke. Think about the hospital. We don’t have much time,” Emma said right before they jumped in the portal.

Nurses were all over them only seconds after they arrived. They took him away on a gurney covered in blankets. Emma stood where she was in shock.

It was too much of a reminder of him being taken away in a similar way, only that time the blanket had been completely covering his lifeless body…

David understood and approached her, offering a hug and she took it.

They didn’t wait long. Whale appeared only minutes later.

“He’ll be fine. He’s on warm fluids and under lots of blankets. His arm may hurt for a few days but he will recover fully.”

“Can I see him?”

“He’s only slightly disoriented, so it’s better if he stays for the night but you can stay with him.”

She couldn’t stop thinking about warming him with her body heat again - for strictly health reasons, of course - as they walked to his room. She sighed in relief when she saw him again. He looked weak, yes, but most of the colour had returned to his face, his lips and ears now a simple pale instead of blue.

“S-Swan,” he said softly as he saw her.

“Hey. You’re gonna be okay.” She touched his face, shivering at the still cold feel.

“I know. They t-told me. I’m sorry you h-had to b-bring me h-h-here.”

“Hey, it wasn’t your fault. That place was hell.”

“Quite a c-cold one, th-then,” Killian said with a smile.

Without a second thought, Emma took off her coat and slipped under the covers, touching her body to his as much as she could. She shivered.

“That’s not n-neces-ssary, l-love. The doc-ctor said-”

“That I can stay here with you. I was only seeing your hand for what felt like hours. I want to feel as much of you as possible, and if that helps get you warmer sooner that’s even better. So shush. I can hear the innuendo coming from miles away.”

Killian simply smiled, managing to make it a dirty one and closed his eyes, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

#I write thangs #Killian Jones #whump #hypothermia #cold #trapped #hurt/comfort #Captain Swan #Talk to the Hand

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