#but I’m locked on there and fundraising has been almost entirely on tumblr apart from organizations

[lotus-tower]

It’s been very weird feeling the differences between Twitter and tumblr as platforms in the past year

[let-it-raines]

Betting on the Bullseye (Part 10)

Summary: Emma Swan loses a bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush to be her date to her office’s annual fundraising gala. Killian Jones is that celebrity crush. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost. What she doesn’t expect is for him to say yes.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Do you guys ever read your own fic summaries that you wrote when you only had chapter one written and cringe a bit? Because I do. Writing summaries and coming up with titles are weirdly difficult things, which I find funny since we all write so many words with little issue (sometimes lol).

Anyways, I know you guys are excited about this chapter, and I feel like I should tell you that rating definitely applies here. :D

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Found on Tumblr: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

Tag list: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic​ @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91@branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @galaxyzxstark @lifeinahole27 @andiirivera @ultimiflos @hollyethecurious

“Did you forget something in California?”

Emma’s standing in front of him with wet hair falling down her back and the brightest smile on her face. He’s not sure if it’s the color of her t-shirt or the smile on her face, but her eyes have never been so green. And she’s never been this beautiful. God, he’s missed her in a way that he’s never missed anyone, not at all caring how much of a sentimental fool that makes him.

He is one. Definitely.

“Hi,” Emma sighs, her shoulders slumping in relaxation as she moves toward him and wraps her arms around his waist as he does the same to her, the mug falling to the ground and clanking against the concrete. She’s warm against him and her hair smells strongly of the vanilla of her shampoo and body wash. He missed that, too, his sheets losing the scent after he washed them two days after her departure. He pulls her in a little closer, burying his head into her neck and kissing the skin there, and he simply savors this moment. He felt like he was never going to be here, the days and weeks seemingly stretching on longer than physically possible, but he is here. He’s here. They’re here.

“Hello, love,” he whispers into her neck before pulling back and releasing her to cup her cheeks, her skin as warm and as soft as her lips when he dips his head and bends his knees to slant his lips over hers. Yeah, he’s missed this too. He’s pretty much missed everything, but as she moves against him, her hands threading into his hair while the tempo of the kiss changes from soft and sweet to harsh and passionate, he knows that they’re not going to be wasting any time.

Emma pulls back from him when his tongue runs across the seam of her lips, but she doesn’t go far, resting her forehead against his while their breaths intermingle. “My poor swan mug has been abused since December. I hope you know that.”

“Oi, you were supposed to bring it back with you after your visit.”

“Only because you stole it.”

“Eh, that’s questionable. You did invite me into your apartment on the night we first met.”

“Speaking of,” Emma chuckles, pressing up on her toes and quickly sliding her lips over his, “do you want to come inside, KJ?”

“Absolutely.”

She pulls back from him then, the loss of heat immediate, but then she’s bending down and grabbing her mug and his bag before walking inside, her hips swaying in a way that he knows is intentional. Bloody minx.

He follows her inside, stepping out of the cool Boston air and into the warmth of Emma’s apartment. He remembers it well, even in his brief night here, but he can tell the subtle differences. It’s definitely cleaner, and he chuckles to himself thinking of how she’s likely spent the entire weekend before straightening up. There are some new pillows on her couch, a new coffee table without stains and scuff marks, and she definitely painted. He’s pretty sure the walls were an unfortunate beige last time where they’re now a light mint green.

But the kitchen is still tucked into the corner of the room, more like a kitchen alcove than anything, and it smells of cinnamon from a candle that’s lit on the kitchen counter. He shuts the door behind him, realizing he’s left it open far too long, and twists her locks, making sure to get each bolt and chain. Emma’s standing in the kitchen alcove, rinsing off her mug as if she doesn’t think he did that before boarding his flight, and he shakes his head and walks over to her.

“I washed that, you know.” He wraps his arms around her waist, only the slightest bit of hesitance despite how they greeted each other. But she relaxes into his arms, leaning back against him and looking up at him with a cheeky smile before bringing her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I don’t know where you’ve been. This has been out of my possession for a long time.”

“Again,” he hums, taking the mug out of her hand and grabbing her left wrist before kissing the small dot that resides there, “that is only partially my fault. You had an opportunity, and you missed it, Swan.”

“And I’ve gone without coffee for so long without my favorite mug.”

He quirks an eyebrow as she turns in his embrace and wraps her arms around his neck. He’s very aware of how real this is, of how she’s actually here with him again, but he keeps waiting to wake up from a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened in the past few months. So his hands snake up underneath her t-shirt, feeling the warmth that’s radiating off of her soft skin and firm muscles, and he knows this is real.

Definitely.

“That is a lie, Swan.”

“Definitely a lie.”

Emma leans forward a swiftly brushes her lips over his, once, twice, three times, before he tugs her impossibly closer and runs his hands up and down her sides, feeling her lack of a bra and groaning into her mouth while his thumbs brush the underside of her breasts. Her breath is warm when she gasps into his mouth after he finds her nipples, feeling them pebble the slightest bit under his touch, and he smiles into the kiss, their teeth clanking together as their heads turn.

“I totally intended to talk to you and spend time with you and, like, just watch TV and eat dinner or something, but I’m kind of thinking that’d be a bad plan right now, KJ.”

“How so?”

Instead of answering his question, which was stupid on his part, she slides her mouth over his and tangles their tongues together in a slick, warm slide, his breath escaping him with every movement. He feels his body come to life slowly as they move together. He thought it would be faster than this, harsher, and more desperate, but it’s slow as their tongues dance together and his hands continue to run up and down her sides and her back while her hands stay firmly planted in his hair, tugging on the strands to keep them in place, occasionally bringing him closer.

So maybe she answers his question without any words. He never really needed the words anyways. Emma’s hands leave his hair and trail down his chest to begin tugging on his shirt, trying to get it off but with no success while his grip stays against her hips and his body stays melded into hers. She huffs, whines almost, and he laughs against her lips before kissing against her jaw, trailing along her jawline until he gets to her ear, nibbling the slightest bit, and he hears her moan the sweetest of sounds that nearly cause all of the blood to rush away from his brain.

He doesn’t need that anyways.

“You need to take – to take off your shirt.” “An eye for an eye, Swan.”

“You mean a shirt for a shirt?”

“Aye, and then maybe we’ll do everything else.”

“Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

“Oh, God,” he laughs, nipping at her ear one more time before pulling back and stepping out of her embrace, grabbing his t-shirt at the nape of his neck and pulling it off while Emma watches him with her bottom lip in between her teeth and with her eyes trained on all of the skin he’s now exposing. He feels his cock twitch in his jeans, tenseness in his spine building, and he’s honestly not sure how they managed to take it at this pace…not that it’s been entirely slow. “There, darling, I’m shirtless. Are you happy?”

“Very.” She quickly lifts her own t-shirt over her head, her bare breasts coming into view while her wet hair falls against her skin, gooseflesh immediately rising. “Shit,” she whines, quickly taking the shirt and squeezing out her hair in an attempt to dry her locks, “my hair is still far too cold and wet for this, hold on.”

God, he loves her so damn much, and watching her bounce around her kitchen half naked while attempting to dry her hair with her t-shirt is now one of his favorite things in the world, especially with the way she’s muttering curses under her breath and desperately twisting and pulling at her hair.

“Just pull it up, love.”

“I know, I know. It’s the principle of the thing. You could have shown up, like five minutes later, and I’d have had it mostly dry.”

“Oh, okay,” he chuckles, taking a step toward her front door, “so I’ll just step outside and wait five minutes, okay?”

“No,” Emma groans, grapping his wrist and tugging him back to her so that he’s following her out of the kitchen alcove and down the hall to her bedroom, “that’s not necessary in the slightest. I’ll just get pneumonia from my wet hair or something.”

“A very solid choice.”

Emma turns and enters her room before he does, immediately stripping down and out of her leggings and socks while he undoes his belt and slings it off before unzipping his jeans, struggling to get them down over his boots until he manages to kick those off as well. He leaves his boxers on as he stalks over to Emma, threading his hands through her damp, pulled up hair and kissing her while gently pushing her back on the bed, attempting not to knee her stomach or crush her with his weight. They keep with the same pace as earlier, but he can feel nearly every inch of Emma’s skin against his, their hips rutting together in a slow rhythm, and he thinks he might lose himself right then and there if they don’t stop. Forty or so days doesn’t seem that long in the grand scheme of things, but when you’ve just started something only to have it ripped away, it may as well be a lifetime.  

Or maybe he just desperately needs to be with her.

His lips trail away from Emma’s, tracing down the skin of her jaw and her neck, worrying the beginnings of a mark into her collarbone, only moving away so as not to actually leave a mark. He lets instinct lead him, listening to where Emma gasps and groans to know what he’s doing right for her. They’ve only been together for a few times, all in one night, so he still has to discover the ins and outs of what brings her pleasure. But as he runs his tongue around the perimeter of a nipple, he knows he’s found a sweet spot.

“Oh fuck,” she moans, bucking her hips up and harshly threading her fingers into his hair. “Do that again.”

So he does, tracing her skin with his tongue before kissing the pert nipple, sucking and teasing all while his hand teases the neglected breast, Emma’s heart beating wildly within her chest while sounds of pleasure escape her mouth. When her fingers become even tighter in his hair, almost hard enough to pull his hair out, he bites down for a brief moment, pulling away and standing up while Emma blinks up at him.

“What’s wrong?” she questions, curling in on herself.

“Nothing,” he groans, pulling his boxers down and freeing his cock from its restraints. “Absolutely nothing is wrong, but you are driving me insane.”

“Oh.” Her eyes trace him up and down, and he smirks, stroking himself the slightest bit while she watches, her tongue flickering out over her bottom lip. “Well, um, condoms are in the drawer.” “That’s awfully presumptuous of you, Swan.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, sitting up and crawling over to her bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out a box, ripping the package open before carefully tearing a foil package off of the strip.

“A new box, love. You keep proving that someone thought she was going to get lucky.”

“You are awfully cheeky for someone who’s going to get blue balls if I change my mind.”

“Right then,” he laughs, stepping over to her and sitting down on the edge of the mattress, reaching to take the condom out of Emma’s hand only for her to deftly roll it down over his length, her hands nearly as light as a feather, though that doesn’t keep every touch from driving him mad.

“Lie back.”

He does as she asks, maneuvering around and resting his head against the pillows while Emma follows him, kissing up his thighs and then straddling them, taking him in hand and teasing his tip between her folds until she slowly sinks down onto him, her walls encasing him in their heat. His hands find her hips even as his breath leaves him, but Emma doesn’t need him to steady her. She takes control, swiveling her hips up and down in slow, deep motions that make his eyes roll back.

She feels bloody fucking fantastic, every move of her body and bounce of her breasts driving him insane, and he tells her so through gritted teeth and a clenched jaw while his thumbs rub circles into her hips and her fingernails trace up and down his chest, tugging at the hair. When her movements start to falter, her legs shaking the slightest bit, he gently stops her movements, encouraging her to move off of him and lie on her back. She does so, her hair falling out of its loose band while she moves, and he takes but a moment to hover over her and cage her in, easily sliding back into her while her legs wrap around his arse. He begins to control the movements, the pleasure in the base of his spine nearly ready to burst with every thrust.

“Shit,” she whispers against his lips when he begins to swivel his hips, brushing her clit with the movements. “I’ve gotta – you’ve gotta…”

“Aye,” he responds, sliding his lips over hers and snaking his hand down between them, curling his fingers where they’re joined and spreading her arousal while he rubs circles around her bundle of nerves, making her gasp and bite down on his upper lip. “You are bloody brilliant,” he grunts when he knows that she’s getting close, every movement of his hips and his thumb driving her just as mad as him. “I have missed you, missed this, missed the way you feel wrapped around me, so tight and wet.”

Her eyes shut then, tightly, and he can see the sweat beading at her forehead, can feel the sweat on his, and she falls apart on a stuttered breath that nearly steals his. He tries to work her through it, pushing into her and finding his own pleasure while her hands continue to curl into his shoulders, holding on tightly even as her eyes open and a smile graces her lips.

“Hi,” she sighs, but he can’t respond to it, burying his face in her neck and whispering her name over and over again while he falls apart, nearly collapsing on top of her as his legs shake.

“Oh my god,” he groans, his body coming back to itself for enough time to brush his lips over hers, once, twice, three times, before pulling out of her and standing on shaky legs to get ready to dispose of the condom.

“Emma will do.”

He turns to look at her, his lips gaping open all while he carefully ties off the condom. “That was by far the worst joke you’ve ever made.”

“You don’t even know, bud.”

Later after they’ve cleaned themselves up, Killian slipping back into his jeans instead of bothering to get his suitcase from the other room and Emma pulling her oversized t-shirt back on, Emma tucks herself into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his stomach while he pulls her closer, rubbing his thumb back and forth over her left wrist. He’s content to sit like this for hours, until his limbs fall asleep and he has to suffer through that awful, painful buzzing that occurs when the blood flow has been stilted. After so little time together and so long apart, he wondered if they’d fall back into this sense of comfort or if things between them would be stilted, unsure. He’s never done this before, never been with someone who doesn’t live in the same city as him, so this is all new, uncharted territory.

He thinks they’re doing pretty well.

Emma’s fingers start tracing patterns in the skin on his chest, her nails parting the matted, sweaty hair and causing him to shiver at her touch. “Did you have a good flight?”

“W-what?”

“Did you have a good flight? I didn’t ask, and I feel like that’s something I should have asked about.”

“What’d you do? Make a list of small talk conversations for us to have. The weather outside is delightful, love. I think it’s a balmy sixty five, which is good for my hair. The humidity and all.”

“Shut up,” she giggles, the sound sweet even as she slaps his chest. “You know what I mean. I always have weird stuff happen to me on flights. I figured you might too.”

“Aye,” he answers, lifting her wrist and kissing her skin, “all of the time, but this time I simply boarded the plane, put my headphones in, and caught up on a lot of the shows I’ve missed while filming. Oh, and I ate any entire bag of salt and vinegar chips without my tongue breaking out. That was pretty exciting.”

“Wow, you are living the life, KJ.”

He scrunches up his nose as he dips his head and captures Emma’s lips with his before she can say anything else, smiling into the kiss when she gasps at the contact. He feels something inside of him twist, which is definitely not biologically possible but happening all the same.

“Hush, love. You’re just lucky I brushed my teeth again before I got here.”

“Wow, and you made fun of me for expecting to get lucky.”

“Well, maybe I just brushed my teeth because I really care about dental hygiene. It had absolutely nothing to do with you or making sure that I don’t absolutely repulse you.”

“Too late for that.”

She squirms away from him them, surprisingly quick on her feet as she moves to the other side of the bed, stretching out and reaching toward the end table when he grabs her waist and holds her back, leaning down and kissing up her thighs while she laughs, kicking her feet at him.

“Killian, st-stop,” she groans, reaching back while he continues to rub his chin into the back of her thigh, scruff leaving faint red marks, “I’m trying to get my phone. It keeps buzzing.”

“That’s my phone.” “Well, then, I’m trying to get your phone.” He lets her go, Emma scooting forward enough to grab his phone off the table. “You have a hell of a lot of missed texts from Elsa. Also, is this your girlfriend in your photo? She’s super hot.”

“She’s my lover actually,” he laughs, holding his hand out for his phone, “and I agree. Smoking hot. What’s Elsa saying?”

“Um, I don’t know. I don’t know your passcode.”

“050886.”

She quirks an eyebrow, folding her legs up underneath her and pulling her t-shirt down over her thighs. “KJ, is your phone password your own birthday?”

“Possibly.”

“That’s so predictable.”

“It’s easy to remember.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Emma types the numbers into the phone, swiping her finger and presumably going through Elsa’s texts, her facial expression neutral the entire time. “Oh man, are you in deep water with your sister-in-law.”

“What? Let me see.”

“No, no. You, my friend,” Emma laughs, untucking her feet from underneath her and standing on the bed, somehow not at all concerned how close she is to the running ceiling fan, “have forgotten to tell your family that you safely traveled across the country, and they are having a meltdown.”

Oh shit. He really did forget to text someone, anyone, and let them know he landed, and that does not fly with Elsa or Liam. Hell, even Will freaks out on him sometimes.

“Shit, let me text her.”

“What are you going to say? You forgot because you were having sex?”

“Exactly,” he smirks, shaking his head a bit and leaning forward to grab Emma’s ankle, running his fingers over the bones there while she continues to sway back and forth above him. “Elsa’s an adult. She understands.”

“Elsa is very much an adult who has sex with your brother.”

“Swan,” he groans, throwing his free arm over his eyes and trying to get that image out of his head, “why would you point that out?”

“Just to mess with you.” Emma squats down and quickly glides her lips over his before handing over his phone. “Why don’t you call her back? I’m going to go get some water. You want some?”

“Sure, darling.” Emma gets off the bed, gently hopping down onto the floor without so much as a stumble, and walks out of the room, her curly, tangled hair bouncing with every step.

He takes the moment to scroll through his phone, a few texts from Will and Robin having gone unread, but he mostly sees all of the texts from Elsa, each of them increasingly more worried about his whereabouts. The last one even uses Aiden to guilt him, a picture of the poor lad crying all while the caption reads I’m having a meltdown because my uncle won’t text my mom back. He shakes his head in disbelief over he sneaky tactics, just a little dramatic there, El. He presses her name, letting the dial ring until her voice sounds on the other end.

“Well, it looks like you’re alive,” Elsa groans into the phone, her displeasure with him even clearer than it was in the texts.

“Hi, El. Nice to talk to you too. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit dramatic?”

“Only Anna. And that’s just when I used to get mad at her for stealing my clothes. But seriously. You can’t just not tell any of us you’ve landed.”

He reaches up and runs his hand through his hair, knowing that it’s likely a disaster from the flight and the exertion with Emma. “I’m sorry. It slipped my mind, but I promise I wasn’t going to let you think I was dead. I’d have sent proof of life at some point.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’m sure you would have eventually remembered us as you traipse off to go visit your girlfriend.”

Almost as if she knew Elsa had referenced her, Emma walks back in her bedroom then, holding a glass of water while she sips on the other one, placing his on the table next to him before crawling back into bed beside him.

“I would have, El. I would never forget the little people.” “God, you’re corny,” Emma groans, shaking her head back and forth before taking another sip.

“Oooh, is that her, Killian? Is that Emma?”

He can practically imagine Elsa sitting at home bouncing up and down on the couch while Liam stoically sits on the other end reading one of his many war strategy books, the oddball.  

“Aye.”

“Can I talk to her?”

Emma’s cheeks go red, obviously hearing Elsa’s words. “Do you want to?” he mouths to Emma, trying to read her emotions.

“Sure, put her on speaker.”

So he does, hitting the button and hoping that this is not some kind of disaster. If he were one to wish on stars, he’d wish that these next two weeks go without any hiccups. “Um, Els, this is Emma. Emma, Elsa. I’ve got no bloody clue why you want to talk to her, but here you go.”

“I just wanted to ask her to make sure you stay safe, you know? And that you come back home. Anna is coming into town for your birthday, and let me tell you, she has been plotting out cakes for you like you haven’t eaten a carb in years. Are you coming, Emma?”

Okay, so there’s hiccup number one. Emma’s eyes go wide, her lips parting, and he watches as she works through her words, noticing the way she nearly bites her bottom lip twice before speaking.

“Oh, um, I can’t. It’s in the middle of the week, and I have work. Maybe the weekend after though. I’m sure you guys will have a great time bringing Killian into old age.”

“Oi, I’m turning thirty-three, love.” He reaches over and pinches her side, even as she swats him away. “I’m not old.”

“You are pretty old, Killian.”

“You’re older than me, El.”

“Semantics. I don’t think that really matters here. You definitely have more wrinkles than me,” Elsa laughs, her voice carefree. She obviously wasn’t too worried about him not making it to Boston if she’s in this good of a mood after just a few minutes. “Emma, it’s so nice to meet you, or hear your voice really. Maybe one day you’ll come back to California, and I can meet you in person. I promise you I’ll be much nicer than my husband was. Sorry about that by the way.” “Well, he doesn’t exactly leave room for competition, but that sounds wonderful, Elsa. I’ll have to figure something out.”

“Sounds perfect. Be good and be safe, Killian. Don’t be a stranger. Love you.”

“I love you, too. Give Aiden a hug for me. Maybe toss one in there for Liam.”

The moment he hangs up the phone, he shuts it down and places it on the bedside table, picking up the glass of water and taking a sip, not realizing how dehydrated he is until he downs the entire thing in one continuous gulp, his throat soothed the more cool water trickles down. When he looks over at Emma, she’s picking at imaginary lint of her shirt, her hair falling down and covering her face while her long, tan legs stretch out over the sheets. He reaches over and tucks her hair behind her ear, thumbing at her chin so she looks at him.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“Nothing.”

“Swan, we are so far past lying to each other. Tell me. I won’t judge even if it’s something like wanting to hang clown paintings up on your ceiling.”

He entire face scrunches up, the very obvious disgust at the idea evident on every inch of her skin. “While I appreciate your vague The Good Place reference, both Elanor and I, and any sane person, do not want clowns everywhere…anywhere.”

“What then?”

“I feel bad.”

He scoots his foot over toward hers, knocking them together and wiggling his toes. “About?”

“I’m going to miss your birthday. Your family is apparently having a party, your friends are going to be there, and what? I’m going to be sitting in my office eight thousand miles away? Is that how this is going to be? We just miss all of these big moments?”

“Emma,” he sighs, leaning over and thumbing at her chin again so she looks at him, her eyelashes fluttering down before she actually looks at him, “it’s fine. I’ve had quite a few birthdays, and this one isn’t anything special. Don’t get yourself worked up over it or freaked out.”

“But – ”

“But what? It’s just a day, and I’m leaving here, like, three days beforehand. There’s absolutely no need for you to waste a vacation day when you’ll spend all of it on a flight, maybe get to eat a piece of cake, and then get back on a plane again.”

“I hear the cake selection will be good though, might make it worth it.”

“Swan.”

She groans, throwing her entire body back against the bed. “I kind of hate that you’re being logical about this.”

“Well, someone in this relationship has to be the smart one.” He leans over and kisses the corner of her lips. “Now let’s go get something to eat. Is there going to be anything in the kitchen or do I have to put a shirt on for us to go out?”

“Who says you have to wear a shirt to go out?”

When he wanders into Emma’s kitchen, opening up the cabinets in search of food, he’s genuinely surprised to see it completely stocked and organized. This is not the Emma he knows, and his earlier thought of her cleaning before he arrived rings true. She did not have to do that, but he appreciates the effort, grabbing the bag of bread and figuring a sandwich will be fine. Emma jokingly protests, claiming she got better food at his house, before getting up and fixing her own food, the two of them eating standing in the kitchen, not even bothering to go sit down.

He eventually gets his suitcase from where Emma dropped it, rolling it into her room and opening it up so he can find some of his sweatpants, his jeans beginning to rub into his waist after wearing them all day. But before he even gets the chance to change, Emma grabs onto his belt loops, pulling him toward her and back to the bed, every intent that she has evident in her eyes. It’s much faster than the first time, the desperation they both felt at their separation finally coming to head (and to bed if he’s honest with himself) as they move together in quick, harsh movements, the only sounds in the room their harsh pants and their skin slapping together. Faintly, he thinks he can hear the busyness outside, cars speeding by, horns blaring, and a curse or two from Emma’s neighbors. But he doesn’t care about anything out there.

Not at all.

He must have fallen asleep without knowing it because when he wakes, it’s to the sound of the shower running. Emma’s side of the bed is cold, the sheets cool to the touch when he reaches out for her in an attempt to recreate the way she’d curled around him before he fell asleep. He groans as he twists to the side, his body a bit sore from last night, and fumbles for his phone, unplugging it from the wall. Emma must have done that as he definitely didn’t, and he smiles a bit until his phone displays the time of 3:14 in the morning.

“Bloody hell,” he grumbles, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, looking over and checking Emma’s phone as well, hers showing 6:14. “Fucking time change.” He shouldn’t have any issue with it, his sleep already screwed from filming, but he feels like he’s been hit by a truck. Literally. Not at all figuratively.

He makes a futile attempt to fall back asleep, but then he hears the water in the shower turn off, Emma coming out into her bedroom five minutes later wrapped up in a towel, her hair completely dry and pulled up into a bun.

“Hey, did I wake you?”

“No, just woke up. I think my sleep schedule is going to be screwed up for awhile, until I get used to normal living, at least.”

“Okay, well,” she walks over to her dresser, shuffling through the drawers and pulling on her underwear before dropping the towel, her body almost completely exposed to his gaze while her hips move as she dresses, his mind replaying images of just a few hours ago, “I have to be at work at eight thirty. I was thinking of going in early to try to get off earlier, but if you want to get up and take a shower, we can go out and get breakfast.”

Groaning, he rubs his eyes before throwing the covers off, already trying to think himself down as if that would work. “Yeah, I think I’m going to need a cold shower after that little show you just put on, so that sounds like a brilliant plan.”

“You,” she looks back at him over her bare shoulder, her neck infuriatingly long, and winks, “are disgustingly insatiable, but I’ve already showered so that’s not happening.”

“That’s the point of the shower, darling.”

“No, that’s because you smell like sweat.”

He pinches Emma’s thigh on his way over to his suitcase, shuffling through for some clothes before he heads into the bathroom and takes a quick, cold shower. He didn’t remember to bring his own body wash in here, so he uses Emma’s, not at all minding that he’s going to smell like vanilla for the rest of the day. Before he knows it, Emma’s ready for work, he’s dressed, and she’s leading him out of her building, wandering down the cramped alleyways outside. He’s not familiar with Boston’s layout, but Emma obviously is, navigating the small roads and alternating busy streets with ease.

She leads them to a small coffee shop, the lights dim inside and the patrons quiet, and he appreciates it as he tugs his baseball cap further down on her forehead and keeps his sunglasses on until the last minute.

“I’m going to order while you get a table. There’s a really cool table upstairs that’s inside of an old bank safe. No one ever sits in it because the wifi is bad.” “That sounds dangerous.”

“The door doesn’t close, KJ,” she laughs, reaching back and squeezing his hand. “You want anything specific besides your coffee?”

“The blueberry muffin that’s sitting at the top of the display case.”

“Gotcha.”

He heads up the stairs, steps creaking and groaning under his weight, and finds the room Emma was talking about. Sure enough, it’s a small, empty section that looks to be within an old bank safe. It’s actually pretty inventive, though he does wonder why this place has a safe on the second floor and how exactly someone decided to change an abandoned bank into a coffee house. Emma joins him five minutes later, two to-go cups and a paper bag in her hand. She practically downs her entire drink in one sitting, the heat somehow not burning her, before shoveling her croissant in her mouth. The entire time he’s waiting for his coffee to cool, staring her down and slowly picking at his muffin.

“What?” she laughs, covering her mouth with her hand.

“You are inhaling your food. How have you not burned your mouth?”

“My creamer and stuff cooled it down, and old habits die hard. I’m usually eating breakfast while getting ready or while driving. And we walked here, which means I’m going to walk to work, so we really only have, like, twenty minutes.”

“It’s been three.”

“Oh,” she laughs, shaking her head while his coffee cools and his affection for Emma warms. Indefinitely, he thinks. “Sorry.”

“Tis nothing, love. I was just watching a modern medical marvel take place.”

She sticks out her tongue, showing the maturity of the twenty-eight-year-old that she is, and he barks out a laugh, throwing his head back and being thankful that he wasn’t drinking his coffee. He eventually does eat, sipping on his coffee even after they leave to walk toward Emma’s office, and despite the fact that it’s still before five in the morning for him, he’s glad to be awake.

He realizes that he’s never actually been to Emma’s actual office, only having gone to the museum for the gala, so as he follows her up several sets of stairs, the lighting dim within the corridors, he takes in the surroundings, trying to put together all of the things he’s imagined while talking to her on the phone. The actual office is a bit brighter than he imagined, large murals obviously painted by children coating the walls, and when Emma turns the corner into a small room, he knows it’s her office simply by the fact that she has a shelf of coffee mugs to the side of the room.

“For someone who made a big fuss about the damn swan mug, you seem to have quite the collection of other options.”

“Oh,” she gasps, almost as if she had forgotten he was behind her or that the mugs were there, “I don’t actually drink out of those. We have a Valentine’s Day party with a lot of the kids every year. Some of them hate it, which is understandable, but for the younger ones, they draw something and we get the picture put on a mug later on. I’ve just kind of collected them.” She shrugs, putting her purse down behind her desk. “They make me happy.”

That thing within him that twisted yesterday, the one he is sure is biologically impossible, twists again, his face heating as his lips stretch into a wide grin. Emma is incredible, in more ways than one, and he shakes his head back in forth in disbelief that she wants to be with him of all people.

“You make me happy.”

“Wow, cheesy.”

He shakes his head again, walking over to Emma and placing his cup on her desk before resting his hands on her hips, thumbs running circles on the skin under her shirt. She’s looking up at him with a bit of disbelief, and he understands. That’s how he looks at her sometimes.

“I’m serious, Emma. You do make me happy.”

Emma’s hands reach up to caress the apple of his cheek, tilting his hat up the slightest bit before speaking on a slightly shaken breath, “You make me happy too, Killian. I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”