#cs fic gift

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Of Ghosts and Sparrows

A Festival of the Lost @d2artevents gift for @theavocadojam featuring their OC Kieran!

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there (Ao3 has chapters, Tumblr is all in one post.)

"Kieran," Eris Morn turned from the Lectern of Enchantment to face the approaching Hunter, staring at a point to the left of his face.  Kieran had not announced his presence nor told Eris who he was.  They were surrounded by other guardians on their way to request bounties from Eris.  Yet she moved directly to him without looking at him, as though she sensed who he was with otherworldly awareness.

"Thank you for coming so quickly," she intoned.  "I have need of your particular skills."  

She turned back to stare above the heads of the other guardians waiting for her attention.  

"Please.  Go."  She waved her hand in a cryptic motion above her Ahamkara bone.  "Return another time."  

Several of them turned away without a word.  One Titan's shoulders slumped.  They looked as though they were about to say something and then they transmatted away.

Eris stepped close and clasped Kieran Nor's arm.  The grip of her fingers through her glove felt almost like claws.   

"This is a matter requiring considerable discretion, and has the potential to involve significant risk.  I trust this is still acceptable to you?"

"For you, Eris?"  Kieran answered, warmly.  "Of course." 

Eris sighed deeply in relief.  "Come then.  Let us begin."

She muttered for a few moments and then a Hive portal appeared in the air before them both.  She held out her hand.  Kieran took it and they both stepped through.  

Kieran was not a nervous, twitchy type, but stepping through a Hive portal with no idea what was on the other side was always a bit of a nerve-wracking experience.  It was therefore quite a relief when the other side of the portal turned out to be nothing more ominous than the front of Spider's bar in the last city.  Not Kieran's favourite place, but better than a lot of the alternatives.

Eris paused at the threshold, placing her hand in a pocket at her side.  She seemed to be considering something and then she nodded, as though agreeing with someone Kieran could not see.  

"First, we will need information," she informed Kieran.  "An activity which may prove..."  Eris sighed and squared her shoulders as though steeling herself for something difficult.  "...vexing."

"Nevertheless," she continued, "it must be done.  And quickly.  I prefer your assistance here more for... emotional support than anything.  It would be... problematic... if the Spider were to not survive my inquiries, no matter how pleasurable that outcome might be for so many of us."

"...and if that doesn't convince him," they heard the Spider's voice as they approached.  "I have methods of... sweetening the deal, as you might say."  He was speaking to someone not physically present via a comms device.  "No! No! Nothing so barbaric as that, my friend.  Let's just say... it can be beneficial to be cooperative, for the future of ones hatchlings.  So much better to be contributing to their education rather than... the alternative."  The Eliksni crime boss chortled menacingly.

Eris made a low growling sound in the back of her throat as she walked closer.  Kieran let her take the lead.

The Spider's laughter cut off abruptly and he began coughing as Eris approached.  

"Eris Morn," he addressed her between coughing.  "To what do I owe the... uh... pleasure of your visit?"

Eris stared at a point to the left of the Spider's head.  "One of our... mutual associates recently ceased responding to communications with me while in the middle of a mission involving... the acquisition of... an item.  An item they previously consulted with you regarding locating.  I need to know where he went." 

"Ah, I'm afraid I have no idea what you mean." Spider leaned back, clearly amused.  

Beneath his helmet, Kieran ground his teeth.  

"All of my business dealings are registered with the Vanguard authorities." Spider said with a tone that could only be described as... slimy.  "Anything anyone might be doing for me will be recorded in their shipping logs."

Eris stepped closer.  

"Interactions with this particular individual would not be recorded in the shipping logs for your... businesses," Eris spoke calmly.  "He is a very private person.  A... law abiding citizen."  She paused briefly so the implication of her words could sink in.  "He... pays his taxes." 

"Oh!  That one!  Yes... yes of course... but I am sure you understand... as this is a private citizen, I can't go around discussing his uh... personal business.  Especially with a member of the Vanguard special forces, you see.  That would be... very uncouth of me, no?"  He chortled to himself at his own joke.

Eris stepped closer.  Spider's two personal guards stepped closer as well.  Eris glared at each one in turn.  They both took a step back.  

"I am not coming to you as a member of the Vanguard," she continued.  "I am coming to you as his friend.  He is in need of assistance.  The nature of his transactions with you need not be disclosed.  Simply his whereabouts."

The Spider coughed again.  No.  He was laughing.  "That one can take care of himself, my dear.  And if he somehow doesn't?  Ha!  We're all a lot better off."  

Eris stepped closer.  

Spider stopped laughing.

"Look," Spider said quietly, leaning down toward Eris, his voice condescending.  He held out an empty three-fingered hand toward her.  "Information isn't free, my overly fleshy three-eyed friend.  Surely there is... something you can... offer me... for my trouble."  The Spider's four eyes looked Eris up and down, his fingertips following his eyes in the air as he chortled to himself.

The temperature of the room dropped by several degrees.  Kieran felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.  

Eris leaned even closer to the Spider and placed her free hand in his.  

Kieran could not hear the exchange but the Spider tensed and he moved to lean back, away from Eris.  Her eyes flashed and the ball of Soulfire in her hand began to rotate.  

She gripped the Spider's hand tightly as he tried to pull away, drawing her hand down and forcing him to remain near enough to hear her whispers.  

The Spider's four eyes went wide as she continued muttering in his ear.  The ghost shell he was holding in another hand fell to the floor with a loud clatter.  

Eris' lips continued moving, whispering something only the Spider could hear, her hand beginning to twist his beyond the normal range of motion for an Eliksni wrist.

"He's on the Tangled Shore!" the Spider blurted out, his voice tinged with panic.  "I'll send you the coordinates I gave him!  Please!  Please just leave me alone!"

The Ahamkara bone ceased its rotation.  Eris released the Spider's trapped hand and stepped back.  "Thank you," she said tersely, finally speaking at a volume everyone else could hear, then she turned to Kieran.  "We can leave now."  

Kieran looked from Eris to the Spider, breathing heavily and shaking in his chair, visibly cringing away from the three-eyed woman as Eris muttered something in the guttural language of the Hive.  Another portal appeared.  The guards flinched and backed away from it.  

Spider said something in Eliksni as they walked through.  Kieran wasn't certain if it was a curse or an appeal to some higher power for protection.  It may have been both.

***

The other end of the portal was neither the Moon nor the Tangled Shore. Kieran wasn't sure what he's been expecting, but the Gambit ready room on the Derelict wasn't it. 

Eris walked quickly to a door that was always kept sealed during Gambit matches.  The door opened immediately upon her approach. 

"Whoa." Blinx appeared at Kieran's shoulder. "Is the Drifter  going to help us rescue this person too?" the ghost asked. 

"The answer to your question is highly dependent upon his level of consciousness and state of injury when we find him." Eris intoned. 

"Wait," Blinx asked his eye flickering, "You mean to tell us this rescue operation is *for* the Drifter?" 

Eris turned partway down the corridor and stared at the wall. "Is that a problem, little light?" 

"No, Eris," Kieran answered. "That's fine. Of course we'll help. We're just not used to the Drifter needing rescuing." 

"Nor is he, I suspect. But I am certain he will be grateful for it.  Now follow. Time is of the essence." 

Eris made her way through the ship with the ease of someone who was completely familiar with it.  Strange heaps of unidentifiable junk were piled up in odd assortments, visible through the doorways of various rooms.  They walked through a surprisingly clean and well-kept galley area and then past what had to have been a workshop, although from what Kieran could see in the brief parts of it he saw, it was a workspace which seemed to be attempting the violation of every known safety protocol simultaneously.  

Moments later they were on the Derelict's small makeshift bridge. 

Kieran eyed the kit-bashed controls and clumsily soldered circuitry, noting one panel that was occasionally spitting sparks. 

"Can you fly this ship, Eris?" he asked, somewhat concerned. 

"It would be madness to try," Eris answered with a wave of her hand.  "The Drifter's... modifications are far from standard.  However, there is one other individual who knows how to operate this ship."

She reached into her pocket and then withdrew her hand 

A strange ghost lay shuddering in her palm.  Its badly welded shell twitched as it rose and floated to the controls. 

"Is that..."  Kieran's voice trailed off as he watched it.

"Yes," Eris answered.

"I've never seen the Drifter's ghost."  Kieran told her.

"Most have not.  He prefers it that way.  However, circumstances are extenuating at the moment and I am certain he would prefer this to the alternative.  When I sent my request to you, I noted how highly I valued your competence and your discretion.  I will hold you to that."  She turned to Blinx. "Both of you."

"Of course, Eris."  Blinx said, eyeing the Drifter's ghost from Kieran's shoulder suspiciously.

"Have the Spider's coordinates arrived, little light?" Eris asked the ghost.  

It made no sound as it turned to face her, but its red eye-light blinked blue and then red again.  

Eris nodded.  "Proceed."

The Drifter's ghost hovered over the controls and expanded its shell, rotating slowly.  

From this view it was clear to Kieran that the small ghost's shell was amalgamated from the shells of several other ghosts.  Something told both Kieran and Blinx that those shells were probably not uninhabited when whatever had been done to the Drifter's ghost had occurred.

The Derelict lurched and made a low grinding noise.  Eris watched dispassionately, cradling her glowing orb.

"Is it... supposed to sound like that?"  Blinx asked. 

"I do not know," Eris intoned.

The Drifter's ghost emitted a single tone and turned to Eris.  Its light blinked blue and then red again.  It turned back to the controls.  

"Apparently, yes." Eris translated.   

Engines that sounded like they were about to die began to rev up and then, rattling, the ship began to move.  Then it moved faster.  And then it moved very fast.  

A loud banging erupted from somewhere deep within the vessel.  In front of them the Reef came rapidly into view.  Moments later they were in a stable position above the Tangled Shore.  

"What... powers this thing?" Blinx asked.  

"I have no idea," Eris replied.  "The Drifter would undoubtedly advise you that you do not wish to know.  However, you may ask him when we find him, provided he is in a condition conducive to responding."

The Drifter's misshapen ghost emitted the same tone it had before and flew to a console next to where Eris was standing.  A projection of the terrain on the surface appeared with a large red splotch covering over half of it.

"I see," she said solemnly.

"Can the Drifter's ghost lead us to him?"  Kieran asked.

"That would be ill-advised." Eris said.  "I was entrusted with him for a reason.  Both he and I suspect the Drifter is in a darkness zone which would prevent resurrection and... when I lost contact with him, he was not alone.  Based upon the partial conversation I heard, I suspect he may have run afoul of some of his... former associates."

"You were talking with him when he lost contact?"  Blinx asked.

"Yes."

"No wonder you're worried about him."  Kieran said.

"Indeed."

The Drifter's ghost flew back to Eris' open hand.  She placed it once more in her pocket.  

"Prepare yourself," she intoned.  "The transmat is... firing."

***

Kieran materialized just outside of an abandoned building on the Tangled Shore.  

"I have mapped out a route which should bring you to the coordinates Spider has provided," Eris spoke through the communicator in his ear. "That will be where he started.  It is my hope that we will be able to intuit his route once you arrive."

Kieran nodded and hopped onto his Sparrow.  

Eris' path was winding, but uneventful.  A few of the turns were quite sharp and there were several jumps, easy enough for someone as good on a Sparrow as Kieran, and very comfortable at the quick but relaxed speeds they were traveling.  

"You know," Blinx said after another long but relatively gentle jump over a gap, "With all the jumps and turns and interesting terrain, if it weren't in an active war zone, this would make a fantastic Sparrow Racing track."

Kieran nodded.

"While I appreciate your enthusiasm, little ghost," Eris answered in Kieran's ear, "Please, both of you, remember to keep your wits about you.  We do not know what tricks may await you ahead."

Kieran's bright red Sparrow slid to a stop between the wreckage of two Ketches.  The door in front of them was sideways from its original configuration and looked like it would lead them to one of the main areas of the larger ship.

"All right, Eris." Blinx said through the comms.  "We're at a locked door but I can't seem to get a read on the security protocols for it at all.  It must have some really complicated shielding.  Nothing's coming up on my scans at all.  This might take a while."

"It is open."  Eris said.  "You can proceed through."

The mechanism panel had a small red light glowing, clearly indicating access was denied.  

Kieran and Blinx looked at each other and then Kieran pushed on the door.  It swung open soundlessly.

"That's clever," Kieran said with a smile.

"The panel is... fake?"  Blinx asked, incredulous.

"The Drifter calls it... security through obscurity..." Eris intoned in his ear.  "His tricks are often very banal but... still manage to be remarkably effective at times." 

Kieran pulled the door shut as Blinx illuminated the area.  They were in a short hallway.  The other end was a crumpled mess.  

"Are you seeing this, Eris?"

"Yes.  Look slightly to the right.  Can that panel be moved?"

Kieran lifted up some debris and sure enough, they were greeted by an open air vent.  

"We sure do spend an awful lot of time crawling through air vents." Blinx said quietly as Kieran made his way through.

"A common hazard of the profession.  I did so as well when I was a guardian."  

The other end of the vent had no covering and they were able to crawl out without issue into the wreckage of the ship's bridge.  

Long dead Eliksni corpses in various states of crumbling decay lay around them.  

"What happened here?"  Kieran asked.

"Mutiny," Eris said in their ears.  "A betrayal long since past.  Move swiftly, Kieran.  You are close now.  Be wary."

There was a dim light up ahead.  As Kieran rounded a corner, he understood why.  The top (or rather the side) of the ship was completely gone.  Cool light splashed down onto the bones of the gutted Ketch cargo bay from the stars above.  Vehicles and crates were strewn around.  Some were mostly intact, others were in pieces or simply piles of twisted metal.  A hole in the other end of the Ketch opened onto a stretch of hard rock butting up against a sheer cliff face.

"Maybe he went another way?" Blinx asked hopefully.

"No."  Eris' voice was gentle but insistent.  "Look closely.  The Drifter is a creature of obfuscation and guile.  It is likely his trail has been obscured by his own hand."

Kieran scanned what was left of the large space and then tensed, his scout rifle in his hands ready to fire.  An eerie flicker in the corner of his eye.  When he turned to look, it was gone.  He shook his head.

"Did you see that?" he asked Blinx.

"See what?" 

"For a moment I thought I saw something but now it's gone."

"Marauder?"

"No, it was pale and... almost glowing?  Sort of Eliksni-shaped?  Never seen anything like it."  Kieran walked toward the spot he'd been pointing at and then gave an exasperated sigh.

"What now?"  Blinx asked.

Kieran groaned.  "If there's one thing I hate, it's improperly parked forklifts."  

Kieran pointed at the Eliksni version of a forklift.  It was oddly intact and was on a piece of wall which had buckled inward, causing the forklift to be tilted at an odd angle.  

"This whole place is trashed and we're concerned about how a forklift is parked?" Blinx asked.

Kieran walked toward it.  "Look at this. It can't have fallen that way.  Someone parked it like this after the crash.  And they parked it on an incline.  You do not park forklifts on an incline.  They can roll.  It's a massive hazard.  Whoever did this has no regard for safety."  He climbed into the driver's seat with a sigh.  

"You're not seriously repositioning it now, are you?"  Blinx asked, incredulous.

"It bothers me."  Kieran said.

"Hey, that's weird," Blinx said over his shoulder.  "Someone's already hotwired it."

Kieran took the exposed wires and tapped them together, starting the vehicle.  

A loud and insistent beeping echoed through the wreckage of the ship as Kieran began backing the forklift up.

"What are you doing?" Eris asked through the comms.  "This noise will carry far!  It will give away your position."

Kieran got out and stepped away from the forklift and examined what it had been parked on top of.

"We found where he went, Eris."  Blinx answered, illuminating a gaping hole in the floor.  

"Hmmm... Very well.  Go swiftly.  We do not know what attention you may have attracted from the surrounding area."

Kieran jumped down onto a rock ledge that was barely visible in the darkness below.

***

The hollowed out area beneath the wreckage of the Ketch contained a lot of debris.  As they continued through, Kieran asked Eris.  "Why haven't the Eliksni salvaged this yet?  There's a lot here."

"Fear." Eris answered.  "The location, and its history, is known to be cursed.  There are stories that any who enter do not leave alive."

"Eris, don't you think we should have known that before coming here?"  Blinx' light flickered.

"It is baseless superstition.  You have nothing to fear from the ghosts of a past that is not even yours, but be cautious.  You are close, now."

Kieran paused, his foot in the air.  Then he stepped back.  

"What is it?"  Blinx asked and then hovered down at knee-height to look.  "Oh wow.  That's devious.  It's a tripwire grenade but the laser has been disabled.  It's using an actual tripwire.  Pretty much invisible in this light.  

"Sounds like Drifter," Kieran said.

"Yes," Eris agreed in his ear.

Kieran stepped over it and Blinx continued to scan the environment as they went.

"Scorch marks."  Blinx said, quietly.

"That is to be expected at a crash site," Eris intoned.

"Yes but, these are recent," Kieran said, placing a hand on some blasted metal embedded in the rock.  "Still warm.  Solar energy."

"And this metal is shattered, as though it were made very cold and brittle just before something impacted it."  Blinx added.

"Stasis," Eris said in Kieran's ear.

Kieran nodded.  

Moments later they found the bodies.  Eight of them.  Seven were dressed entirely in black, most had been downed with headshots.

One lay apart from the others, dressed in green clothes with distinctive fur-covered and spiked pauldrons.  

"Found him!"  Kieran told Eris as he knelt beside the Drifter.

Then Kieran very still as the barrel of an extremely familiar hand cannon pressed up under his chin.  He raised both of his hands slowly.

One eye swollen shut, one eye half open, his face a mask of blood.  The Drifter looked up at Kieran and brushed his finger lightly on the trigger of Trust.  "Who the hell are you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.  

"We're here to help, Drifter."  Blinx said from behind Keiran while keeping a respectful distance.  "It's Kieran and Blinx.  Do you remember us?"

They were all briefly bathed in a malachite-green glow from somewhere behind them nearby.

"Shiny... Red... Daito cape...Hung Jury... and... my gun.  Yeah.  Ok."  The Drifter's hand relaxed and he pointed the hand cannon away from Kieran.  "The hell are you doing out here?"

"I sent them," Eris intoned as she knelt next to Kieran.

"Moondust?" the Drifter's voice creaked.  "Izzat you?"  He squinted with the one eye he could see through.

"Yes," she answered.  "How badly are you hurt?"

"Uh... Pretty bad."

The Drifter's ghost appeared next to Eris and emitted its single tone.  

"That won't work here," the Drifter said to his ghost.  "Good thing too, or those assholes would'a got back up again too."  He pointed to the other bodies nearby.  

Eris sat still for a moment, muttering something unintelligible and then sighed deeply.   

"It is as I suspected.  I was able to track you externally through Kieran in order to make a portal here but it closed immediately behind me.  I cannot get a lock on the Derelict from this location to teleport us out.  We will need to make our way out on foot until we are clear from whatever is interfering."

Eris began to mutter and scratch something into the ground around them with a sharp stone.

"What are you doing?"  Kieran asked.

"Stabilizing him," Eris answered.  

"You can heal people with Hive magic?" Blinx asked, in awe.

"No,"  Eris answered. "Nothing about the Hive is healing.  But, this can help to fortify him until we get somewhere where his ghost can use its light." 

"You using Hive magic on me again, Moondust?" 

"Are you complaining?"  Eris asked.

"Nope.  Last time was fun."

"Ugh."

He grinned and then looked over to Kieran and Blinx.  "I fell off a cliff and she levitated me to keep me from breakin' my neck.  Hangin' around a three-eyed witch has its benefits."

"Tsch." Eris made the sound dismissively.

"What happened here?" Kieran asked while Eris worked.  

"So... Spider got intel on this place," the Drifter began.  "It was hidden by an anomaly and that anomaly went away.  No idea why.  Didn't ask.  Maybe should have.  Anyway, there's a thing here that means a lot to some people.  Spider sold me the details and I came out to get it.  But... I'm guessin' I wasn't the only one Spider sold that info to.  Which is something he and I will need to have a little chat about later.  Anywho, some old uh... associates of mine apparently either knew what I was after, or knew I was after it."

Eris continued muttering and scratching as the Drifter talked to Kieran.

"They came here but they didn't know where to look," he explained.  "We uh... talked a bit... came to an agreement that I'd show 'em where the good stuff was as long as I got the one thing I came for.  Then, of course, they didn't hold up their end of the bargain.  Which... is only fair since I wasn't planning on holdin' up my end neither.  Wasn't expectin' the vengeful ghosts, though."

"Vengeful ghosts?" Blinx asked, looking around, worried.

"Yeah.  I dunno where they went but they sure didn't want their stuff plundered.  They were weirdly fine with me.  But those jerks," he pointed at the bodies, "figured that since the ghosts weren't comin' after me, they must be somehow workin' for me, so they opened fire."

"When you say ghosts.  Do you mean like me?"  Blinkx asked

"Nope."

"Do you mean Scorn?"  Kieran asked.

"Nope.  Ghost-ghosts.  Dead Eliksni. Spooky shit."

Eris sighed.  "You did not see ghosts.  I have done what I can, but you are still quite badly injured and it is likely making you delusional."

"I mean yeah, sure, maybe, but this was before the firefight."

"Delusions can affect one's memory of events," Eris told him.  "Hold still a moment while I immobilize your leg.  It is broken in several places."  Stasis filled Eris' hands and she encased the Drifter's left leg in crystal from the ankle to the hip.  

"I saw ghosts, Moondust.  They were there.  I dunno why you think they weren't.  You talk to dead people all the time."

"It's quite different."

Kieran and Blinx watched them bicker with quiet amusement.

"Is it?  This is like that time you said the pumpkin heads didn't exist... when I saw 'em when I was running tactical on haunted lost sectors."

Eris sighed again.  "I said that because the Headless Ones are a myth.  They do not exist."

"We havin' this argument again?  Right now?" the Drifter asked, almost seeming to draw strength from the opportunity to irritate Eris.  "They do exist.  I saw 'em.  Glint saw 'em.  Eido saw 'em.  Lots of guardians have seen 'em.  Hell, even Immaru saw 'em."

"Immaru's endorsement does not help your case," Eris intoned.

"Kieran?" the Drifter asked, "Surely you've done Haunted Lost Sectors before.  You've seen pumpkin heads right?  Back me up here."  

Before Kieran could answer there was a loud explosion near the entrance to the area they were in under the Ketch.

"Oh hey, that's my tripwire!" the Drifter said cheerfully.

"We are not alone," Eris said ominously.  "Do your 'ghost-ghosts' also set off tripwires?"

"Nope."  

"We should go," Blinx said quietly.  

***

They heard scurrying sounds approaching them.  Kieran stood, weapons ready.  Several Screebs scuttled over the wreckage near where they'd entered.  

Kieran began shooting.  

The Screebs exploded in clusters like loud, deadly, bubble wrap, leaving behind splotches of Dark Ether.  

"Good thing you brought him," the Drifter said.  "He's a great shot."  

"I am aware," Eris answered tersely as she helped the Drifter to stand.  

Eris and the Drifter hobbled farther into the wreckage under the Ketch as Kieran walked backwards while following them, gunning down Scorn as they approached with his Hung Jury scout rifle.

"Where are they coming from?" Blinx asked.  "And why now?"

"They were likely alerted to our presence from the noise made when the forklift was moved," Eris called out over the Drifter's shoulder.

"Hey Drifter," Kieran called back while reloading.  "You have a way out of here other than where all the Scorn are piling in?"  

"Nope!"

"That's a lot of Scorn," Blinx said, his voice worried.  "I don't think we have enough ammunition to shoot our way out."

"Oh great!" Kieran said, gunning down two Raiders and a Ravager as he continued backing up.  "Any other ideas?"

"Impossible," Eris said quietly behind him.  

"I told you!" the Drifter's voice was weirdly gleeful. "Now do you believe me?"

Kieran glanced back to see what they were talking about and felt his skin crawl.  A pale apparition of an Eliksni captain shimmered before them.  It floated in the air and raised a ghostly Arc blade, using it to point at a hole in the rock which was partially obscured by a twisted metal door.   

Kieran returned his focus to what was in front of him, continuing to fire at the oncoming Scorn.  "That a way out?"

"I dunno, hero," the Drifter called back, "but it's better than here.  Let's go!"

Eris peered at the ghost while she helped the Drifter limp through the hole.  

"Ether tanks!" the Drifter called out once he was through the entrance.  "I like it!"  

Sure enough, as soon as he'd cleared enough Scorn to turn and run after them through the hole, Kieran saw a pile of Ether tanks just inside what looked like a hallway from the crashed Ketch above them.  There was also a ramp leading up to another sideways corridor.  

"You know what to do with that, right hotshot?" the Drifter called out from farther ahead.

"Hell yeah," Kieran grinned and, backing into the second doorway.  He pulled out his own copy of Trust and fired a Solar round into the Ether tanks.   

The explosion rocked the Ketch.  

Kieran peeked around the doorway as the smoke cleared.  The opening they'd come through was now effectively closed off with wreckage and rubble.  

"Why is it assisting us," Eris asked, as she helped the Drifter to follow the Eliksni ghost.  

Kieran joined them as the Drifter pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle from his back pocket.  "Probably because she knows I'm gettin' this back to where it belongs."

The cloth had a distinctive, yet unfamiliar pattern embroidered on it and it shimmered strangely.    The Drifter unfolded it with care.  Within it was a necklace, worked out of some metal Kieran could not immediately identify, containing several unknown stones.  

"What is it?" Eris asked.  

The apparition hovered nearby.

"This... is an Eliksni heirloom," the Drifter explained quietly.  "Made in Riis."  

"The Eliksni homeland." Kieran said, looking over his shoulder.

"Yup, but even more important is the cloth around it.  That's a eggcloth.  Now, I don't pretend to know the full significance of this but the reason it's so important is because of whose eggcloth it is."  

"His mother," Eris whispered.

"Yup," the Drifter said quietly, nodding at the ghost.  The ghost bowed slightly back.  The Drifter folded the necklace up in the cloth again carefully.  

"But... how does she know?" Eris asked.  "Why does she trust us?  We are human."

"I have no idea," the Drifter said.  "But she knows."

The ghost hovered closer to them and then reached out one of its four hands. One of its three fingers pointed to the Drifter's left wrist.

The Drifter leaned back against what seemed like a wall, but which was actually the floor of the sideways corridor they were standing in, and took his arm off from around Eris' neck.  He pulled off his gauntlet and then gave a short laugh, pushing up his sleeve so that Eris, Kieran and Blinx could see.  

Around his wrist were several colourful braided strings attached to a flat bead with the house of light symbol carved into it.  

"Eido's friendship bracelet?" Eris asked, confusion in her voice..

"Made one for you too, did she?" the Drifter asked her.

"Yes," Eris said, pulling off her own gauntlet and placing her wrist next to the Drifter's, showing a similar braided bracelet with a nearly identical bead in the middle.  "The children in the last city taught her how to make them and she tied it on to me herself."  

Kieran gave one more glance back toward the caved-in entrance to make sure no more Scorn were approaching before he, too, pulled off the armour from his arm to display a similar trinket wrapped around his own wrist as well.

"Me too."

Eris tilted her head.  "But... why does this matter?"

"Well, if I had to guess," the Drifter said, replacing his gauntlet.  "Our friendly ghost here is the owner of the necklace, and the eggcloth.  Which would make this fine incorporeal lady..."

"Innaks," Eris intoned as she looked upon the ghost.  "Eido's grandmother." 

"But, isn't Eido adopted?" Blinx asked.

"I don't think that matters to the Eliksni," the Drifter answered.  "Pretty sure this is a love thing and an honour thing.  And Eido is Mithrax's daughter in every way that counts."

The ghost nodded and then pointed to a doorway with one of its Arc knives.  A moment later it flickered out of sight.  

"Look, I don't know about you," the Drifter said, "but grandma's two for two at this point, and I'm inclined to believe she's leadin' us outta here."

"I concur," Eris said, lifting his arm over her shoulder so she could help him hobble once more.  "Let us proceed."  

***

The corridor was crumpled in several places, and they had to squirm through some tight spaces, but eventually they found themselves looking over the entrance that first the Drifter, and then Kieran, had come in by.  

Inaaks' ghost had not reappeared.

Kieran's bright red racing sparrow was surrounded by Scorn. As Kieran looked around, he could see that the route he'd taken to get to the wrecked Ketches was likewise occupied with a large number of the rotting reanimated Eliksni.  

"They're waiting for us." Blinx said quietly.  

"So it seems," Eris intoned.  

"Hey Three-Eyes, the Drifter whispered, "Can you portal us out yet?"

Eris shook her head.  "No.  I suspect the interference I am dealing with will correspond to the edge of the Darkness zone where I was able to transmat Kieran in."

"Right," the Drifter said.  "So uh, how many people can that sparrow hold, hero?  And can it go fast enough when it's overloaded to get us through that mess?"

"It can go fast enough," Kieran said, his voice smug.

"It'd be pretty tricky to drive through at top speed with three people through all that," the Drifter continued.  "You confident you can pull that off?"

Kieran smirked under his helmet. 

Blinx sighed.  "Yeah.  Yeah he is."

Eris' frozen Ahamkara bone ping-ponged off of the six Scorn Lurkers and the Abomination immediately surrounding the Sparrow.  The Drifter tossed a Coldsnap grenade to immobilize the rest.  Kieran fired Trust from the hip, shattering most of the hostiles as Eris and the Drifter scrambled to move as quickly as the Drifter's broken leg would let them toward Kieran's bright red Sparrow.

"Ooooh," the Drifter said as Eris helped him sit down.  "This is a nice ride."

"Appreciate later," Eris said curtly and slid behind him, placing the bulk of her weight against him rather than on the Sparrow seat so that there would be enough room for Kieran.  

Kieran squeezed in front just as the Scorn farther away started running toward them.  The Sparrow's engine revved and began to purr.  

Eris pulled out her Loud Lullaby hand cannon and took out two Screebs in their immediate path.  

Kieran's Sparrow began to pick up speed.

As they accelerated past another Scorn Abomination, a jade coin made a loud "ding" as it struck the Abomination's riveted forehead. The large Scorn exploded in a burst of Solar energy, immolating it and everything around it.  

"You weren't kiddin' about the speed, kid," the Drifter laughed as they banked hard to the left and slid half-way up a wall.  "This is great!  Woooo!"

The three of them ducked as Kieran brought them through a set of large pipes half embedded in the ground which, conveniently, gave them cover from everything shooting at them.  This ended up being a good move as even more hostiles began to swarm toward them, opening fire.

However, the one thing the Scorn seemed not to have anticipated was someone crazy enough to drive through the twisted winding path out of here at insane speeds, taking turns like a maniac, soaring over gaps with jumps that would have been challenging for one rider to land safely at those speeds, never mind someone carrying two additional people.  

"Hooo-ee!  I haven't seen driving like this since... ever! If I ever manage to get Sparrow racing shoehorned into Gambit you're gonna clean house, kid!" the Drifter shouted into Kieran's ear as they skidded sideways, drifting past yet another blockade, before making a sharp turn and skimming over a heap of wreckage.

They were almost out of the darkness zone when Eris grunted and slumped against the Drifter.  

"Moondust?"  The Drifter's voice held a tinge of panic.  It was the first time Kieran had ever heard that tone from him.  

Kieran opened up the throttle as the Drifter reached back with hands covered in Stasis to freeze Eris Morn to him so she would not fall.  

One final leap through the air and they were back where they'd started.  

Kieran's Sparrow landed gently, sliding sideways to a clean, perfect stop.  

The Drifter's ghost tumbled out of Eris' pocket and opened its twitching shell, scanning her as the Drifter turned in the seat to help Kieran to get Eris off the Sparrow and on the ground.  

"Talk to me, Three-Eyes," the Drifter muttered to her as he and Kieran tried to figure out where she had been hit.  "Say something."

Eris growled.  Then she grabbed the front of his coat tightly in her fist.  

"Insufferable," she mumbled through blood stained lips. 

The Drifter grinned at Kieran, relief apparent in the one eye that wasn't swollen shut.  He looked up at his ghost.  "You, ghost!  You able to get a signal up to the Derelict from here?"

The Drifter's ghost emitted its single tone in acknowledgement and blinked its light blue.  

"Good."  He nodded to Kieran.  "Transmat Firing!"

***

"Stop coddling me!" Eris snarled at the Drifter two days later as she leaned heavily on the modified Hive Knight femur wrapped in velvet cloth and pierced with osmium nails.  

It was a powerful magical artifact, one which she'd used to turn herself into a god.  But now, it was serving a more mundane and functional purpose.  Giving her stability as she walked with Kieran and the Drifter between the shelves of the recently constructed library of the House of Light in the Eliksni quarter.  

"Let me coddle a little, will ya?  It's my fault you got shot."

"Yes.  It is.  It is entirely your fault.  And I shall not let you forget it any time soon.  Thankfully, Kieran was there."

"Good thing too." the Drifter said, smiling at Kieran.  "I was dead-dead without you comin' in to save my sorry ass.  I'm grateful."  He turned back to Eris.  "So let me be grateful, will ya?  You're so grumpy!"

"Ugh."  Eris growled in frustration.

Kieran, Eris and the Drifter sat down around a table with Eido and Missraks, Scribe and Kell of the House of Light.  Blinx hovered near Kieran's shoulder, light occasionally flickering on and off, in eager anticipation.

The Drifter handed Kieran the cloth-wrapped package.  "You give it to them," he told Kieran.  "You're the only reason this whole caper has a happy ending."  

Kieran smiled and turned to the two Eliksni.

"Is that..." Missraks paused, his voice overcome with emotion.  

Kieran nodded.  

"Please..." the Kell looked upon Kieran with gratitude.  "Give it to my daughter."

Eido's hands trembled as she unwrapped the cloth and held both it and the necklace in her three-fingered hands.  

"Do you know," she looked up at Kieran with four wide eyes. "Do you know what this means to us?  To our house?  To me?  This is history... a piece of our past believed to be forever lost... this metal, these stones, they are pieces of a world that is gone... this... this is priceless..."

Kieran smiled as Eido hugged him enthusiastically with all four of her arms.

"Happy Festival of the Lost, Crabcakes," the Drifter said from across the table. 

"This is so exciting.  How did you find this?  You must tell me what happened!" Eido said, looking adoringly at all of them, especially Kieran.  "I want to know everything!"  

[booksteaandtoomuchtv]

Burn The Ships (3/?)

A HUGE THANK YOU TO @snowbellewells FOR THIS INCREDIBLE ART. I wish I knew how to best express how amazing it feels to have someone make art for something I wrote. It is just the best feeling in the world. <3

THIS IS/WILL BE MATURE.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | ???

Tagging: @anmylica, @deckerstarblanche, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4, @pirateswhore, @stahlop, @teamhook, @tiganasummertree, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert (let me know if you want to be added or dropped)

Exhaustion did not lovingly pull Emma into a peaceful oblivion where she could rest and forget. Rather, it dragged her into a brutal storm - the howling winds tore at her, the thunder rumbled threateningly deep in her bones, and emotions best forgotten rained down on her. She was alone, abandoned on the edge of a forest. The cold rain seeped into her bones, having already soaked through her clothing, as she stumbled forward toward… nothing. She had no place to call home. 

In the way of dreams, Emma blinked and was on a beach. Her body ached as if she’d been walking for days. She wasn’t sure where she was going but walked on as waves pummelled the shoreline. It seemed she wasn’t alone, apparently, the storm would accompany her through these strange dreams. 

She turned toward the turbulent waters and her next step landed on a wooden board. Her stomach plummeted as the ship was thrown from the rolling sea. Emma desperately reached out, trying to find something to keep her on the deck as the ship leaned dangerously into the water. The boards were too wet, the sea too hungry for new souls… Emma was being sucked under the water, lungs screaming for air. 

I’ve got you. 

Cool, crisp air filled her lungs. She was back on the deck of a ship, once more. The angry onslaught of violent waves had given way to playful swells that lapped gently against the hull. No other soul was aboard the ship, but Emma felt contented rather than alone. A word, a feeling, that had never carried meaning to her wrapped itself around her heart followed by a consuming fear - panic - it would be taken away.

You’re safe, love.

The softly accented voice reached through her dreams again, wrapping around her as warm and comforting as a well-loved blanket. Emma yearned to snuggle into the melody of that low voice. In that strange way of dreams, she suddenly felt certain that the voice could protect her from the painful reality that waited to greet her upon waking. If she could just melt into it, maybe it would prevent her from losing that feeling she’d spent a lifetime chasing. 

Rest now.

And, at long last, with that voice and that feeling wrapped around her heart, Emma rested. §§§§    §§§§    §§§§    §§§§

The white wolf had been stunning, her fur seemed to shimmer with its own light source. But the woman who stormed out of his cabin the next morning was a sight to behold. 

With her blonde waves flowing behind her and her emerald eyes wild, this wild woman charged onto the deck armed with only his letter opener and a lot of swagger. She acted as though she were a rival captain set on commandeering his ship rather than a damsel recently rescued from Pan’s clutches. She had taken the liberty of procuring clothing from his wardrobe before launching her assault, the deep plunging necklines of his shirts and the way his soft leather trousers wrapped around her curves distracting him long enough for her to strike out with her borrowed weapon. 

Killian captured her wrist and forced her to release the letter opener in a quick motion. He’d offer to teach her how to properly wield any weapon of her choosing once they were better acquainted. Perhaps sometime after he was certain that he wasn’t in danger of finding the weapon buried somewhere in his flesh. 

 Sighing at her newest attempts to claw at his leather coat, he pulled her closer.

“I’m not your enemy,” he murmured to her as he wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her side to prevent her from continuing her attack. He tried to focus on calming her and gaining control of the situation rather than the way she felt in his arms and the way her scent stirred something deep within him.

“You’re safe, love,” he soothed. The woman stilled. 

Her frantic breathing slowed and the tension slipped from her limbs. The ocean lapping on the hull and their breathing were the only sounds for a few moments. It could have been romantic…if the situation were entirely different. 

“If you promise to behave, I will let you go.”  

She stared at him with frustration burning brightly behind her eyes. Her wildness and defiance stoked a desire in him - and his wolf - that he was becoming more difficult to ignore with every minute he spent in her presence. 

After a moment, during which she held his gaze with hers as if trying to determine the trick in his offer, she nodded in agreement with his terms. He reluctantly released her. 

The loss of contact left him desperate for any excuse to hold her again. He suppressed the whine his wolf let loose with a clearing of his throat. Then, with a bit of a flourish, he introduced himself to her. 

“I am Captain Killian Jones and you’re aboard the Jolly Roger. You are welcome on my ship for as long as you wish.” 

“HOOK?! You’re Captain Hook?” She wasn’t afraid of him, which seemed promising. Doesn’t mean she will love someone like you. Killian shoved away the taunting voice of his father and smiled at her as if she had said something particularly flattering. 

“Ah, so you have heard of me.”

She looked at him flatly, clearly not impressed with his antics. “Is this ship enchanted?” The abrupt question was a bit unexpected. Of course, the Jolly Roger was enchanted - to keep a course he set, to alert him of guests aboard his ship, to hide treasures from unwelcome eyes - but the enchantments were subtle and not something that should be so easily detected. 

He cocked an eyebrow to conceal his surprise. “I’m not giving secrets away to a lass who hasn’t given me her name.”

“Oh, so it is enchanted.” She looked around as if the spell work would reveal itself to her. She took a few deep breaths, frowned a bit, breathed in again, and turned back to look at him. “Emma Swan.” 

“Why are you sniffing my ship,” he hesitated before deciding with certainty, “Swan?” He smiled, the name fit her perfectly - and felt so right leaving his lips.

“Better question. Why would you use magic to make it smell so… incredible?” 

Killian scratched a spot behind his ear. What was the correct way to tell someone who woke up on a strange ship and wasn’t sure if you were another threat in the never-ending nightmare of Neverland or a possible ally that the scent they thought was part of a strange enchantment was a sign that they were in the presence of their mate? It seemed a lot to ask of anyone without adding that she had been Pan’s prisoner for some length of time before becoming the target of the most recent hunt. 

“The incredible smell of salt and fish?” Smee grumbled. A few of the crew laughed. Emma looked thoroughly confused. Killian wasn’t sure if her confusion was at his comment or at the sudden realisation that they had an audience for this little episode. 

Seeing as he’d completely forgotten his men still on the deck, he figured it was likely a bit of both. He did not want an audience for whatever was to follow.

“That’s enough from you, Mr Smee. There is a deck that needs to be swabbed.” Hook growled out. Grumbling, Smee stomped down the stairs to the main deck. The other crewmen fell into their own tasks and responsibilities understanding the example being made of the first mate. 

Emma watched all of this with a small frown on her face.

Once they were alone on the quarterdeck, she focused her piercing emerald gaze at Killian. “Do you think he really doesn’t smell that…?” 

Killian shook his head and answered softly, gently, “No, love, I don’t believe he smells anything but the sea.” 

She narrowed her eyes at him, “But…you, you smell it?” The words sounded as though she were begging him to confirm that she hadn’t taken leave of all of her senses. 

“Aye.” He confirmed with a small smile. 

Her eyes widened, panic flashing momentarily before several other emotions followed in quick succession. “Oh.”

Killian winced. “Aye.”

[snowbellewells]

Belated Birthday Fic for @jrob64

Joni (@jrob64) this is long overdue now, and probably not worth the waiting you've done for it, but I still wanted to give you the story I wrote for your birthday. It takes place in Season 2, after Emma leaves Hook on the beanstalk, but diverges in that Hook carches up with the Savior and the rest of the Princess squad again without Cora. There's some mentioned whump and I hope plenty of hurt/comfort (since you and I both enjoy that so! ;) And I hope you'll still like it, even though it's now well past your birthday. I am so glad we are friends and that this OTP and fandom lead us to meet and get to know each other!

“Consequences”

by: @snowbellewells

The logs and twigs they’d gathered for their campfire were crackling mightily, releasing occasional pops when sap ignited, but giving off the light and heat their weary and mismatched group needed as they wordlessly gathered on a fallen stump and large rock nearby. None of the women spoke. Exhausted and worried, and still not fully trusting of each other, they merely watched as Mary Margaret spun the rabbit she’d brought back for supper on the spit they had rigged up over the fire and listened as Mulan finished assembling the tent they’d soon crawl into once they had eaten at last.

This wilderness was about the furthest thing from an “Enchanted” Forest that Emma could have conjured in her naive 21st century mind, but she was simply too drained to point out the irony to either her mother - she wasn’t even ready to apply that term to her friend and roommate yet - or honest-to-goodness freaking Sleeping Beauty. And it didn’t help that she kept hearing Hook’s voice echoing in her ears, the hurt and shocked betrayal in his tone - and in those dangerously expressive eyes - as he’d pled with her, ‘Have I told you a lie? Why do this to me now?’ She had the sinking feeling that no matter how tired her body might be, when she lay her head down tonight, she wouldn’t be able to sleep for seeing his face as it had looked when she had turned away on the back of her eyelids, and her guilt at leaving him chained atop the beanstalk gnawing at her insides.

Shaking her head clear, Emma reminded herself once again that Hook had been in league with Cora; they had no proof but his word, her gut feeling, and her superpower no one else believed, that he wasn’t still working for the witch against them. She’d done the right thing, Emma savagely scolded her yammering conscience. Nothing was worth the risk of not getting back to Henry - or even worse, seeing Regina’s evil mother find her way to where Henry was. Certainly not a piercing-eyed pirate who seemed to see right through her and make her squirm doing it.

With a nod and murmur of thanks, she took the portion of roasted meat offered to her on a makeshift skewer and nibbled at it gingerly. It might just be that she was famished and too tired to be picky, but it tasted better than expected. Emma was swallowing her second bite, when noise caught her attention from the nearby treeline. She jerked upright, immediately on guard; her state of near-slumber shattered and all her nerves jangling with alarm. Her eyes met Mary Margaret’s as her mother reached for her bow and Emma stood with fists clenched, ready to defend them however she could, whether her gun was any use out here or not. Mulan had abandoned the tent at the sound as well, smoothly drawing her sword and facing the trees in front of them like a deadly sentinel.

The noise of heavy footsteps smashing through the underbrush grew nearer and louder; branches snapped, heavy, gasping breaths were heard, and Emma could only square her shoulders and wait for whatever new foe was coming forth to show itself.

What she wasn’t expecting - and what tore a harsh gasp from her throat on sight - was for Hook to stumble dazedly out of the woods toward them, momentarily leaning against a tree trunk to steady himself, his face obviously bloody and his clothing torn. He took a couple more weaving steps toward them before the toe of his boot caught a root that sent him sprawling face down in the dirt at their feet. And he didn’t get up. Didn’t move or speak. Emma was rushing forward in spite of herself before she could think better of it. Her mother called for her to be careful, and Mulan’s stern face cautioned it could be a ploy, but she paid neither of them much heed.

He still hadn’t moved, and he looked even worse close up. He’d been hurt. Badly. Surely Anton wouldn’t have…  This wasn’t what she had wanted. Was this her fault?

Crouching, Emma tried to shake Hook gently, to stir him back into wakefulness. A groan escaped him breathily, which shouldn’t have relieved her nearly as much as it did. There was nothing for it but to roll him over onto his back. At least then she could see his face and assess the damage.

But when she did, her breath caught a second time, choking up somewhere between her throat and her lungs. She couldn’t imagine there had been many times in the life of Captain Killian Jones when this could be said of him, but he looked terrible. His lower lip was busted, with rusty remnants of dried blood staining where they had trailed down his chin. One eye was swollen nearly shut, and the other was bleary to the point that she wondered how he had made his way to them through the dark. A large gash that had barely closed showed beneath the disheveled dark fringe on his forehead. Dark, purpled bruises and nasty scrapes mottled the skin of his face, neck and collar nearly everywhere she could see. Though she would have never admitted it aloud, Hook’s usually flawless countenance was horribly altered by whatever had happened to him. The shadows darkening his usual mischievious sparkle and daring turned her stomach in a way she couldn't begin to explain.

He struggled to raise his head slightly and blinked up at her as best he could through the usable slit of his eye. “Ah Swan, caught up to you, didn’t I?” he jested brokenly, somehow still teasing her through what must be immense pain.

Tilting her head to study him, Emma struggled to look unamused while inexplicably aching to place a hand to his forehead, brush back the matted hair there, and offer some modicum of comfort. Her fingers moved almost of their own accord, hovering just barely over his cheek before hesitating and pulling back, tingling at their proximity even as she resisted making contact. There didn’t appear to be a single place on him that wasn’t battered and wouldn’t cause him more pain if she tried to touch.

As if reading her concern, Hook shifted restlessly, attempting to lever himself upright and then falling back with a wince and guttural moan of protest. She also noticed for the first time how tightly he kept his hook arm pressed to his side, not sure if the injury was to the arm itself or if he were shielding his stomach or ribs, but it ratcheted her worry for him that much higher. Not certain what to do for him, or what to say, her usual half-annoyed bantering retorts fled her the longer she witnessed his vulnerability. Emma finally settled on simply answering his question, and asking one of her own. “It would appear you’ve caught me,” she acknowledged, then added softer, “But why?”

Huffing out a weary breath, Killian didn’t look at her as he barely shook his head, the motion seeming to express that he didn’t quite know himself. “I guess because, double cross and all, Lass, you lot are the safest choice for company of my rather limited options.”

Emma flushed with embarrassment at his casual mention of what she’d done. Her cheeks burned, knowing the man who lay before her could surely see how she’d colored at the reminder and could only hope that his current state made him less sharply observant than usual. That she hadn’t trusted him or the brief alliance they’d made shamed her, and then made her angry for feeling ashamed. She’d been burned before, and had learned to be more wary. That she had wanted to believe him, and had silently agreed when he’d called them quite a team, had only made her more anxious to leave him behind, to flee before he turned on her and she was left in the dust herself. Pushing the conflicting emotions aside, she tried another tack instead. “But what happene to you? How did…? Surely Anton didn’t…?”  She was tripping over her words now, flustered and chiding herself as she shook her head in frustration.

Biting her tongue until she could regain control, her eyes flew to her hand when Killian used his to clasp it and gain her attention. Though his fingers were trembling with the effort, he held on and answered her slowly. “No, that wasn’t the work of your giant admirer. Your new friend released me once the time you requested of him had passed. Bloody gargantuan numbskull threatened me to leave you in peace, but he didn’t do this damage.”

Emma exhaled air she’d hardly realized she was holding. It didn’t make things right between them, but she was grateful that she hadn’t misjudged Anton’s nature and directly caused the torture Hook had clearly undergone. “But then, who?” she whispered, finally daring to squeeze the hand that held hers in return, while at last reaching out and smoothing a light caress over his brow.

He flinched slightly at the initial contact, but then his eyes fell closed momentarily with a sigh of relief. Emma had to know, though the only other option she could think of had dread settling in her belly like stone. “Who did this to you?” she choked.

“Why Cora, of course,” he intoned, trying to appear either flippant or matter of fact and failing with the shadows that passed over his expression. “Not honestly sure why she didn’t finish the job, unless she thought she had and this old body is just too stubborn to give up the ghost.” He drew in a ragged breath before adding, “At any rate, after letting me know that she would leave me here, unable to ever gain my vengeance on Rumplestiltskin, she made certain she had demonstrated the consequences of choosing to align myself against her.”

By this point, his breathing had grown shallow and labored once more with the effort of speaking. Shushing him with a plea to rest, Emma was eager to check with the others about anything they might be able to do for his injuries. He certainly didn’t need her to keep him talking as she was. Pressing trembling lips together, Emma dashed away the single drop of moisture that had escaped her eye and laid his hand tenderly back on his chest. “Well, thankfully, Cora counted her win a bit too soon. Let’s see if we can help you live to fight another day.”

His unfairly long lashes fluttered, and a small, soft chuckle broke from his cracked lips, but Killian seemd to be rapidly giving up the fight to remain lucid. Emma wasn’t sure whether that was good or bad while they tried to tend to his wounds, but she had to do something. She wasn’t going to desert him again.

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

When his eyes fluttered open some time later, Killian Jones found himself dazed and dizzy, then almost nauseous, with his throat parched and dry. Panic followed almost immediately as he struggled to gain his bearings and found himself weak as a newborn kitten, floundering even to sit up unaided. He could not have said whether it had been minutes, hours, or days since he was last aware of his surroundings, but just as he was not sure how much time had passed, he was also vaguely uncertain of where he was and whether or not he was alone - an even more disturbing condition.

His mind was reeling as he attempted to move, scrabbling around over the dry, dusty ground with his good hand in a frantic search for his cutlass. Surely he must have left it within reach. He had learned long ago, even as the captain of a mostly loyal pirate crew, that enemies were varied and numerous, and that he must never let his guard down without a weapon close at hand. He had a jagged, long-healed gash running under his ribs, which Smee had tried his best - if rather crookedly - to sew closed, but which had taught him that lesson all too well.

With a frenzied sound of frustration in his throat, Killian kept fighting to sit upright, ready to defend himself against some unknown foe, only to have hands grip his upper arms tightly, pressing him back and forcing him to remain on the ground. “Unhand me, you blackguard!” he growled, only to have his vision finally regain focus and the fight abruptly drain from his limbs when he found himself staring up at Emma Swan hovering over him, her touch the one keeping him in place.

“Easy there, Hook,” she chided, loosening her grip as he stilled and grew calmer upon seeing he was not under immediate attack. “You’ve got to settle down, or you’ll hurt yourself even more. We tried to stitch the deepest of your cuts and bandage you up. Don’t undo it all!”

She was fussing over him, Killian realized belatedly, his hazy and addled mind slowly filling in the blanks he had missed. She might be scolding and grumbling as she did so, but she was still frightened for his well-being and more concerned for his comfort than he would have dared imagine possible.

He had known there was a frisson of energy that flowed between them when he’d taken her hand in the giant’s lair, cleansing and caring for the cut on her palm despite her stubbornly self-effacing protests. And he really hadn’t thought he was imagining the way she’d held her breath and her pupils had dilated when he’d eyed her daringly while tying off the bandage with his teeth. Still, he’d been hesitant to place too much fatih in what he was reading from her either. Emma Swan was overly guarded and used to being on her own. Someone had obviously hurt her deeply enough to make her push everyone else away in response. Not only that, but she was an actual royal - the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, no less - and the fabled Savior besides. Her light was much too pure and bright to be aligned with his dark and tarnished pirate soul set on vengeance.

All the same, he had cursed himself as seven times a fool when his heart plummeted at her turning and running from him on the beanstalk. He had held out a little hope for them, in spite of his better judgement, or he would not have been so hurt by the betrayal. She was as full of shining enticement, from her flowing golden hair to her sparkling jade eyes, as any buried treasure. He couldn’t help wanting to stay by her side.

As Emma slowly moved to support him, helping him ease into a sitting position while bracing him against her own hip and shoulder, she offered him a water skin and held it up so he could take a much-needed cool drink of water. Killian was stunned to realize that maybe winning her over wasn’t as lost a cause as he had thought. Perhaps Emma Swan already cared more than she wanted to allow herself, and against her own good sense - much as he had found himself doing.

Several quiet moments passed before Killian fully registered that all was still and motionless around them. It was full dark now; the middle of the night, or perhaps early morning, if his view of the moon was accurate, yet he could hear no movements or voice’s from Emma’s royal, bandit, or warrior companions. The fire next to them was dimmed to near embers, and it seemed for the moment as if he and Emma were the only two people under the brilliant array of stars overhead.

Now that he had his bearings and his thirst was slaked, he ventured a glance beyond his lovely blonde Savior’s beguiling face, at least far enough to see that a rough tent had been staked and three bed rolls were occupied beneath its temporary shelter, explaining their privacy, but raising even more questions. Why were the rest of them willing to lower their guard enough to sleep with a virtual stranger and former enemy in their camp? It had been hard to miss the warning and distrust in the Lady Snow’s eyes, at any rate - probably largely protectiveness for her daughter, but still, why grant him this sort of uninterrupted interlude with Emma then? He was clearly in poor shape; maybe they had reckoned he couldn’t do anything to harm them, or charm Emma too thoroughly, as injured as he was.

Killian was abruptly startled from his wandering thoughts when he once more felt the cool, soothing touch of Emma’s fingertips trailing up the side of his face and into his hair. She raked the dark strands back from his fevered skin, calming even the pounding that pained him from the magical beating he’d endured and the rough impact his head had suffered when Cora finally dropped his battered body to the hard ground and left him for dead.

The Enchanted Forest’s lost princess spoke so quietly he had to strain to hear her when she addressed him again, her eyes studiously avoiding his to observe her fingers carding through the mussed, blood-caked strands of his hair. “I’m sorry… truly, I am. It was wrong of me to leave you behind the way I did, and… I should have trusted you. You may be a pirate, and awfully full of yourself, and way too flirty for your own good…” 

At that, Killian attempted to waggle an eyebrow and smirk salaciously to make her smile, only for a cringe to escape him at the motion of his brow and lip.

She noticed, of course, and rather than admonishing that it served him right, as she would have usually done, Emma hissed in sympathy and hushed him with a gentle hum in the back of her throat. “See, this shouldn’t have happened to you, Ho - Killian.” Her switch from his moniker to his real name struck him right in the center of the chest, with as much emphasis as a physical blow. He couldn’t decide if her concern, guilt, and contrition more warmed his heart or troubled him - not wanting to win her over out of mere pity. “That witch only caught up to you, found you empty-handed, because of what I did. This is my fault… b-but… I never wanted you to be hurt like this. I only wanted a head start, to get back to my son.”

If he hadn’t been shocked to his core already, the depth of emotion in Swan’s voice as she made her confession would have been enough to bowl him over. It sounded as though she might be on the verge of tears on his behalf, and Killian could hardly fathom it. Drawing a ragged breath of his own, he wet his cracked lips and managed a sincere response to her heartfelt openness. 

“Darling,” and here he couldn’t help a bit of a rogueish grin at her, despite how it pulled on the broken skin of his lip again. 

She shook her head, but didn’t scoff or interrupt, not this time, and heartened, he continued in all sincerity. “I’m not going to lie to you. I was angry when you shackled me there and left me behind. I’d been on the level with you, was doing my best to help you, and for the first the time in a long time, I felt like I connected with someone genuinely. But I also understand that your boy is your first priority. You cannot let anything else matter as much - or even possibly risk his safety.”

His battered knuckles were beginning to swell, and his fingers ached as he moved them, but Killian still managed to return the clutch of Emma’s own hand and intertwine their fingers with a sigh of rightness and relief. Glancing back up to search her gaze once more, he added, “I understand what being separated from one’s child might do to a person… more than you might think, in fact. I respect you all the more for your urgency and desire to return to him as soon as possible.”

He could see Emma wondering what his words might mean; the gears turning in her sharp mind were obvious, even if she only pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes slightly, watching him a few moments longer. Thankfully, she didn’t press the matter further, but instead released what seemed a lungful of air she must have been holding worriedly and gave him a hopeful smile. “So… you forgive me, then?”

The barest dip of his chin was as far as he dared move his aching head, but Killian assured her without hesitation, “Aye, Emma, I do,” in as strong and certain a voice as he could muster. 

By then, the faintest tendrils of light were beginning to break through the deep indigo sky and soft hints of scuffling and waking from their fellow travelers hinted that they would not be alone much longer.

Though he still hurt all over as if he had been scorched by a dragon’s breath and then crushed by an ogre’s tread, Killian couldn’t help but feel as if his situation had drastically changed. Even more so when Emma Swan’s eyes grew warmer yet; her aspect beaming crookedly at him like sunlight slowly emerging from a bank of clouds. Just before they were joined by Snow White bearing coffee for his Savior, Emma winked at him conspiratorially and leaned forward to murmur. “I’m glad, Pirate. After all, we make quite the team, remember?”

Tagging a few others who might enjoy: @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @apiratewhopines @sotangledupinit @stahlop @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @killian-whump @artistic-writer @the-darkdragonfly @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @booksteaandtoomuchtv @kazoosandfannypacks @justanother-unluckysoul @wefoundloveunderthelight @motherkatereloyshipper @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @jonesfandomfanatic @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @drowned-dreamer @xarandomdreamx @caught-in-the-filter

[i-will-sing-no-requiem]

@cocohook38 I was your @csgiftexchange gifter!

I went with the cursed!killian prompt and decided to write a season 1 au where killian is one of the curse victims.

It's turning out to be a lot longer than I had initially planned, i think it's going to go through at least the entire season, but here's the first chapter!

Emma has no idea what she��s doing in this town. 

One minute she’s in Boston, blowing out a birthday candle alone, and the next she’s drinking hot cocoa at the smalltown diner-slash-B&B in Storybrooke, Maine, where she’s just finished talking with her son who she gave up for adoption ten years ago about how everyone there was actually secretly a fairytale character under an evil curse. Completely insane. 

As she gets up to pay and leave, someone catches her eye. A man sitting alone at the bar. He is hunched over eating breakfast by himself. She’s not sure what it is, but something about him catches her interest. Maybe it’s the faraway look in his eye that she connects with. And he’s handsome too, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, but she has a strict policy about men, no dating, no letting your guard down, and absolutely NO falling in love. 

Despite all of that, she somehow finds herself walking up to him.

Telling herself she’s just waiting to pay for her food (even though she could have stood anywhere while waiting for a waitress to be ready for her), and glances over at the stranger one more time. He catches her eye and smiles at her. “Hey.”

“Hi.” she responds.

There’s a pause, and then…

“So. You’re Henry Mills’ mother.” 

Emma’s startled by this, probably more than she should be. She did come into town in the middle of the night with the mayor’s runaway kid, and then get arrested for drunk driving. That’s the kind of thing that would spark rumours, especially in a place like this.

“What would you know about that?”

“It’s a small town,” he acknowledges with a raise of his eyebrows, “people talk.”

He still hasn’t gotten up, or even turned in his stool, but he’s watching her intently as she listens, and he can see the confliction on her face. She can’t get a read on this guy, and it’s making her feel at the same time on edge and jumpy, and intrigued. 

Ultimately, her curiosity wins out, and she asks, “And what exactly are they saying? About me.”

He shrugs a shoulder, “The people of this town will say any number of things. That the boy rode a bus all the way to Boston to find you. That you were just a teenager when you gave him up,” he pauses. Then, “That you’re a conwoman who’s only here to try to steal Henry away.”

“Well,” Emma says cooly, her eyes flashing “you shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

Finally turning in his seat to face her, they lock eyes as he holds her stare. “Aye love, perhaps I shouldn’t”

Emma feels a shiver run down her spine as he turns to go.

“Wait. I didn’t catch your name.”

He looks back at her. “Killian Jones, at your service.”

He tips his head slightly in a mock bow. 

“And you?”

“What? All these rumours flying and the people don’t even know my name?”

“I guess that information never reached me.”

She smiles slightly and shakes her head. “It’s Emma. Emma Swan.”

“Swan.” He smiles. “Well, I’ll see you around, Swan.”

“Uh… yeah” she says, taken aback by his assumption that he would be seeing her again. 

As he walks away, she feels a strange mix of emotions. She doesn’t know really anything about him. Doesn’t know if she trusts, or even likes him that much. But as she watches him leave, she can’t help but feel like she wants to talk to him again.

[anmylica]

The City of Lights

A Captain Swan Fanfiction for @jrob64 as part of the CS Gift Exchange 2022.

Surprise! I am your gift exchange writer for this year’s exchange! I hope I nailed your request this year for a modern AU holiday fic! I am going to post this in two parts (because I am incapable of restraint, apparently). Part 2 will be posted on NYE!

Summary: Killian Jones has been waiting for the perfect opportunity to propose to the love of his life, Emma Swan. When he’s presented with the opportunity to whisk her away on a weekend trip to visit the Festival of Lights in Natchitoches, Louisiana, he’s confident that the perfect time will present itself. But even the best laid plans often go awry…

Tagging my usual crew: (want to be added? Let me know!) @xarandomdreamx @kmomof4 @snowbellewells @sotangledupinit @tiganasummertree @zaharadessert

Killian Jones opened the door of his apartment to the sound of his girlfriend, Emma “Swan” Nolan, quoting Steel Magnolias verbatim as the television blared in the background.  Emma was spread out on the couch, trying to cover every square inch of its surface with her body, blankets, and pillows, eating peanut butter straight out of the jar and quoting lines as if she were Shelby Eatenton herself.  He smiled at the sight she presented.

“You’re as bad as Mary Margaret, I hope you realize,” he called to the blonde, causing her to jump, as she didn’t hear the door open.

“You’re home early!” Emma exclaimed, smiling to see him but not moving from her spot on the couch.  “Slow shift?”

“Aye, it was.  I’m technically still on call for the next thirty minutes, but it should stay quiet.”  Killian removed his Boston PD jacket and placed his radio on the counter, making sure to turn the dial on the volume loud enough to hear it should he get called out.

Emma hummed, turning her attention back to the movie for a moment, quoting the lines, “My colors are blush and bashful” with the practiced ease of someone who had seen the movie dozens of times before.

Killian moved to sit on the arm of the couch.  “Would you want the colors of your wedding to be blush and bashful, love?”

Emma’s eyes widened and she made a shocked trilling sound in the back of her throat.  “Woah, woah, woah,” she started, wholeheartedly engaging in the game of cat and mouse they always partook when the subject was brought up.  Though Emma was not opposed to marriage (in fact, she was actually hoping that wedding bells would ring in the very near future), it was a running gag amongst all her friends and family that just the hint of white lace would set her running for the hills.

Killian held his hand up, cutting off her reply, and inserted, “Calm down, Swan, I’m not proposing.”  His eyes were on the screen so he missed the disgusted, let down expression that crossed her face at his words.  “I’m merely curious since this is your favorite movie if you would ever want to use the same color scheme.”

Emma huffed.  “I like blush and bashful well enough, but I wouldn’t want them together,” she replied tersely, a little annoyed with her boyfriend of three years.

Killian had brushed off any mentions of their making their relationship legal, a fact which Emma played off in front of their friends (especially her brother and his wife, Mary Margaret) but Emma secretly loathed.  She had been hinting for weeks and weeks that she was ready, but he either was playing dumb or he truly didn’t pick up on her hints.  She was about ready to admit that maybe she needed to be a little less subtle in her desires, but she wasn’t quite ready to throw in the towel yet.  What she didn’t realize was that Killian was very well-aware of her desires and was merely acting in that manner to make her less suspicious of his intentions.

“Too much pink, eh?”  Killian smirked.

Emma shrugged and said, “Maybe for you.”

The two fell into a companionable silence as they watched the screen for a few more moments.  When a shot of the town the movie was filmed in was shown, Emma said, “I’d love to see where they filmed this.”

Killian frowned.  “Where did they film it?”

“I have no idea,” Emma said as she grabbed her phone.  After a quick search, she announced, “It was filmed in a place called,” and she paused.  “I don’t know how to say this.”

Killian looked at the screen “Natch-uh-toes-es?” 

Emma shrugged and scrolled.  “It’s in Louisiana, apparently.  Just about an hour south of Shreveport on the western side of the state.”

Killian nodded.  “You want to go one day?”

Emma scoffed.  “There’s nothing there except trees and rednecks with jacked-up trucks, I’m sure.”

Killian took the phone from her and scrolled through some of the information.  “It says they have a ‘Festival of Lights’ in December.  It’s actually already started.”  

Emma gave him a side-eyed look.  “That’s just a way to draw tourists in to make money off the unsuspecting people who think there’s more there than there really is.”

Killian nodded in response absentmindedly.  An idea was forming in his mind.  He knew Emma actually would enjoy that trip, as they had done several like it in times past.  She was just trying to downplay how badly she wanted to tour the town so as to cope with the disappointment of not being able to go.  The best thing about her job is she could work from just about anywhere, as she worked in bail bonds, which required research online, and only paid her a check upon the successful delivery of the fugitive she was hunting.  If she wanted to take a few days’ vacation, then she could with no issues.  Killian had some time accumulated with the police force, and it would be nothing more than applying for a few days off.  

He continued to look through the pictures of the festival.  It looked quaint, with the lighted displays glinting off the water of the Cane River and accompanied by horse-drawn carriage rides.  Killian could suddenly feel a hole burning in his pocket, so to speak, at the thought of being able to propose to Emma in that setting.  He had bought the ring ages ago and was simply waiting for a moment when the time felt right.  Perhaps that would be it?  His mind suddenly made up, he handed her back her phone.

Emma took it absentmindedly, her attention already back on the movie.  Killian got up and moved to grab his radio even though his shift would end in just a few minutes.  He picked it up and carried it with him to the bedroom, where he closed the door and took out his phone to call his shift captain to arrange the vacation time. 

Once he had the necessary arrangements made, he called David (who, besides being Emma’s brother, was his partner with the Boston PD) and asked him to help him look at hotels, flights, and other necessities.  He also filled David in on his plan for proposing to his sister, a fact of which David was already aware. Within about forty minutes, Killian had plane tickets, a hotel room reserved, a rental car lined up, and was quickly looking up information on the Festival of Lights itself to plan out an itinerary.

He answered Emma when she called out to him wanting to know what he wanted for dinner, and then made his way to the shower to get rid of the dirt and grime that he often felt after a day spent upholding law and order.  A satisfied smirk on his face, he began whistling as he turned on the water.

This was going to be a Christmas surprise that Emma would never forget.

After his shower, he discreetly printed the plane tickets, hotel confirmation, rental agreement for the car they would need, and placed all the documents in a Manila folder.  Peeking into the living room, he saw that Emma was now sobbing in tears at the scene on the screen of Shelby’s funeral.  He smiled at her show of emotion.  Emma “Swan” Nolan may wear a layer of red leather as armor, but he knew she was a closet romantic and the sweetest soul he knew.  The only person he knew that could even hold a candle to her purity was Mary Margaret, David’s wife and Emma’s sister-in-law, and even she wasn’t on Emma’s level in some ways.

Killian watched Emma watch the screen, appreciating this quiet moment that he never thought he’d get to have.  After so many things had nearly torn them apart, from vengeful exes to their own stubbornness in admitting their feelings and then their sometimes dangerous jobs, he had never thought they would get here, but he now had everything he ever wanted.

Lost in his reverie, he didn’t notice when the movie ended and Emma stood up and sauntered over to him, a seductive smile on her face, though tear tracks stained her cheeks.  He thought there was no better sight than Emma in sweats and no makeup coming towards him with that look in her eyes.  

“Hey, Lieutenant, what’s a girl gotta do to get some company?” She wrapped her arms around him and he reciprocated the gesture, smiling as he did so.  “What’s that you’ve got?” She nodded towards the folder.

He lifted it and handed it to her.  “See for yourself.”

Emma took the folder and opened it, wondering what was in it.  She studied the print-outs for a moment, her brow furrowed, before she realized what she was looking at.  “Is this-” she started.

“A trip, fully booked and paid for, for us to go to this Natchitoches place to see where they filmed your second favorite movie in the whole wide world,” he finished for her.  “Aye, love.  It’s part of my Christmas gift to you.”

Emma’s eyes widened at what he said.  “You really booked this for us?”

Killian nodded.  “Just this evening.  You can’t fool me, Swan, I know you’d love to make that trip.  You’re always on about how beautiful the place looks on the screen.”

Emma smiled at him.  “Do I want to make that trip?”

Killian smirked.  “Well, you’re something of an open book.”

They both laughed and embraced for a long moment.  FInally pulling apart, but not completely, Emma gave him a sly smile and a pointed look.

“I believe I should show my gratitude, don’t you think, Lieutenant?”

Killian tapped his lips and returned her sly smile.  “Perhaps gratitude is in order now.”

Emma rose up and kissed him fiercely, grabbing his shirt to tug her closer.  Dropping the folder, he picked her up to carry her into the bedroom.  Everything else could wait.  He had his Swan to ravish, first.

Several days later, Emma was desperately trying to pack her carry-on suitcase for their trip.  Nothing seemed to be exactly right, though she didn’t know much about the Southern states’ climate having grown up only in the northern states.  She had desperately called Mary Margaret over to help, and her sister-in-law had promptly arrived thirty minutes later bearing two hot chocolates in hand, ready to help Emma solve her latest crisis.

“What do you even wear in Louisiana in December?!” Emma shouted in frustration, tugging at her hair as she scanned the contents of her side of the closet.  Their plane was set to leave from Logan International in the morning, and she was now only half packed. She had the essentials in her suitcase, like comfortable pajamas and her toiletries, but the actual outfits to wear during the day were still yet to be picked.  It was the beginning of winter, and Boston had snow on the ground already, but Louisiana wasn’t a winter state. Did they even get snow? What was their average temperature this time of year? Did she need a swimsuit? Did they go swimming in December? Emma let her head thump against the frame of the closet door in frustration.

“Clothes might be the best option,” David replied, coming in to get Killian’s suitcase to help load it in Killian’s truck so they wouldn’t be lugging heavy bags around in the morning in a rush. 

Emma rolled her eyes. “Nah, I think I’ll just wear my tattoo and a smile,” she snarled back at her brother. David grinned and grabbed the packed suitcase, walking out without replying.

Mary Margaret breezed in behind him after a bathroom break, replying as she did so, “Louisiana is usually around mid to low 70s or high 60s during the day at this time of year, and anywhere in the high forties or low 50s at night.  They would be warmer or colder, but it usually won’t be by much. Jeans, sweaters, some lighter shirts, a jacket and maybe a hat and gloves and boots, should be all you’ll need for the temperatures.”

Emma looked at her best friend in disbelief, leaning her head against the closet door frame. “Seriously? When did you become an expert in climates of states you’ve never been to?”

Mary Margaret handed Emma her phone with a weather app pulled up that showed a graphic of the same information she just told Emma. “Since I Googled it.”

Emma smiled in response, rolling her eyes as she turned back to her closet. She settled on pulling out her favorite pair of jeans, a pair of leggings, and a skirt that she liked to wear for dates with Killian sometimes. She threw them haphazardly in her suitcase, which caused Mary Margaret to tut in exasperation at her sister-in-law’s messy habits as she grabbed the items to fold them properly.

“Do you want tights to go with this skirt,” Mary Margaret asked as Emma dug for her favorite white Aran knit sweater. 

“Yes, can you grab me a pair of black ones?” 

Mary Margaret moved to grab the item Emma would need, and when she turned back to place the item in the suitcase, she saw Emma holding a black leather dress with a thoughtful look on her face.

“New dress?” Mary Margaret asked, noticing the tags still on it.

“Yeah,” Emma replied, a little breathlessly. “I bought it as a surprise for Killian for a special celebration.”

The brunette smiled excitedly. “Do you think he’s going to propose on this trip?”

Emma shook her head slightly. “I don’t think he even realizes that’s what I want.”

“Then you should tell him! And pack that dress just in case! If nothing else, you can wear it to tell him you’re ready to take the next step.”

Emma winced a bit. “What if he doesn’t feel the same?” she whispered softly, fearful of the possibility that the answer was that Killian didn’t feel the same as she did.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret chided gently. “Of course he feels the same! He told David that he was ‘in this for the long haul.’ His exact words. A proposal is probably going to happen sooner than you think!”

Emma sighed. “I hope so. I never thought I would find what we have together. I don’t want to lose it.”

Mary Margaret hugged her close and Emma held on tightly to her sister-in-law. “You won’t. And you should bring that dress and a pair of red heels with you on your trip.”

Emma smiled and turned to place the dress in the suitcase. “I think I will.”

Feeling much more centered, Emma quickly grabbed the rest of her items and finished packing. She rolled her bag out to the living room and passed it off to David. Killian was just coming back inside from where he had walked downstairs with David to load up his luggage.

“All set, love?” He asked, taking her in his arms. 

Emma nodded contentedly. “All set,” she sighed happily. She held onto him as tight as she could. She couldn’t wait for their next adventure together.

The roar of the planes taking off the next day could be heard in the background as Killian argued with the woman behind the counter at the car rental inside Dallas Fort-Worth International about the rental he had reserved. Emma stood a little ways down the concourse from him watching the planes arrive and depart through one of the windows, though she could still hear his frustration. It seemed that his information and reservation had been lost.

The plane ride from Boston to Dallas had been uneventful. Emma loved quick plane rides that didn’t involve any hassle. She just wanted to get where she needed to be. Having Killian be there to handle any problems they encountered was a blessing to her.

“Well, Swan, it seems we finally have a vehicle. The woman said the drive was a little under four hours if we hit traffic right.”  Killian had moved behind her while she was ruminating on her thoughts. She turned and smiled.

“Lead the way.”

They walked out of the airport and to the location of the car. Once they located it, they loaded their luggage and began to make the next part of their journey. Killian sang along to the radio as Emma stared at the scenery. Everything looked very different from home, though it did grow monotonous after a while.  After a couple of hours, they arrived in Shreveport and stopped for a quick lunch before continuing south on Interstate 49 to Natchitoches. They arrived at the Natchitoches exit around three in the afternoon.  Emma looked at the hotels and fast food joints that surrounded Highway 6 and turned to Killian.

“Is our hotel here?”

He grinned in reply.  “I thought we would stay at a more ‘on location’ site and booked us at the Saint Denis Hotel.  It’s right along Front Street.”

Emma nodded in understanding and kept watch out of the window.  As they came into the outskirts of the city, she noticed a university of some sort to the right.  

“Is that Northwestern State University?” She asked.  

Killian nodded.  “I think so.  We have tickets to a show their performing arts center is performing tomorrow night.”

Emma raised her eyebrows in mock disbelief.  “Getting fancy on me, aren’t you?”

Killian laughed.  “It’s called the Christmas Gala.  We’re going to dinner before and then the show starts at 9. I hope you brought something appropriate to wear.”  Killian shot her a sly look and licked his lips.  Emma laughed in delight, grateful now that she had listened to Mary Margaret’s advice about packing her black leather dress.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She teased back.  Killian grinned wider but didn’t say anything, instead turning his attention back to the road.  They drove past the college, eventually turning left onto Jefferson Street.

Up until that point, there had been Christmas lights draped along light poles and various other points, but the moment they turned onto Jefferson, the lights started.  As they drove, the road felt as if they were entering a tunnel of multicolored lights.  Light strands zigzagged above them, and there were light-drawn figures on every telephone pole.  As they drove, they could see some of the scenes that Natchitoches was famous for this time of year. It looked amazing, and it wasn’t even dusk yet.

After trawling through bumper to bumper traffic and getting turned around for a moment or two, they finally arrived.  The hotel lobby was decorated in a modern Provencal style that Emma had seen once before during a brief trip to New Orleans during Marci Gras with Killian a couple of years before.  Although not as ornate as other places Emma had seen, it still had a homey feel to the place.  Check-in was much less of a hassle than getting their rental car was, too, Emma noticed.  Once they made it into their room, which was decorated in a similar style, they set their luggage down and Emma flopped onto the bed.  Killian sat on the edge, watching her in amusement.

“Tired, love?” He asked.  It had been a long day of travel, after all.

Emma closed her eyes and nodded.  “A little.”

“What do you think so far?” 

“Emma opened her eyes and looked at him.  “Well, you’re sitting too prim for me but at least you're on the bed.”  Emma shrugged slightly, holding back a teasing grin.

Killian rolled his eyes.  “I meant about the town, Swan.”

“I know what you meant,” Emma laughed before continuing, “honestly, it’s all a bit cheesy, but I can see why it’s a popular lights destination for this area.  I’ve had fun so far.”

“I’m glad,” Killian replied and bent down to place a soft kiss on her lips, which she happily returned.  After several moments, he pulled away and stood.  “If you’ll get freshened up, we’ll go walk downtown and scope out the place.  I’ve heard they have a lot of great food here.”

Emma smiled and got up and walked to the bathroom.  “I’ll be right out,” she said, cocking her hips to the side sassily.

He laughed and returned, “I’ll be waiting.”

Once he was. certain she was ensconced in the shower, the door firmly closed behind her, he let out a shaky breath and put his hand in his pocket.  Clasping it in his hand, he pulled out a black velvet box and opened it.  The engagement ring was nestled safely inside, the huge center stone glistening in the light coming from the bedside lamps.  

Killian wasn’t sure when exactly he was going to propose, but he hoped that tomorrow night might provide the most romantic scene.  Surely there would be an opportunity sometime between dinner, the concert, and hopefully a nice stroll along the river taking in the lights.  Maybe they would luck out and get to do a carriage ride on one of the horse-drawn carriages he had spotted as they arrived.  All he knew was that he couldn't wait any longer.  He had had the ring for several months now, but something always stopped him from asking her.  

But not this time.  When they flew back to Boston in three days’ time, they would be engaged.  He knew Emma wanted it just as badly as he did, and there wasn’t anything he wouldn't do to help her have one of the best Christmas seasons of her life.  He just hoped he didn’t chicken out once he found the right moment.

An hour later, they were strolling along Front Street taking in the sights. The lights were on, but the sun hadn’t yet set, and Killian knew they would be better once it was dark. The streets were busy, as the area drew in a lot of tourism and the college kids were still in class and would likely continue to be until around the 15th. Emma, in true Emma fashion, found a street vendor who was selling hot chocolate, and they bought a couple of to-go cups and sipped on them as they walked. 

They passed a lot of shops, one of which was the Kaffie-Frederick General Mercantile Store, which was a blast from the past that was apparently founded in 1838. They learned from a local working the cash register that the name of the town wasn’t pronounced how it looked. 

“It’s pronounced ‘Nack-a-tish,” the friendly-faced woman laughed, seemingly not surprised by their lack of ability at pronouncing the name. “It was the name of a local Native American tribe. You’d actually be surprised how many people come here unable to pronounce it.  And don’t even try to ask Siri anything about it.  She doesn’t understand the word at all!”

Killian and Emma shared a glance of amazement at just how wrong they had gotten the name, quickly wrapping up their purchases.  After they deposited their purchases in their room, it was late enough for them to grab dinner at one of the restaurants on Front Street, a place called Mama’s that was adjoined to another place called Papa’s.  Dinner passed quickly with both enjoying the live music playing and being together in a place where they had no worries.  Killian kept sneaking glances at her when she was watching the band, struck by how happy and relaxed she looked.  

Perhaps this was the moment?  Should he get down on one knee now?  Though he hadn’t planned on asking for her hand tonight, it seemed as if this time could be the time.  His hand drifted to the pocket of his leather jacket and gripped the black box residing in it.  Emma laughed at something the lead singer said (what it was, Killian couldn’t have said, because nothing existed but Emma and this moment), and he pulled the box out.

“Emma?” He called, a little louder than normal so as to be heard over the din.

She turned and looked at him, smiling brightly.  “Yeah, babe?”

He broke off for a moment as she looked at him expectantly.  The words he wanted to say, of adoration and forever and will you be mine, got stuck in his throat.  He cleared it, and grabbed her hand.  “I love you,” he stated a little flatly, let down by his inability to say what he wanted.  

Emma chuckled softly.  “I love you, too,” she replied.  “Are you okay?  You looked almost nervous just now.”

“I’m fine, love.” He looked down at the table for a moment, caressing her hand with his thumb, before he looked up and caught her eyes again.  “We’ve been together for a while, haven’t we?  Shared many adventures together?” He asked, trying to buy some time to get his thoughts together.

Emma tilted her head a bit in confusion.  “Aye,” she responded, teasing.  “Why do you bring it up?  You’re not breaking up with me are you?”  Her face fell at the unpleasant thought, and Killian’s heart skipped a beat at her words.

“Of course not!  I would never- I want you by my side always!”

Emma’s face relaxed from relief.  “Oh, good.  That’s good because I feel the same way.”

“I can’t believe you would think I’d take you all this way to break up with you,” Killian responded, momentarily derailed from the romantic speech he didn’t have planned to ask the question he knew that both of them wanted yet fully paralyzed him with fear at articulating to her.

Emma laughed and shrugged.  “Stranger things have happened to me before.”

“Indeed, they have,” Killian responded, not continuing as the waitress came over to see if they needed anything else.  Once they had settled the bill with her, they had silently agreed that it was a good time to head back to their room.  Killian lamented that the moment had passed, but he also couldn’t help but feel some relief.  If he couldn’t get out the question without botching it up, then he shouldn’t ask it until he could do so without making her question if he’s about to end their relationship.

After they had been walking for a moment or two, Emma said, “So why did you bring up how long we’ve been together?”

Killian looked out at the scene before them, of the glimmer of the lights on the Cane River and the romantic atmosphere of the quaint college town.  “I was just thinking about how much we’ve seen and done,” he finally responded before looking at her.  “There’s no one else I’d rather go through life with.”

Emma smiled and stopped them from walking any further.  She leaned up and gave him a long, slow, soft kiss, one that Killian gladly returned.  Their mouths moved in the perfect sync that came from years of devotion and adoration.  Killian drew her further into his embrace, wrapping his arms around her as she moved one hand to clench in his hair and the other to cup the back of his neck.  Neither carried the kiss much further, aware as they were of being in the middle of a public sidewalk with many other people around them for the festivities, but the heat that always seemed to simmer between them was stoked to a higher flame.

As they both pulled away from the kiss, Killian rested his forehead against hers.  He looked into her eyes, asking a silent question, one that Emma responded to with a similar look.  They both turned and quickly finished the trek back to their hotel room.  Once inside, they gave into the passion and love that consumed them in the dance of lovers as old as time itself.  After they lay sated and entwined, Killian briefly thought of asking her then, but when he turned his head to broach the subject, he saw that Emma lay peacefully asleep.  Smiling, he tugged her closer and gave into the exhaustion that ebbed at his consciousness.  There was always tomorrow, after all.

[snowbellewells]

@whimsicallyenchantedrose And now, with this complete first full chapter, I am absolutely and completely hooked. Naturally my heart aches for Emma. I can’t even truly imagine the sort of wearing, bleak life she has had to live and sees stretching out before her as well. And yet, despite the very different time and place, we can see the strength and fortitude of our Emma Swan we know and love from OuaT, she just isn’t one to give up and so she keeps right on fighting as best she can.

The thought of her losing her brother so suddenly and tragically, followed by her father so soon after, was simply heartbreaking. Then, she allows herself to be caught in Gold’s trap for her mother’s sake, only to have her shortly die as well. I’m not going to lie (even if I feel bad for saying so) I can’t help but agree with Granny. The sea found a way to take out the trash, as she put it, and it’s really too bad Neal found a way back and became Emma’s responsibility again.

Thank goodness she does have Granny Lucas, Captain Nemo, and the others in the village! I was cracking up at the bit with Granny’s exchange with Marco, and just her giving everyone what-for in general: “As the older couple began bickering in earnest–and apparently enjoying every moment of it–Emma excused herself and walked on.  She did, in fact, have a few errands to run before the sun fully set and the stores closed, and if she waited for her companions to finish their “conversation”, she might be standing here all night.” You’ve cast these supporting players wonderfully well to give us and Emma a bit of a respite and some glimmer of humor and happiness in the drab situation.

I also loved how you worked in echoes of canon, like Emma telling Neal she had wished he was dead, much the way it happens in Neverland. In the end, she still cares for him and fulfills what seems to be her lot, but the truth is there, and we feel for her all the more for it.

I could understand why she wasn’t up to meeting blissfully happy newlyweds after all that, but I am hoping David and MM will become friends for her (seems she could use all the good friends she can get!) and they might be able to help bring some light and hope, and even help some with the load of caring for Neal, seeing as he’s a doctor and all!

At the Dawn There is Rejoicing--a birthday gift for @kmomof4 (Chapter 1)

Summary:  Birthday gift for Krystal, @kmomof4. Based on the story of Leslie Moore and Owen Ford in the book Anne’s House of Dreams–the 5th book in the Anne of Green Gables series.  Emma Gold has led a difficult life.  Her brother and her father died when she was a child, and she was then coerced into marrying the odious Neal Gold.  She thought she’d been granted a reprieve when he was believed to be lost at sea–only for him to return disabled and in need of a caregiver.  Killian is a newspaper reporter who is tired of his routine life.  When he falls ill, his editor forces him to take a sabbatical.  What will happen when Emma takes Killian in as a border for the summer?

Word Count: 2445y

Other Chapters: (Prologue) (2) (3)

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

Four Winds Harbor, Prince Edward Island, Canada, 1890

Emma Gold shut the door quietly but firmly before taking the harbor road toward the small, seaside village she’d called home all her life.  She let out a long breath, rolling her head from side to side, trying to work out the tension of the day.

And what a trying day it had been!  Neal had been absolutely impossible today.  Some days her husband was calm, affectionate, sometimes even helpful, as much as he could be anyway.

This was not one of those days.  

Today, he’d vexed her from the moment he woke up until the moment he went back to bed.  Her one consolation was that Neal slept like the dead, not moving from the time his head hit the pillow until the rays of the morning sun woke him.

It was a lovely evening for a walk, the twilight painting the sky with beautiful pinks and oranges and yellows, the temperature ideal for an evening stroll.  If her life were different, she’d likely have enjoyed every moment of it–the temperate sea breeze, the faint call of the seagulls, the distant crash of the ocean against the shore.

But her life wasn’t different.  It was an endless cascade of drudgery ever since the day she’d turned twelve.

She remembered that day like it was yesterday, knew she’d never forget it.  It had been a lovely summer day.  She and her eight year old brother, Henry, had been playing out in the barn.  She’d never, to her dying day, forget the moment Henry had stepped through a broken floorboard in the barn loft and fallen to his death.

She might have gotten past the trauma–or at least learned to live with it, if, not six months later, tragedy hadn’t struck again.  Her father, Philip, had never been the same after his only son’s death, and when he’d subsequently fallen ill with pneumonia, there was no fight in him.  He succumbed to the illness within a week of its onset.

And so, all that was left of her once happy, vibrant family was her and her mother Aurora.  Aurora, known for her stunning beauty, but never for her strength and resiliency, had rather fallen apart after the death of both her husband and her son.  Emma, at the tender age of thirteen, had to effectively take on the role of head of the household.

“Those appear to be some rather melancholy thoughts, you’re having, Emma, Dearie,” came a comforting voice to her left. “Difficult day was it?”

Emma turned and smiled despite herself at the woman who’d joined her.  Granny Lucas, though four decades her senior, if she was a day, was quite possibly Emma’s best friend in the world.  Granny had stood beside her through thick and thin, always ready with a comforting pat–as well as a run-down of all the gossip in the village, peppered liberally with scathing commentary about anyone she deemed to be in need of it.  (More often than not, it was the men who got the sharp side of her tongue, rather than the fairer sex.  Good woman, though she was, Granny was something of a man hater.)

Emma sighed loudly.  “Indeed,” she said. “Neal seemed to take it as his personal challenge to plague me from morning until night.”

“Just like a man!” Granny scoffed.  “Emma, dearie, would you like me to come by and give you a break tomorrow?  I’m determined to finish knitting my blanket for the expected Hubbard baby–it’s their eighth, you know, and them barely able to care for the seven they already have.  That house of theirs is no bigger than a shoe!--and I can knit just as well at your place as my own.  You’re looking pale and thin.  You need a break.”

Emma smiled at the older woman, but then shook her head.  “Neal is my responsibility, Granny.  You’ve been too kind already.  I’ll muddle through as I’ve always done.”

Down at the shore, the lighthouse came on just as dusk fell, and Granny scowled darkly at the beacon.  “I will never, no never, forgive Captain Nemo for bringing Neal back to you that fateful day all those years ago.  The man should be horsewhipped!”

Emma looked up at the lighthouse, thinking of the kind old man who ran it like clockwork.  After Granny herself, Captain Nemo was probably her greatest friend and ally.  There wasn’t a mean or hurtful bone in his body, and Emma knew he’d have walked over broken glass to spare her from pain if he could, but he also had a sense of honor and duty that was stronger than anything.

She sighed.  “Granny, you know that’s not fair.  When Nemo found him down in Havana, he couldn’t leave him there, as much as I wish he had.”

“Well I’d have left him,” Granny said with a decisive nod, “and I’ll tell you, I wouldn’t have felt one pang of conscience for it.  That man deserved what he got!”

Emma couldn’t exactly disagree with the older woman there.  Neal Gold had been the bane of her existence since she was little more than a girl.

She’d met him when she was sixteen–he was twenty-four at the time, and had been away from the harbor for many years–and she’d despised him from the start.  He was handsome enough, she supposed, but he was arrogant, something of a womanizer, utterly full of himself, and had a mean streak a mile wide.

To her chagrin, he’d taken a fancy to her from the moment they first met, and he’d immediately made his interest known.  The first time he’d proposed marriage, she’d gently turned him down.  The second, she’d refused more firmly.  The third time, she let her fist do the talking.

If she’d believed Neal got the hint after that, she was sorely mistaken, for Neal had a secret weapon, and he was more than willing to use it.  Emma and her mother lived on land that was owned by Robert Gold, Neal’s father, and the day after Emma’s third refusal, Mr. Gold had shown up at the house they rented from him and threatened to evict them if she didn’t agree to become Neal’s wife.

Everything in Emma screamed at her to refuse, but her mother had simply fallen apart at the thought of being turned out of her home.

“After everything that’s happened to us, Emma!” Aurora had wailed.  “I can’t lose our home too.  I can’t!”

And so it was with a heavy heart that she’d agreed to the marriage.

Emma found marriage to Neal every bit as noxious as she’d anticipated, and when her mother passed away suddenly, only two weeks into her horrible marriage, she felt as though she didn’t have an ally left in the world–save for Granny and Captain Nemo, of course. Some days, Emma woke next to her snoring, detested husband, and thought the hopelessness of her situation would swallow her whole.

And so, when Neal got bored of staid, married life no more than a month after their nuptials and declared his intention to seek treasure and adventure on the high seas, Emma had breathed an unqualified sigh of relief.  She’d be left alone to tend to their farm and make ends meet to the best of her abilities, but she’d be free of Neal.

He vowed to come home in six months, and Emma circled the date on the calendar with a heavy, black pen.  A little dramatic, maybe, but she felt like that date spelled her doom.

But the date came and went with no Neal.  

Six months passed, seven, eight, and still he didn’t appear.  The good folks of the harbor began to worry that something had happened to his ship.  When the year mark was passed and still no sight nor word of him, they gave him up for dead.

Emma breathed a sigh of relief–and then immediately hated herself for it.  What kind of horrible wife was glad it looked like her husband was dead? 

Granny had no such qualms.  “Good riddance!” she averred firmly.  “Someone needed to take the trash out.  It looks like the sea managed to complete the task.”

“Now, now, Granny,” Captain Nemo said good naturedly, “I’m surprised at you!  Such an unChristian thing to say.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t feel exactly the same, Nemo,” she said, piercing that jolly sailor with a withering glance above her spectacles.  “Neal Gold was no good.  You know it. I know it. We all know it.  Our Emma is well rid of him.”

But the ill-luck that had plagued Emma ever since her twelfth birthday was not done with her yet.  Two months later, Captain Nemo had set sail once more with his crew–being at that time still an active sailor and not yet the keeper of the lighthouse.  It was when he made port in Havana that he learned the awful truth.

Neal was still very much alive.  

Several months past, he’d been ambushed on his way to his ship and beaten badly.  He’d been taken to a dockside inn, where the proprietors had nearly given him up for dead, but he’d pulled through–physically at least.  One of the worst blows to his head had evidently induced not only amnesia but brain damage as well.  To wit, he emerged from his life-threatening injuries with the mentality and faculties of a child.

The innkeepers had continued to house and care for him, having no notion of his identity or how to discover it, but from the moment Captain Nemo set eyes on him, it was clear.  The man before him had changed–he’d gained weight and he had a scar on his face that wasn’t there before–but it was unmistakably Neal Gold.

For a moment, Nemo had contemplated simply setting sail and pretending he’d never learned the truth, but Captain Nemo was such a fundamentally honest and upright man, determined to do his duty no matter how detestable, that in the end he brought the man-child home with him.

Emma took the news as stoically as she could, knowing there was nothing for her but to accept her responsibility to care for her husband.  Only once did she bemoan her fate.  On the day Neal returned, she’d looked across the table into his vacant eyes and said “I was hoping you were dead - because it would be easier for me to put you behind me, than to face all the pain that we went through all over again.”

That was eleven years ago.  She had cared for him from that very day.  Some days he was reasonably pleasant–even somewhat helpful.  Others, he was a holy terror, reminding her of nothing so much as an overgrown toddler.

Still, life with this Neal was far more palatable than life with the man in his right mind, and so she persisted.

Coming back to the present, Emma sighed.  “You and I both know Captain Nemo would do anything he could to help me, but we also know he couldn’t turn from doing the right thing, even if it was hard.”

Granny merely harumphed, and for a moment, they walked on in silence.

“Well, as I live and breathe,” a delighted voice came from beside Granny, “if it isn’t Granny Lucas, looking lovely as ever.”

“Well as I live and breathe,” she retorted with an eyeroll, “if it isn’t Marco Gepetto looking as much like an overgrown wooly mammoth as ever.”

Emma smiled in spite of herself.  Marco was, indeed, an odd looking personage with his beard and hair both falling in tangled curls to his waist.  Apparently his state of hariness had something to do with politics, but Granny Lucas never missed an opportunity to tell him, in no uncertain terms, how utterly ridiculous he was.  Marco, for his part, gave as good as he got.

If Emma didn’t know better, she’d swear it was their preferred method of flirting.

As the older couple began bickering in earnest–and apparently enjoying every moment of it–Emma excused herself and walked on.  She did, in fact, have a few errands to run before the sun fully set and the stores closed, and if she waited for her companions to finish their “conversation”, she might be standing here all night.

Emma walked on in silence, her melancholy thoughts returning once more, and she’d nearly reached the store when she heard the sound of a horse and buggy approaching.  She looked up in curiosity.  Few people drove into town, everyone living within walking distance.

The carriage contained a young couple–a woman with long, curly black hair and sparkling green eyes.  A blond man with blue eyes.  Both looked at each other as though there was no one else on earth.  Their love was nearly a tangible thing.

This must be the new doctor–David Nolan, wasn’t it?--and his bride.

The woman noticed her then, standing on the road, and she raised a hand in greeting, apparently eager to make her acquaintance.  Emma turned her head and rushed away as an overwhelming wave of bitterness washed over her.

Talk in the town was that the new doctor and his bride had married that very day and then, in lieu of a honeymoon, had set out for their new home–the little house on the harbor which would make them Emma’s nearest neighbors.  Emma knew she shouldn’t begrudge the newlyweds their happiness, but sometimes the pain overwhelmed her.

That kind of happiness would never be hers.  Tomorrow she’d likely feel bad for her lack of neighborliness toward the newest citizens of her town, but for right now…for right now, she just wanted to wallow.

Notes: I did warn you there would be a good deal of pain on the front end of this story, didn’t I?  I took (and will continue to take) a fair amount of liberties with OUAT character relationships for my story.  The goal was to cast OUAT characters that I felt best matched the personality and story of the Anne’s House of Dreams characters.

For those who have read Anne’s House of Dreams, you’ll probably recognize that Mary Margaret and David  are Anne and Gilbert, Granny is Miss Cornelia Bryant, Nemo is Captain Jim, Marco is Marshall Elliot, and of course Emma and Neal are Leslie and Dick Moore.  (If I ever slip up and call Neal Dick….it’s probably due to the character’s name in the book, although the insult is also warranted.)

Up Next: Emma meets Mary Margaret.  Meanwhile in Montreal, Killian is rather burnt out at his job as a newspaper reporter in Montreal.  His boss suggests he take a vacation.

NEXT CHAPTER->

[dilemmaontwolegs]

The Best Kept Secret on the Grid || Part Four

MV, CL, CS, LH, LN, PG, GR, FA, DR, OP x fem!reader Warnings: fluff and flirting (sorry there will be smut next time) Reader gets to go on a hunt of her own! WC: 3.1k F1 Masterlist || Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five Thank you to @kimi240302 for being inspired to make this collage, it’s perfect! 💕 and it inspired this fic!

It was strange that the elevator had arrived on your floor, and even stranger that it was empty. Your penthouse apartment took up the entire top floor of the building and required a keycard just to use the private elevator. Only Max had the spare keycard.

Sticking your head inside you found it wasn’t entirely empty. Tucked into the corner was a gift box tied off with a delicate silver bow, your name written on the tag hanging from it. You thought about calling Max first but it wasn’t unusual to receive gifts from him so you carried it inside and opened it.

Your jaw dropped at the beautiful ball gown neatly placed inside. Each crystal of the glittering bodice was individually sewn on with meticulous care and it must have cost a small fortune to make. There wasn’t even a label to give a clue as to who the designer was, but it was clearly custom made and you knew without even stepping into it that it would fit perfectly.

Lifting the train out, you found an equally stunning half mask along with a small blank card that you turned over. Hand written in an elegant script is said: Le Bal Masqué 2200. You looked at the time and saw there was just over an hour to get ready.

You had just settled the mask over your styled hair when there was a knock on your door and you slipped your heels on before answering. Expecting to see Max waiting, you were surprised to find a stranger holding a card with your name on it, silently handing it over before you could ask what was going on.

It’s your turn to find us tonight, M.

“Your car is downstairs, madame,” the messenger said as he held the elevator door open for you.

The excitement brought a smile to your face as you stepped inside, wondering just what he had planned for you. You obviously weren’t hunting them the same way they chased you on the island, the dress was far too nice to ruin.

You were occupied by your thoughts the entire drive through the streets of Monte Carlo until you arrived at a cliff side residence. The gates opened at the car’s approach and you could see the mansion was full of men wearing their finest suits. 

“Have a lovely evening, madame,” the chauffeur said as he opened the door for you. 

You thanked him as you stepped out, your entrance garnering plenty of envious stares from the women and looks of longing from men loitering on the steps. You had scanned what you could see of the men’s faces beneath the masks and determined why this was a hunt - three had the same blue eyes and dirty blonde hair as Max while two could have easily been Charles at first glance. 

Smiling to yourself, you climbed the stairs and entered the large foyer full of men who could all pass for yours. 

“Champagne?” You took the flute from the waiter’s tray and saw two rolls of stickers beside it. Noticing the curious lift of your brow above the diamante mask, the waiter tapped the first roll. “The green sticker is for when you believe you have found one of the drivers here this evening, there are only ten so choose wisely. If you believe you have found an imposter, place a red dot on their lapel and they will be escorted off the premises. You have until midnight. Happy hunting.”

You smirked over the rim of your champagne flute and grabbed the roll of red stickers first. Turning to survey the crowd, you chuckled as you whispered to yourself, “Oh Max, you’ve outdone yourself.”

“Enjoying your evening?”

You turned to the man with a thick Spanish accent and immediately knew he wasn’t your Nando, though the jawline beneath the mask followed the same curve and his short beard was shaped similarly. The voice was too deep and the eyes were more green than hazel to match Nando’s so you plucked a red dot from the reel and slapped it on his suit as you answered, “Extremely. Thank you for coming.”

His lips turned down and a large unmasked man stepped out of the shadows, already guiding him out of the residence. You were already making your way to the ballroom where the crowd swelled, dozens and dozens congregating on the dance floor where a band were playing new hit singles but in a classical way. Perhaps band wasn’t the right term, there were so many instruments it was practically an orchestra.

An arm curled around your waist as you swayed to the music and you tipped your head back to meet a pair of brown eyes so dark they were almost black. He didn’t speak as he pulled you closer and for the first time you weren’t certain if the man was an imposter or your Esteban.

“You’re not going to ask how my night is going?” you baited him, a quick smiling parting his lips as he shook his head. Pursing your lips, you weren’t ready to rule him out with a red sticker but you needed to hear his voice to decide if he was worth one of the precious ten green dots in your hand. “Then how about a drink instead?”

His smile grew as he took your hand in his and led you to one of the small bars dotted around the ballroom. Looking at the long fingers laced with yours, you saw a thin tan line on his index finger where a ring had spent a lot of time and you tried to remember if Esteban had one too. Charles, Pierre and Lando definitely did but the memory of Estie’s hand drew a blank - you knew his fingers from how they felt between your legs not by sight apparently.

“Two piña coladas, please,” you ordered as you watched what features you could around the mask but there was no sign of disgust. “One for the road,” you added as you placed a red sticker on his collar.

“How did you know?” the lookalike asked with an English accent.

“Pineapples.” You shrugged and took the cocktail that was placed in front of you. “He hates them.”

Half an hour later the crowd had thinned dramatically. The security team had been kept busy as you felt like the Oprah meme, slapping red dots on the imposters - you get one, and you get one. With a large portion of men gone you were able to focus better and there were two men in particular you had your eye on.

All it took was one laugh and you were peeling back the first green sticker, heading for the pair of dark haired men chatting in the library. Their backs were to you as they laughed at silly book titles and you announced your arrival with a kiss to the shadow of a beard before sticking the green dot to his forehead.

“You two together was always going to be a dead giveaway,” you teased as you stuck another sticker on Lando’s nose. “Only Carlos can make you laugh like that.”

“Don’t tell me we were first?” he whined as he saw the otherwise full strip of green dots. “How have you not found George?”

You trailed a finger over the perfect lines of his suit before tugging the bow tie around his neck. He swallowed at the smouldering look in your eyes and let you drag him closer by the throat until your lips brushed his ear. “Why don’t you help me?”

His lips parted to answer but Carlos pulled him away before he could impart the information he knew. Blocking you with his body, Carlos shook his head at your attempt to break the younger driver. “Rules are rules, hermosa, and you are running out of time.”

He jutted his chin at the grandfather clock and smirked as he ducked from your reach with a laugh when you tried to take back the green sticker. “Uh uh uh, I’m well and truly yours.”

“You’re lucky you’re handsome,” you warned as you left them to their game and continued your hunt. “Alright, George, Gerorge, George, where would you be…oh.”

You had wandered through the throngs of people inside the impressive mansion but you hadn’t explored the rest of the property. It was very easy to understand Lando’s complaint when you walked out the wide open doors to the infinity pool set on the cliff face.

“I’m not sure how I’m going to get this to stick to you,” you said as you held a green dot on your finger tip. George grinned beneath his mask as he looked up from the waters edge enjoying a warm dip in the pool. Water dripped from his hair and ran down his chest as he stood up, tracing a wet palm up your calf through the slit in the dress. He was the only one at the soirée who had taken his suit off and he had also decided to put his bow tie back on before hopping in the heated pool. “You look like a stripper.”

“A very expensive one I hope,” he teased. “You look hot, love, you should join me and cool off.”

“Wish I could,” you sighed, feeling a little like the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland, “but I’m running late and still have seven of you guys to chase down.”

George pulled himself out of the pool and grabbed a towel, a few drops of water catching on the crystal bodice as he shook his hair out. He dragged the towel down his body and you used the dry spot on the centre of his chest to plant a green dot on him. “Tagging my heart, love,” he chuckled, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “You don’t need to chase us, we are waiting for you.”

He sent you a wink as he swiped up his suit and left you poolside, confused by what he meant. “You’ll figure it out, I know you will.”

Dawdling along the balcony, you chewed over his words before realisation struck. You found Lando and Carlos together and George in the water - places where they loved to be. It seemed so obvious once you thought it and you rushed inside to the ballroom. You hadn’t questioned why the orchestra was masked but when you spotted the dark head of hair at the grand piano it made sense.

“It’s my favourite Frenchman,” you whispered in his ear and the melody bounced over a miskey.

“Monegasque,” he corrected automatically, turning to see the amusement shimmering in your eyes. “Bonsoir, mi bella.”

“You might want to rest those fingers, Charles, wouldn’t want you to get a cramp later.”

He grinned at the remark and dragged them across the keys. “Don’t worry, I’m just warming up.”

“So am I.” You reached out and stuck the green dot to the index and middle finger on his right hand before kissing the dimple on his cheek. “Those are mine.”

You followed a waiter as he slipped from the room with an empty tray and found a set of stairs leading down a floor, into a busy kitchen. Your next target stood out among the white shirt chefs and you were once again amazed at how they had managed to find strangers with such a resemblance to your drivers.

“What’s cooking, good looking?”

Fernando turned with a spoonful of something that smelled delicious and your lips parted for him. A heavenly moan hummed from your chest as you tasted what he had been stirring on the stove. Nando smirked as his eyes followed the line of your lips before he leaned in and caught them with his, rolling his tongue across your bottom lip.

“You missed a bit,” he said as he wiped the spot of sauce with his thumb before licking it clean. You momentarily forgot what you were doing but he had his wits about him as he took a green sticker and placed it on his collar. “Now this is my colour.”

“Not red?” He shook his head as you flattened the dot to make sure it wouldn’t be lost in the 25 minutes you had left. “So the Ferrari rumours…?”

“Just rumours, querida, but I don’t think you have time to gossip.” He pointed the spoon to the clock above the head chef’s station. “There’s still a few spots left.”

“Vegan special,” the chef shouted as he hit the bell for service and a waiter arrived in an instant. “Deliver this to the home theatre.”

“One less now.” You grinned and pulled another sticker out. “See you at midnight.”

You followed the waiter into the quiet depths of the mansion until he reached a door and you took the plate from the tray. “I can take it from here, thanks.”

Lewis was so engrossed in the film he didn’t notice it was you in the room with him. It was only when he looked closer he saw the green dot stuck to the white china plate in your hands and looked up with a wide smile.

“I take gratuities in orgasms, just so you know,” you said with a laugh as he moved the plate and pulled you onto his lap instead.

“It’s your lucky night, baby,” he purred in your ear as his hand slipped up the slit in your dress. “I’ve been told I’m a heavy tipper.”

His fingers teased along the lace edge of your panties and you only just managed to clear your head before he could erase all your thoughts with his touch. “Rain check,” you groaned, not wanting to leave just yet but Fernando had given you an idea before the chef had set you onto Lewis’ path. “Where would you go if you wanted to hear the juiciest gossip?”

Lewis chewed his lip as he thought it over before deciding, “The bar, a few drinks definitely loosens lips.”

“Then that’s where I need to go.” You thanked him with a kiss before leaving the theatre and made your way back to the busiest room in the place. But, before you could leave the lower levels you heard a distinctive accent and skidded to a stop.

“When they said you guys came from a land down under, I didn’t think they meant the basement.” Daniel’s smile split his face as you stepped into the games room where he and Oscar were chalking their cue sticks.

“Thank god you’re here,” Oscar sighed gratefully and placed the cue down on the table, turning to face you with a smile. “I suck at playing pool.”

“Maybe that’s because it's billiards, not pool,” you pointed out as you stepped into the space between his legs.

“I don’t even know what that is,” he admitted, his hands running over the dresses bodice and down to rest on your ass. “You look gorgeous.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a suit.” You straightened the bow that had tilted at some point and draped your arms around his neck. “It suits you, handsome.”

His nose wrinkled and you giggled as he tugged at the tie, sending it off kilter again. “It feels like I’m being choked.”

“There’s some pleasure to be found in a bit of choking. Isn’t that right?” Daniel asked in your ear as he stepped up behind you, his fingers delicately circling your throat. He guided your head back to his shoulder and traced his nose over your racing pulse, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume. “Hmm, maybe we can show him how good it can be.”

You could feel both of them coming to life as they sandwiched you between them, digging their erections into you. Your eyes fluttered shut at the temptation to drop to your knees and taste the Australian drivers, but you forced your eyes open and squirmed free of their intoxicating embrace.

“Soon, promise,” you panted as you slapped a sticker on Daniel’s ass and made Oscar whine needily when you placed one over his tented trousers, rubbing your palm over it to make sure the green dot was secured. “Very soon.”

The largest bar was set up in what you guessed was usually a dining hall and it spanned the length of the room. Leaning against the bartop was Pierre, his chin on his fist as he listened to the revellers unravelling their innermost thoughts aloud. He was engrossed in the tale, nodding encouragement when the woman’s cheeks turned scarlet red beneath her mask.

“And what did he do?” Pierre asked eagerly.

The woman covered her lips as she giggled before leaning in and whispering her confession. Pierre’s lips parted with a gasp, his eyebrows rising over the top of his mask as he stood upright. “Non!”

“Oui!”

Pierre spun around at the sound of your voice in his ear and he tore his mask from his face. “Ma chatte, look at you,” he said with a playful bit of his lip as you gave him a slow spin to show all of your curves glittering beneath the chandelier light. “Beautiful. And just in time too.”

You followed his gaze and saw there was only three minutes to midnight. “Shit,” you whispered as you grabbed the second to last sticker and pressed it to his chest. “Gotta run.”

Your calves burned as you climbed the stairs, spiralling higher and higher, racing the hands of the clock until you reached the top floor. The entire wall was made of glass and overlooked the dark water beyond the cliffs, but it wasn’t the panoramic vista that caught your eye.

His back was to you, the black silk tie of his mask flattening the back of his hair that would usually stick up in all directions, especially after combing your fingers through the strands. But it didn’t matter if you couldn’t see his face, you would recognise him anywhere.

His hands were crossed at the base of his spine, right one holding the left. It was how he stood whenever he was on the podium, how he stood when his anthem played. It was how he stood when he desperately wanted to be elsewhere but was forced to be patient.

You wrapped your arms around his narrow waist and found his eyes reflected in the glass. “Hi.”

The grandfather clocks throughout the mansion struck 12, the loud dongs echoing through the halls. “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it.”

You smiled into his shoulder at the teasing in his voice. “I always knew where you would be.” Stepping around his body, he pulled you into the circle of his arms so you were both watching the horizon as fireworks began to light up the sky above the sea. “There was only one place my Max could possibly be…at the top.”

Click here for the next part.

[callsign-mayhem]

i'm with the band (part 2)

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female!Reader & Bradley Bradshaw x Female!Reader (final pairing to be revealed at the end...) Word count: 5.1k CW: Use of Y/N; reader wears Dr Martens, but that's the only specific detail.

You discover that your best friend Bob can play the drums, and since you have some musical gifts of your own, you decide to start a navy band. It's supposed to be a bit of harmless fun, but what happens when lines get blurred between you and Bob, feelings come to the surface, and a certain Rooster gets jealous?

This is a multi-part fic.

Find part one here!

The Hard Deck was bustling like it always was on a Saturday night. Bradley was the last of the daggers to arrive, so he headed straight to the bar to get caught up. When he was eventually next in line to be served, he was more than a little surprised to see Maverick behind the bar.

‘What’re you doing, Mav?’ He asked.

Maverick handed two pints of beer to a young aviator, flashed him a million-dollar smile and then turned on Bradley. ‘Helping Penny,’ he replied. ‘One of her girls called in sick.’

Bradley’s lips quirked. ‘Does this mean I get free beers all night?’

Penny suddenly appeared beside him, a tray of empty glasses in hand. 

‘No, Rooster, it doesn’t. And if Pete wants to keep his balls attached to his body, he’ll agree with me.’

‘Remind me never to get on your bad side.’ Bradley grumbled.

‘There’s a beer in the tap for you, anyway,’ Maverick explained. ‘From Y/CS.’

‘What?’

‘Three beers, actually. She paid for them when she got here, something about getting you back for the sex on the beach.’ Maverick grinned, seemingly pleased that he’d successfully embarrassed his son for all intents and purposes. ‘Hope you used protection.’ 

‘Oh god, Mav. Stop. That’s not what she meant.’

‘I know what she meant,’ he said, pouring Bradley’s beer. ‘She’s drunk already. Phoenix too.’ 

Bradley’s stomach somersaulted. He’d seen you drunk a handful of times, and he was obsessed with the way it made you more confident. 

‘Yeah, that’s my fault.’ 

‘Keep an eye on them, alright?’

‘Always do.’ Bradley saluted him and headed towards your space in the corner. 

Somebody had the good sense to push three high tables together. Much to Bradley’s annoyance, Bob and Mickey had already taken the seats on either side of you. Nat was sitting opposite you like she had at the restaurant, so she saw Bradley before you did. 

‘ROOSTER’S HERE!’ She yelled.

You spun around so fast that you almost slid off your stool. Before Bradley could steady you, Bob was already there with his hand on your arm. 

‘ROOOOOOOOOOO!’ You cried. ‘Did Mav tell you about your drinks?’ 

You weren’t drunk to the point of heavy eyes and slurred speech, but you were the furthest from sober next to Nat. The last empty seat was right at the edge of the tables, next to Jake. Bradley didn’t feel like chatting to him all night, so he picked the stool up and put it at the head of the table by you and Natasha. 

‘Yes, he did. You shouldn’t have, doll.’ 

You practically swooned at the pet name, a reaction Bradley filed away for later. He wondered how else he could make you swoon. 

‘What did I miss?’ He asked, settling himself on his stool.

‘Me and Y/CS duetting Limp Bizkit in Bob’s truck,’ Nat informed him. ‘It was something to behold, really.’ 

‘Penny should start doing karaoke nights,’ you said. ‘Imagine the fun we’d have.’

‘Nobody would want to do karaoke with you, Y/N.’ Bob said. He had two Corona Extra bottles in front of him and a full one in hand. Bradley supposed that you weren’t the only one who needed a bit of Dutch courage tonight. ‘You’d smoke every single one of us with that voice of yours.’ 

You blushed deeply. Mickey and Natasha shared a knowing look, all but confirming Bradley’s suspicions. 

‘He’s not wrong,’ Bradley chimed in. ‘We should get behind the piano later.’

So maybe he was swinging his dick around. Either way, the way your eyes widened at his suggestion was worth feeling like a dick for a couple of seconds.

‘Really?’ 

‘Yeah, it’s been a minute.’ 

‘I’d love that, Roo.’

Nat jumped down from her stool. ‘Let’s get another drink, Y/N. I think Penny wants to talk to us about that thing.’

‘She does? What thing?’

‘The thing,’ Mickey interjected. ‘You know, the surprise for Mav.’

One second, two, three. Then realisation suddenly dawned on you, and you disappeared with

Mickey and Natasha, out of Bradley’s grasp yet again. 

What he wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall during that conversation. 

Natasha led you through the swarm of people around the bar and out to the decking. Part of it was undercover, which is where you stood to keep out of the rain. Clusters of people were huddled underneath the shelter, smoking cigarettes and sharing drinks. Mickey had followed you out, which you found highly amusing. 

‘You’re not one of the girls.’ You toyed, poking him in the chest. 

‘I am tonight. I know what’s going on, and I wanna be involved.’

Nat rolled her eyes so hard they disappeared into the back of her head. ‘You’re such a child, Fanboy.’

‘Oh, let him stay. Maybe it’d help to get a guy’s perspective. He texted me at the restaurant to tell me Rooster was looking at my tits.’

Natasha scowled. ‘Don’t let me hear you say tits, Fanboy. It doesn’t suit you.’

You and Mickey both howled with laughter. ‘That’s exactly what I said!’ 

‘We’re getting off track here,’ Phoenix said, flapping her hands. ‘Pay attention.’

Mickey nodded, face grave. ‘Attention on deck.’ 

‘First of all,’ she started, ignoring his pun. ‘Bradley was looking at your tits. Let’s get that out of the way. Second of all, Bob was also looking at them.’

‘Well, he was trying not to, which made it obvious that that’s where he wanted to look.’ Mickey corrected. 

‘Right.’ Nat agreed.

Heat pooled in the bottom of your tummy. ‘What am I supposed to do with this information?’

  ‘You gotta make a decision.’

‘What if I don’t want to be with anyone right now?’

‘Don’t you?’

It sounded even more stupid out loud. Of course, you wanted to be with someone, but how were you supposed to pick out of the two most incredible guys in the whole world?

‘Why do I have to make a decision now?’

‘Cause they aren’t gonna wait around forever.’ Natasha told you. 

‘Bob might.’ Mickey said, earning him a smack around the back of the head. ‘What the fuck was that for?’

‘Bob has just as much chance of finding someone else as Bradley,’ Natasha chided. ‘Don’t talk down about him.’

‘Right, sorry.’ 

‘Me and Bob are starting a band,’ you blurted out. ‘We’ve been getting close lately, practising and stuff. A few navy guys are coming to his place next week to audition.’ 

‘Oh boy,’ Mickey grinned. ‘You’re starting a navy band and didn’t ask Rooster to join?’

‘His name didn’t even come up,’ you admitted. ‘I doubt he’d wanna be part of it anyway. He’ll probably say it’s lame.’

Nat tucked a loose curl behind your ear. ‘If you think that, you don’t know him at all. He lives and breathes music, and he won’t think it’s lame if you and Bob are there.’

‘If she’s there, you mean.’

Nat raised her hand, and Mickey flinched. ‘I swear to God, your honorary girl membership isn’t gonna mean shit if you say one more word.’

‘Damn.’

‘We should go back inside.’ You said. 

‘Tomorrow, we’re gonna talk about this. Once we’ve dropped Bob off at his truck. You’re not gonna keep getting out of it.’ 

‘Breakfast? What breakfast? Can I come?’ 

‘Fanboy, for fuck’s sake.’ 

Bob was arguing with you over the songs in the jukebox again. A fuzzy feeling had overtaken his body, filling the empty spaces with warmth and giving him confidence he’d never known until now. Sure, he’d been drunk before—well, drunk by his definition—but this was something else entirely. He’d come to the conclusion that even though he was enjoying himself immensely, it wasn’t something he wanted to feel on the regular. He didn’t understand how people did this every weekend. 

‘If you had to pick one song in this jukebox to listen to for the rest of time, what would you pick?’ You asked, leaning against the machine.

Bob scanned the song titles that were becoming so familiar to him that he’d probably be able to recite them in his sleep soon enough. 

‘That’s an impossible question.’ 

You smiled lazily. ‘Come on, Bobby.’

‘You’re expecting me to pick one when there’s The Clash, Bon Jovi, Bruce Springsteen and AC/DC in this jukebox.’ 

‘And Billy Idol. You can’t forget Billy.’ 

‘Exactly my point.’ 

You leaned over to reread the song’s titles. Bob admired the way your hair slipped over your shoulder, brushing the hand he was using to steady himself against the jukebox. You were closer to him now than at the restaurant earlier, and he wished he could bottle your scent and carry it around with him all day. He was obsessed with your perfect, glossed lips and the idea of kissing them. 

His small crush on you wasn’t small right now, and being intoxicated made it harder for him to stop himself from doing something about it. You reached out and pressed the number for Dancing In The Dark before taking his hand in yours—a small feat, maybe, but not to him. Your hand was soft and warm, and he wanted to feel it on his face again, like in his truck. 

‘Where are we going?’ He questioned. 

‘To dance.’ 

‘I can’t dance, Y/N. You know that.’ 

‘Everyone can dance when they’re drunk,’ you reassured him. ‘Just don’t overthink it.’

It was easier said than done, but with your hand in his, his newfound confidence grew three sizes until it was almost too big for his body. You two were something straight out of a movie just then, dancing in a small space you’d found in the middle of the bar, singing along to the lyrics at the same time. 

He respectfully rested a hand on your waist, and you put the hand that wasn’t holding his other one on his shoulder, so you were like ballroom dancers. You sure looked the part, being too overdressed for The Hard Deck; the only thing missing was an actual ability to dance, but you were both too happy to care. Little did you know that Natasha was filming the whole thing on her phone and taking pictures now and then. 

When the song ended, you both waited to see what would play next, but nothing did. Instead, Bob was brought harshly back to reality, to the sounds of glasses clinking and loud chatter. That’s when it dawned on him that the jukebox had been unplugged. Once people realised what was happening, they moved to the piano on the other side of the bar from where you and Bob had been dancing. He hadn’t even noticed Bradley leaving the table to unplug the jukebox or take his seat at the piano because he’d been too wrapped up in your energy, your touch, and the sound of your voice. 

He wasn’t happy to have been interrupted by Rooster yet again, but the idea of hearing you sing properly—not just under your breath while dancing—was highly alluring. 

‘I think it’s piano time.’ You grinned. 

Still holding tightly onto his hand, you weaved your way through the massive crowd to the rest of the daggers, all of whom were at the front, waiting for their friends’ performance. When Bradley saw you, his face broke out into a toothy grin. He’d donned his aviators as per usual, and he watched you walk over to him over top of them like it was just you in the room. 

Bob couldn’t exactly blame him. Most of the time, you were the only person in the room for him, too. 

When Bradley patted the spot on the bench, you hurried yourself, clearly excited to perform. The alcohol was probably helping, as he’d yet to convince you to get behind the instrument sober. 

Bob moved to stand between Natasha and Reuben. 

‘Been having fun?’ Nat quipped. 

‘I was.’

‘Is that a little jealousy I hear in your tone, Floyd?’ 

Reuben nudged him playfully. ‘Come on, man. Phoenix didn’t raise you to sit on the sidelines. If you like Y/CS, don’t just sit around and watch someone else sweep her off her feet.’ 

Keys tinkled as Bradley got reacquainted with the piano. He looked to you earnestly, silently asking if you were ready. In response, you nodded and offered him an anxious but excited smile. 

Bob recognised the song immediately. 

Bradley sang the first verse, and you sang the second. Where his was husky and deliciously rough around the edges, yours was full and velvety. 

Slow down, you crazy child You're so ambitious for a juvenile But then, if you're so smart, tell me Why are you still so afraid?

Where's the fire, what's the hurry about? You better cool it off before you burn it out You got so much to do, and only So many hours in a day

When the chorus came around, both you and Bradley sang together. Paired with his expert piano playing, it was the most beautiful cacophony. Your voices welded together like precious metals, and the result was priceless. 

But you know that when the truth is told That you can get what you want Or you can just get old You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through  When will you realise, Vienna waits for you?

You were bouncing off one another. When Bradley sang louder, you sang louder. When Bradley’s voice deepened, it made yours sound more angelic. When you held a particularly long and high note towards the end of the song, Bradley stopped singing altogether to give you and your voice a very deserving moment in the spotlight. Everyone around the piano was singing along, even Bob. He was helpless to stop the urge. Bradley’s stage presence was infectious, even when you weren’t performing with him, but there was something about you singing Billy Joel that made it virtually impossible not to join in. It wasn’t just the song or the fact that you were singing it, but the apparent joy that performing brought you and Bradley. Someone would have to be deaf and blind not to notice it. 

Bob was half considering asking Bradley to join the band. He was talented, and Bob could see that he’d be an asset, what with how much you loved singing with him. 

But that was also the problem, wasn’t it? 

He hadn’t even wanted to be in the band, but now he was protective of the whole idea. He didn’t want band practice to become another place where he competed for your attention and affection. 

Bradley managed an expert transition from Vienna straight into his usual crowd-pleaser, Great Balls of Fire. Bob had no idea how he’d managed it, but he had, and the crowd roared with delight. Mickey and Javy—who had somehow overtaken you and Nat and currently held the position of the drunkest daggers—were jumping around like maniacs. Bob, Nat, Jake and Reuben were laughing amongst themselves, totally distracted by their shenanigans. 

As a result, Bob missed the smouldering look that you and Bradley shared, the way you reached up and stole his aviators with a wink, all while never missing a word of the song. He was singing at you, and you were singing at him. Now, not only were you the only ones in The Hard Deck, but you were also the only ones left on planet Earth. 

It was gone 1 AM when the cab pulled up in front of your home. Stars twinkled in the night sky—looking much like your dress—and your front garden was bathed in moonlight. It had been a night for the ages, but as brilliant of a time you’d had, you were looking forward to taking off your boots and putting your pyjamas on. 

Natasha seemed to share your sentiment—she’d taken her shoes off in the cab and walked up your front path in her socks, trainers swinging absentmindedly from her hand. You were glad she was spending the night because you felt you needed an entire debrief after the evening’s events. 

Bob’s presence was perhaps more exciting than the prospect of gossiping and making breakfast with Nat. He was drunker than you’d ever seen him, humming to himself as he led you to your front door. He held your arm to keep you steady, and the contact felt out of this world. 

‘Bobbyyyy—’ you slurred. ‘Please, can you get my house key out of my bag? I don’t think I have any base brain functions.’

He laughed, taking your bag off your shoulder to find your house key. ‘I knew I should’ve stopped Seresin when he started ordering shots.’

‘Nah. That might have been the best idea he’s ever had.’

‘I think we’re gonna have to agree to disagree on this one.’

You and Bob were standing on your porch with the front door open. He gestured to Natasha, who was doubled over next to your rosebushes. 

‘Example A.’ He smirked.

You facepalmed. ‘Not the fucking roses, Nix!’ 

She heaved once, twice, then promptly threw up. You started down the steps, but Bob reached out and grabbed your arm again. 

‘You can’t even stand up straight,’ he said. ‘Go inside, I’ll get her.’ 

‘Yes, sir.’ 

You stumbled through to the kitchen, turning lights on as you went. The air in your house still smelled like the autumn candle you’d been burning earlier and clean laundry. At heart, you were a homebody. Nothing was more satisfying than returning to a clean, organised space, cooking a meal and watching a movie tucked under blankets after a long day. It was rare for you to enjoy a night out like this, to be the one begging everyone to stay for one more drink. The atmosphere had been charged tonight, especially at The Hard Deck. When you’d performed ‘Vienna’ with Bradley, it had been like touching a live wire. The current still reverberated through your body, and your body ached from unused energy. 

In the time it took Bob to get Natasha inside, you poured three glasses of water, added some ice, and nearly tripped over your own feet. She looked a bit worse for wear, but it was nothing that some aspirin and long rest wouldn’t fix. 

‘I think you two should get upstairs to bed.’ Bob said sternly.

‘Okay, dad.’ Nat sniggered. ‘You gonna tuck us in?’

‘Well, I just held your hair back while you threw up, so we’ve already crossed a line.’

‘Girls do that for each other all the time,’ you said. ‘It’s normal.’

‘But I’m not a girl.’

Nat wagged an accusing finger at him. ‘You know what, if Fanboy was here, he’d have appreciated that. He loves being one of the girls.’

‘So true,’ you murmured in agreement. ‘Bob, you’re being ungrateful.’

‘For what?’

‘Your hon-honourary girl membership.’ You said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

‘Alright, let’s go. Get your waters.’ 

Both of you did as you were told but weren’t happy about it. You headed towards the staircase, Bob following close behind. He turned lights off as he went, ever thoughtful. 

Upstairs, Nat collapsed face-first onto your bed. You rummaged through your chest of drawers for three sets of pyjamas while Bob switched your lamps on and closed your blinds. 

‘Bobby, are you okay with one of my oversized band tees?’ You asked.

When he didn’t answer, you spun around. He was perched on the edge of your bed, the photo frame you kept on your side in his hand. He was cradling it like it was worth a million dollars, eyes misty and far away. It was a photograph of you and him on the carrier after the special detachment mission when everyone had gone out to meet Maverick and Rooster. There seemed always to be people taking pictures in moments like those, and when you’d seen this one, you had to frame it. You and Bob were standing facing one another, faces bright with triumph and relief. He cradled your tear-streaked face in his hands, and you were both laughing in disbelief that you were together again. 

‘You keep this next to your bed?’ He whispered. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you said: ‘Of course I do.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’re my best friend, and I like it being the first thing I see when I wake up in the mornings.’ 

Bob set the photo down gently. He seemed to be having a hard time breathing. ‘One of your T-shirts will be fine, thanks.’ 

Natasha sat up, rubbing her head. ‘You guys are so cute,’ she said. ‘Do you want me to sleep in the guest room?’ 

Your eyes flew to Bob. He was playing with his hands, clearly still stuck on the photograph. 

‘No, Nix. You should sleep in here with me in case you choke on your vomit.’ You threw a pair of Spongebob pyjamas at her. ‘Go put those on.’ 

‘Both of you are so bossy.’ She grumbled. ‘You’re perfect for each other.’

She padded across your bedroom floor and out into the hallway. Once you heard the bathroom door close, you sat next to Bob on the edge of the bed.

‘It’s a Radiohead t-shirt.’ You informed him. ‘I don’t think any of my pyjama pants will be long enough for you.’ 

He took the shirt and set it on your pillow, ignoring the unsaid words that hung in the air like rain clouds. It was all you could do to sit still when Bob took his glasses off and ran his fingers through his sandy hair. 

‘Thank you for letting me stay,’ he said quietly. ‘And for the shirt.’

You looked at him earnestly, waiting for him to meet your eye. ‘Thank you for existing.’

His leg bounced nervously. When you laid a hand atop his thigh to stop it, his eyes darted to and from your face so fast you almost missed it. There was no way you were letting him shy away from this time. 

‘Bobby, look at me.’ You pleaded.

He did as you asked with some difficulty, and you were met with a hesitant gaze. 

You touched the middle of his head with your index finger. ‘What’s going on in there?’

He leaned against your hand, smiling bashfully like a child. ‘It’s a secret.’ 

‘We don’t keep secrets.’

It seemed like he was going to spill his guts for a moment, but then he stood up. He grabbed your t-shirt, pausing above you.

‘Get some sleep, Y/N. I’ll see you in the morning.’

And with that, he took himself off to the guest room, leaving your heart racing and your head spinning. When Natasha returned, you were still staring at the doorframe, desperately trying to figure out what had just happened. It seemed like Bob was upset with you. 

‘What happened?’

‘I think Bob’s angry with me.’ 

‘Why?’

You picked up the picture frame and handed it to her. ‘He was looking at this, and I tried to talk to him—see if I could see what was going on in his head—and he couldn’t even look at me. He told me to go to sleep.’

Nat’s brows knitted together in confusion. ‘I don’t think he’s upset with you.’

‘He is.’

‘No, he’s not. Hear me out: he’s in love with you, and most of the time, you guys act like more than best friends. Short of sleeping together, you’re basically already a couple. Then, tonight, you have that moment with Bradley—’

‘It-’

Nat held a hand up. ‘Don’t deny it, we all saw it. There’s chemistry there.’ She insisted. ‘Bob’s probably super confused because he can see it too, and then he comes here and sees this. The poor guy probably doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going.’ 

Your heart withered in your chest at the realisation. ‘He’s in love with me.’

‘Yes, Y/N, and you need to do something about it. If you think you might feel the same way, you need to stop fucking around with Rooster and give it a shot with Bob. Or, you need to let Bob down gently because otherwise, someone is gonna get seriously hurt.’ 

God, how you wished it were that simple. You took the clips from your hair and kicked off your boots while Natasha took her makeup off at your vanity. All seriousness put aside, it did feel a lot like the kinds of sleepovers you had with your friends in high school. 

‘Nix, can you unzip my dress?’

‘Damn, now you’re trying it on with me too?’

You laughed. ‘You make me sound like a whore.’

‘I mean, if the shoe fits…’

You grabbed one of your throw pillows and launched it at her. She squealed with laughter, jumping up to grab her own pillow. After dealing a few revenge blows, she unzipped your dress for you. 

Breathless from laughter, you said: ‘Hangman would have a field day if he saw us.’

‘When he asks how our sleepover was on Monday morning, we should tell him we had a pillow fight in lingerie.’ Natasha grinned devilishly. 

‘He won’t be able to focus on his manoeuvres.’

‘Good, then I’ll beat him all day.’ 

Natasha crawled into your bed and propped herself up on your throw pillows. You went through the motions of your night routine, taking off your makeup and changing into pyjamas. It was gone 2 AM by the time you got into bed. You had lots to think about. Natasha was right about somebody getting hurt if you didn’t do something soon. She’d told you everything you needed to hear except what you were supposed to do about it. 

Why couldn’t there be a blueprint, a map that showed you which path to follow and where you’d end up? 

As you drifted off to sleep, you thought about band auditions with Bob on Tuesday afternoon and the expression on his face when he’d seen the picture on your bedside. But this wasn’t all you thought about. You couldn’t help but reminisce about your performance with Bradley and the pure, unadulterated joy you felt while singing with him at the piano. 

Rain pelted against the roof of Bob’s garage. The weather had been awful the last couple of days, the build-up to the storm that had been forecasted for San Diego. Bob loved being cosied up inside when it was storming and falling asleep to the comforting sound of rain. What he didn’t love was the fact that it kept the dagger squad grounded and bored at work. Sure, there were other things to get on with, but he preferred being airborne. 

It had been a tedious week thus far. The only thing getting him through it had been the prospect of band auditions this evening. Considering he didn’t even want to start a band to begin with, he was in his element now. You and Bob were sitting on the sofa in his garage, leaning forward in your seats as you listened to Elliot Green play bass with expert precision. Elliot was one of the air and space operations guys, and he’d seen the poster you’d made on his way to work one morning. Bob wasn’t sure anyone would notice your posters, even though you’d spent ages creating them. 

He’d never been happier to have been wrong about something because Elliot was a natural on the bass. He was precisely the kind of person you needed for the band, and Bob could tell from the glint in your eye that you felt the same.

When he was finished, you both gave him a hearty applause. Elliot was tall and lean, with sandy blonde hair slightly longer than Bob’s and glasses. At work, he wore the same glasses as Bob, but he had a different pair for out of hours. These were round with tortoiseshell rims, and Bob couldn’t help but think Elliot was an artsier version of him. 

‘Well,’ you said dreamily. ‘I don’t think Bob and I need to discuss anything.’

‘No, we don’t.’

‘The spot is yours if you want it.’ You beamed.

Elliot’s blinked behind his glasses, taken aback. ‘Isn’t there anyone else trying out?’

‘Not for bass,’ Bob explained. ‘We've got someone else coming over in the next hour, but he’s trying out for guitar.’

‘You wanna stay?’ You offered. ‘Since you’re part of the band now, it might be a good idea.’

‘Yeah, sure.’ He smiled. ‘Thanks, guys. I’m excited.’

Not even half an hour later, Fletcher Adams showed up with the sexiest-looking guitar Bob had ever seen. It was a matte black Strat, and it suited him perfectly, what with his slicked-back raven hair, grey eyes, and sharp jawline. He introduced himself as Fletcher, but you and Bob knew him as something else. 

Fletcher Adams. Callsign: Phantom. 

He was part of another squadron, and although Bob didn’t know him well, Phantom’s reputation preceded him. If Bob weren’t part of a better squadron than Fletcher, he’d have found him intimidating. 

‘Thanks for having me, guys.’ Fletcher said. ‘I’ve been fixing to join a band for a while now, but there’s not much happening in the San Diego music scene.’ 

Somehow, Bob found that hard to believe. As you grabbed a cherry coke from the mini fridge, Fletcher eyed you like you were something to eat. If he’d wanted a bandmate with a massive crush on his best friend, he’d have called Bradley up.

‘Let’s see what you’ve got.’ Bob said, gesturing towards the guitar. 

Fletcher made a ballsy choice for his audition song: Master of Puppets by Metallica. Part of Bob had hoped that Fletcher was shit at guitar, but he was anything but. It was as if his instrument was an extension of his body, the strings extensions of his fingers. If that wasn’t enough, he played the most challenging part of the song with his eyes closed in bliss. 

It appeared the band was complete. 

Before wrapping things up for the night, you all made plans for the same time and place on Friday night to start putting some songs together. You also pooled all your equipment and made a short list of things you were missing. Everyone contributed, and you and Bob arranged a trip into the city over the weekend to get the last few bits you needed.

The whole thing had come together remarkably quickly, perhaps too quickly for Bob’s liking. At work, he was trained to keep his cool in stressful situations. It was different then, when he could use his nervous energy for problem-solving and quick thinking. He wasn’t unused to feeling like a fish out of water, but this was the furthest from the pond he’d ever been. Bob liked to keep his head below the parapet where it was less likely to get cut off. He stayed off the radar and made as little noise as possible, but starting a band was the exact opposite of that. 

And falling in love with you was the noisiest thing he’d ever done.

A/N: Part two is finally here! This fic isn't doing as well as I thought it would, but I'm still going to finish it because I'm enjoying writing it. I guess my uni professor was right in saying that the projects you're super attached to are the worst received. I have such big plans for the next parts, and it's kind of writing itself at this point. I have no idea whether the reader ends up with Bob or Bradley, so I'll be just as surprised as you guys!

Taglist: @dearsnow

[booksteaandtoomuchtv]

Burn The Ships (1/?)

THIS IS/WILL BE MATURE.

NOW WITH BEAUTIFUL COVER ART BY @snowbellewells

AO3 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

Summary: Pan and his pack of gruesome werewolves torment and put an end to individuals who find themselves unlucky enough to be a guest of Neverland. After being betrayed by her ex, Emma finds herself the game in this month’s hunt.

Captain Hook has never found the sport particularly alluring, preferring to spend his change far from Pan’s cruel crew. When he catches the scent of his mate, he is forced to join in the hunt to find her before the others can.

Saving her will mean betraying Pan and no one betrays Peter Pan and lives to tell about it.

@anmylica, @deckerstarblanche, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4 , @pirateswhore, @stahlopp, @teamhook, @tiganasummertreee, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert

Author Note: This little fic is a birthday gift for the always encouraging and absolutely wonderful @kmomof4. I was initially drawn to Moonlight Sonata because it is also one of my favourites and the story behind the song felt like Killian meeting Emma for the first time. (I also love Für Elise but it doesn’t make me think of CS as much as Snowing and I cannot really explain that.) Then, I thought “oooh, CS PHANTOM OF THE OPERA?!” for about thirty seconds before realising that maybe I did not want to take that on while I was trying to finish up Witchy Woman and plotting the CS Miraculous Fic and that one Bridgerton-based CS Fic. But, then, I listened to Burn the Ships and read about the inspiration behind those lyrics and absolutely knew that was the one. What is more Captain Swain than battling demons (internal and external) and enduring together? Anywhoosies, HAPPY BIRTHDAY (this month)!! Thank you so much for all the flails, the sanity checking, the gifs, the cheerleading, and for just generally being one of the brightest lights in all of our lives. (Edit: atge birthday is on the 15th, I know. This whole thing happened where this was a two-parter and now it is a whole long thing and the posting schedule SHOULD work out so the whole thing is done by the 15th.)

Emma woke to the harsh sunlight infiltrating the discoloured curtains hanging limply over the large window her lumpy mattress had been pushed against. This was the worst part of her day - these moments in which the lie of her dreams, even the worst of them, gave way to the nightmarish truth of her reality. She fought against the dread seeping into her heart and tried to hold on to the last remnants of her dream, but it faded away as the scarred wardrobe came into clearer focus before her.

Despair, however, was less easily shaken. That endless emptiness accompanied her as she started toward the water basin to splash cold water on her face. Her gaze lifted to meet the empty emerald eyes she knew would stare back at her. She had watched helplessly as the hope drained from them, over the last several months, taking with it the anger and defiance that once glimmered behind them.

Fantasies, like hope, were for those with people or a pack, who cared. Lone wolves, orphaned at birth and betrayed to the monster who ruled this island by their shitty ex-fiancées, weren’t missed. And without any to notice your absence, who would know to rescue you?

“Cheer up,” a cheerful boyish voice chirped from behind her. She jumped and spun around - having your back to the demon was never a good idea. Pan was there, in the middle of the dreary room, looking at her with a dark sort of crazed humour dancing behind his eyes. That look meant he had a new twisted game to play. Her stomach fell and icy fear gripped her heart - losing came at a high price in Neverland and she always lost.

“As you doubtlessly know, the moon will be full tonight.” Pan paused and waited for her to respond. As if any wolf would be oblivious to the phases of the moon, she buried her annoyance at the patronising question and nodded for him to continue. “Tonight, I am letting you out of the garden. You’ll get to run the length of the island.”

Emma knew there was a catch, but after spending several transformations pacing the tiny gated garden, the prospect of running had her heart racing with excitement.

“As you lead us in tonight’s hunt.”

Her blood turned to ice in her veins. She was going to die tonight.

§§§§ §§§§ §§§§ §§§§

“OOOHHHH, CAPTAIN!” A sing-song voice called from somewhere high on the main mast.

“Pan, to what do we owe this unexpected visit?” Hook called back genially. He swept his arms out wide, in a welcoming gesture, discretely sliding the small vial into a hidden pocket of his coat.

Pan flew lower, hovering just above head height, forcing Killian to look up at him. A sweet scent filled the air between, something soft and warm. Killian couldn’t hear Pan's next words as the wolf within tried to locate the source of the scent. With the change coming so soon, Killian knew he would struggle to fight the impulses of the wolf. He had to get away from this enchanting distraction before Pan noticed his attention was elsewhere.

“Let’s discuss whatever business you have away from listening ears.” Hook gestured toward the ladder leading to his quarters, hoping the breeze would not penetrate the boards.

“As you well know, the hunt will be tonight. I do hope you and your crew will attend.” Pan started, as Killian filled a glass with rum in an effort to steady himself. The room around him was saturated with the warm - Vanilla? No, not quite. What is the point of being a bloody wolf if I can’t determine a bleeding smell? - scent. Could a scent be alluring and inviting? Because Killian felt an inexplicable sense of contentedness, something cosy he was drawn to like the heat of a fire, that seemed directly related to the sudden arrival of the scent. Was this possibly a new torture device derived from this cruel realm?

"What do you say, Captain?" Pan sneered, the last word sounding as an insult rather than a well-earned title.

"I'll not be joining your pack of savage, cruel beasts as they set out to torment an innocent you have captured for a barbaric ritual of bloodlust and cruelty."

"We're all wolves, Hook," Pan responded. "You can keep to your ridiculous code, acting as though you are a gentleman despite the tasks you perform in your service to me. But, you cannot deny that the same blood-thirsty animal lives under your skin. One day, you'll relish letting the darkness play alongside my pack. We're the same at the heart of it."

"I am nothi…"

"Ah, ah, Captain, you wouldn't want to say anything regretful, now, would you?" Pan smiled his cruelest smile and Killian swallowed down his annoyance. The last time Killian had crossed Pan still hurt as fresh as the night Pan’s pack had stolen Milah’s pup from his ship. Killian heard Bae’s weak howls from the depths of the Mermaid Lagoon and raced toward his ship as quickly as possible in the dense jungle. When his paws landed with heavy thuds on the wooden gangway, the overly sweet, coppery smell of blood filled the air - air that was notably barren of any of the sounds or scents that had made the Jolly Roger home. Without even a single survivor to share the burden of grief and burial, laying his sailors to rest had taken days - purging the Jolly of all evidence of the massacre had taken much longer.

“Aye,” Killian growled out.

“Good, lad.” Pan evaporated, leaving him alone in his cabin. The sweet scent that had entranced him moments before faded away. Realisation dawning, Killian swore but did nothing to soothe the sudden rage burning hot through him.

The bloody demon had his mate.

[snowbellewells]

@cosette141 Oh my goodness!!! This seriously might be a new favorite of yours for me!! I loved revisiting the CS movie, and letting Killian have his “dashing rescue” was seriously brilliant! Not that I don’t love Emma’s strength and resourcefulness generally, but it is even more powerful having him come for her when she was so sure no one would or could - because no one ever had.

The way she goes back in her head to when she was in jail at seventeen. How it puts her back in that lonely vulnerable state after Neal betrayed her all those years ago, that made Killian’s determination to get to her and the risk he takes to save her all the more amazing. And I LOVE how she freely gives into that, falls into to him and allows herself to be vulnerable and accept his comfort. So often she doesn’t or can’t allow herself to do that in canon, and this felt so real and powerful to read it this way. “He stumbled a little by the force of it, surprised. She held him tightly, eyes shut, relief rushing through her in waves as she breathed in his scent. Familiarity. Safeness. Home.”

And then that Emma is readily willing to admit her feelings, and that the connection between them caused her magic to flare back and activate the wand again? It’s perfection!

Thanks SO MUCH for sharing this one!! I loved reading it!! 💗💗💗

The Only One Who Saves Me | OUAT fanfic | CS gift exchange gift (1/3)

MERRY CHRISTMAS @i-will-sing-no-requiem !!!! I was your CS gift exchange santa this year!! :D I very much enjoyed obsessing over Taylor Swift with you haha! :)

Your gift is a 3-parter! 😱😆

This is the main fic I worked on for you! I ran with your prompt of Emma or Killian rescuing the other :)

Summary: (CS movie divergence) Killian gets his dashing rescue, and Emma is no longer the only one who saves her. :)

AO3

Killian ran, hard and fast. He's been out of breath for most of the last mile but he didn't stop.

Emma.

Nearly an hour ago, Emma was taken by Regina's guards.

He could only remember standing in that ballroom, watching them drag her away, every muscle in his body coiled to run after her, to fight them all off even if he had to bloody kill them, to save her, but at the same time, knew that he wouldn't have survived such an attack.

If he was to save Emma, and he would, he needed to be smart.

He needed to do this quietly.

For a moment, Killian had considered trying to find Emma's parents. The prince and princess could certainly help, however risking their lives was out of the question. If one of them died, there wouldn't even be an Emma to save.

That very thought was the only thing that was on Killian's mind.

Her parents were back on track, Snow White had the ring.

But none of that mattered if Killian couldn't save Emma now.

His heart was pounding so hard it hurt and Killian could only remember one time in his life that he's been this scared, and back then, he'd been tied to a mast on his own bloody ship.

But somehow, this felt more terrifying, and that very thought scared him almost more than the fear he wouldn't make it to her in time.

Killian knew Regina's ways; she wouldn't kill Emma tonight. Regina liked to watch the execution of Snow White's supporters every morning after she caught them. Like some sort of twisted breakfast entertainment.

However, even the knowledge that he had until morning to save Emma didn't help the fact that he still had to break into the bloody castle and get to her before he was killed.

He'd done it before, he knew how to get in and to find his way to the dungeons.

But the bloody rule not to mess with the timeline which meant he couldn't kill anyone if he needed to only made his heart beat even faster.

Killian finally stopped when he saw the silhouette of the castle over the hill. He stared at it warily, catching his breath.

"I'm coming, Emma," he whispered to the air.

And he started on his way, clinging to shadows.

I will find you, love.

And he won't stop until he does.

Emma huffed a defeated breath, sinking heavily back to the ground.

The lock was too far; she couldn't reach it.

Emma threw the wire she'd found back to the ground with burning eyes. That was her only chance. In a last ditch effort, Emma shut her eyes, trying to feel the magic inside her.

But it wasn't there, no matter how hard she searched for it.

Rumplestiltskin had already given them that wand to use when they'd successfully completed their mission—in Killian's possession since his ensemble had pockets—but Emma already knew even with it it was useless.

Her magic was still gone.

With an audible groan, she gave up trying to get out of here, dropping her face over her crossed arms.

Something about this felt eerily similar, being here, alone in a jail cell.

"Sorry, sweetheart, your boy took off."

She could still remember the first day she spent in prison.

Alone.

Terrified.

She'd curled herself tight on the cot, arms wrapped around her shins, and she didn't sleep a wink.

She waited.

She waited for someone to come, tell her that it was all a misunderstanding, to let her go.

Waited for Neal to show up, to break her out, to save her.

But he never came.

No one ever came.

Not for eleven months.

Not ever.

Emma didn't even realize she was crying until she felt the dirty sleeves of the dress dampen with hot tears.

Did Hook know she was missing?

He'd been taking out the guards on the balcony; he might not even know she was taken. Or by whom.

But even if he did know she was taken, Emma wasn't going to get her hopes up.

Breaking into Regina's castle to save her? The odds of him succeeding were low at best.

He'd be risking his life even thinking about doing such a thing.

Emma suddenly wondered where he was, what he would do, trapped in the past.

Because the last thing she'd ever believe was that he was going to come back for her.

Save her.

No one ever does.

Emma suddenly heard footsteps.

She lifted her face from her arms, where she was huddled in the far corner of the cell, arms still wrapped around her shins, the facsimile of a hug that felt too shallow and cold to be called such a thing.

The footsteps were running. Fast.

Guards.

Emma's heart pounded.

Was it morning already?

Was she out of time?

As much as she had planned to be strong, to fight them, to save herself, panic was suddenly consuming her.

She was going to be executed.

So when the shadow crossed the walls, getting closer and closer, Emma just curled in on herself tighter, trying to swallow the rising fear.

But—

"Emma!"

Emma's fear halted, traded for shock.

Hook.

It was Hook.

The moment he saw her, he ran to the bars of the cell, eyes on her, his relief at finding her quickly dashed. Concern bloomed. "Emma, love," he whispered.

Emma blinked in shock.

He was here.

He came back for her.

Someone came back for her.

She shot to her feet and rushed to the bars, standing inches from him. Her fingers grasped the bar, wondering if she was dreaming. "Hook?"

"Thank the gods I found you," he breathed, a slight, relieved smile at the victory. His eyes then shifted to the bars, looking for—

"It's at the top," whispered Emma quickly. "The lock. I couldn't reach it."

Hook located it, reaching for the lock and using his hook to pick it. A few precious moments ticked by, and Emma could read every anxiety in his face until the lock clicked open, and the chain fell free.

Hook ripped the door open.

Freedom.

But Emma wasn't half as relieved by the freedom as she was by him.

She didn't even think; she grabbed him in a tight hug, practically clinging to him.

He stumbled a little by the force of it, surprised. She held him tightly, eyes shut, relief rushing through her in waves as she breathed in his scent. Familiarity. Safeness. Home.

She didn't know when she'd started thinking of him as home, but right now, she didn't care.

She felt him hold her back after a hesitation of shock. Just as tightly as she held him. "Are you all right?" he whispered. "Are you hurt?"

"You came," she found herself whispering. Her voice like broken confusion.

A tear fell down her cheek.

His hold on her tightened a little. "Of course I came," he said. He pulled back a little. "You thought I wouldn't?" he asked incredulously, like the idea hurt him. But a noise somewhere nearby like a door opening made both of them freeze and Killian's grip on her tighten even more. "We need to get you out of here. Now," he said quickly, eyes locked with hers, fear in them.

Fear for her.

"Come," he breathed, and without hesitation Emma's hand intertwined with his, and she suddenly felt like she never ever wanted to let go.

Killian led the way, seeming to know his way around, and Emma didn't stop to question it. She was glued to his side as they clung to the shadows, every usual strength within her strangely gone, replaced with the fear of her seventeen year old self, trapped in prison with no way out.

Their run through the castle was like a blur of panic, and Emma heard Killian whisper, "We're nearly there, love." And Emma only then realized she was practically crushing his hand.

But they rounded a corner, and Killian skidded to a stop, just as two guards saw them both.

"Bloody hell," cursed Killian.

"The prisoner!" cried one of the guards, recognizing Emma. "The one who aided Snow White's escape!"

"Get her!" growled the other, both unsheathing swords, and Emma felt paralyzed.

"Get behind me!" exclaimed Killian in a desperate breath, releasing her hand—something that felt like panic itself to her—so he could draw his sword.

Emma listened to him, allowing someone else to take control for the first time in what felt like her life, because hell she knew how to fight with her fists but not against swords and not with flashes of the past blinding her, and she felt her hands grasp the back of Killian's jacket, needing something tethering her to him.

He fought off the first guard, both men caught in a flurry of blades, and suddenly Emma felt a burly arm grab her around the waist and yank her back.

"Emma!"

Emma struggled, managing to land her elbow in the man's gut, making him grunt in enough pain to release his hold. And Emma's hands fisted, her heart pounding as she prepared to fight—

But she didn't need to.

Because suddenly Killian was there, standing firmly in front of her, protecting her, knocking out the man with the hilt of his sword.

Both guards lay unconscious on the ground.

Emma was still shaking.

But Killian's hand suddenly found her face, making her look at him. Such determination shone in his eyes. "I won't let anyone take you. I promise." Emma felt her breath skip, a wave of relief feeling like warm sunlight because, for the first time, she didn't have to protect herself alone. Sheathing his sword, Killian again took her hand, holding her even tighter. "Come," he breathed.

They continued on their way out of the castle, this time making it without trouble. But they didn't stop running until they were well away from it, and could no longer even see the castle in the distance.

And without hesitation, Emma dove into his arms, hers wrapped tightly around his waist, burying her face in his chest.

She was crying and for the first time in her life she didn't care that the tears fell, or that they did in front of someone else.

Because for the first time in her life, someone saved her.

For the first time in her life, she didn't have to do it herself.

She could hear him saying her name, his voice surprised, worried, gentle.

She felt him pull back a little, though his arms never loosened around her.

Killian looked at her, noting the tear tracks on her face, old and new, the dirt and the scratches from the rough handling of her by the guards. It looked like his heart broke in his eyes. "Emma, love," he whispered. "Are you all right?"

But Emma was unable to find her voice, because her mind was still caught on something she couldn't understand.

He came back for her.

He saved her.

Her whole life, the only person who ever saved her was her.

No one else bothered to.

But Killian broke into a castle full of guards that would have killed him in an instant, just to save her.

He risked his life.

For her.

The last person Emma trusted put her in prison.

Killian just rescued her from it.

"Emma…?"

He was still staring at her, even more concerned than before.

"You saved me," she whispered.

"Of course I did," he said, like it was the only reasonable answer.

Like there was no world in which he saw himself not saving her.

Ever since Neverland, hell, long before then, Emma had felt… something for him.

After Neverland, it turned into something even more, something that wasn't just interest, something that was feelings.

And ever since she drank that potion, they had only gotten stronger.

She has spent every waking minute shoving those feelings down, trying to bury them, erase them, because she could not—she could not—stand to trust someone again, for someone to break her like a damn promise.

She had planned to run away to New York, to leave it all—leave him—behind.

But tonight…

He had just risked his life to break into a place that would have killed him if it could have, just for her.

Tonight, he did something no one has ever done.

He saved her.

And Emma was beginning to realize he's done so in more ways than one.

He's handed Emma proof that he will be here for her and will never leave.

And it suddenly gave her an overwhelming need to stay.

Like a broken dam, everything that she felt for him, that she's tried to hold back, rose within her, warming her chest, like a tidal wave she couldn't wait to drown in.

Emma smiled, another tear falling, feeling like so much weight had been lifted from her. Like she suddenly couldn't stand to keep herself from him, to hide the fact that she liked him, she more than liked him, that she—

Emma's hand found his, intertwining with his fingers.

And suddenly, a glowing emitted from his pocket, where her fingers brushed it.

They both looked down, to see the wand.

Lit up with magic.

With a gasp, Emma pulled her hand away, and the glow faded.

Killian smiled.

He took out the wand. "Emma," he breathed.

Tentatively, Emma took it, and in an instant, it lit up again.

"My magic!" she breathed. "It's back," she whispered.

"Perhaps it just needed time," he said softly.

But Emma knew what it needed.

She smiled at him, and the warm feeling that was still in her chest.

The feeling that he and he alone elicited.

"Thank you, Killian," said Emma softly. She kissed his cheek, a little shyly, pink coloring the tip of her nose. Electricity like her own magic seemed to spark as she did.

His brows shot up at the sound of his own name, hearing the heaviness of her gratitude. He stared at her in utter shock.

"Let's go home," she whispered.

His brow quirked, something so hopeful in his eyes. "Home?" he echoed.

She smiled, more and more sure with every second. "Storybrooke." she clarified. "I'm not going anywhere."

She took his hand, and Emma had never seen him look as stunned as he did now.

"Aye," he said softly. "Home." He smiled, the word like music to his ears, like a relief of his own.

And she conjured the portal, the glow reflected in their eyes as they jumped through together.

For she was home long before they reached Storybrooke.

-.-.-.-.

tag list: @kmomof4 @justanother-unluckysoul @klynn-stormz @stahlop @ilovemesomekillianjones @hookmecaptain @tiganasummertree @jadehowlettthewolf @jonesfandomfanatic @anmylica @pirateprincessofpizza @stahlop @snowbellewells @eddisfargo @motherkatereloyshipper @csgiftexchange

[snowbellewells]

CS Secret Santa 2022: Gift Fic “Let Nothing You Dismay”

Hello, it’s your running late Secret Santa at last!! This fic is my gift for @zaharadessert , my giftee in the @cssecretsanta2020 event. I apologize that I am so close to the deadline for getting it posted on the 26th, but I have truly enjoyed being your Santa this year. I love your writing and CS fics, and I wanted this to be something you would enjoy in return. (I hope I’ve managed that to some degree!) I wanted a bit of one of them taking care of the other when they couldn’t, several of the side characters you mentioned enjoying, and a bit of post-s6 every day life in Storybrooke we could have seen for CS after their wedding. I also couldn’t resist trying to work in multiple Christmas tress in some way after you shared about that tradition from your real life. I can’t really fuss with it anymore though, so I’m going to put it in your hands and hope it will make you smile.

Merry (day after) Christmas @zaharadessert​ and I’m glad I got to be your Secret Santa!

by: @snowbellewells​ 

Summary: A quick check on the town’s power lines turns into a frightening emergency for Emma and Killian, but their family and friends prove neither of them are lost or forgotten anymore. And that’s not the only surprise this holiday season has in store...

Shivering and futilely trying to keep her teeth from clacking together as they chattered, Emma Swan blew out a worried, frustrated breath and crouched closer before the silent, empty fireplace. It shouldn’t be anything for her to kindle flames within using her magic, but as she stretched her trembling hands stinging with cold - and she feared oncoming frostbite - out toward the hearth once more, not even a fitful spark showed for her efforts.

Her head falling forward, chin resting on her chest, Emma cursed under her breath, feeling her desperation rising, but not wanting to alert her husband to her growing sense of panic. Instead, she gathered a deep, cleansing breath and tried to refocus her energy. Just as Killian often playfully reminded her of himself, they were both survivors, and they would get through this.

A low, pained groan caught her ear, just as Emma had managed to still her racing thoughts, and her breath hitched in her chest, worry clenching her heart once more. Stupid, ridiculous, dashing, selfless pirate, she berated internally as she watched his head toss back and forth on the pillow where it lay. He wasn’t fully conscious, and if she’d had any doubt of that, his moan of discomfort had silenced it; he was too stubborn and tough to have let such a sound escape and concern her if he were fully aware. 

Quickly, Emma stood and moved to his side of the rickety bed, where they had managed to perch his wounded and chilled form, before he had eventually sprawled insensibly, at last unable to keep up the appearance that he was fine. Biting her lower lip, which was becoming increasingly chapped and sensitive from the worried action, Emma reached out to brush what she hoped were soothing fingers over his brow, and nearly recoiled with a gasp from the heat now radiating off Killian’s skin. The dark hair that fell over his forehead was damp with perspiration as she brushed the strands back from his brow, and she felt her pulse kick up at the tremor she could feel running through him.

She was no nurse, but she knew that the dangers of a fever running too high, unchecked, for too long could be too awful to contemplate. Once more, she reached deep inside herself for her magic hoping to curb the fever that seemed to grip her husband, or at least to ease his pain or mend the ankle she feared might be badly broken. As before, however, she could feel the power and warmth begin to gather, start the tingle down her arms to her waiting fingers, then fizzle out uselessly. She wanted to cry or scream, angry at herself for her inability to use magic now when they needed it more than ever, when her True Love needed her so badly. Why was now the time that her power seemed unable to offer any comfort?!?

To think that they were in such dire straits, essentially stranded in the empty hunter’s cabin in which her parents had once weathered a storm as well, Killian unable to go further, the wind howling and snow flying and a winter storm predicted to be coming in, and it had happened through plain bad luck and natural bad weather, not some malevolent villain or fairytale creature or curse. She and her devoted deputy spouse had ridden out to the town line to make sure that all seemed well and that the large power line which had gone down before and put the town in a blackout was sturdy and working normally before any more winter weather came rolling in.

Though all had appeared well out where the large transformer hung and Storybrooke’s power supply was undaunted, the wind had been fierce and gaining in strength with each second that passed by. Concluding that all was as it should be to withstand the onslaught, they had turned to trek back to the cruiser through the rapidly collecting snow when an exceptionally powerful gust nearly knocked Emma off her feet with a whistling howl. She had barely righted herself when she heard a loud, snapping sound, alarmingly like the echoing crack of a gunshot, and Killian had plowed into her, knocking them both back into a snowdrift and landing mostly on top of her.

Spluttering, Emma found herself gripping Killian’s forearms tightly for a sense of grounding, not sure what had just happened. For a second, she was breathless and disoriented enough not to pick up on the tense undercurrent of pain in her husband’s voice or the taut effort at hiding it in his features, only the worry in his wide blue eyes as he questioned whether she was alright.

“I’m fine,” she managed awkwardly shuffling to try sitting up, “but why did you…?” She knew he wouldn’t have bowled her over for no reason, but she still felt a shiver run through her and the question stall in her throat when her eyes caught sight of the enormous tree limb lying in the road near them - right where she had been standing moments ago. The wind had surely broken it loose, causing the noise they had heard, and Killian’s faultless sharp reflexes had saved her from the thing coming down on her head and possibly being crushed.

She lunged forward to embrace him shakily, both stunned and grateful only for the quick movement to cause a hiss of discomfort to escape his clenched teeth and alert her that he had been injured in his heroics.

From there it hadn’t taken long to ascertain that he had done some serious damage to his ankle in his dive to push her to safety and shield her with his own body. And, despite his protests that he had sustained numerous worse injuries and attempts to soldier on, when he had attempted to place his full weight on the injured extremity, he had barely kept from toppling to the ground. With Emma as a crutch at his side, they had managed a few hobbling steps, only to discover that the cruiser would get them nowhere. The downed limb had partially trapped the car as well as blocked the way back to town. The wind and snow swirled around the whole area so much now that it was practically a wall of white they were looking into and there would have been no safe way to stay on the road, even if they could get through.

Rather than freezing to death there on the road or in the stalled vehicle, they had remembered the abandoned cabin and made their way toward it haltingly, but by the time they had reached the rough-hewn porch, Emma was genuinely worried for her pirate. Not only was the pain he tried to mask clearly radiating up his leg and throughout his body with each movement, but he was shaking with the strain, sweating at the exertion in spite of the bitter chill, and with him not dressed nearly as warmly as she was either. Normally it was a playful subject for teasing, just a quirk she had long since accepted as a part of him. However, as he still shivered and quaked despite the hours they’d been inside the cabin, and him under all the blankets she’d been able to find - fire or no - she feared he had taken a chill she didn’t know how to reverse and that he could little afford.

Thinking back on it all, how had the day taken such a frighteningly drastic turn so abruptly? They’d begun the morning with mugs of hot cocoa at their respective desks, soon joined good-naturedly by her father as they discussed what to bring for Christmas dinner and when Henry would arrive home from college.  They’d all three struggled not to laugh at Regina’s affronted tone when she had called with the petty complaint that Leroy and Will Scarlet had tramped through her garden as they stumbled home singing raucously after closing down the Rabbit Hole and damaged her poinsettia plants. How had a day like that brought them here by dinner time?

She ought to be used to such twists of fate, Emma supposed as she crossed to the rough sink, drew a cup of water, and brought it back to force some liquid into Killian and smooth a trail of it down his overheated cheek. Still, life in Storybrooke had been much quieter since their marriage and the Black Fairy’s defeat. Even Rumplestiltskin seemed to have retreated back to his shop and his quiet seething and plotting rather than outright opposition. Seemingly grateful Belle had not left him and to have received a chance to do better by his second son than he had his first - there seemed to exist a tenuous peace with the wily pawnbroker as he mainly kept to himself and his family’s affairs. Was this all her fault? Could she not heal Killian now or transport them to safety because she had let her guard down? Had her powers weakened or gone lax with disuse? 

Not knowing what else to do, while her husband shuddered and a wracking cough rattled in his chest, Emma lifted the covers to slip under them as well and scoot as close to him as she could, enveloping his lean form as much as possible in her arms. She wasn’t sure Killian was even aware of her presence, which ratcheted her concern for him all the higher, but all the same, she held his back to her chest, plastering her form - and, she hoped, any body heat she had to offer - along the line of his form. Squeezing her eyes closed with concentrated effort, she continued trying to call upon her magic, not sure yet why it had seemingly deserted her. Rather than the burning Killian’s skin had given off earlier, he now felt chilled and clammy to the touch, and Emma wasn’t sure which worried her more.

At least they had been on duty, and so Hope hadn’t been with them, Emma mused. Unable to speak with her husband in his current state, and trying to still her nervously spiraling thoughts of what might yet happen, Emma drew some small measure of comfort from the fact that their little girl was cozy and safe out at her mom and dad’s farmhouse. Snow had assured her that she and Hope would be more than happy making and decorating Christmas cookies while the rest of them kept law and order in town. Wistfully, she could picture her daughter and her mother icing cookies with all the perfect candies, sprinkles, and trimmings, singing along to Christmas music in Snow’s perfectly decorated kitchen as they did. It made her smile to picture it, even as a small pang shot through her heart at the thought that it could have been a true childhood memory, if things had been different, if she had been able to grow up with her parents. All the same, she begrudged Hope none of the happiness she could have with her grandparents and was incredibly relieved to know she was with them now.

Killian’s form shuddered violently and Emma held her breath as he muttered gibberish, not knowing anything else to do for him, but to hold onto him tight and try to share her warmth, whisper reassurances and press her lips to the back of his neck, praying he would weather the night with some improvement by morning, or at least that by then she might know what to do. Go for help herself and leave him defenseless? She hated to do it, but he couldn’t languish in this state forever either.

Would David by chance have wondered why they never came back to the station? Could he possibly rouse anyone else to help him in his search, despite the awful conditions? Emma didn’t know the answers to those questions, but she was beginning to place hope in it, even more than she wanted to admit to herself. Killian trembled against her without speaking, and as affectionate, verbose, and always concerned for her above all else he usually was, his relative silence troubled her more than even the injuries she was aware of or the exposure she knew he was suffering. Pulling out her cell once more, Emma glanced at the blank screen hopelessly. She was forever forgetting to charge it and running out of battery. It didn’t usually become a problem, but she was kicking herself now that she couldn’t call for help and let someone know where they were.

Killian’s hoarse voice mumbled fitfully, and she pulled him closer yet, burying her nose between his shoulder blades and breathing in his unique spicy, saltwater scent. She reveled in the closeness and comfort of his presence as she always did - even if the reason for cuddling him so tightly right now was far from reassuring.

“You better hang in here with me, Pirate,” she whispered fervently, her lips brushing his ear as she attempted to speak directly into it. Of course, she wasn’t sure how much he was aware of, but she needed him to hear her, to know she was there beside him, and how much he was needed and treasured. After all he had lived through in centuries and realms of life, an ankle injury and bitter cold surely could not be his undoing. 

She was rubbing her hands up and down his shivering arms, when Emma suddenly thought she might be hearing things - the sound of muffled voices calling out to each other on the brittle air and footsteps stamped through the piled snow on the cabin’s porch. 

Breath caught in her throat, Emma’s heart fluttered wildly with a quickening hope at the possibility, and she was just debating leaving the bed to look out, wondering if she should let cool air in to reach Killian if she did, when the door was pushed in with a familiar shout of her name.

Then all was a familiar blur of overwhelming relief as she practically vaulted from under the covers and across the room to throw herself into her dad’s anxious arms. At that moment, after the worry and uncertainty of several hours with Killian in continually worsening shape, David Nolan’s tall, sturdy bulk felt like an unbreakable bulwark when his strong arms wrapped around his grown daughter, practically lifting her off her feet and hand cradling the back of her head. She could tell by the way she could feel his heart beating quickly through his coat that he had been worried for the both of them - and thank goodness he had.

Emma allowed herself a few comforting moments to bask in the sense that help was there and she was no longer alone. Then she whirled to pull her dad toward Killian babbling to explain all that had happened as she did, almost before it struck her that her father wasn’t alone. Pressing into the small cabin behind David were at least five of her honorary uncles - her mother’s once surrogate family in the Enchanted Forest, Will Scarlet bragging loudly to August that he’d known the old cabin was the place to look first, Sean Hermann, and numerous other friends and neighbors she’d come to know over the last few years. Enough reinforcements that it took her breath away to think all of them had come to she and Killian’s rescue. Now that they’d been found, Killian being just fine didn’t seem such a far off Christmas miracle any longer.

~~~~ * ~~~~

As it turned out, Killian’s ankle was broken, but once he was settled safely in Storybrooke General, checked over by Dr. Whale, the ankle set in a cast, warmth and heat restored to him, and a much more healthy color to his face and awareness in his eyes, things felt much less dire. Dr. Whale and his staff did want to keep the Captain overnight for observation, but it seemed that other than needing to figure whether or not he would be able to manage crutches and how else he might get around while his ankle mended, her husband was well out of the woods.

He livened up even further once Snow arrived with their little girl, and Hope was curled up against his side in the hospital bed, her ever-curious enthusiasm not at all daunted by the sight of her papa in a hospital gown, the cast, or the IV trailing from his arm. Instead she prattled away talking about all the cookies she and Gamma had made - a few of which had been snuck in for her parents to try - and how much fun she’d had decorating the miniature tree she and Snow had brought in with them to brighten Killian’s room. Nevermind that he might only be there one night, it was completely her mother to want to spruce the place up with holiday cheer. 

It only grew more humorous when August arrived just as her parents had settled into chairs, Marco and Granny Lucas in tow, all looking relieved to see them safe and well. August’s crooked grin warned Emma something was up, even before his twinkling, mischievous eyes took in the small sapling Hope and Snow had brought and then presenting the slim, four foot spruce he and Marco had carried in themselves, hidden behind them until that moment. Killian’s rich chuckle added to the ridiculous but healing humor of the situation, as they wrestled the second tree for a one night stay into hospital room that was quickly becoming festively crowded. Granny didn’t hesitate a bit either, dithering over to Killian’s side and reaching across Emma to drape a hand-knitted scarf, as red and striking as Emma’s favorite of her husband’s vests around Killian neck and flicking the end at Hope’s nose as she did. “For you, Captain Jones,” she teasingly scolded with an emotional squeeze of his hand belying her words, “since it seems you don’t have the good sense to come in out of the cold.”

Killian bore the jest with good humor, and just as those visitors had departed, Sean and Ashley Herman with little Alexandra arrived, bearing a blue and white fake tree they swore they didn’t use anymore. After them, Will and Leroy appeared, arguing over who had found it, but bearing a freshly cut garland to drape in the room’s window sill. By the time Smee and some of the other members of Killian’s old crew who still remained in Storybrooke stopped in to pay their respects (and bearing a hidden flask “to ease their former commander’s pain”) it was truly beginning to look a lot like Christmas in Smee’s stunned way of speaking.

By the time Emma and Killian were at last left along again to rest, the room was nearly as bedecked and glimmering as they living room at home with tree and stockings and fireplace all aglow. At some point in all the chaotic celebration and constant stream of visitors, Emma had managed to sneak away from a moment, call Regina and managed to catch her in enough of a decent mood to ask her the question that had begun to niggle the back of her mind as why her magic might have failed to help them that day.

Now that she was snuggled against her husband’s side and he was holding her in return whispering how glad he was to know that she was alright, that they had both weathered the storm and would be home again tomorrow with their little girl and their nearly grown son with them soon, Emma couldn’t hold back what she had learned any longer. 

“Killian?” she breathed, stroking her fingers across his brow gently.

“Aye, Love?” he asked, his voice so low and sumptuous, wrapping around her and warming her insides deliciously. How could she have ever resisted him the way she had once upon a time?

“There’s something you should know,” she murmured, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth and then pulling from her pocket the bit of mistletoe she’d had Snow scrounge up for her. 

His eyebrow quirked up with interest, but he didn’t interrupt, and Emma pressed on. “When you were hurt, and I couldn’t heal you, it was a horrible feeling. My magic wouldn’t work to help us, and I couldn’t call for help. I couldn’t do anything but hope and wonder why my powers were failing us.” She swallowed hard and then smiled shakily, “As it turns out, there’s actually a pretty wonderful reason for that.”

“Is that so?” he asked playfully, chucking her under the chin.

She nodded, barely withholding the grin threatening to spread across her face. “Apparently, when someone with magic is expecting, the changes and shifts in hormone levels and so on, can throw her abilities all out of whack as well. Why I didn’t notice that with Hope, I’m not sure, but…”

Killian’s eyes widened, shimmering not just with surprise and joy but with a swell of emotion too, effectively interrupting her rambled explanation. “Emma….Love…. Are you telling me that we’re expecting another child?”

For a moment, words wouldn’t pass the lump in her throat, so Emma could only nod vigorously yet again, thrilled at the excitement lighting up her pirate’s expression. A minute or so passed and then she managed to add. “Are you ready to add a little Liam David to our brood?”

“Without doubt,” her husband rejoined without hesitation, “but I have a feeling it’ll be a little Lianna Morgan, not a Liam.”

“Really?” Emma cocked her head, playfully trying to convey doubt in his ability to predict their unborn’s gender so readily when all she really wanted to do was left out loud at his antics, kiss him all over his face, and cuddle up at his side to sleep for a week.

“That’s quite the Christmas gift, Darling,” he spoke intently. “Boy or girl, I couldn’t be more blessed. But I can’t help believing that I’m meant to be surrounded by lovely golden-haired angels - a whole house full if I have my way.”

“Flatterer,” she breathed, not sure how else to combat the effect he had on her, even confined to a hospital bed in a flimsy cotton gown. She hoped it never changed.

Despite the frightening turn the day had taken and the close call they’d survived, as he playfully held the mistletoe above them and their lips met gladly, Emma still found herself believing she couldn’t be more lucky if she tried.

Tagging a few others who might enjoy: @jennjenn615​ @searchingwardrobes​ @kmomof4​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @laschatzi​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @anmylica​ @jrob64​ @apiratewhopines​ @elizabeethan​ @donteattheappleshook​ @stahlop​ @sotangledupinit​ @xarandomdreamx​ @cosette141​ 

[horanghaejamjam]

Hallows Eve - {CS}

↪ Summary: Your friends trick you into doing a Halloween ritual that’s supposed to summon a demon. You never believed in demons but do it anyway just to please them. Needless to say you didn’t expect it to work, nor did you expect yourself to end up trapped in the underworld by a demon wishing to claim you as his.

↪ Pairings: Demon prince San x Female presenting reader

↪   Rating: M 18+

↪   Genre: Fluff/Smut/Demon Au/Arranged Marriage/S2L

↪   Word Count: 3.8k

↪ Warnings/Contents: Smut (MDNI), Hard dom/possessive San, Power dynamics (Use of "sir" and "brat"), corruption, unprotected sex marking/biting, multiple orgasms, and body worship, aftercare and San being super soft at the end.

↪ Side Notes: PLEASE READ: This is a collab fic with @kpopidolsangel and is also a submission for the @atinyhalloweenproject this one is for the lovely @kpop-stories-21

Angel came up with the concept as well as made the banner and wrote the first half of this fic. However due to a family emergency she was unable to finish it and asked me to take over the story. All credit to the idea goes to her. I also apologize for the delay on this one and I hope it was worth the wait!

↪ Click here to see my other Ateez stories

↪ Click here for other kpop masterlists

↪ Click here to join my fic taglist

There is a common legend that makes its way through your town every October. The legend goes that if you go into the woods at midnight, light a jack-o'-lantern, and recite an ancient poem, that you can summon a deity known as The Demon of the Hallows. The legend then states that anyone who summons him with a kind spirit will be blessed with a special gift, but those without a kind spirit would never be heard from again. You wouldn’t call yourself a skeptic or anything but you were never one to humor the legend. It was something you brushed off as a dumb story high school kids used to scare their friends or younger siblings. Needless to say, never in a million years did you expect to find yourself standing in the middle of the woods with a poorly carved jack-o'-lantern and a lighter. Your friends were hiding behind the trees a few feet away from you, not wanting to take any chances in case this ritual did end up working. 

This had all started during a Halloween party you were attending with your friends. Yunho had been the one to bring up the legend to which Mingi and Wooyoung had insisted that you try it, just to see what would happen. They agreed you had to be the one to do it since you were the most “normal” out of the friend group and before you knew it you were being dragged out of the party and into the woods, Wooyoung stealing one of the carved pumpkins from the porch so you could complete the ritual. 

It was completely dark out, with the moon being the only source of light, barely allowing you to make out the shadows of your friends from where you stood. Your rather thin vampire costume doing very little to shield you from the cold fall breeze, and you didn’t bring a jacket as you hadn’t planned on going outside. Your dress fluttered in the wind and tickled at your legs as you shivered and rubbed at your arm to try and stay warm. 

“This is ridiculous!” you called back, “can’t we just go home, it’s freezing out here!” 

“What’s the matter?” you heard Wooyoung call back to you, “are you scared it will work?”

“I’m not scared of a demon, I'm scared of freezing to death!” you argued back which caused the boys to laugh. 

“You’re so dramatic!” Yunho teased. 

“We only have two minutes until midnight, just do it!” Mingi added. You really wanted to just leave them there and run back to the house, but you knew you would never hear the end of it if you did. 

“You guys are so dead once this is over,” you groaned, setting the pumpkin down on the ground and waiting for the cue to start. Once Wooyoung gave you the go ahead you quickly lit the candle inside the pumpkin and recited the poem as best as you could remember it. The light from the candle flickered in the wind as you waited a moment to see if anything would happen. As expected, nothing did and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you stood up and dusted yourself off. “I told you guys it wouldn’t work, can we go now?” you called out, only to be met with silence. “Guys?” you tried looking around but you could no longer see the shadows of your friends. You knew they couldn’t have left that quickly without you hearing or seeing them, so your first instinct was that they were hiding from you just to scare you. “Really funny, come on guys I want to go back,” you said, walking over to the tree only to realize there was no one there. The woods fell eerily silent as you began to panic, calling out for your friends and looking around only to find that no one was there, you were completely alone. 

“Why so scared little one?” you quickly turned around to see a figure standing in front of the jack-o'-lantern where you had just been. He stood just a bit taller than you, with wide shoulders and a slim but toned waist. His hair was long, mostly black but you could see white peeking out at the bottom, the strands perfectly slicked back behind two black ram-like horns. He was wearing a black suit with red trim and gold embellishments that matched the gold headpiece he was wearing. Tucked behind him you could just make out the outline of batlike wings, resting against his shoulders. His eyes were sharp as he looked at you, and when you moved closer you could see the red color and cat-like pupil, the charcoal style makeup he was wearing only served to help accentuate his features. If you weren’t intimidated by his presence, you would have found him to be insanely beautiful. 

“I-who are you?” you stuttered out as you walked over to him, causing him to chuckle. 

“You are the one who called me here and yet you don’t know who I am?” he questioned, clearly amused by the situation. You, on the other hand, were terrified as you struggled to form a proper sentence. 

“Wait so you are The Demon of the Hallows? I didn’t think you were real!” you confessed. 

“That’s the name people gave me over the years, but I find that title much too formal,” he mused, “call me San.” You blinked at him in confusion as he moved closer until he was only a foot or so in front of you, smirking to himself as he took a moment to look over you. “You really didn’t believe in me did you? Poor thing, I can sense your confusion from miles away,” he cooed with another laugh, “let me guess you were tricked into doing this weren’t you? Your friends dragged you out here then ran away at the first sign of danger?” Your eyes widened at his observation, staring down at the ground while you played with the hem of your dress. 

“How did you know that?”

“My Sweet Y/N I’ve ruled over these parts for centuries, I know everything. Also you wouldn’t be the first pure soul to find yourself in this predicament,” he explained, reaching a hand out to brush your hair out of your face. You flinched slightly from the sudden contact, but you couldn't deny there was a strange warmth behind his touch, a welcome sensation that nearly had you leaning against his hand as he pulled away. “I must say,” he confessed, “of everyone who has called upon me, you are definitely the most beautiful, and the most innocent. You are exactly what I have been looking for.” With a pleased smile, he stood up straight and offered you his hand, which you took after a moment of hesitation, “Come with me, it’s time I show you your new home.”

“New home?” you questioned, “what do you mean new home? And what do you mean I’m what you’ve been looking for?” 

“I have waited years for the right soul to turn up, to complete me and help tie me to the mortal world and I have finally found it,” San explained as he tugged you along, “you my darling, are going to be my bride.”

ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ

You don’t remember much of what happened after San pulled you away, almost as if you had blacked out. When you woke up, you found yourself tucked into a large bed, having been changed out of your costume and into a red silk nightgown. Your hair was also down and brushed out and your makeup had been removed. You sat up slowly, hugging the black comforter against your body and taking a moment to look around the room. It was a large master bedroom, mainly decorated with black, red, and gold. The bed was on a carved wooden frame with a swirling pattern carved into it at the base. There were also black curtains surrounding the frame that were currently tied up to allow you to see the rest of the room. There were no windows, all the light coming from the chandelier that hung over the middle of the room, casting a warm glow into the otherwise black room. The rest of the furniture that you could see was the same carved wood as the bed frame, and the room was decorated with various paintings and trinkets. 

“I was wondering when you would wake up,” turning your head, you gasped as you saw San standing against the door, “I know the transition to here isn’t the smoothest, but I was starting to worry I may have lost you.”

“Where am I?” you questioned, curling up as much as you could. San looked no different than when you first saw him, and yet his gaze made you feel tiny. 

“You’re home,” he explained as he made his way to the foot of the bed, “and this is your new bedroom. Do you like it? I can always redecorate for you if you want me to.” The warmth in his voice didn’t match his gaze which sent shivers down your body. You weren’t sure whether you wanted to fear him or find comfort in him. 

“I don’t understand,” you whispered, causing him to smile. 

“I know you’re still confused, don’t worry it will all make sense soon enough,” he promised, “for now I want to take this time to really get to know you before I claim you as mine.” You were frozen in place as you watched him remove his suit jacket, his wings practically vanishing to avoid getting in the way. He tossed the garment carelessly to the side, rolling up his sleeves and unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt before climbing onto the bed and making his way over to you. You gasped as the comforter was removed and you were pinned to the bed, San crawling on top of you and resting his weight on your hips to keep you from moving. Your arms were pulled above your head, San pinning them above you before snapping his fingers and leaning back. You felt a cold metal appear around your wrists and glanced up to see black chains connecting you to the bedpost, the metal jingling lightly as you tugged at the new restraint. 

“Can’t have you running away now can we?” San teased, “I really did want to take my time with you at first but you have no idea how long I have been waiting for this moment. I don’t plan on waiting any longer.” With that he leaned down and connected your lips in a rough but passionate kiss, biting at your lip as his hands eagerly explored your body. You were frozen in place at first, taken aback by the rough movements. You weren’t a virgin by any means, but most of your previous sexual experiences had been rather vanilla so this was a brand new experience for you. Eventually you were able to melt into him, slowly starting to kiss back and react which earned you a pleased hum from San. His hands trailed back up to the neckline of your nightgown and he quickly ripped the fabric from your body as his tongue slipped its way into your mouth. You gasped at the sudden chill that ran down your body, only to moan as you felt his hands return to your chest. 

“Look at you,” he groaned as he pulled away from the kiss, “such a pretty innocent thing in such a sinful position, I love it.” His fingers pinched at your nipples which had you arching your back and moaning softly. 

“San please,” you whined out, tugging weakly on your restraints. San gave you a questioning look and clicked his tongue, pinching your nipple harder to make you squirm. 

“What did you just call me?” he asked, before you could answer he reached up and grabbed your chin to make sure you were looking at him. “As much as I love to hear you beg for me, you are only allowed to address me as Sir, understood?” You nodded as best as you could with his grip on you which only made him huff, “Use your words brat.”

“Yes Sir,” you muttered out, making him smirk. 

“Good, now lay still and behave while I claim what’s mine!” He let go of your face and repositioned himself, gripping your thighs tightly and spreading them so he could fit between them. You knew you were going to have bruises later, but that didn’t matter right now as San began trailing kisses up your leg. He trailed kisses up the inside of your thigh before biting down, relishing in the way you gasped and squirmed against his touch. He sucked on the spot until he was sure a mark was formed before running his tongue across it and moving to the other thigh to give it the same treatment. He continued the action multiple times until your thighs were visibly covered in bite marks, each time relishing in the noise you made at the combination of pain and pleasure. You tried closing your legs but his grip tightened every time you moved to keep them open, forcing you to lay still until he was satisfied with his work. 

“You look so much prettier covered in my marks, maybe next time I’ll try spelling my name” he hummed, placing one last kiss on the inside of your thigh, dangerously close to your core but not quite where you needed him. The teasing made you whine which in turn caused him to chuckle. “Since you were so good for me, I’ll give you a little reward, tell Sir what you want,” he cooed, tracing his fingers across your hip.

“I want you to touch me,” you begged without hesitation, “please Sir I’ll continue to be good just please touch me!” 

“I know you will,” San muttered, reaching a hand down and running a finger teasingly between your folds, “already so wet and I’ve barely even touched you. I don’t know if you’ll be able to handle much more.” You were about to argue that you could when he slid a finger into you, wasting no time before moving at a moderate pace. Within seconds he had found that special spot inside of you, making you cry out as he rubbed against it every time he inserted his finger. “So sensitive and so tight,” San mused, inserting another finger, “I am going to absolutely ruin you.” Your moans grew louder as his pace quickened, making a scissoring motion with his fingers and adding a third to thoroughly stretch you out. You started bucking your hips and grinding against his hand as you felt your orgasm approaching, desperate for release. San noticed this, chuckling to himself as he pressed his free hand on your lower stomach to keep you from moving. The action also made you feel the pressure of his fingers more and pushed you over the edge before you could find the words to warn him. 

Sans pace never faltered as you rode out your orgasm, pushing you into overstimulation before quickly removing himself from you entirely. You whined at the sudden loss of contact, bucking your hips into the air as you tried to catch your breath and come down from your high. 

“I’m disappointed I thought you said you would behave,” San said flatly as he wiped his fingers off on his shirt. You watched as he crawled away from you and off of the bed and for a moment you were worried that he was going to leave you like that. Broken apologies fell from your mouth combined with pleas for him not to stop as you tugged painfully at the chains holding you down. San relished in your begging before quickly silencing you with a wave of his hand, “Because this is our first time I will be nice just this once, but I don’t want to hear any complaints if I continue, got it?” “Yes Sir I promise,” you reply almost immediately. You hear San mutter something under his breath briefly before you suddenly feel the chains around your wrists disappear. 

“Can’t have you hurting yourself,” he explained, undoing his pants and kicking them off before climbing back on top of you, “besides, you’ll probably want to hold on for this.” You do as he suggested and wrap your arms around his neck as you feel his tip at your entrance. “Keep your eyes on me,” he ordered, placing one hand by your head to hold himself up as the other helped guide his length into you. It was hard not to let your eyes roll back as you felt him stretch you, feeling fuller than you ever did with your past partners. San groaned softly as he bottomed out, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment as he felt your walls squeeze around him. It took everything in his power not to just pin you down and rail you right then, but he didn’t want to hurt you. 

The second he felt you relax he started moving, gradually speeding up until he was thrusting into you at an inhuman speed. The arm that wasn’t supporting his weight moving to grab your hip and pull you against him with each thrust. By this point you had given up on keeping eye contact, wrapping your arms and legs around him as tightly as possible and burying your head in his shoulder to hide your sounds. San didn’t seem to care though, occupying himself with marking your neck as he continued his movements. You were still sensitive from your first orgasm, so it didn’t take long for the second one to wash over you, making you scream against his shoulder as he continued. San slowed down his pace enough to help you ride it out before picking up again to chase his own release. 

“Sir please!” you whined, grabbing desperately at his shirt while your other hand moved to grab at his horn. San groaned loudly at the action, hips faltering for a moment. 

“You can handle one more,” he grunted, “just hold on for me.” It didn’t take long for him to reach his orgasm, groaning loudly and pulling you against him as he released inside of you. The feeling pushed you into your third orgasm as you went limp in his hold, almost feeling like you were going to pass out. 

ღ ღ ღ ღ ღ

As if a switch had flipped inside of San, you felt him gently pull out of you and help you lay back before carefully rolling off of you. Before you could whine about the loss of contact he had rolled onto his back and pulled you into his chest, pulling the covers over both of you to keep you warm. He would clean you up and help you get dressed once he knew you had fallen asleep. For right now though he knew you were probably sensitive and he wanted to give you time to come down from your headspace before he risked moving you and making you uncomfortable. One hand began gently playing with your hair while the other traced down your body, occasionally stopping to massage a particularly sore spot. You allowed yourself to melt into his embrace, feeling his warmth and scent which almost reminded you of fall. You had almost fallen asleep when you heard him speak again. 

“I didn’t mean to actually go that rough,” he confessed, “I never want to hurt you. There’s just something about you though that awakens something in me. I knew it from the moment I laid my eyes on you, I needed to have you and I can’t let you go.” You couldn’t really process what he was saying, let alone a response, so instead you hummed contently against his chest. San couldn’t help but smile down at you, hugging you a bit tighter to him. “I know you probably can’t understand me and I know you may not like me very much tomorrow but I hope you will enjoy it here. I mean it when you say you are mine. The person I will marry and bond myself to, and the one I will spend eternity protecting.” By this point he was just rambling as you had fallen asleep, but he continued with all of his promises as if you would be able to hear and understand him. 

San had waited centuries for the right soul to find him the one that would finally complete him without being destroyed or corrupted, something that could truly tie him to the mortal realm. Spending every October being dragged around by people who were hoping for an eternal favor. He always gave them what they wanted, but normally they weren’t able to handle the consequences. It had become a chore for him at this point, at least until he was called to you. He could feel the connection in you immediately, calling for him. He would give you the ultimate gift, eternal life and youth, and all you had to give him in return was your love and loyalty.

Ateez taglist: N/A

Please see my pinned post to be added to the taglist.

[acciocriativity]

LITTLE THINGS - A CS SCENARIO

(Pictures are not mine, credits for the original owners)

Non-idol! San x GN! reader

Genre: fluff, a little bit of angst

Tags/ warnings: established relationship; pure comfort, mentions of overthinking; implied insecure reader

WC: 708

N/A: This is my fic for San's birthday! I decided to twisted it a little bit, so it's reader's birthday instead! Let me know what you guys think 💕

Ateez Masterlist

It’s not surprising for a partner to want to do something special for their significant other, right?

When it’s for San, oh boy, don’t you go all out for him? A new game he has been eyeing for weeks, but he is unsure whether to buy because it’s too expensive and he didn’t finish the ones he has already? You got it. A new bag he loved very much, but didn’t get because he thought he didn’t need it at the moment? It’s his! And you know that you don’t have to, but how can you not when everything else seems too small for him?

He would truly be happy with anything, ANY-THING you give him with just a little bit of thoughtfulness. Oh, did you remember when he told you that the thing that he loved very much broke all of sudden and gave him another one? Or you got him that thing he mentioned like six months ago and he himself forgot about it? He’s the happiest man alive. He lives for your attention, care and thoughtfulness and you’re more than happy to do that on a daily basis, just as much as he does for you.

So what’s the problem with him going all out for you? San didn’t get it, but what reason does he have to question you on your preferences? There was none until now.

“Are you sure?”, San asked you as he took your right hand in his much warmer one.

“Yes, babe. It’s okay, I don’t real-”

You didn’t really need anything, nothing was broken or in need of replacement. That was the only case where you let San buy something for you in the past, so he got used to asking you for what you wanted, but for your birthday there was nothing.

“I don’t really have anything in mind for a present and I’m more than happy having you around this year, what else do I need?”, you smiled at him and he did smile back for a moment, until his face fell into a frown.

Sure, his heart was fluttering because of those beautiful words BUT there was something more important than that in his mind.

“Honey”, San said and paused for a moment, while caressing your hand with his thumb.

You felt the words hitting the top of your hair, his lips resting at the top of your head and you couldn’t help yourself, you shivered.

His deep voice saying that word specifically always did something to you and he knew it. You knew his smile was growing on his stupid cute face and you mumbled to yourself on his covered chest.

“Why did you never let me buy you real gifts?”, he whispered as he held you tighter in his arms.

You held your breath.

“It’s always something for the house or for the both of us, but never something for you only, because you want to”.

It was stupid. You knew it already, but those thoughts never leave you, those words from your parents never leave you.

“I like to do it for you”, you whispered back.

“Do you think I wouldn’t like to do it for you? Hm?”, his voice was so soft and low, it was a little secret in that little bubble you created for yourselves.

He always says he does want to give you the whole world, but what if you ask for too much? What if what you want it’s so superficial and unnecessary and he thinks you’re ungrateful? What if he thinks you don’t appreciate him? What i-

“Love, you’re overthinking again”, he said and moved around a little to grab both of your hands.

“I don’t like it when you spend too much money on me”, you said as you tried to keep yourself together.

It was a half truth, you couldn’t lie to him, but even then, you couldn’t look up to him.

He didn’t know the why, but he knew that you needed more time and space to open up to him. So that day, he just held you tighter and promised to himself he would get you something you loved with all of your heart this year and all the years after that too.

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: A Pirate Booty Birthday (1/1)

Summary: She knew her soon-to-be former best friend had something up her sleeve. No way Ruby Lucas would allow Emma Swan’s birthday to be celebrated with a simple pool party. Oh, no. She just had to do something over the top. Something that would make this year ‘the best birthday ever!’ Something that would go down in infamy among their friend group. Something that Emma would find totally and completely humiliating. So, of course. Ruby had hired a stripper.

A/N: So, the other day a picture and video was posted on social media depicting our fave donning his pirate outfit once more in order to surprise a co-worker for her birthday. The post included a caption quipping, "The pirate they hired for our birthday party was actually really good", which caused many of us to wish we could hire the same said pirate for our bday celebrations. This, naturally, sparked a fic idea which I shared on the csmm discord and, well… you can probably guess the rest, lol.

Much love to the discord ladies and especially to @jrob64 who championed the idea so much she agreed to beta. Of course, seeing as it is her bday today, I'm also gifting this fic to her. Sorry it isn't the actual pirate, but I hope it is a close second! Happy birthday!

A shout out also goes to @kmomof4 who also gave this a once over for me😘

Rated T+ / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!  

A Pirate Booty Birthday

She knew her soon-to-be former best friend had something up her sleeve. No way Ruby Lucas would allow Emma Swan’s birthday to be celebrated with a simple pool party. Oh, no. She just had to do something over the top. Something that would make this year ‘the best birthday ever!’ Something that would go down in infamy among their friend group.

Something that Emma would find totally and completely humiliating.

So, of course. Ruby had hired a stripper.

A pirate themed stripper to go with the pirate themed decor and pirate themed drinks they’d been enjoying all afternoon and into the evening.

A pirate themed stripper who nearly had Emma swallowing her tongue when he appeared in Ruby’s backyard, decked out in head-to-toe black leather with artfully mussed dark hair, kohl-lined piercing blue eyes, auburn tinted stubble, and a devilish smirk that would make a mermaid swoon.

Holy hell and hot damn.

“Get your dollar bills ready, girls!” Lily called out, practically knocking Belle over as she rushed for her purse.

"Sorry, ladies,” the pirate crooned as he swaggered towards them. “I only accept doubloons.”

Well, fuck. He has an accent, too?! Emma thought, while silently freaking out. Damn, and it actually sounds authentic. It can’t be real, though. Right?

Stopping in front of their group, he cocked one hip to the side and tucked his thumb into his belt, perusing each of them with a sultry glance and briefly pausing when his eyes landed on her before addressing them all once more. “Besides... the only one allowed to touch the Captain this evening is the birthday girl. Perhaps one of you would be good enough to point her out to me?"

A half dozen pointer fingers immediately gave her up and Emma’s mouth went completely dry when a wide, feral grin spread across the pirate captain’s face. Seductively, he scraped his teeth across his bottom lip, then brought his thumb up to brush against the now reddened flesh. His eyes raked over her as she sat stock still in her red bikini and one of his brows raised cockily up his forehead. When he finally spoke again, Emma would swear his voice dropped an octave as he quipped, "I was hoping it’d be you."

Cat calls and whoops of both laughter and encouragement rang out from her friends, forcing Emma from her seat in the hopes of making an escape to the house. Where she could hide. Or wait for the ground to swallow her whole. She wasn’t picky.

With swift reflexes, he moved to block her path, his persona breaking for a brief moment as he gave her a commiserating look. It was quickly schooled and replaced by his Captain facade as he tutted, “Now, now, love. Heed your Captain.” Gently he led her back to her chair, encouraging her to sit before he propped a booted foot up on the end of the diving board. “Don’t make me force you to walk the plank. Just sit right there and take your lap dance like a good girl.”

He winked at her, causing another round of shouts and whistles and ‘atta girls’ to be yelled from her friends. Looking over her shoulder, Emma made eye contact with Ruby and mouthed, “I hate you,” but the effect was lost when the hysterical laugh she’d been holding back finally made its way to the surface.

“You love me,” Ruby mouthed back, blowing her a kiss before bringing up a music file from her phone to play over the speakers. Presumably, the pirate stripper had sent her his music when she booked him.

Which turned out to be the theme from Pirates of the Caribbean. Because, of course it was.

Emma hated to admit it but… the pirate stripper Ruby hired for her birthday was actually pretty good.

Very. Good.

Tantalizing good.

Toned and bronzed and sultry and commanding and wouldn’t-mind-blindly-following-his-Captain’s-orders good.

“Come on, Captain!” Lily shouted as he slipped off his suspenders and began to tug the smoke-like, gossamer thin blouse free from his pants, revealing toned abs and happy trail. “Hoist the mainsail for us!”

Emma thought she’d caught the beginnings of an eye roll before he turned his back to them, his hips gyrating and the muscles of his ass flexing beneath the tight leather.

A piercing whistle erupted next to Emma’s drumdrum. Tink practically had her fingers halfway down her throat to make the obnoxious sound. “Show us your pirate booty!” she drunkenly yelled before an unseemly snort escaped her from the self-satisfied laugh she let out.

“Forget the booty!” Lily called out salaciously. “Show us your jewels!”

“Guys!” Emma admonished, halfway turning in her seat to face her unruly friends. “Enough! Let the poor man do his thing.”

“I’d like to do his thing,” Lily shot back, vulgarly licking her lips then catching Emma’s hardened glare and silent reprimand to behave. “Spoil sport,” Lily huffed, poutily taking another large gulp from her solo cup, her eyes cutting back to the Captain who was being cheered on by the rest of the group.

“Sorry, Ems,” Tink offered with a sincere expression of contrition before being jolted to the side by Ruby who had refilled her drink and was now joining their little mob.

“Oh, come on, Emma,” Ruby said with a wolfish grin. “Tell me you wouldn’t happily walk that plank.” Jutting her chin towards the night’s entertainment she’d provided, she gave a whistle of her own, pointed down to Emma, then shouted. “Let her shiver your timber, Captain!”

Emma turned back around and her jaw dropped. Apparently, he’d been rather busy while her back was turned. He’d removed his great coat and vest early on in the performance, but now, gone were the blouse, boots, and leather pants, leaving him in nothing more than a tight, barely-there, black Speedo.

She couldn’t help but focus on the bulge he was currently thrusting in their direction, his generous size evident from the way the material strained around it. His hips swiveled and her eyes traveled up the happy trail of hair at his navel, the twitch and flex of his abdominal muscle mesmerizing her. As did the broad planes of his chest, dusted with the same luscious hair her fingers itched to run themselves through. Her final destination was his face and her breath caught at the way he stared at her, his attention solely focused on her gaze with his own hungry, predatory, wouldn’t-mind-making-a-meal-out-of-her intent reflected in his dark, ocean blue depths.

With a dirty grind in his hips, he swaggered towards them until he was right in front of her. Without warning, he threw himself forward, bracing himself against the edge of the table behind her. Arms caging her in as he hovered over her in an impressively held plank position. Emma had to grip the ends of the armrest to force her hands to remain on their best behavior, her bottom lip firmly tucked between her teeth, trapping a moan inside her mouth as his body rolled over the top of her, his breath - soft, sensual pants exhaling from his chest - ghosting across her face as his kohl-rimmed eyes stayed locked onto hers.

“Go on, Emma!” One of her friends encouraged dirtily. “Make his Roger Jolly!

“Show him where to drop his anchor, Ems!”

Another half-amused, half-exasperated look flitted across his face before he could stop it. He probably got comments like that a lot, had probably heard every bad pirate pun there was. The way he continued to stare down at her, though, his body grinding a hair's-breadth away from hers and occasionally making contact when his leg couldn’t help but brush against her own, made Emma think he might not mind them so much when they were applied to her.

Of course, that had to be wistful thinking on her part. Given how gorgeous and hot and limber and intense and - did she say hot already? - he was, Emma was certain he got his fair share of propositions from equally hot and horny women.

Emma practically whimpered when he rolled his body away from hers, instantly missing the close contact and feeling more flushed and keyed up than she’d expected to get. Bringing her hand up, she made an attempt to fan herself, but was thwarted when his hand caught hers. Tugging lightly, he encouraged her to her feet then wrapped an arm around her waist, bringing her hips flush with his as he continued to roll, swivel, and grind against her body.

“Let the pillaging and plundering begin!” Ruby shouted.

A toe-curling chuckle rumbled through his chest and he brought his mouth tauntingly close to her ear, murmuring, “Your friends are quite the lively bunch.”

Yep. The accent was real. Fuck. Me.

“Yeah,” Emma replied a bit breathlessly, her body now moving in time with his as they finished out the track as though they were at some risque nightclub and not her best friend's backyard. “Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize, love,” he told her, dropping his arms and taking a step back.

Emma hadn’t even realized the song had ended, but her friends absolutely losing their shit with screams and whistles and applause probably should have clued her in.

“What say you, ladies?” he called out to the group. “Has your Captain delivered to your satisfaction, or is he to walk the plank?”

Once again, he propped his foot on the diving board and her friends - as eager to have him dripping wet as she was - immediately began chanting, “Walk the plank! Walk the plank! Walk the plank!”

Shooting them a wide grin, he hopped up onto the board but paused when Ruby called out. “Here, Emma! In case he needs some encouragement!”

She tossed a plastic, toy sword at her which Emma miraculously caught. Glancing up at the man, something swooped deep in her belly at the raised brow and smirk he was giving her.

“Do you even know how to use that thing, love?” he said in a teasing and mocking tone.

“Yeah,” she said, stepping up behind him on the board and pressing the plastic tip into his side. “The pointy end goes in the other guy.”

She poked at him with it again, urging him towards the end of the board, or… plank, and absolutely did not find his ticklish response at all endearing.

“What’s the matter, Captain?” she replied in a coy and coquettish tone. “Don’t like being jabbed with my sword?”

The Captain scoffed and turned to face her. “You call that a jab?” he shot back, and Emma gasped as he yanked the sword from her grasp, then used his quick reflexes to pull her into him before she even had a chance to realize what he was doing. He had her arms pinned to her sides with his tightly wrapped around her, the heavy bulge in the front of his Speedo pressed firmly against her belly as a smolder bloomed from his expression and deep crooning tone professed, “Trust me, love. When I jab you with my sword… you’ll feel it.”

Emma gasped as he threw them both off the diving board into the pool. Panic gripped her when she hit the water and began to sink. Years of bouncing around foster care meant she’d never learned to swim properly, so, on instinct, when she resurfaced, she clung to the Captain, wrapping her arms and legs around his body to stay afloat.

“Sorry, love,” he chuckled. “I thought we could both do with some cooling off.” Seeing her expression, which she hadn’t been able to calm yet, he held her a bit tighter and asked, “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” she stammered, reluctantly pulling one of her hands off him so she could wipe the water from her face. “I, um… I just… I don’t do well with, um…”

“Bloody hell,” he cursed at himself. “I wasn’t thinking. I’m so sorry, love. Here.” He started to swim them over to the ladder. “I’ve got you. Just grab onto the rails.”

Emma did as he instructed, extricating herself from him so she could put her feet on the solid rungs of the ladder. He grabbed onto the edge of the pool and with little effort, hoisted himself out of the water, getting to his feet in time to come around and offer her a hand up the ladder.

“Emma!” Her friends exclaimed, rushing towards them. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she assured them, waving off their concern with her free hand, the other still tucked in his grasp. “Really. I’m fine.”

Ruby draped a towel over her shoulders then offered one to the dripping wet man next to her. Emma would be lying if she said she wasn’t a little disappointed when he let go of her hand and began drying off. She would have enjoyed watching the beads and streams of water sluice down his trim and toned body.

“Thank you, Miss Lucas,” he replied, stepping back from the gaggle of girls that had joined them. Emma could tell it was a prudent and deliberate move on his part, giving himself a personal bubble of space in case any of them decided to take the opportunity to get handsy. Sheepishly, he glanced back at Emma and offered once more, “My sincerest apologies. I shouldn’t have--”

“My fault entirely,” Ruby chimed in, turning apologetic eyes towards Emma. “I should have given Killian a heads up about you and the pool.”

“Killian?” Emma said, her eyes snapping back to the man who now had the towel wrapped around his waist.

Pity.

“Killian Jones,” he said, introducing himself as he bowed his head and offered her a boyish smile. “At your service, Miss…”

“Swan,” Emma reciprocated. “Emma Swan. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Oh, trust me, love,” he crooned, steeping a bit closer into her personal space. “The pleasure is all mine.”

A symphony of sighs and squeals crescendoed around them and Emma’s cheeks heated at the knowledge that her friends were still hovering.

“Alright,” Ruby shouted, getting everyone’s attention. “This alcohol isn’t gonna drink itself. Who wants a refill?”

Emma shot her friend a grateful look as she led the mob back towards the tiki bar, giving her an opportunity to speak with Killian privately before he had to pack up and be on his way.

“Do you, uh… need some help collecting your things?” she asked him, tucking a wet, tangled strand of hair behind her ear.

“I can manage,” he told her, though he made no effort to do so. “You know,” he murmured softly, closing what little space remained between them. “I can help you with your… water issue, if you’d like.”

“My water issue?” Emma replied in an amused breath. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

An abashed huff fell from his lips and he reached up to awkwardly scratch behind his ear. “No, I meant… You seem a bit uncertain and slightly nervous regarding--”

“Yeah,” she said, offering him a lifeline. “I’m not the greatest swimmer. Never really learned how to--”

“I can help with that,” he said, cutting her off in an enthusiastic rush. “I mean… If you’d like me to. I’m a certified lifeguard and just got a full time position with the city to oversee the safety of the beaches.”

“Do you make this offer to every birthday girl you perform for?” she asked, a slightly accusatory tone underpinning her words, wondering if this were some sort of line he often used to get women.

“No, actually,” he said fervently, and without any hint of offense. “I’d given up stripping quite a while ago. I only agreed to do it because Ruby’s boyfriend, Graham, is a mate of mine from back in the day.”

“So…” Emma drawled, flicking her eyes up at him through her lashes, “you’re saying, this was a one time thing?”

“Aye, love,” he murmured, the two of them swaying a bit closer to one another. “After tonight, I’m hanging up my great coat and leather pants for good.”

“Well, that’s a shame,” she said, her eyes dropping to focus on the way his tongue ran over his lips. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you in that get-up again sometime.”

“Perhaps,” he rasped, his lips tantalizing close to hers. “I could be persuaded to give you a private showing sometime, provided it follows a private swimming lesson.”

“How’s Monday sound?”

“Bloody perfect,” he exhaled before crashing his mouth to hers.

If they hadn’t already, Ruby’s neighbors were gonna call the cops with a serious complaint about the explosion of noise currently erupting from her friends.

The End.

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[callsign-mayhem]

i'm with the band (part 1)

Pairing: Bob Floyd x Female!Reader & Bradley Bradshaw x Female!Reader (final pairing to be revealed at the end...) Word count: 7.6k CW: Use of Y/N; reader wears Dr Martens, but that's the only specific detail.

You discover that your best friend Bob can play the drums, and since you have some musical gifts of your own, you decide to start a navy band. It's supposed to be a bit of harmless fun, but what happens when lines get blurred between you and Bob, feelings come to the surface, and a certain Rooster gets jealous?

This is a multi-part fic. Part two

‘If I’d known you could play the drums like that,’ you said, looping your arm through Bob’s. ‘I’d have suggested starting a band months ago!’ 

As the two of you walked across the near-empty runway, you mourned all the time you’d wasted already and wondered how soon you could get a move on with your idea. Bob was smiling shyly, eyes fixed firmly on the tarmac. You knew he didn’t think he drummed well enough to be in a band. You also knew he had a habit of being too hard on himself. 

It was pure chance that had led you to discover Bob’s affinity for music. You’d been standing outside the front door of his house with a box of doughnuts in your hand, ready to surprise your friend, when you’d frozen. 

Somebody was drumming—drumming well.

 It sounded perfect, not just messy noise and missed beats, and it was coming from Bob’s small garage. Resolutely, you’d hurried back down the stairs that led up to the red front door and crept across the well-kept lawn. Once you’d safely hidden behind a fern closer to the garage, you’d realised that a backing track was playing over a speaker, which Bob was drumming to. It was a Catfish and the Bottlemen song—one of his favourite bands. Even now—days later—you still weren’t over it; how your heartbeat had fallen in time with Bob’s drumming and how alive it had made you feel. 

And then there was the small matter of how good he’d looked doing it. 

Bob Floyd had been your closest friend in San Diego since you were first called back to TOPGUN many moons ago. Both of you were Weapons Systems Officers; this similarity was the gravitational force that had pulled you together, but how much you had in common kept you that way. With this being said, you were having a hard time justifying your body’s reaction when you peeked around the fern and into the garage that day. He was wearing a white t-shirt, the front of which was soaked with sweat, his hair was uncharacteristically mussed, and he wasn’t wearing his glasses. 

Eventually, you’d decided to announce yourself, but not before heavily debating whether or not you should just take yourself home and have a cold shower. In the days since, your brain had habitually dredged your unholy thoughts up from the dark corner you’d haphazardly shoved them into. The veins in his hands and forearms, the way his biceps moved when he hit the drums, the furrow of his sweat-slicked brow, his messy hair… It was too much. 

The two of you were nearing the changing rooms, where you’d go separate ways to shower and change. You knew if you let the idea of starting a band drop again, that would be it. Bob would have to give in eventually, so long as you were persistent. 

‘You’re so talented, Bobby.’ You said. ‘I can play guitar, and I’m an alright singer. We’d only need to find a bass player and a lead guitarist.’ 

Bob scoffed. ‘You’re more than alright, Y/CS. Now who’s the one putting themselves down?’

Your face heated up, and for once, you were glad that Bob struggled to maintain eye contact. 

‘Well, thank you.’ You murmured.

Momentarily disarmed, you walked a few paces in companionable silence. Surprisingly, Bob was the one to break it. 

‘I’m not saying no,’ he told you. ‘I’m just not thrilled at the idea of people hearing me play. I didn’t even tell you that I could.’

‘And that’s saying something,’ you grumbled. ‘Okay, let’s shelve it for now. What do you say we go out for drinks tonight, and we can brainstorm.’

Luckily, Bob wasn’t in the habit of saying no to his best friend. 

He probably couldn’t even if he wanted to. 

Summer was winding down, and although it was never freezing in San Diego, the evenings were beginning to get chillier. As you approached The Hard Deck and saw Bob sitting outside waiting, you were glad you’d decided to wear a jacket. 

He sat with his back to the bar, looking out over the sand and the ocean beyond it. The fiery sunset made it seem like the beach was doused with honey, and you were momentarily reminded why you loved your station so much. You didn’t want to startle Bob, who was—let’s face it—easily startled, so you walked around the car park and up the decking instead of going up behind him. He watched you close the short distance from the edge of the seating area to the table with an easy smile on his face. 

That’s how it always was with you and Bob. Easy. 

‘I was beginning to think I’d been stood up.’ He said as you took the seat opposite him.

‘Sorry. I was gonna drive, but then I decided it was too nice, and I didn’t know if we’d drink much.’

‘I never drink much.’

You reached over and ruffled his perfect hair. ‘I know, Bobby, but there’s a first time for everything.’

A Peroni was already waiting for you, and Bob was nursing an ice-cold Corona Light. He probably wouldn’t drink more than two tonight since it was a work night. Then again, he remained his sensible self on the weekends too. Jake and Bradley had tried countless times to get him to ‘let loose,’ and you’d backed Bob up every single time, telling them firmly that not everybody needed to get shit-faced to have a good time. Jake usually responded with some variation of ‘you don’t need a car to get places either, darlin’, but it sure helps.’ 

You took a sip of your pint, glad to find it had a dash of lime. Bob never forgot anything, least of all your drink order. 

‘So,’ you grinned devilishly. ‘The band.’

The corner of his lips twitched as he fought a smile. ‘There is no band.’

‘There is no band yet. I plan on changing that. I think we should make a poster to put up around base. There’s a notice board in the female changing rooms, so I’m assuming there’s one in yours, too. We could also put a few up in the barracks.’ 

Even though Bob seemingly didn’t want to start this band, he suggested asking Penny’s permission to put some in both bathrooms in The Hard Deck as well. 

‘While we’re at it, we could put a few up around town,’ you added. ‘Unless we want this to be a navy-only band.’  

Bob pushed his glasses up his nose and sipped his beer. You knew him well, including all his mannerisms and facial expressions. He was antsy and had the look he always had when Jake or Javy tried to extort personal information from him, like if he’d slept with anyone lately. 

‘There’s something you don’t wanna tell me.’ You stated. 

‘No, there isn’t.’ He tried to insist, but his heart wasn’t in it.

‘Look, Bobby. We don’t have to do this if it makes you uncomfortable. I’ll drop it now and never speak of it again.’ For whatever reason, you found yourself reaching out and taking his hand. It was cold from gripping his beer bottle. ‘But before you say yes to that with what I’m sure will be a massive amount of relief, I want you to know that you’re mega-talented. It’s not just a case of me thinking it—it’s an undeniable fact. If we find some decent bandmates and give this our all, we could have a lot of fun.’ 

Bob’s eyes were boring holes into the wooden picnic table. ‘I know we’d have fun, but would we have to play in front of people?’

‘If you really didn’t want to, we wouldn’t. But we’ve gotta find two more members and see if we can all work together before we even start thinking about that kind of thing.’ You squeezed his hand reassuringly. ‘It’s just a bit of harmless fun. What do you say?’

He met your eyes and smiled sheepishly. ‘Okay, fine.’

‘Yay!’ You shouted, practically jumping out of your seat to run around and hug him. 

You wrapped your arms around his neck from behind and leaned down so your face was next to his. After the initial shock had worn off, he reached up and put his hands over your forearms. It was the most awkward hug ever, but it was the best the two of you could do at such short notice. 

‘I’ll start working on the posters tomorrow when I get home.’ 

Bradley knew that you and Bob were close, and he understood why. You were both WSOs, both loved music, and you were both quiet. When the group was overly drunk or rowdy, or the conversation ended up in territories neither of you was comfortable with, you retreated into your own private world. Bradley had seen it happen more than enough times: the way you eased each other’s anxiety just by sitting close together, the knowing looks you shared when one of the daggers did something predictable, the inside jokes and references you made that left everyone else feeling like they were on the outside of something.

It was hard to ignore.

Bradley wasn’t as unruly as Mickey or as daring as Jake and Javy. He wasn’t as stern and fierce as Natasha and didn’t ramble about sports when drunk like Reuben. But he wasn’t a wallflower like you or Bob, either. He was something else entirely. 

Bradley prided himself on his ability to fit in anywhere. He could talk to almost anyone about anything, but still, he felt something was missing. He didn’t have one specific person he thought he was in tandem with. At first, he liked it. When he was young, he thought it meant he was just a social butterfly, able to jump from group to group and fit into them all. As he got older, he felt out of step, like one of his legs was longer than the other.

He wanted to find his person. The one he could sit with at the bar and judge everyone else with. The one he could communicate with through a single facial expression or private joke—whose mere presence would comfort him. 

Bradley was sitting inside with the rest of the daggers. They were only having a quiet few, then heading home. Natasha was thrashing Mickey at pool, and Jake was attempting to show Javy how he managed to get a bullseye almost every time in darts. Bradley and Reuben sat at a high table nearby, chatting about this and that. They were next to the window that looked out across the outdoor seating area, and Bradley had been glancing at you and Bob all evening. At first, he’d been waiting for you to wrap things up and come and join in. Then, when you came in to get another drink before heading back outside, he wondered if something had happened. Maybe it was something you didn’t want to talk to the rest of the daggers about. He watched as closely as he could without making it evident to the rest of his friends. Natasha was already convinced he had a thing for you—he didn’t feel like adding fuel to that particular fire today, thank you very much. 

Judging by the way you were talking exciting with your hands, he knew the two of you weren’t talking about something bad. Then, he saw you run around the table and hug Bob, and he wondered if he’d gotten this totally wrong. The whole group, aside from him and Natasha, were convinced that you and Bob were more than best friends. Jake and Javy teased you incessantly, and he was pretty sure that Mickey had started the bet on base as to how long it would take for the two of you to admit your feelings for one another. Bradley had ten bucks on this never happening because he was very close with Nat who was very close with you, and you always reassured her that you and Bob weren’t a thing. Bradley wasn’t a girl, but he understood that if you were lying, Natasha would know. Girlfriends always know when their girlfriends are lying, especially regarding guys. 

So Bradley was confused. He’d never seen you and Bob hug before, and you’d never spent a whole evening separate from the group, knowing said group was ten feet away. Something was going on, and Bradley was desperate to know what. Part of him wanted to take this to Natasha for a second opinion, but she would only accuse him of jealousy. 

Maybe he was jealous, but he didn’t need his best friend telling him that. How could he not be jealous when you looked, walked, and talked like that? When were you so intelligent, caring, and mindful of other people’s feelings? When you sang with him at the piano some nights, music coursing through your veins the same way it coursed through his?

Bradley had always known that you and Bob were close. He understood why. But just because he understood why didn’t mean he had to be okay with it. 

Bob was working out in the gym on base when you cornered him the next day. It had been a slow morning and an even slower afternoon, which was welcomed after almost a fortnight of incessant training courses. He was lifting weights with his headphones on when he felt a presence at the bottom of the bench. He finished his reps, lifted the barbell back onto its stand and sat up. You were standing with a stack of papers in your hands and a face that meant business, and you were saying something Bob couldn’t hear. He removed his headphones, just about catching the back end of your sentence.

‘—so all you need to do is put one in the guy’s changing rooms and stalls. Mav is taking some to Penny’s tonight.’ 

This was all happening very fast.

‘I thought you were making posters tonight after work.’ He said, scratching the back of his head.

‘I was, but I couldn’t sleep when I got home ‘cause I was too excited.’ 

It pleased Bob to see you so joyful and filled with passion. There was nothing he loved more. But he couldn’t help but feel strange about the whole band thing. You were never supposed to find out that he could drum, mainly because he didn’t think he was that great at it. He was embarrassed that you’d seen him so unfiltered, and in a way, it made him feel vulnerable. The prospect of other people seeing him in the same way made him more than a little nervous. On a daily basis, he blended into the background. The only person he stood out to most of the time was you; he liked it that way. He didn’t want to stand out to anyone else; he didn’t want anyone’s eyes on him. 

But he had to admit that making music with you did seem appealing. The two things he loved most in the world come together as one. If the band ended up being as good as you wanted it to be and you managed to score some gigs, he would find a way to be okay with it. 

Anything to keep that smile on your face. 

‘You wanna come over later?’ Bob asked. ‘We could order dinner, maybe try out a few songs. I haven’t heard you sing in a while, and you’ve never played your guitar for me.’ 

You flushed scarlet, and Bob wondered if you were just as shy when playing for people as he was. You hid it better than he did, like everything else. 

‘That’d be nice. We can start thinking about a setlist.’

‘I think we need to find some bandmates before we make a setlist.’

‘It doesn’t hurt to have some ideas for when we finally meet aforementioned bandmates,’ you said optimistically. ‘I think they’ll find our eagerness enticing.’

Bob couldn’t help but laugh. ‘You’re perfect, you know that?’

He wasn’t wearing his glasses, so it was somehow easier to keep eye contact. Like being half-blind made him more confident. He supposed if he couldn’t see your reactions clearly, he wouldn’t have to worry about what he said as much. 

‘Well, so are you.’ You replied timidly. 

‘My place at seven?’

‘It’s a date.’

Bob was only half blind, not totally. He saw your whole demeanour change when you realised what you’d said.

‘N-not a date,’ you stammered. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

He smiled. ‘It’s okay, I know what you meant.’

‘Okay,’ you breathed. ‘Your place at seven.’

Your cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and you looked everywhere but at him, but he thought you were adorable. 

By seven-thirty, you were scarfing egg rolls at your best friend’s place. It was his turn to pick the takeout, and he’d chosen Chinese. Your laptop was on your knee, and you were going through your ‘Songs That Would Wake Me From a Coma’ playlist, explaining to Bob what you loved about each one. He had a similar playlist, and whenever you played something that was also on his, the smile on his face got larger. He’d been smiling at you all day, and you could scarcely believe he’d been on the fence about starting a band together. He didn’t seem nervous now, and the two of you had fallen into your usual, easy rhythm. 

After dinner, Bob helped you get your guitar and amp from your car. You had a black Fender Dreadnought for playing acoustic, but since you’d be playing electric in the band, you brought your Gretsch. It was the same guitar Patrick Stump of Fall Out Boy played, and it was your pride and joy. 

Bob’s garage was perfect for band rehearsals. He left his car on the drive and used the garage as his music room since his house was relatively small. This was how he’d managed to hide his talent from you for so long. What reason would you have to go in his garage? 

It was soundproofed since drumming was hands down the nosiest hobby a person could have, and he’d outfitted the place with creature comforts: a mini fridge for sodas and snacks, a small leather couch with blankets and pillows, framed band posters on the walls, a tasteful rug, and, of course, his drum kit. You’d never played, but it didn’t take a genius to know that it must have cost a pretty penny. You could tell that Bob took good care of it, too.

‘Bobby, this is going to be perfect. We’ll be able to practise here.’ 

‘We’ll probably have to get some more kit. Mics, some more amps. Pedals.’

‘Any guitarist worth their salt will already have that kinda stuff. I have tonnes of shit in my lockup. Haven’t got a mic or a stand, though.’

‘We can cross that bridge when we come to it.’

‘We’ve been saying that a lot lately,’ you grinned. ‘There’s a lot of bridges in our future.’

You got comfy on the couch, and Bob perched himself on the stool behind his drum kit. He watched as you expertly tuned your guitar, fingers moving over the pegs with the kind of surety that only came with doing something a million times. 

‘What shall I play?’ You asked.

‘Play me your go-to when you’re just playing for yourself.’

Since you always played for yourself, you had no shortage of options. But you settled on your favourite: the solo from Wrong Side of Heaven by Five Finger Death Punch. It was short but tricky and had taken you months to perfect. Maybe you were showing off, but you were proud that you could play it, and you’d be damned if Bob’s shocked expression wasn’t worth it. 

When you were finished, he stood up and gave you a round of applause. You had no idea what to feel. Embarrassment or pride? A mixture of both? 

‘Damn,’ Bob breathed. ‘That was insane. You’re a total rockstar, Y/CS.’ 

‘I wouldn’t go that far,’ you chuckled. ‘But thank you. It took me so long to learn how to play that.’ ‘That’s like me and Psychosocial.’

You raised a brow. ‘Slipknot?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I didn’t take you for a Slipknot kinda guy, Bobby.’

‘I listen to a few of their songs,’ he explained. ‘But it’s more that they’re really fun to play.’

You gestured to his drum kit. ‘Well, go on then.’

‘No way,’ Bob shook his head. ‘I’ll screw it up in front of you.’

‘Please?’ You pouted. 

So you spent the next few hours taking turns playing parts of songs you knew, bonding over your shared favourites and introducing one another to new music. You were going to stop for the night, but then you discovered that Bob knew how to play some of the same songs as you, and you started playing together. 

You were the one who suggested starting a navy band—you knew it would be entertaining—but playing with Bob like this… There were no words to describe how incredible it felt. 

It was Reuben’s idea to go out for dinner that Saturday night, but now that day had finally arrived, Bradley regretted saying yes. It had been pouring rain all day, putting a pin in his plans to swim at the beach. Then, his dryer—which was second-hand and had always been temperamental at best—had finally packed up, with his soaking wet uniform for Monday still inside. The last thing he wanted to do was get himself ready and drive halfway across town to Little Italy, but every excuse he typed out to the group chat sounded meagre and childish. He ended up deleting them and getting himself in the shower, hoping that going out with his closest friends would lift his mood, even though he couldn’t be bothered to leave his house. 

Autumn was quickly closing in, and Bradley was glad he had a reason to wear his favourite jacket again— a vintage, fleece-lined Levi number covered in patches that had belonged to his dad. He took it from his wardrobe and laid it on his bed, along with a pair of black jeans, a Smiths t-shirt and his Chelsea boots. The day he’d bought—or rather, been forced to buy—those boots was still fresh in his memory. It wasn’t long after you’d all been called back to TOPGUN for the special detachment. In fact, it was only a few days after the daggers had received the news that they’d be staying in San Diego permanently. It was a day not unlike this one, and he’d been at the mall looking for a suit to wear to a wedding he was flying home for. He rounded a corner on his way to Starbucks into a head-on collision with you. He hadn’t known you long, only since that first night in The Hard Deck when everyone either reunited with old friends or made new ones. 

‘I’m so, so sorry,’ you gasped. ‘What an idiot, I’m so clumsy.’

Your shopping bags had fallen to the floor, and you were scrambling to pick them up, not having realised who you’d just bumped into. Bradley was so caught up admiring you in your long-sleeve dress and boots that he forgot his manners. He’d never seen you out of uniform and suddenly felt very cheated. 

You were gorgeous. 

‘No, it’s my fault,’ he insisted, crouching down to help you gather your things. ‘Sorry, Y/CS.’

Your head snapped up, and you met his gaze, a shy smile taking hold of your delicate features. ‘Rooster,’ you breathed. ‘How didn’t I know that was you?’

The two of you stood up at the same time, almost bumping heads. ‘Beats me,’ he chuckled. I’m big enough to see.’ 

Your laugh was a little more on the awkward side, and he briefly wondered if you’d missed his sarcasm. 

‘Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw,’ you’d said toyingly. ‘Callsign: Beanpole.’

Until now, Bradley hadn’t thought you capable of a jibe like that. You were quiet at work, only speaking when necessary, as though you believed that if you didn’t have anything to add to the conversation, it wasn’t worth speaking at all. The most he’d seen you speak was with Bob about work, and with Coyote, since you were his backseater. 

He was sure his laughter echoed through the entire shopping centre. 

‘You shopping for anything in particular?’ He asked, desperate to keep the conversation going and that smile on your pretty face. 

‘New boots,’ you replied. ‘Dr Martens have brought out their new Fall collection.’

Bradley glanced at the boots you were wearing and realised he’d just learned a little something about Lieutenant Y/N Y/L/N. ‘I just bought a new suit,’ he told you. ‘I could use a nice new pair of shoes to go with it if you’d like some company.’

‘Well, sure. I don’t see why not.’ You blinked, taken aback.

Bradley couldn’t understand why you were surprised that he wanted to spend time with you. Before heading to the Dr Martens store, the two of you stopped at Starbucks. He explained that he was initially heading there before he so rudely knocked into you and asked if he could buy you a coffee by way of apology. You’d told him he didn’t need to apologise but accepted the coffee anyway. 

‘I’ll have an iced white mocha, please. If you’re sure.’ you told him politely. 

‘An iced white mocha,’ he echoed. ‘Sounds fancy.’

‘What do you normally order?’

‘Usually just a flat white.’ The disgust on your face as you glared up at him had him laughing all over again. ‘What’s that face for?’

‘You don’t go to Starbucks and order a flat white!’ You exclaimed. ‘That’s like going to a strip club and chatting up the security guard.’ 

Bradley guffawed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this much. And he couldn’t believe that your quiet and composed self was the cause of it. 

‘What should I get instead, then?’ He asked. ‘Since you’re such an expert.’ 

‘Do you like iced drinks?’

‘Of course.’

You thought for a moment. ‘What about caramel?’

‘Yup.’

‘Then you should try an iced caramel macchiato.’

Nobody had been waiting behind you when you came into the store. Now, four people were waiting behind you and Bradley. The server had been trying to get your attention for a while, and someone tsked impatiently. 

‘An iced white mocha for Y/CS here, and I’ll take an iced caramel mach- machi… whatever she just said.’

‘Macchiato,’ you corrected. ‘It’s macchiato.’

Bradley gently nudged you with his elbow. ‘It’s leviOsa, not leviosA.’ 

It was your turn to nearly pee your pants from laughing. 

‘Can I get a name, please?’ The server asked frustratedly. 

‘Beanpole.’ Bradley smirked. 

You were still giggling like a couple of school kids when you got to the Dr Martens store. You already knew which boots you wanted, so you only had to ask the shop assistant to fetch your size. While you waited, you browsed the men’s section with Bradley, pointing out styles you thought might suit him. 

‘Wait!’ You exclaimed. ‘I know exactly which pair would look the best on you.’

Your excitement enamoured him; he probably would have bought anything you handed him to make you happy. It was a stroke of luck that the shoe you gave him was decent, something he probably would have picked for himself: a pair of black Chelsea boots, subtle but sexy with their thick soles and shiny leather. He’d never imagined himself in a pair of docs before, but he could undoubtedly imagine himself in these. When the clerk returned with your shoes, he asked if she wouldn’t mind fetching a size 12 of the ‘edgy-looking Chelsea boots.’ She’d smiled at his description, and so had you. 

‘Let’s just hope I can pull them off as well as you.’

You flushed, batting your eyelashes at him. If it were anyone else, he’d have thought you were being demure on purpose, just to be cute. But it wasn’t anyone else; it was you, and you were cute. 

He wondered if you’d notice that he was wearing them today. Usually, you pointed them out when he did, and he liked it when you singled him out from everyone else and called him Beanpole, leaving everyone else slightly confused. Even Bob wasn’t in on that joke. 

Once he was dressed and ready, he headed out to the Bronco. He had to run to avoid getting drenched, and he once again questioned his decision as he pulled off his driveway. Then he thought about you and realised he didn’t have music playing. For the duration of his journey, he sang along to old Bon Jovi songs, grinning like a fool at the thought of seeing you. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

It was only natural that you and Bob had travelled to the restaurant together since your house was on the way. Bob had an umbrella in the back of his pickup, so he went to your front door instead of texting to let you know he’d arrived. You received him in the most exquisite dress he’d ever seen, made even more jaw-dropping by the fact it was you wearing it. It was a deep navy, with a cowl neck and a ruffled hem. The top material layer was peppered with tiny crystals that gave the illusion of a beautiful starry night. Your hair fell in loose curls down your back, the top half pinned up with little star-shaped clips. As for your makeup… well, that was another story entirely. You’d worn more than usual, but you’d been careful not to make it seem overdone. 

Bob was speechless. Objectively, he’d always known you were a gorgeous woman but seeing you all dolled up like that had him pulling at the collar of his shirt, hoping to loosen it a little. 

‘Bobby. You look handsome.’

Since the restaurant Reuben had picked was fancy, Bob had opted for black suit pants, a white button-down, and a collared leather jacket. Standing next to you, he felt he must look overwhelmingly disappointing. 

‘And you look like a movie star. I should’ve laid a red carpet.’ Bob replied, sounding more confident than he felt. 

You shifted from one foot to the other, beaming like you’d won the lottery. 

‘I thought I’d meet you at the door with this,’ he explained, waving the umbrella. ‘I’m glad I did. Wouldn’t want your pretty hair gettin’ ruined,’ he stammered. ‘Or your dress.’

‘That’s kind of you, thanks. I don’t even know if I own an umbrella.’

‘Do you have a jacket?’

‘Yeah, let me just turn the lights off and grab it. I’ll be back in two seconds.’ 

As you turned around, Bob diverted his gaze from your figure, focusing instead on the colourful flowers you had growing in hanging baskets on your porch. 

You came back wearing a leather jacket similar to his. He held the umbrella over the two of you the whole way down your driveway and opened the passenger side door so you could climb in. He was momentarily worried that you’d struggle to step into his truck with heels on, but then he realised you weren’t wearing heels. You were wearing a pair of white Dr Martens with silky white ribbons as laces—in retrospect, he should have expected that of you by now. 

When you arrived at Juniper and Ivy, the host took you to a large table in the back corner near three floor-to-ceiling windows. It wasn’t dark yet, but the stormy weather made it feel like the middle of the night. The table was set for eight, with impressive settings and flickering candles. Mickey and Natasha had already been seated. You sat opposite her, next to the window, and Bob tucked you in. 

‘Thanks, Bobby,’ you said as he sat beside you. ‘You’ve been a true gentleman tonight.’ 

‘Anytime.’ He mumbled. 

It took a tremendous effort to ignore the sensation of Mickey and Nat’s eyes boring holes into the top of his head as he scanned the menu before him. However, it was harder to ignore the feeling of Mickey kicking him in the shin beneath the table. Bob glared at him over the rim of his glasses, silently asking what the fuck, man? Mickey raised his eyebrows in silent response, nodding his head at you. Thankfully, you were so absorbed in the cocktail menu that you hadn’t noticed. Then, the unthinkable. Mickey nodded at you, then back at Bob, then subtly did the thrusting action. He bit his lip and rolled his eyes to paint a detailed picture of what he was trying to insinuate. Natasha snorted into her glass of water, causing you to look up. 

‘Did I miss something?’ You questioned. 

Mickey’s eyes dropped to his lap as though he’d been chastened. 

He was prevented from having to answer, thanks to Bradley and Javy arriving at the table, instantly distracting you. 

‘Beanpole,’ you smirked. ‘If you keep wearing those boots, you’ll wear ‘em out.’ 

Bradley made straight for you, leaning over to kiss your cheek. You seemed just as surprised as everyone else. 

‘Show me which pair you’re wearing tonight.’ 

You swivelled in your seat and hiked your dress up so he could see your boots. The sight of the smooth skin above them was enough to turn Bob’s stomach to mush. He needed to pull himself together. 

Bradley tapped the tip of your boot with the tip of his to show his appreciation while Javy took the spot next to Bob. Bradley walked around the table next to Mickey, presumably so he could see you better. 

Bob wasn’t an idiot. If he’d showed up and the seat next to you was already taken, he’d have done the same thing. 

‘So,’ Bradley started, an insatiable smirk plastered to his face. ‘We’re waitin’ on Payback and Bagman?’ 

‘Reuben just texted me,’ Mickey responded. ‘They’re five minutes out.’ 

You leaned over slightly—your head almost resting on Bob’s shoulder—and showed him the 

cocktail menu. ‘I wonder if they make good sex on the beaches here.’ 

‘How did I know you were gonna order that?’

‘I can’t help it,’ you groaned. ‘They’re my weakness.’

‘I’ll order you one when the waitress comes over.’

‘We should’ve got a cab,’ you countered. ‘Then you could’ve had one too. I promise you’ll like them. It’s glorified fruit juice.’ 

‘We could go for drinks at that bar by your house sometime,’ Bob offered. ‘It’s walkable. That way, I can try one, and we don’t have to worry about driving.’

Bob genuinely wasn’t expecting you to get as excited as you did. ‘Yes! Why haven’t we thought of this sooner?’ 

Your conversation was (rudely) interrupted by Bradley, setting an ornately decorated cocktail in front of you. Bob had been so wrapped up in your proximity and the sweet scent of your perfume that he hadn’t noticed Bradley leave the table. 

‘Sex on the beach.’ Bradley stated, seemingly quite proud of himself. 

The spell was broken, and suddenly, it was no longer you and Bob. His eyes flicked from you to Bradley, noticing how you mirrored his pleased expression. 

‘Damn, Bradshaw, at least take me out to dinner before you start suggesting that.’ 

Everyone who had been paying attention laughed, even Bob. His was nervous, and when Natasha shot him a pointed look, this nasty sensation only increased. It was a look that said get her before it’s too late. 

You were only kidding, right? You’d have said the same thing if Mickey had bought you the drink instead of Bradley. Right? 

When Reuben and Jake arrived dressed to the nines, the waitress came over and took a drink order and your starters. Bob made a point of ordering you another cocktail. When you winked and asked him if he was trying to get you drunk, he felt as though all the balance had been restored in the world once again. 

‘Y/N,’ Natasha said. ‘You wanna come to the bathroom with me before the first course arrives?’

You shrugged. ‘Sure, why not?’ 

You waited for Nat at the top of the table since she had to walk around. She linked arms with you when she got to you, and the two of you headed off toward the bathroom, completely unaware of all the eyes on you.

Bob was aware. It was all he could do not to get up and walk out when Jake opened his mouth.

‘Who knew Y/CS had a body like that underneath her uniform?’ Jake drawled. 

Javy seemed to share Jake’s thought process. ‘I know, right? She looks like a damn supermodel in that dress.’ 

Bob accidentally locked eyes with Bradley, who was doing a worse job of hiding his anger than he was. He wished you’d both said no to this dinner and gone to the bar near your house instead. He wished he was listening to you sing or playing the drums to your guitar at his house. 

He wished he wasn’t jealous that the other guys had started paying attention to his best friend. 

He wished this meant anything other than what it did because he knew things were about to get a lot more complicated. 

Natasha looked drop-dead gorgeous in her pale blue trousers and matching oversized blazer. Her hair was loose and wavy, and you were obsessed with the smoky eyeshadow she’d done.

‘That outfit is to die for,’ you told her. ‘I love the colour on you.’

‘Thank you,’ she smiled. ‘But let’s talk about that dress. You look stunning.’

You scoffed. ‘This old thing.’

She opened the bathroom door for you, and you stepped inside. Nobody was in there, and before you knew what was happening, Nat dragged you over to the bench on the other side. 

‘Why does a bathroom need a loveseat?’ You wondered aloud. 

She sat you down and took both your hands, leaning forward excitedly. For what, you had no idea. 

‘We need to talk about the dress. And Bob. And Rooster.’ 

‘What do you mean?’

Nat rolled her eyes, squeezing your hands urgently. ‘Don’t be cute. Tell me you didn’t see all those guys turn around to watch you walk away just then!’

‘They did?’ 

‘Yes! Not to mention Bradley acting like a lovesick fool the second he saw you. Or Bob staring at you like you hung the fucking moon in the sky!’ 

This was too much. ‘Okay, system overload.’ 

‘You need to open your eyes.’ 

‘I need you to back up a few steps. How was Bradley acting like a lovesick fool?’

‘He didn’t even say hi to anyone else. The man didn’t even look at us. He went straight for you, and started on that little inside joke you have about your boots. And then he bought you that drink, which, by the way, he’d already gone up to buy before you even said anything out loud. He remembers from that time we all went to that seafood place, and you had the bartender make you a jug for the table.’

This was all well and good, but it didn’t necessarily mean he was lovesick, and you told Nat so. 

‘And as for Bob, that’s another story. That man worships the ground you walk on, and if you can’t see it, you should ask to borrow his glasses.’ 

It was almost comical that Nat was so riled up and self-assured. You could believe that Bob had a little crush. Hell, you had a little crush on him, too. But there was no way someone as confident and vibrant as Bradley could have a thing for you. That was one step too far into crazy town. 

‘They’re gonna wonder where we’ve gotten to.’ You said, hoping she’d just drop this.

‘We need to talk about it at some point. I’m dying here, Y/N.’ Natasha insisted. 

‘Breakfast date tomorrow?’

‘Yes. I swear to God, if I’m wrong about Bradley, I’ll give you a hundred bucks.’

‘Oh, you’re on.’

‘But if I’m right,’ she grinned. ‘You have to do the same.’

Another cocktail was waiting for you when you returned to the table. Bob’s brow was furrowed, and you had to stop yourself from reaching out and smoothing the worry line above his glasses. For the second time that evening, it dawned on you just how handsome he was.

The rest of the meal passed without great event. The food was to die for, and everyone commended Reuben for his spectacular choice of restaurant. The atmosphere was great; friends surrounded you, and Bradley and Bob seemed to be taking turns buying you cocktails. Nat was drinking an old-fashioned, and the boys had taken to buying her one every time they went up for you. You watched as she reached for her phone and typed out a text, not in the least bit surprised when your phone vibrated on the table. 

You were glad Bob was chatting with Javy and Reuben about work because it would have been awkward if he had seen your phone now.

Both of you were giggling like idiots, utterly unaware of everyone else around you. Mickey was reading Nat’s phone over her shoulder, and Bradley watched you like a hawk. If you’d looked up at that moment, you’d have seen him gazing hungrily, eyes flitting from your face to the bare skin your dress didn’t cover. 

The cocktails had gone to your head quicker than usual. You’d lost count of how many you’d had, what with Bradley and Bob���s efforts to keep a drink in front of you at all times. The more you thought about it, the more it did kind of seem like a dick-swinging contest. 

After dessert had been eaten and the cheque split seven ways (Bob insisted on covering your portion), the dagger squad devised a new plan. Those who had been drinking wanted to keep on drinking, and the designated drivers wanted to start. Bob, Bradley, Mickey, Jake and Reuben had all driven, and they wanted to lose their cars and meet up with everyone at The Hard Deck to continue the night. Well, Bob wasn’t given a choice because if he was paying for your meal, you were taking him drinking and paying for everything he wanted. Plus, you didn’t want to go if he wasn’t going to be there. 

So, you and Nat were going with Bob to The Hard Deck—he would leave his car there for the night, get a cab back to your place and spend the night in your guest room. This way, you could drop him back to his car tomorrow morning. Nat insisted she also wanted to stay at your place, like a slumber party. Clearly, the drinks were hitting her, too. You were sure Mickey would have invited himself as well had he been in the car with you. He loved being an honourary girl. Bradley, Mickey, Javy and Jake were taking their cars home and meeting everyone else there.

Bob gave you and Nat the umbrella and ran to start the truck.

‘So,’ Nat giggled, wiggling her eyebrows. ‘Floyd is spending the night at your place.’

‘In the guest room.’

‘Still. He’s gonna be ten feet from you all night. How ever will you control yourself?’ She teased.

Bob’s truck was a monster, and you’d always thought it didn’t match his personality—a black Dodge Ram 1500, basically big enough to live in. Like his house, he kept it incredibly clean, and you were always scared of breathing inside it. 

You opened the back door for Nat, and she clambered in. Just as you were about to close the umbrella and climb in after her, Bob said: ‘Get in the front, Y/CS. I’m not a goddamn Uber driver.’ 

Well, that was it. Nat was literally doubled over in the back seat, and you ended up crouched on the pavement next to the truck in stitches. Maybe it was the alcohol and the good vibes you were tipsy from, or perhaps it was because Bob wasn’t even trying to be funny with that line—he was deadly serious. Either way, you couldn’t stop laughing. 

Bob had to get back out of the truck and help you into the front seat, so he was soaked when he got back behind the wheel. 

‘Oh, Bobby,’ you giggled. ‘Look at you. I’m so sorry.’

Your inhibitions were long gone, so it made perfect sense in your mind to reach out and take Bob’s glasses off and wipe them clean on your dress. Then, you took his face in both hands and gently swiped the water off his cheeks with the pads of your thumbs. He’d closed his eyes, completely lost in the feeling. You’d momentarily forgotten that Natasha was in the backseat until she cleared her throat. Gently, you put Bob’s glasses back on for him and then busied yourself by connecting your phone to Bluetooth. 

‘Okay,’ Nat said. ‘If you two are finished, I need another drink.’ 

You struggled to connect to the audio system, so Bob quickly typed his password in and handed you his phone. Opening up Spotify, you hit shuffle on his liked songs. Rollin’ by Limp Bizkit came on, and you gasped loudly. 

‘This is a fucking great song. One of the best ever.’ 

Bob laughed as you reached out and turned up the volume, bopping your head along as he reversed out of the parking lot. You didn’t expect Nat to know it or like it, but she did, and you sang along obnoxiously the whole drive, first to Rollin’, then to Break Stuff. 

‘You know what they say, Bobby?’

He indulged you: ‘What’s that?’

‘Live, laugh, Limp Bizkit.’

A/N: I can't express how excited I am about this series. If only you knew what I've got hidden up my sleeve! I've been thinking about it for a long time. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future parts!

[booksteaandtoomuchtv]

Burn The Ships (2/?)

THIS IS/WILL BE MATURE.

NOW WITH BEAUTIFUL COVER ART BY @snowbellewells

1 | AO3 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

Summary: Pan and his pack of gruesome werewolves torment and put an end to individuals who find themselves unlucky enough to be a guest of Neverland. After being betrayed by her ex, Emma finds herself the game in this month’s hunt.

Captain Hook has never found the sport particularly alluring, preferring to spend his change far from Pan’s cruel crew. When he catches the scent of his mate, he is forced to join in the hunt to find her before the others can.

Saving her will mean betraying Pan and no one betrays Peter Pan and lives to tell about it.

@anmylica, @deckerstarblanche, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4 , @pirateswhore, @stahlopp, @teamhook, @tiganasummertreee, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert

Emma was led from her room toward the all-too-familiar small garden that surrounded Pan’s compound. She spent her last several changes pacing the perimeter, yearning for the freedom to run and to hunt. It had been an improvement from the first few changes, where she was left in that tiny, lifeless room with hardly enough space for the smallest pup to pounce. Unable to even pace, she had curled up on the wooden boards, suppressing the pathetic whimpers that threatened to escape.

Escaping the kennel had felt like such a relief - the feeling of the damp jungle brush underpaw was too welcoming to notice the nefarious plans Pan was putting into motion. She realised, now, that he had let her run to prevent her growing too weak. Hunting a wolf unable to walk would spoil the sport. So, over the last few months, Pan had sent better meals before the changes and let her into the impenetrable garden under heavy wards and guards to build her strength.

Before they approached the final door that would release her out on to the grounds, the young boy leading her down pressed his hand against the opposite wall. A shimmering purple door appeared before them, the exit discovered entirely too late to escape. The boy pushed it open and the rich smell of wet earth met her on the warm, damp air that blew in behind him before she stepped out. This was the closest she had been to freedom since Neal - or, apparently, Baelfire - traded his crime for her innocence. Yet, the number of boys ambling around just beyond the threshold made it clear that any attempt at escape was pointless - it would just be a preamble for the chase to come. 

Pan’s second-in-command, Felix, stepped out from the crowd as the magical door Emma stepped through disappeared behind her. It was a sickening result of the captivity that the familiar face soothed her nerves for a moment. When she realised what just happened, she welcomed back the fear that had been present with her all morning. 

The crowd quieted, excitement and hunger building before Felix spoke. “Get a good whiff now, boys, because this is tonight’s hare.” He turned his vicious smile on Emma and her stomach dropped. “You will be given an hour to transform and hide before the hunt begins. You may go wherever you choose.” He stepped closer, voice low and threatening, “There is nowhere safe on this island and no way off the island.” 

Abruptly, he turned and spoke loudly to everyone gathered once more. “WINNER TAKES ALL.” Shouts and cheers rose around her as Felix muttered without turning back to her, “Run, little rabbit.”

And, Emma ran.

§§§§      §§§§      §§§§      §§§§      

The jungle seemed more dense and angry this evening. The plants pulled and tore at Killian’s fur as he made his way silently through the thick underbrush. His paws sank deep into hungry mud with every step he took as he stalked a pair of wolves, attempting to get close enough to catch their scent but not so close that they were aware of his presence on the island. 

Would he be able to sense his mate before he was close enough to pick up the scent? 

For the hundredth time today, Killian tried to reconcile the exciting realisation that he had found his mate with the terrible truth that Pan had been near them. Were they one of his pack? Would he see them tonight with the others tearing apart some innocent Pan set them on? 

Had Killian imagined the scent? The way it had woven itself into his mind and kept him distracted seemed less real as the day wore on. 

A low growl rumbled through Killian, as every part of his wolf insisted he knew it had been his mate. Even if the man was unable to accept something that felt so impossibly good could be anything more than a trick. He reminded himself that there was no magic that could mimic the bond of a mate. The scent, the connection, was undetectable to those outside of the bond before it was accepted by all parties. Assuming they would accept the bond - would anyone want him? accept him?

A howl erupted from somewhere behind him as Pan’s pack of Lost Boys made their way loudly through the island, playing their twisted game. Most of the sounds were coming from the Bowline Point, but there was something tugging at him to go back toward the caves. 

He looped back, avoiding Pan’s pack for now, as he followed that persistent little pull.

§§§§      §§§§      §§§§      §§§§   

Running all out in her wolf form as she tried to find a place to hide before Pan unleashed his hounds was like rich, dark chocolate - as bitter as it was sweet. The burn of air through her lungs as she pushed her body hard after months of being trapped made her feel strong and alive for the first time in months. The snap of branches breaking under her paws came less frequently as the thick jungle gave way to pebbles and rocks. The trail in front of her spread out and divided into two directions; one leading toward the ocean and the other was littered with caves.

The sea was filled with mermaids who were more dangerous than the bloodthirsty wolves behind her. 

Emma made her way toward the entrance of a cave at random, going deeper into the cavern until she reached a twisting maze of tunnels in which she could easily get lost. Which was exactly the point, if she survived the night - she would be asked to join Pan’s pack of lost pups. But, if they assumed she’d died… Emma felt a glimmer of something bright - a fool’s hope, perhaps - fuelling her as she ran deeper into the tunnels. 

She ran until she could no longer smell the sickly sweet smell of decay that was everywhere on the island - still, she ran deeper into the dark, stale air of the caves. She ran until her limbs were shaking, her body - pushed too far after months of captivity - collapsing on the hard rock of the cave floor. For a moment, she thought she could smell the sea with the fruity warmth of a cedar plank before exhaustion claimed her.

§§§§ §§§§ §§§§ §§§§

White fur shimmered against the blackness of the cave.

Killian’s heart caught in his throat as he approached.

The other wolf didn’t move.

Please, please, be alive. He begged of her, of the gods, of anyone who was listening and could do something to change the scene that was unfolding before him.

Despite his pleas, the white wolf continued to lie unnaturally still. Lowering his head to hers, he thought he heard her draw in a weak breath. He stayed as still as possible as he listened for another. The moment drew out before him, lasting longer than the lifetimes he’d spent trapped in this realm. He watched her belly for movement, noting that too many ribs were showing while he waited for any indication that he hadn’t imagined that inhale.

Breathe, love. He thought as he nuzzled her soothingly behind her ear. Please, just breathe. And, I can take care of the rest.

Her chest rose. Killian felt the relief and fear loosen their hold on him, anger rising in their absence -it was now very clear she had been the target of tonight’s hunt. I’m going to rip out his bloody throat.

He needed to get her out of these caves, back to the Jolly, where he could help her and keep her safe. Then, he was going to set this realm ablaze and put an end to Pan.