#cs wish realm

[donteattheappleshook]

Dare I say forever...

Part 3 of Lover of the Light (AKA Wish Baby)

Summary: 

He’d turned the tavern upside down trying to find her, had scoured the streets for any sign of her golden hair, of the eyes he’d only just been gazing into. But she was nowhere, and the panic started to settle. No. No, it has to have worked. That was why they found the bloody star in the first place - light magic, no tricks, a wish that would send them both home. But she’s not with him. 

The reunion of WishEmma and SilverWishHook after the events of Lover of the Light and Ghosts that we Knew. Also affectionately (and agressively) nicknamed Wish Baby

Rated E

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr: 1 2

HAPPY SUPER BELATED BIRTHDAY @the-darkdragonfly 🎁🎉🎂🎈​ 

This fic is suuuuuuper late but that’s because (as you know) it turned into a 34k word monster that had to be turned into two parts/chapters. You’re the loveliest person ever and I hope you like this conclusion you’ve been demanding for two years! 😘

Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you @elizabeethan for betaing this fic that is way longer than it was supposed to be when you agreed to read it! 🙏🙏

And thank you @kmomof4 for being a second set of eyes when I decided to write this story out of order! 💕

********

Part Three

“You’re too bloody old for this,” Killian grunts, shoving at a handful of bloody roses - because of course it had to be roses - and their bloody thorns, reaching for another gap in the criss-crossing wood that creaks under his weight. He’s too old to be climbing trellises in the middle of night to sneak into a lass’s bedroom - especially a bedroom in a bloody castle. 

He heaves himself up another step, hook getting caught in the tangles and he struggles to free it without falling on his arse. His arms hurt. His legs hurt. His back. His breathing is so loud that he worries they’ll hear him across the garden where two guards are supposed to be stopping people like him from breaking in and whisking away princesses. He should tell Emma to fire them.

A thorn catches his palm and he curses, sweat beading on his temples as he covets the strength he had as a younger man, the energy. He needs it now. He needs to find her. One moment he’d been holding her hand in that tavern, the light blinding as he tried to keep his eyes on her face for as long as possible, and the next, she was gone. The Emma who’d come here had disappeared, but this Emma, his Emma, he still doesn’t know where she is. 

He’d turned the tavern upside down trying to find her, had scoured the streets for any sign of her golden hair, of the eyes he’d only just been gazing into. But she was nowhere, and the panic started to settle. 

No. No, it has to have worked. That was why they found the bloody star in the first place - light magic, no tricks, a wish that would send them both home. And then a new panic had set in. Home. If she’d been sent home, back to the castle where the other Emma had just used magic in front of her mother…

And so here he is, climbing the trellis beneath her window like a suitor in a storybook, only older, and wearier, and sweatier. But he embraces the exhaustion, the burn of his limbs, because it keeps the worst of his fears at bay. What if she’s just gone? What if she was never sent to another land? What if he can’t bring her back. What if she’s lost to him forever?

He doesn’t want to think of what that would mean, of what it might do to him to have her ripped away like this. He fears who he might become without her, who he was when he met her, the emptiness that had consumed him, that she had filled. She’d changed him. 

He reaches the window, grunting embarrassingly - though there’s no one around to hear it - as heaves himself over the edge of her balcony. It’s dark, the blinds are closed and he can’t hear anything inside. He calls her name, tries the door when she doesn’t answer. It’s locked. Why the hell is her bloody balcony door locked, he groans. Probably to keep people from climbing up the trellis into her room.

Slipping his hook into the keyhole he curses when it takes him longer than he’d like to pick the lock. He’s out of practice at breaking and entering. When it finally unlatches the door creaks open under his hand and he winces, everything feeling too loud.

“Swan? Emma, love, are you there?” He tries to ignore the stirring dread when he receives no answer, searching in the dark. He’s never been here before, their meetings always in the tavern or on his ship. The room smells like her, her scent clinging to the walls, haunting the space as it does his cabin every time she has to leave. He calls her name again, checking the bed, searching the sitting room attached. Her chambers are bigger than his whole bloody ship. 

She has to be somewhere. He’ll search the whole bloody castle if he has to. Unfortunately his fear makes him impulsive; his desperation makes short-sighted; and his lack of practice makes an idiot. Because when he opens the door to the hall, prepared to go storming off looking for her, he forgets to listen, forgets to be silent, or armed, and he comes face to face with two guards - or face to back. 

Bollocks. He tries to back away slowly, but it’s too late, the guards turning, their swords drawn as swiftly as his own. So much for sneaking about the palace unnoticed - he’ll have to find her quickly. He disarms the first two easily - not killing them, he knows Emma is close to some of the guards and he doesn’t think she’d appreciate him doing away with her household staff - but one of them shouts and more come running. Five, who he manages to take down, then ten, harder this time, a few still standing when more come, and soon it seems the whole bloody army is in her bedroom. 

“Get your bloody hands off of me,” he spits as four hold him down, force him to his knees, disarmed, bloody and bruised. A new guard walks in, older than the rest, a commander more than a fighter now he imagines. 

“We found him breaking in, Lord Humbert. It looks like he came up through the balcony.” 

“Tell whoever’s stationed outside to report to my quarters,” the man says in an accent close to Killian’s own. “The bloody idiots can explain how they let someone get into the princess's room.” Killian likes this one, the name familiar. He just can’t place it.

“Care to tell me what you’re doing here?” Humbert asks. 

“I would,” Killian snarks. “But I’m in a bit of a rush, actually. I have people expecting me. You know how it is.”

The guard actually looks half amused, glancing at his clothes and at his hook. “Aye, well, I don’t think you’ll be seeing anyone anytime soon. The punishment for attempted kidnapping is death, Captain.” 

Killian gives him his most charming, sarcastic smile. “Well it’s always nice to be recognized.” 

“Your title won’t do you much good when you’re facing the gallows, I’m afraid. Take him away.” 

“Wait!” he says through gritted teeth before the guard can turn away. “I wasn’t trying to kidnap her, I was trying to bloody warn her.” 

He stops, frowns. “About what?” Killian sets his jaw. He can’t tell this man anything without revealing Emma’s magic, possibly putting her in even more danger. Humbert waves his hand and he’s being dragged to his feet as the man walks away, a wolf on the back of his armor. “You’re Graham - the one who saved her mother.” 

Graham stops, turns back, raising a hand again and the soldiers holding him relax their grip only slightly. “How do you know that?”

“Emma told me. She also told me that you taught her to track when she was little. Her governess got angry because she would come back covered in mud and leaves.” 

“Emma told you?” Graham asks, frowning deeply, stepping closer. 

“Aye, she cares for you - said you were like a second father to her. Which is why I’m sorry about this.” The man hardly has a moment to register his words before Killian pulls a sword from one of the guards’ belts, hitting Humbert in the face with the hilt and knocking him out cold. The other guards are caught off guard, Killian making quick work of them. “Sorry,” he says to them before taking off down the hall - Emma’s made him soft-hearted. “True love and all.”

***

Emma nearly falls into the water. One moment she’d been sitting with Killian in the room that belonged to another version of her, and the next she was stumbling across the deck of a ship. She blinks, looking around at where she is, recognizing the Jolly, the open sea around her. She touches the fabric of her clothes, the riding pants and vest. Hers. She’s back. They must have done it - her Killian and his Emma. Running below deck, she throws open the door to his cabin. 

“Killian?” she calls. But there’s no answer. The ship is silent, empty, eerily so. She searches the bosun’s room he’d spent so many nights in, the galley, the hold, the deck. He’s not here. Why isn’t he here? She makes her way to the railing, looking out at the docks. This isn’t the port near Misthaven. “Where are you?” 

She lets her magic flow through her, humming under her skin, extending beyond her but not far, holding tight to it. Killian, where are you? Emma lets it pull her to the edge of the ship, looking out into the dark water below, her reflection visible in the bright moonlight, the waves rippling through it before the image shifts and she nearly gasps. 

Mirror magic. She hadn’t meant to use it but she can see him coming through beneath her reflection, as though it were floating to the surface. The tavern. Misthaven. She doesn’t know what his ship is doing here, why he’s not on it, but she’s going to find him. Emma raises the main sail and makes her way back to the helm, looking up at the stars, the constellations he taught her. She points the ship east, back to him. She’ll find him. She’ll find him and she’ll tell him everything.

He hadn’t been at the tavern when she arrived a little over an hour later. The barkeep had seemed confused when she’d asked if he’d seen Killian. “He was ‘ere earlier - with you. Ran outta ‘ere like a bat outta hell. Assumed you wen’ with ‘im.”

“Do you know where he went?” 

The man shook his head. “Maybe ‘e’s lookin’ for you too.”

“Damn.” If he did, then he’s at the palace, and she needs to find him before anyone else does. She takes the barman’s horse back to the castle, hopping off and sneaking around back to the servants quarters to avoid being seen. She needs to sneak in, find Killian, and sneak him out before anyone even knows she’s there. 

The door to the kitchen is unlatched, the cook notorious for leaving it ajar, livestock often making their way into the pantry searching for snacks. She’s relieved to find it empty, creeping through the room to the staircase that leads to the great hall. If she has to search floor by floor, she will. 

She decides it’s her best bet, starting up the winding staircase. She can hear the sounds of guards above her, worried they’ve already found him, and she picks up her pace, taking the steps two at a time. She barely hears the footsteps, barely hears the sharp sound of metal being unsheathed before she nearly crashes into him.

Someone catches her just in time to avoid her plummet back down a hundred or more steps, and when she looks up to see her savior, she can’t believe it. “Emma?” 

“Killian!” she throws herself in his arms, holding him tightly and he freezes. But then she’s pressing her lips to his and his arms wrap around her, drawing her closer, letting her push him back against the wall as she kisses him like she thought she’d never see him again. He’s here. He’s safe. 

“Is it really you?” he asks, pulling away enough to brush his thumb over her cheek. Emma nods furiously, beaming and crying all at once. “Yeah, it’s really me.” 

“Where did you go? Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. It’s a long story, but, Killian, we have to go. If they find you here -”

He nods, solemnly. “I know. Come on.” 

She takes his hand, and he just looks at her, that air of disbelief still in his eyes. Then he looks at her hand and she knows he’s thinking the same as her. She thought she’d lost him, and she doesn’t resist as he pulls her back to him, kissing her one more time, just because it won’t be the last. 

A clamour comes from upstairs, footprints and armor and blades and Killian breaks away, drawing his own sword. “This way!” she hisses, leading him down, but she freezes, footsteps coming from below as well and she turns wide, frantic eyes on him. 

“It’ll be alright, love.” She doesn’t know if she believes him this time… 

“Unhand her!” a voice shouts from above them.

They both whirl around, each with a protective arm thrown out across other, leaving them standing side by side. “Stand down,” Emma orders and Killian takes another step forwards, sword in hand as the guard looks at her, hesitant, uncertain and she orders him to stand down again. Why aren’t they listening? 

“Swan,” he whispers, hook pressing into her hip, trying to hide her behind him. “They know about your magic.” 

She only lets the panic take over for a moment, simmering low in her stomach, heart hammering, before she channels it. Light begins to simmer in her palms. “Then they have all the more reason to listen.” 

“Emma!” Her magic vanishes, the familiar voice sending a pang through her. They both turn, but it takes her a moment to raise her eyes to his, to see how he’ll look at her now, if there will be fear there, or worse, hatred. Killian raises his sword at the guards there, led by an older man with a scar on his chin. 

“Dad.”

“Emma, we were so worried,” he says. Killian’s sword lowers slightly as her father steps forward and his eyes settle on the pirate holding her back, on his weapon. “Step away from my daughter.” He’d kill him. She knows he would. She can see it in his eyes, magic or no, he’s her father and he would destroy anyone who tried to hurt her.

“Dad-” Killian drops his sword but doesn’t leave her side. 

“Seize him!” 

“Dad, wait!” He doesn’t listen, guards grabbing Killian, dragging him off of her, and she reaches for him as her father pulls her to his side. “Dad, wait, no!” She’s crying now, shouting at him as she grabs for Killian’s hook. 

He gives her a small smile that she knows he doesn’t feel, knows is just for her. “It’s alright, love.” He brings her hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it before he’s dragged off. “I’ll find you,” he calls. “I promise. I’ll always find you.” 

Emma turns to her father, grabbing at his tunic. He’s staring after Killian, an expression she can’t read on his face, but not the abject hatred and murderous intent that had been there a moment ago. 

“Dad, please, don’t hurt him.” He finally looks at her, brow pinched in confusion, and she says the words she’d been so afraid to confess to anyone but Killian. “I love him. Please. Please, don’t hurt him. I’ll do whatever you want.” His eyes go wide, mouth falling open and she lets her head fall against his chest, somewhere that had always felt so safe. His hand comes to the back of her head, a reflex born of years of soothing her tears and her words are muffled against his shirt through her tears. “I can’t lose him. I love him. Please.” 

***

The cell door beside his opens, another prisoner tossed in with a grunt and a few choice curses at the guards. The women in this kingdom certainly do have a way with words. “And here I thought I had the place to myself,” he says because even now, for all his years and all the time he’s had to learn better, he still hasn’t. 

“You won’t have any place for much longer,” the guard says to him. Ah yes, those pesky gallows they keep mentioning. 

“Ou, ominous,” the prisoner next to him says, laughing as the guard walks away. She’s a woman, he can’t see her, a thick stone wall separating their cells, but her voice is light despite its bite and her hands hang out the bars she leans against, distinctly feminine. “What did you do to piss them off?”

“Trespassing.” It’s not completely untrue. He did trespass in the castle. And he’d trespassed where he had no right being the moment he thought he could be a part of Emma’s world.

“Hanging for trespassing?” she demands. “Man, this kingdom is rough.”

“It was a bit more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

“Look, I’m not really in a chatty mood, what with my imminent death and all.” 

“Ah, I get it. First time?” 

He scoffs. “Not hardly.”

“Always nice to meet a kindred spirit.” Killian can hear her smile and he finds one tugging at the corner of his lip. He likes this woman. She reminds him of Emma in a way, the snark and the dark humour. “So, you’re not in a talking mood,” the prisoner says when he doesn’t answer. “Are you in an eating mood?” She sticks her hand out, offering a roll of bread. “It’s not much of a last meal but I was able to snag it off the guard's plate when he was tossing me on my ass.” 

Killian takes it, not having eaten since this morning, hand slipping out of the bars to reach for it. “Thank you.”

She gasps when his hook flashes against the iron, but not in fear. “You’re the pirate who tried to kidnap the princess.” She sounds almost impressed.

“I wasn’t trying to kidnap her.”

The prisoner laughs. “Sure, and I wasn’t trying to rob that carriage.”

“I wasn’t -” he sighs. It’s pointless. There’s no reason to argue. 

“Okay, I’m sorry. You weren’t trying to kidnap her. So what were you doing?”

“I was trying to find her.”

“... to kidnap her?”

“To warn her.” 

“... That you were going to kidnap her?”

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I am, thank you.” He doesn’t answer. “So are you going to tell me what you were trying to warn her about?” 

“Why would I do that?” 

“Because there’s nobody else to talk to and I might be the last person you talk to. You know, deathbed confessions and all that.” 

He scoffs. “I’ve been in more dire straits than this and found a way out.” He begins doing just that, searching for a weakness in his cell, anything that could help him get free - or anything he could use to overpower the guard.

“And go where? This palace is a fortress.” 

“To her,” he says to himself, but she hears them. 

“Who? The princess?” He doesn’t answer. “Oh, do you want to tell me about it?” 

“About what?”

“Come on now. You don’t seem like a stupid person, but you’re stupid enough to break into a castle to try and talk to her. And to break out of the dungeon and go right back to the same castle to find her. I mean, it’s not difficult to figure out. Life-in-danger stupid is the kind of stupid that’s only brought on by one thing.”

“Love,” he says quietly. 

“Yeah. So, do you want to talk about it?”

He sighs. “What would be the point? I’m going to lose her no matter what now.” Either her parents will kill him, or they’ll find a way to keep her away from him forever.

“Because… Say you do die tomorrow; say this is your last night. If you can’t be with her, don’t you at least want someone to know your story? Don’t you want someone to be able to tell her that you spent your last hours thinking about her? I would.”  A pang pulls at his chest. He hasn’t feared death in a long time, he’d not had anything to lose, to leave behind. “But hey,” she says, “maybe I’m just a romantic.” 

“I… I promised her it would be alright. I knew it was a risk from the beginning.” 

“So why did you do it?”

A small smile tugs at his lips. “You’d understand if you met her. I knew it was a risk, but I also knew that I had no chance, the moment I met her…”

***

Her father takes her down to the kitchen, dismissing the rest of his guards as he leads her to the table. He sets to making a cup of hot chocolate - ‘The best remedy for when my girls are upset,’ he used to say - and puts it down in front of her. She’s still crying and he’s looking at her like he doesn’t know what to do. It’s the first time in her life he hasn’t had an answer. 

“Sweetheart, talk to me. What’s going on?

“Are you going to execute him?” The thought is so horrible, the question so harsh that her fingers shake around the mug. 

“I… no. No, we won’t do anything until we know what’s going on. But you have to tell me.” Emma takes a shaky breath, trying to calm herself. “You… You said you love him.” She can tell the sentence is hard for him, both to say out loud and to wrap his head around. She nods. 

“Isn’t he a little old for you?” 

“Dad.”

It’s his turn to take a deep breath. “But… When…How long has this been going on?”

“A year.”

“A year?” Emma nods and he runs a hand over his face, processing - poorly. Her father clears his throat, stands and digs out a bottle of liquor. “We might need something stronger than cocoa for this conversation.” He pours two generous servings and drinks deeply from his. “Maybe you should start at the beginning.” 

She takes the second and nods. “He saved my life.” 

***

Killian told her the story of how they met; how she’d fought a pirate twice her size and twice her age, how brave and strong she’d been as she held her own until the very end. He told her how he saved her and brought her back to his ship, how she’d stayed the night and then never left. He told her of the months they spent on the Jolly Roger, how scared she’d been of her own magic, how beautiful, and awe-inspiring it had been to watch her come into her power. 

He told her how she’d been the one to kiss him first, and he told her of the fear and doubt that had held him back. He told her how Emma fought him, every terrible excuse he could think of, and then asked him to let her try and love him. And he told her how she had. He told her how he fell in love with her, how every moment he spent with her made him love her more. 

He told her how they knew she eventually had to go home, and how it destroyed both of them to leave the world they’d created behind. He told her how they would meet every fortnight in a tavern near the kingdom, and how they sailed away whenever they could. 

He told her about their last meeting, their last night where she’d asked him to run away with her, to take her somewhere she’d never be found, to love her and be with her and forget the rest of the world. He told her how they both knew that was something they could never have.

“The next time I saw her, she wasn’t her. She was another Emma, one from a world where she and another version of me had somehow defied the odds. They’re happy, together, in love.”

“Another her?” 

“It’s a long story,” he sighs. “There were wishes and stars involved.” 

“Would you run away with her? If she asked you again?”

He thinks for a long moment. He hadn’t wanted to make her leave her family, her home, her birthright. But ever since he thought he lost her, now that he fears he’s lost her again… “Aye. If it was truly what she wanted, I’d sail away with her in a heartbeat.”

“What if she asked you to stay?”

“I don’t see how that would ever happen.” Where he is now attests to that. 

“But if she did ask, would you?”

He feels a slight tug at his heart. It’s something that’s bothered him since that first time Emma asked him to run away with her, the first time he’d kissed her on the deck of his ship - she’s never asked him to stay. Perhaps it makes sense, she fits better into his world than he does into hers. But that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t give up everything for her - the Jolly, his crew, his life at sea…

“I’d be with her anywhere she wished rather than spend another day not by her side.” 

The woman behind the wall is quiet, and he lets the moment hang in the space around him. It’s strange, to have confessed so much to a stranger, to feel such a weight lifted from his chest for it. But he feels relieved, as she’d suggested, that someone besides the two of them will know their story, that his love for her was real, and true, and that he loved her until his last moment. 

“It’s morning, you know,” she says softly and he looks up, no light in the dungeons apart from the burning candles. But his body can feel the change in time, trained the way it has been for centuries to wake on his ship, to keep track of days and years in Neverland, and he realizes he spoke all night. “And listen.” He does, but there are no sounds apart from the dripping of water somewhere in the damp caves. “No drums.” She’s right. There are no drums announcing his execution, no guards come to take him to the gallows. “It looks like you might get that second chance after all.” 

He hears the clattering chime of keys, a lock being turned and then the door beside him swings open. The prisoner steps out, coming to stand before his cell. She’s older than he expected, long silver hair with only a few remnants of black, ivory skin still lovely despite the passing of time, and eyes the colour of sea glass. 

The woman rests a hand on one of the bars, looking at him with an intensity that holds him in place, keeping him from reaching for the keys she holds so near. “If everything you said is true, Killian-” Those eyes bore into him, a kindness behind the strength… Emma’s eyes. “Then I’m glad my daughter found you.”

***

David and Snow sit in their chambers, at the small table in the sitting room they’ve always used for these kinds of conversations, the difficult ones that called for debate and decisions. The Arguing Table, the king had once dubbed it. But now neither speaks, both lost deep in thought at the revelations that have been brought this morning. Their daughter has magic, something she’d been so afraid of them learning that she ran away, terrified of what they’d do to her. 

They failed her. Their own fear and trauma passed on to the person they love most in the world. ‘Emma is the product of true love,’ Blue had told Snow when she’d gone running to her after Emma - or, not Emma - had used magic and then disappeared two days ago. ‘That’s the most powerful magic of all, and it creates a light strong enough to vanquish any darkness.’ 

They’d been scared, of course they had, the sudden power unexpected and bringing back so many horrible memories. But the fact that she believed they would turn against her, fear her and not the unpredictability of magic, it breaks both their hearts. They swore that if they found her - ‘When we find her,’ Snow had insisted - they would make it right. 

And she’s in love. Their beautiful, wonderful, perfect daughter is in love - and she kept it from them. Snow had feared Emma would never open herself up to love again, not after that horrible man had come and toyed with her heart when she was so young and left her without a reason, so heartbroken that David had nearly hunted him down and killed him himself. Snow had nearly let him.

Their stories match up; after hearing what Emma told David, Snow believes that everything Killian told her in the dungeon was true, right down to her wanting to run away with him. She loves him so much that she would give up her home, her kingdom, them for him. And it stings, of course it does. But she’s their daughter, Snow knew she wouldn’t need them as much one day, that she’d find her own happy ending apart from theirs. Her husband is still not as convinced, staring at the fire with his hand at his chin, oscillating between disbelief and indignation. 

“I still want to kill him.”

“David!”

“I’m not saying that I will. I just don’t like the idea of some pirate twice her age coming here and seducing our daughter away.” 

“He’s not twice her age,” Snow says, as patiently as she can despite her exasperated sigh. “And she’s a grown woman, how old they are doesn’t matter. Besides, I think from what they told us, it was the other way around as far as who seduced wh-”

“Ah!” he grimaces, holding up a hand. “I don’t want to hear that.”

“Tough.” He looks up at her with those sad, hurt, puppy dog eyes he uses so well without ever meaning to. “He didn’t steal her away, Charming. He’s the reason she came home to us at all.”

Her husband, Prince Charming, knight and King of Misthaven, pouts, and slouches back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “So what, I’m just supposed to accept a pirate as a son-in-law?”

“If they decide that’s what they want to do, then yes. But this isn’t our parents’ generation, they don’t have to get married.”

“Oh, he’ll marry her,” David says and this time it’s a threat.

“Whatever they decide, I think we have to accept that he’s the one she’s chosen. And if we want to keep our daughter in our life, then he’s part of the deal.”

“But he’s a thief!”

“So was I.” 

“He’s not of royal blood!”

“Neither are you.” He looks almost offended and Snow reaches for his hand across the table. “You didn’t hear the way he spoke about her, Charming… I think it might be true love.” 

He sighs, shoulders sagging, turning his hand to hold hers. “I know.” 

“You know what that would do to her if we tried to separate them - what she would do. We’ll lose her, David. I don’t want to lose my daughter.” He nods, squeezing her fingers affectionately and she knows he’s on her side. He always is - it just takes him a while to realize it sometimes.

“I suppose I could knight him,” David says, lost in thought again, clearly still not over the idea of having a pirate for a son-in-law. 

Snow lifts their entwined hands, pressing a kiss to his thumb. “Whatever makes you feel better, darling.”

***

Emma hasn’t slept, up all night looking for Killian, then finding him, then losing him again and then sitting up with her father, telling him the story of how she met and fell in love with a man he doesn’t approve of. She knows he doesn’t approve. But he would probably never approve of anyone she chose to be with, overprotective since the moment the Evil Queen had threatened her, before Emma was even born. She fears what he would do to Killian if he knew about the baby. 

Her hand settles over her stomach. He’d promised he wouldn’t harm him, at least not until they decided what to do about the situation, and he made her promise not to go looking for Killian. It was a promise she’d almost broken seven times in the few hours she’d paced her room before sunrise. What does he mean ‘when they decide what to do about the situation’? Would they send him away? Keep him locked in the dungeon for the rest of his life? 

The relief she feels over her parents not fearing her magic pales in comparison to the anxiety that consumes her at the thought of being separated from Killian. She knows if they send him away, she’ll find him, and if they keep him in the dungeon, she’d get him out, or he’d get himself out and take her away. And her father knows it too. Which means the only true way to keep him from her would be - no. He promised. 

It’s just after dawn when she’s summoned to the throne room, her footsteps echoing across the empty hall, no one but the King and Queen sat in their thrones, waiting for her. Her mother stands, crossing the room to take Emma’s face in her hands, kissing her cheek and then hugging her tight. 

“I’m so sorry,” she says quietly. “I’m sorry you were so afraid to tell us.” Her voice is choked with tears she always lets herself shed, mighty queen or not. Snow releases her, looking at her again, eyes watery as she strokes her cheeks. “We love you, Emma. You’re our daughter. And we want you to be happy, no matter what that looks like.” Her eyes dart up to her mothers, hope blooming in her chest where her heart beats rapidly. “I know you told your father, but I want to hear it from you. Is he really what you want?”

“Yes,” she says without any hesitation. “More than anything, Mom… I love him,” she pleads and the queen’s tears begin to fall as a smile spreads across her face. She looks back at her husband, nodding. 

“Bring him in.” Emma’s heart jumps into her throat at David’s words, turning to the large doors that are being pushed open by two guards. Another two file in, followed by yet another two who lead their prisoner inside, each holding one of his chained arms.

“Killian!” His head snaps to her, looking stunned to find her there, the wind knocked out of him as she sprints across the hall to throw herself at him. He can’t hold her, not with his hands cuffed in front of him, but he tucks his chin into the crook of her neck, speaking into her hair. 

“Are you alright?” 

She nods, not ready to let him go. “Are you?” He nods as well, but grunts when she squeezes him tighter. ‘Six guards seems a little excessive,’ she hears her father’s voice behind her, but she’s too busy pulling back to look at him, the cuts and bruises she’d not seen in the dark last night. ‘It was… necessary, Sire.’

Killian smirks. “Don’t worry, love, I’ve lived through worse. I just don’t bounce back as quickly anymore as I did when I used to sneak into young lass’ bedrooms.” Emma shakes her head at him and lifts a hand to his brow, tracing the curve of his temple and cheek and lets her magic seek out his pain, settling on his chest where she lets it flow out of her and into him, healing them all. He breathes a little sigh of relief. “Thank you.” She can feel the way the guards tense at her display of power, inching back slightly. 

“Release him,” Snow orders. “And leave us.” The guards do as they’re told, freeing his wrists and leaving the throne room, shutting the door behind them. Killian’s arms come around her immediately, holding her close until her father speaks again.

“Come forward, pirate,” he orders and Killian looks up over her shoulder at the king, then at her. 

“It’s okay,” she promises, because for the first time since she returned from that other reality, she has hope it will be. Emma slips her fingers between his, walking by his side to the thrones, her father doing his best to loom over him, to intimidate him, despite the way his hand is grasped around his wife’s. 

“My daughter says she’s in love with you.” Killian turns to smile at her, barely a movement but she catches it before he’s looking seriously at the king again. 

“Aye. And I love her.” 

“And I’m sure you realize why this might pose a problem for us, both as rulers and as her parents.” 

He smirks. “Ah, yes, the pirate thing.” Emma nudges him with her elbow and he squeezes her hand. So not the time for snark. Her mother seems amused though, pressing her lips together in a telling way. 

“Yes, that. Obviously we can’t have a pirate courting the heir to the throne. And as she’s so determined to be with you, and we don’t wish to lose our daughter to a life at sea, it comes down to one question. Are you willing to remain in Misthaven and give up your life for her?” 

Killian speaks at the same time as she does, refusing to let them force this choice on him. “Wait -” 

“- Aye.” 

No, no this isn’t what she wants. She doesn’t want him to have to give up the life he loves for her, the only one he’s ever known, his home, the sea… His thumb brushes over the back of her hand when David presses him. 

“You’d give up your title? Your reputation? Your ship?” 

She knows her dad’s just testing him now and she opens her mouth to call him out on it - there’s no reason he can’t have a ship even if he lives here. But Killian turns to her, eyes so full of emotion it stops the words dead. “I already have.” 

Her heart is pounding in her chest, in her throat as she stares at him in disbelief. What does he mean he already has? She doesn’t get a chance to ask, David slapping a hand down on the arm of his throne. 

“Then it’s settled. You’ll be a knight.” 

“Well, nothing’s been made official, yet. We can figure out what works best -” Snow starts but he continues.

“And you’ll get married.”

“Only if you want to. And only when you want to.” 

“We’ll have to do something to make sure the story is told to the kingdom the way we want it to. Rumours could -”

“David.” He goes silent finally. “We have plenty of time for all of that. For now, let’s just give them a moment, alright?” 

“I still think he’s too old for her.”

Killian is still looking at her, nothing but love and hope in his eyes and she doesn’t know what to say, what to ask. What does he mean he gave it up? She thinks of the Jolly, empty and abandoned in that port not far away. Killian is never far from his ship, never leaves her unguarded. He brings their entwined hands to his lips, kissing the back of hers and she hardly notices her parents leaving the room, the hall empty now, just the two of them and her voice echoes despite how softly she speaks. 

“Killian… Did you give up your ship for me?” 

He doesn’t break her gaze. “Aye.” 

Her heart is racing again. “When? How? Why?” None of the questions seem big enough to capture the scope of what he’s telling her, what she can’t wrap her mind around.

“When you were ripped away from me and sent to that other bloody realm. It’s how we got you back. I traded the Jolly for a wishing star.” 

Emma frowns. “Traded? To who?” 

She can see the apprehension that creeps over him, but he doesn’t falter. “Blackbeard.” 

“What? Why would you do something like that? She’s your home.” 

“Don’t you know, Emma?” She only stares, waiting, aching with guilt at what he gave up for her, what else he’s going to give up. “My home isn’t the Jolly Roger. It’s you. She’s nothing but planks of wood and a sail. That ship was my home because the only life I wanted to live was aboard her. Now that life is here, by your side - if you’ll have me.”

She’s crying now, tears slipping silently down her cheek. “I didn’t think that you’d want to stay, not when it meant giving up a life of adventure for court politics and dances.” It was why she hadn’t told him about the baby either. She didn’t want to tie him to her, to land out of obligation.

He smiles softly at her and she can see the tinge of hurt in it. “You never asked.” 

“I didn’t want you to have to give up anything for me.” 

His smile is sweeter now and he reaches to brush away her tears. “You were willing to give up an entire kingdom, a crown, and your family for me. Is it so unreasonable to believe that I would do the same for you?” He leans in to kiss her but she stops him before their lips can touch, a hand on his chest. 

“Wait. I want to say something before you kiss me and I forget everything I’m thinking.” He gives her an amused smirk but nods. “When I was in the other reality, I met another version of you.” 

“Aye. I had a similar experience.” 

“He told me something.” She remembers the younger Killian’s words, ones she’d been so afraid to believe. But he’s given up so much for her and she needs him to know that it’s not just him, that he’s not the only one who found his home. “He told me that I’m your happy ending. But before you say anything,” she cuts off the words that had started to come out of his mouth and he shuts it. “I want you to know… that you’re mine.” 

His eyes water at her confession, smile wobbly as he beams at her. “Now can I kiss you?” 

“Yeah,” she laughs and he lunges forward, smile capturing hers in a way that she knows he’s here to stay. She never should have doubted it at all. 

***

“I could get used to this, you know,” he tells her as they make their way up to her room, much to her father’s irritation - ‘We’ll get you set up in some quarters-’ ‘David.’ - and his amusement. 

They’d spent the day patiently sitting through meals and plans and agreements with her parents, Killian constantly thrown off guard whenever a servant would appear, as though by magic, and offer him something to eat, or refill his cup when it was empty - something he would have to watch out for, lest he accidentally get sloshed in front of her father. 

The halls they walk through now are ornate, carved stone and gilded windows, art the likes of which could buy a thousand ships decorating the walls. “I can’t believe you were going to give this up for a cabin and a galley.”

Emma snorts, hand holding his hook as they walk, swinging it between them. “One day in a castle and you’ve taken to the life?” she asks, parroting his words from so long ago. Killian only smirks. 

“It’s a hard life to resist when it comes with such a lovely face,” he flirts and sees her cheeks flush even as she rolls her eyes. He reaches out and brushes a thumb over her blush. “And such a lovely colour.” He continues to trace along her jaw. “And such a lovely neck,” he says, fingers ghosting along the line of it. 

Emma’s tongue slips out to run over her lip as her breathing shallows and he feels a pang of desire tug him closer. He’s not touched her, not properly, in over a week, and with the adrenaline of the last few days finally fading, he’s overcome with the need to feel her beneath his hand and mouth. He traces her collarbone, fingers inching towards the swell of her breasts, following the curve of the lace that hides her from him. “And such lovely -” 

She pulls him down the hall, the last few meters to her bedroom where two guards stand outside, the same he’d done away with last night. “You can go, thank you,” she tells them, pushing the door open and dragging him inside. Killian can’t help the smug smirk he flashes at them before she shuts the door.

She grabs for him, tugging at the clasps of his vest as she scolds, “You can’t touch me like that in a hallway where my parents live and where there are a hundred guards constantly watching us.” 

He raises an amused brow, shucking his coat and vest as she starts on the buttons of his shirt. “If this is your reaction, love, I think I very much can - and will.” He doesn’t give her a chance to answer, hooked arm wrapping around her waist, lifting her and spinning them so he can press her against the door. The wanton little gasp she gives when her back collides with the wood goes straight to his cock and he presses the hardening length into her as she wraps her legs around his hips, watching her bite her lip before claiming it for himself.

Gods he missed her. His mouth slants over hers finding her tongue and growling into her when her hands reach for his belt, tossing it to the floor and starting on his laces. This is hardly the way he’d intended for their reunion to go but her grip is already vice-like around him and he’s shoving her skirts up around her hips. 

She strokes him hard, as though she can read his mind when she says, “we can go slow later.” There’s filth in her eyes and in her promise and he’s going to bloody lose his mind if he’s not inside her another moment. Killian takes her hands, forcing her to release him and pinning them above her head with hand and hook, the motion so familiar, too familiar. 

He stops, memories of her - another her - splayed out on his desk while he fucked her like this and he knows she said Emma wouldn’t mind, but he does. His desire is replaced by guilt, and fear of her reaction when he tells her. Because he has to tell her. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks, sensing his change in mood. 

“I…” He looks away, releasing her hands and they settle on his shoulders to steady herself as he lets her down carefully. “I have to confess something to you.” 

“What is it?” Her voice is full of concern, for him and only for him, her hands gentle on his cheeks, stroking through the silver patches in his beard she knows better than him now. “You’re scaring me a little,” she says and he makes himself look at her, heart heavy. 

“When the Emma from the Land Without Magic came here in your stead, she sought me out for help and I... I thought she was you and we shared… a dalliance. I’m sorry, love. If I’d known - I should have known.” He expects anger, fears hurt, but instead she sighs in what sounds like relief, a small smile at the corner of her lips before she rises on her toes and presses them to his. “You’re not angry?” he asks, pulling back in surprise, and relief. 

She shakes her head. “You thought she was me, didn’t you?” 

“Aye.” 

“And you had no reason to think she wasn’t - I mean, she is me.” But she wasn’t. And that was what tore him up inside. “And, it would be hypocritical of me to be jealous.” He looks at her in question. “I thought… I thought you’d been cursed, given fake memories by the Evil Queen.” 

“The Evil Queen?” She nods, his heart frantic at the thought of what danger she might have been in. 

“I was terrified, and he - you - made me feel safe,” she says, hands gripping the collar of his shirt. “Like you always do.” He strokes a hand through her hair, glad that there was a version of him there to help her, to make sure she came back to him in one piece. He wouldn’t trust her safety to anyone else. “So if you’re guilty of something, then I suppose I am too. But I’m glad she found you, that she had you by her side because I don’t think I’d have made it through that ordeal without you either.” 

“Emma,” he says softly, cupping the side of her face and kissing her brow. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“And neither did you,” she says firmly. “I think that maybe you and I, Killian and Emma, are meant to find each other, to save each other, to fight for each other, no matter what world or circumstances we’re born into. We belong together. Always.” 

His chest feels as though it was going to burst, swelling with the love he has for this woman, love that no time or place or distance or curse could ever falter. “I like the sound of that.”

“Good.” 

He kisses her again, softer than before, hand gentle as he explores the length of her arms and back and waist through her dress. They have time for slow now. “You’re entirely over dressed,” he tells her and she nods, smiling as he reaches for her laces and begins to pull them free, mouth at her neck and then her breasts when he sends both dress and shift to pile to the floor. 

“Now that,” he comments, looking over her shoulder, “is the biggest bloody bed I’ve ever seen in my life.” Emma laughs, one of the favorite sounds he knows he can draw from her. He scoops her up again, hand and hook wrapping her legs around his waist. “I say we make proper use of it,” he suggests, crossing the room. 

He drops her on the mattress, watching her practically disappear beneath the thousands of pillows scattered over the blankets. He crawls over her, tossing them all aside one by one as he digs her out and she giggles. “First thing to go when I move in are these bloody pillows.” 

Emma raises a brow, biting back her smile. “When you move in? That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?” 

He narrows his eyes playfully, dips his head to nip at her shoulder. “I believe I’ve all but been ordered to, love.” He nips her again, lower this time, teeth grazing over the swell of her breast. “And if there’s one thing a captain knows, it’s that orders must be obeyed.” 

“Well, if they must, they must,” she says, long suffering and he kisses her quickly before sitting up to shuck his shirt, reaching for his brace. “Wait.” He stops and finds her watching him nervously, face flushing and he knows that expression. She wants something and she’s too embarrassed to ask for it. 

“What is it?”

“I… Killian told me something else.” 

He almost expected to feel jealousy, her blush and her hesitation making him think that he told her something in a very similar position to that in which they find themselves now. But he only finds curiosity, realizing it’s a rare and intriguing situation he finds himself in for her to have been with a version of him who didn’t share their history, who may know things about her that they’d not shared yet or that Emma doesn’t even know about herself. He remembers the ‘yes, captain’ that had fallen from the other Emma’s lips, something he’d not known he wanted to hear or that he would enjoy so much.

“I imagine he told you many things, he’s a very wise man,” he teases, lowering himself back down over her. She rolls her eyes a little but some of her anxiety wavers. He kisses her, chaste and sweet. “What is it, love? I’m not jealous.” 

“He said that you take your hook off because you think I won’t like it - that most women are afraid of it.” 

“Aye.” Insightful bastard, isn’t he? 

Her eyes soften, fingers tracing the silver in his hair she’s so fond of as she brushes it back from his face. “Killian,” she sounds almost annoyed. “I’ve never been afraid of your hook. It’s as much a part of you as your hand or your wrist, or… any other appendages,” she flushes again and he smirks. Emma brings a hand to his cheek, eyes soft, serious. “I love every part of you, alright?” 

He nods. “Alright.” 

“Good. So only take it off with me if you want to. Not because you think I do. I know it makes you feel safer to have it on.” He was touched that she’d noticed, though he ever said anything, but after so many years of living at sea, at risk of attack at any moment, being caught without his brace and hook left him feeling vulnerable in more ways than one. 

He leans down, lips falling over hers gently. “Thank you.” Emma reaches for him when he breaks the kiss, pulling him back down to her and presses her mouth to his. She kisses him slow and deep, mouths wide and tongues searching, Killian lowering himself over her as he tries to get closer. His stomach tightens at the small sounds she makes when her breasts press against his chest, when his hips lie flush with hers, the long, low moan she lets out when she feels his cock hardening against her. 

He trails his mouth along her neck, tongue hot and wet against her skin as he tastes every inch of her. She gasps when he rolls his tongue over her nipple, pulling it into his mouth to nip and suck slowly, lazily and he can feel her growing more frustrated beneath him, clinging to his hair and back. Killian smiles against her skin, he knows that when she gets like this it’s so easy to make her come, that he’ll be able to do it again again on his fingers and tongue and cock. And it makes him wonder. 

The high, choked sound that leaves her when he glides the rounded curve of his hook over her breast makes him growl low in his throat and he does it again, dragging the sharp tip in a slow circle around her nipple. She hisses out a ‘yes’, writhing slightly beneath him and gods he doesn’t think his cock has ever been so hard in his life. 

He slides the edge over her stomach and watches her press her lips together in anticipation, nodding when he hesitates above the apex of her thighs. ‘Please’. The sight of her seaking her release on his hook is something he never thought he’d crave so desperately, and it drives him almost mad with lust. 

His mouth closes over the peak of her breast again, hook between her legs, rolling over that sensitive bundle of nerves in time with the desperate rocking of her hips as he brings her to the edge once more. Her mumbled, incoherent pleas of his name and for more nearly make him spill himself in his leathers like a still wet-behind-the-ears lad. She’s always had this effect on him, the only one who seems to be able to defy his age and his experience and make him so bloody quick off the mark.

When he can see she’s nearly found her release, just at the crest of that clifftop, he slides between her thighs, thrusting into her and feeling her come on his cock. “Gods, you’re bloody brilliant, Swan,” he curses, rocking into her and relishing every exhausted little moan of pleasure that she lets out when he pushes back in. He can feel the ripples of aftershocks trembling around him. “Can you keep going, love?” he asks, watching the lazy way her back arches under him, her brow pulled low over tightly shut eyes, not wanting to push her past her limit with how tired she no doubt is. 

He’d not meant it as a challenge, but he can see the way one flashes in her eyes when she opens them, narrows them at him, and then she’s pushing at his shoulder. He lets her roll him onto his back and he sits up when she falls over him to capture his mouth with hers, holding them both upright as she glues herself to him and kisses him until she draws a low moan from his chest. 

She ruts her hips against his, a strangled cry falling from his lips as she smirks. “Can you?” He’s at a loss for words when her hand wraps around his length, rising and sinking down over him. His hand fists in her hair, drags her mouth back down to his and kisses her as she rocks against him. They pant and moan and gasp against each other’s lips, breaking away only enough to curse or speak words of praise and encouragement and pleas into the air between them as she moves over him. 

He can tell that she’s close, the sounds leaving her faster and she pushes him down onto his back, leveraging herself on his chest as she rides him towards her release. She’s not a princess, she's a bloody goddess, golden hair falling around her shoulders, nails digging into his skin as she takes her pleasure, bringing him to the brink of his own. 

He can’t not touch her, sliding over the length of her stomach, feeling each rise and fall of her ribs, closing his hand around the soft skin of her breast, thumb rolling over her hardened nipple. He traces up her neck to cup the back of her head when he feels her start to tremble around him, pulling her down to slant his lips over hers as he comes, hard and sharp and leaving him shaking, tasting her release on his tongue as she follows him over the edge.

“Gods, I missed you,” he breathes as she collapses over him. They lay panting for a long time, Emma’s weight a pleasant comfort over his chest and hips as he draws patterns over her back. When she eventually rolls off of him, he pulls her to him, tucking her back snugly against him and pressing a kiss to her ear. 

“I think I’m a fan of this whole confession thing,” she says, still breathless and exhausted and he laughs. “Anything else you feel the need to get off your chest?” Emma teases. 

“Not at the moment, love, but I’m sure I’ll be able to think of something once my heart doesn’t feel like it’s going to burst out of my chest.”

“I have one,” she says after a long pause and he can feel the shift in her mood. “I may have accidentally stolen the Jolly Roger back.” 

“What?” He lifts his head and she looks over her shoulder at him. 

“Yeah. I came back on board and it was empty and I brought it here to find you.” 

“Bloody hell.” He wants to laugh. No doubt he’ll probably have to face Blackbeard at some point over it, but he’d not gone back on their bargain. Blackbeard had left the ship unattended and so it was taken from him. He beams at her, pressing a kiss to her lips. “You’re unbelievable.” His heart feels lighter. While he’d have traded it a hundred times over for the woman in his arms, he can’t shake the joy at having his ship back.

“Does that… change anything?” 

“Like what?”  

“Do you still want to stay? You have a choice now… more than you did when you said yes and I-”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Swan? There was never any choice. It was always you. I told you a year ago. I’ll be here until you send me away.” 

A tear slips down her cheek but he knows it’s a happy one so he only kisses the trail it leaves in its wake. “Okay.”

“Okay.” 

“Then I have something else to confess.” 

“Oh?” he asks. Emma nods, reaching for his hand that’s still wrapped around her, resting over her heart. She draws it down until it rests low on her stomach and folds both her own over it. It takes him a moment, a heartbeat where he looks at her in confusion before it clicks and his heart doesn’t beat at all for a second. “Swan?” He looks up at her, searching her face for answers, not able to believe it, but she nods, lip caught between her teeth. “Are you sure?” His voice is rough, tears caught in the back of his throat. 

“Yes.” 

Killian shifts so she can roll onto her back, spreading his hand wider over her still flat stomach. He looks at her in awe more emotions than he has names for flooding through him as he leans down and kisses her belly. A child. His child, something he never thought he’d have. Milah hadn’t wanted any others after Bae and there’d been no one he’d wanted to share that with after she died. Until now.

“Are you okay?” she asks. 

“I’m bloody terrified,” he laughs, unable to look away from where his hand rests over the life they’ve created. Terrified and happy, the happiest he’s ever been in his long, long life. 

“Oh, good, me too.” 

He kisses her stomach again and then takes her face in his hand and kisses her the way he had when she told him she loved him, the same overwhelming joy and disbelief and honour. “Thank you.” 

“I mean, you did half the work…” 

He shakes his head, laughing as he kisses her again for her cheek. “For everything. For loving me, for fighting me on it, for bringing light and laughter and hope back into my life, Emma. I love you. So much. And I promise I’ll be there for you and for her,” he says, hand settling back over her stomach, “for the rest of my life.” 

“Her?” she asks, her smile wet with tears that he wipes away. 

“Aye. A little girl, strong and powerful like her mother, and born of true love like her as well.” 

Emma pulls him down to her, kissing him hard and fast and he’s not sure whose tears are dampening their cheeks but he doesn’t care. “I love you.” She says it with so much certainty, a deep smile pulling at his lips. “But you remember that whole true love thing, okay. You’re gonna need it.” 

Killian raises a brow. “Why’s that?” 

“My dad might actually try and kill you for this.” 

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[pirateswhore]

I know we always talk about Killian & his PTSD (especially after the Underworld arc) BUT. we never talk about Emma's so here I am to rectify that

you ever think about how terrified she must have been that none of it was real, that she was living false memories ?? I mean, think about it.

she had the false memories Regina gave her (s3), the knowledge in Isaac's book (s4) (she didnt have false memories but she knew others do & how that world functioned), the mind games with the darkness (s5), the wish realm memories & then the cursed memories (s6). and not to mention all the visions & nightmares she was shown to have.

my point is - after s6, she should have NO grip on reality and what's true anymore. fearing that any moment she would wake up & her entire life would be a lie - fabricated by a villain intent on keeping her complacent.

and because to me, CS is the heart of the show, I have to mention it

she would turn INCREDIBLY clingy w/ killian, needing constant, constant physical affirmation that he's there & that he's real. getting paranoid if she wakes up & he isn't there - even if he's just in the bathroom or getting water, or just woke up before her. feeling anxious that something is wrong if they're not together for more than a few hours. quite literally glued to his hip out of fear of losing him, fear that it was just some cruel play by hades, or the fairy, or gold, to make her think her happy ending was finally hers, only to eventually rip it away from her ?

[piinfeathers]

Let's spread some love 😘. What are some of your top five favourite cs fics?

i love this oh gosh, also god i have too many ;;

ok in no particular order:

breathless by AcrobatElle - LINK

genuinely cannot emphasis enough how much EVERYONE needs to read this one. there is spice, but like the most heart wrenching, bring you to your knees, soul moving thing you've ever read. i won't spoil it but please, run don't walk to read this one

a uniquely portable magic by @wistfulcynic - LINK

listen, it actually pains to pick only one of saira's fics because i love them ALL. but if i HAD to, it would be this one. this is my desert island fic, the one i reread over and over. i can't even describe how beautifully she writes and how much every fic of hers feels like coming home, but they just do. cannot recommend highly enough just going through her archive <3

running home to your sweet nothings by @sotangledupinit - LINK

gonna be a little stinker and pick mary's most recent fic. i would have also said her run rogers run fic from christmas last year buuuuut, listen. i love her current fic. i am a sucker for EF lieutenant duckling AUs where Emma is actually given a sword and allowed to go buck wild (aka what should have actually happened in the wish realm episode SORRY) so this one really hits the spot so gooood

tactical magic by @iverna - LINK

my one true love in cs fics is witch!emma in a urban fantasy setting and i love, LOVE what svenja does in this fic. also i just love the way she writes emma and killian in all her fics, they always feel so true to the characters every single time, and she treats them both with such love and attention

iridescent blue by @pirateherokillian - LINK

listen only pip could write a werewolf story about a mauling for an event called january joy and still make it one of the sweetest things you've ever read ;; i love how she writes both emma and killian in all her fics, they always feel so real to me whenever i read her stuff

also massive shoutouts to the authors i first read when i got into the fandom and got me hooked @hollyethecurious , @the-darkdragonfly , @elizabeethan and @cosette141 please just go and raid their ao3's i'm so serious

[cssns]

We’re back, y’all!!! Please help me welcome @spartanguard to the CSSNS23!!!

What’s your Tumblr?

@spartanguard​

How long have you been in the CS/OUAT fandom?

A looong time--I watched the show live for its entire run, but didn't become super active until fall 2014 (4a).

When did you start shipping Captain Swan?

I don't know that I can fully pinpoint a moment, but sometime during 3A. (And my answer to that changes constantly, haha)

What drew you to this event?

The same thing that drew me to OUAT in the first place--I love seeing different takes on fairy tales/fantasy, especially against the backdrop of the real world, and love seeing what new adventures we can all take Emma & Killian on.

What inspired your topic?

So I've technically been working on this story since 2015. IIRC, there was a mirror-image manip going around of Colin on set, which brought up the theory of two Killians in my friend group. Which prompted one of them (I believe it was @kat2609) to send an anonymous ask regarding the shenanigans that Killian and his double/twin could get up to. (Note that this was long before the Wish Realm was even thought of, so well before there actually were two Killian Joneses in canon.) I kind of ran with the idea at the time, but then hit some dead ends when the 5A storyline resolved different than anticipated. It sat for a very long time until I finally came up with a workaround sometime last year. and now it's almost done!

If you would like to share a snippet/sneak peek/summary of your fic or artwork, please use the space below.

"I'm disappointed in you." The man almost sounded sad.

"As I told the asshole in the diner, you don't know me." He groggily sat up to stare the man down; a sheriff's badge gleamed from where it was hooked to his jeans, below crossed arms and a stern glare.

"I know you plenty well, pirate." He'd been called many things, but that was a new one. "How could you do this to Emma?"

Who? "Who the f*ck is Emma?" Something weird was going on, but his brain hurt too much to process it.

"I the f*ck am Emma," came a feminine voice from the hallway, followed by the clack of boot heels as she approached. The sheriff ran in her direction, stopping her before she came into view.

"Emma, hold on; I have to tell you something."

"Dad, what's going on?" His vision was blearier than he thought if he hadn't noticed that the man was old enough to have an adult daughter.

The rest of their conversation was too quiet for him to hear, so he slumped back against the concrete wall and glanced around the station.

The sheriff came back, followed by his daughter. Ooh, now there was a sight. A gorgeous blonde came into view, a vision in a red leather jacket. Now why wasn't she at the bar last night? A much better bedfellow she would have made.

Until he saw that she, too, wore a sheriff badge. Law enforcement was an immediate turnoff.

She wore a concerned look on her face as she slowly approached his holding cell. It seemed as if she was studying his face, searching for something. But she must have come up empty, as relief flooded her features, followed quickly by confusion.

"That's not him."

What are you looking forward to most about participating in this event?

Seeing all the great stories and gorgeous art everyone comes up with!

I’m so thrilled that Kaitlyn is back participating again this year! Her MC featuring Killian’s evil twin will be dropping on Wednesday July 5! Everyone go say hi and welcome her back!

[kazoosandfannypacks]

"Wishing it Wasn't" by kazoosandfannypacks

Chapter 9/18: Reflections Pairing: CaptainSwan Rating: General Word Count: (1.1K/19.5K) Summary: Season 2 Canon Divergence: When Neal tells Emma he has a fiancée, she claims to have a new boyfriend of her own, and blurts out the first fairytale name she can think of: Captain Hook. Killian agrees to this ruse, but when feelings grow between the two, will the con be more than they can handle? Chapter Summary: Emma and Killian separately reflect on their evening together. Tags: season 2, canon divergence, gun violence in later chapters, angst with a happy ending, fake dating, mild character death, mildly anti neal Author's notes: >:} Taglist: @zahara @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @teamhook @undercaffinatednightmare @gingerchangeling @lonelyspectator @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @cs-rylie @pirateprincessofpizza @pawshapedheart [if you'd like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

Also on Ao3!

 "Thanks for everything." Emma said, parking the car by the docks.

 "My pleasure." He hadn't looked at her since she kissed him, and he wasn't breaking that streak now.

 He unbuckled his seatbelt and reached for his door, but she hit the auto door lock before he could, trying to smooth things out before he left.

 "Hook," She said softly, placing her hand on his arm, "I shouldn't have done that, should I have?"

 "What?" He asked.

 "I shouldn't've kissed you." Emma said. "I crossed a line. I'm sorry."

 "We did what we set out to do, Swan." He said, and he slightly twisted his arm out of her grip. "You've sufficiently proven to Neal that he made the wrong choice."

 "Right." Emma said. She unlocked his car door. "Want me to walk you back to your ship?"

 "I think I can manage."

 "Oh, your jacket." Emma said, almost forgetting she was wearing it for how natural it felt to be wearing it.

 "Keep it 'til tomorrow." He said. "Give it back to me when they're around."

 It seemed like a good plan, but he said it so deadpan, monotone, almost upset- not nearly the same man he'd been twenty minutes ago.

 "Alright." Emma said. "Goodnight, Killian."

 "Goodnight." He said, almost coldly, not even bracketing it with a "Swan," or a "love," or even an "Emma."

 Without another word, he left the car, left Emma sitting there, alone with her thoughts. They'd done what they wanted to do- they'd made Neal jealous, they'd kept up the ruse, they'd proven she's just as well off without him.

 But the problem was she'd had fun doing it. She actually had a great time that night, once or twice even forgetting that their date was just fake. But then at the end, should she really have kissed him, just to make Neal jealous? Even if that didn't cross the line, kissing him again after she knew they were gone? That definitely did.

 But Emma had to remind herself this is Captain Hook. His reputation preceded him- rumors floating around said he knew the names of the bar wenches in every port in the realm, that he'd never met a girl who didn't succumb to his charm, that he went through women faster than he did bottles of rum- and she knew how quickly he burned through bottles of rum.

 She watched in her rearview mirror as he walked back down the docks, onto his invisible ship, and disappeared from view.

 Had David been right? Had she neglected to be careful with Killian's emotions? He seemed like he was really enjoying himself with her- until she kissed him, that was.

 She pulled his jacket just a bit tighter around her shoulders.

 "That kiss was awful for him." She thought, her mind racing but the town standing still. "Why shouldn't it be? He's a pirate. He doesn't care about me. He doesn't like me. Because if he did, why would he get so upset when I kissed him?"

 The only reason she saw that he had to be so upset by her kiss was if he didn't feel the same way about her. He'd flirted with her because he flirts with everyone, he'd pretend courted her tonight so she didn't throw him in jail, and, much like many men she'd met, he would only follow his interests in her to the brink of commitment- anything more than that would be too much for him- and Emma had started to cross that line.

 She sighed as she eventually started the car.

 "David was right." Emma thought. "I played with fire and I got burned."

 She tried to shift her focus to other things- Cora and Regina being in town, the stranger who'd come in just before she left, trying to keep the secrets of the town from him, and from Tamara.

 But still, that little voice in the back of her head was antagonizing, berating her, bogging her down with insecurities, reminding herself of her place, her place as the only woman in all the realms who could scare off the notorious Captain Hook.

---

 "Does she know she's the only thing on my mind right now?" The notorious Captain Hook thought as he watched her drive away from his vantage point on The Jolly Roger. He was thankful she couldn't see him, that she hadn't been able to see how he'd turned back to watch her as soon as he was cloaked, how he stayed there until she'd disappeared too.

 He looked up at the sky as he walked the gangplank, hoping to take familiar comfort in the constellations he often used to navigate- then remembered he was in a land with entirely different stars.

 Everything in this land felt different, in an almost intimidating way. Hard roads designed to be used by vehicles that move so fast they can break a rib. Deep fried seafood. Food that comes in pre packaged boxes. Short jackets, short skirts- not that they were a bad thing, of course, just not quite what he was used to.

 And yet, whenever he was with Swan, he couldn't help but feel like he was used to her. There was something about her that felt so safe to him, like a harbor, like The Jolly Roger, like….

 He put his head in his hands as he sat on the steps to the forecastle deck.

 There was something about Emma Swan that felt like a home.

 He sighed as he pulled out his flask, knowing that no matter how he saw her, it couldn't change how she saw him.

 "I'm just a pirate in her eyes." Killian thought. "I'm just a means to an end. She's just using me to get to Neal."

 Killian had a hard time reconciling in his mind that the man he'd sat across from in the restaurant was the same kid who'd once stood on the deck of his ship, threatening Killian's life when he thought he was the one who'd killed Milah.

 "What's become of you, Baelfire?" Killian whispered. "Where's that kid who just wanted to be a hero?

 All that Baelfire ever wanted was a family- and as much as Killian tried to deny it, he really was the one who tore apart Bae's first family. He felt like he owed it to that boy he once knew to not wreck his chances this time, that if an opportunity came up for Emma and Henry to be Neal's family again, that he owed that much to him, just a fighting chance, without a devilishly handsome pirate standing in the way.

 "It's better that way." Killian thought. "Swan deserves better than me."

 And he looked up at the unfamiliar stars, he found himself silently hoping that Neal could be that man for her.

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Thanksgiving Reruns 2023--The Thanksgiving Dinner

It is crazy to me that it’s already time for this, but the holidays have officially arrived!  I would like to wish all my followers who celebrate it a very happy Thanksgiving.  As a thank you to you (as well as my followers who DON’T celebrate), I present you with 3 Thanksgiving related stories I’ve written in the past.  Enjoy!

Title: The Thanksgiving Dinner

Rating: G

Words: 1573

Summary: When Emma and Killian host Thanksgiving dinner at their home for the first time, they want everything to be perfect, but things don’t always go the way we want.

Other Chapters: 2 3 4 5

The Thanksgiving Dinner

***originally written sometime during season 5***

CS genre: future fic

Killian shivered as he walked along the sidewalk that led to the house he shared with his wife, Emma Swan-Jones.  A pleasant thrill shot through him at the thought.  Emma was his wife!  Against all odds, against death itself, they’d prevailed, and they’d finally been given the chance to embark on their future together.

The past few months had been difficult, to say the least, but the happiness he now enjoyed with his true love and her son in their house by the sea made every last moment of the agony worth it.

The cold, late autumn breeze picked up, scattering fallen leaves and chilling Killian to the bone.  He took the stairs to his home two at a time, wondering idly if they were in for a snowstorm.  He hoped so.  Perhaps he could engage in a snowball fight with the lad.  Perhaps he and Swan and Henry could build a snowman.  Killian let himself daydream about a day spent with his family in the snow—not to mention the ways he and Swan could find to warm each other up after the lad went off to bed.

In fact…speaking of more enjoyable activities…the lad was staying with his other mother tonight,  perhaps he and Swan should take advantage of the alone time.  Smile draping his lips, Killian opened the door, prepared to call out an enthusiastic “Hello, love!”

But the greeting died on his lips.

No sooner had he pulled the front door open than his ears were assaulted with a piercing, pulsating shriek, and thick, black smoke slapped him in the face.  Faintly, underneath the shrill noise, he detected the sound of crying.  Emma crying.

Sprinting forward, his heart in his throat, he made for the kitchen.  “Swan!” he shouted fearing the scene he might find.

He found her sitting at the kitchen table, her head in her hands, crying as though her heart were breaking.  A sauce pan sat on the stove, smoking merrily away, apparently causing the device Swan had called a “smoke detector” to protest vigorously.  As Swan didn’t appear to be in any immediate danger, Killian jogged to the stove, turned off the burner, and threw the offending pan into the sink, dousing it’s charred, lumpy contents with water.

Immediate crisis over (and alarm finally blessedly silent) Killian returned to his disconsolate wife.  Kneeling before her, he put a gentle hand on her shoulder.  “Emma, love, what’s the matter?” 

She raised a red, tear-stained face toward him, and then fell into his arms, the tears continuing.  He held her for long moments, rubbing her back, whispering comforting nothings into her ear, brushing kisses against her hair, the top of her head.  Finally, the worst of her emotion seemed to pass, and she pulled back, scrubbed at her face and then resumed her seat. 

“Killian, I can’t do this!  It’s an utter disaster!” she said, vaguely gesturing toward their kitchen. 

“What is it you can’t do love?” he asked, taking a seat beside her and putting his arm around her shoulders.

Emma sighed deeply and then leaned her head against his shoulder.  “This.  Cook.”

Killian chuckled softly.  “Not to put too fine a point on it, love, but you never could cook.  Beyond the realm of breakfast provisions, you are hopeless, darling.  Your lad and I have taken to learning the culinary arts out of sheer self-preservation.”

Emma sat up and glared at him, crossing her arms with a huff.  After a moment, she wilted, dropping her eyes to the table before them.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” 

She looked so sad, so dejected that Killian leaned over and kissed her tenderly, slowly.  Her arms wound around him as she returned the embrace, seeming to take strength from their intimacy.

Finally, he pulled back, looking into her red-rimmed eyes.  “What is this truly about, my love?  Your proficiency in this particular domestic art has never before been an issue that affected your happiness.” 

“It’s just…” she said, getting up to pace, “I invited everyone over for Thanksgiving tomorrow.  The whole crazy family.  I told them I would make the Turkey and stuffing, the whole nine yards.” 

Killian vaguely recalled people throughout the town referring to an autumn holiday called Thanksgiving.  From what he’d gleaned from various conversations, the holiday consisted of eating gluttonous amounts of food and then viewing a sporting event called “football”. 

Emma gestured toward the blackened pot in the sink.  “I have to make the whole dinner, and I can’t even figure out how to make mashed potatoes!” 

“Potatoes?” Killian asked as he poked at the congealed mess with his hook.  “Is that what these once were?  It would seem you didn’t add enough water when you set about to boil them.”

“I needed to add water?” 

Killian shot her an incredulous look.  “Aye…boiling requires liquid, love.” 

The tears started flowing again.  “I don’t even know how to boil potatoes.  I’m so screwed.” 

Killian took her into his arms once more, rocking her gently.  “Again, what is this really about, love?  If it were merely a matter of preparing a meal, I’ve no doubt your mother would be thrilled to assist you.” 

Emma pulled back enough to look at him.  “It’s just…it’s Thanksgiving, you know?  I wanted to make this holiday perfect.  I wanted to…I don’t know…try to make it up to everyone for the damage I caused when I was the Dark One.  Say thank you for standing by me.  That kind of thing.” 

Killian smiled tenderly and reached up to catch a tear with his thumb.  “None blame you, Emma.  None hold it against you.  I more than any know what you’re going through; the guilt and shame.  I did far worse than you under the curse.  But you’ve put all to rights; you’ve nothing left to atone for.” 

She tossed him a watery smile.  “It’s been quite a year, hasn’t it?” 

He barked out a laugh.  “Truer words were never spoken.” 

Emma dropped back into her chair at the table and sighed again.  “Regardless, we still have a whole freaking Thanksgiving dinner to host.  What are we going to do?” 

“We deal with it as we deal with everything, my love,” Killian said, sitting beside her, “together.  You’re no longer alone; you’ll never be alone again.  Henry and I would be honored to help you prepare this special repast.”

Emma leaned forward and kissed him slow and deep.  “Thank you.  What would I do without you?” 

“Certainly not any edible cooking,” he said with a quirk of his brow. 

Emma hit him playfully.  He captured her hand and brought it to his lips, pleased to see the smile blooming once again on her lovely face. 

“Killian, there was one more reason I was hoping this holiday would be perfect,” she said, looking at him shyly from beneath her long lashes. 

“Aye, love?  What’s that?” 

“This is your first Thanksgiving, and I wanted to make it special because…”

“Because why?” 

Emma abruptly got to her feet and darted toward the powder room off the kitchen.  A moment later she returned holding a small, white wand of sorts.  “Because, well, I have news, and I was planning to share it after everyone went home on Thanksgiving, but I guess now’s as good a time as any.” 

Killian took the device she held out to him, peering in confusion at the tiny display showing two pink lines.  Was this supposed to be meaningful to him?  “My apologies love.  I’m afraid I don’t understand…” 

Emma took his hand and looked into his eyes.  “This is a special test, Killian.  One that can tell me…what’s going on in my body.  Those two lines there?  They mean I’m pregnant.” 

It took him a moment to catch up to what she’d said, but when he did his heart stuttered and then began racing.  “You’re with child?  I’m to be a father?”

She nodded, her lower lip between her teeth.  “Yeah.  I just found out today.  We’re going to have a baby!” 

Killian whooped then took her into his arms, swinging her around as she laughed and the tears flowed once more.  Finally he put her down and kissed her as he felt the tears prick his own eyes.  A father!  He was going to be a father!  It was something for which he’d never allowed himself to hope. 

“I hope this means you’re happy,” Emma said. 

“Happy!  Emma, nothing on this earth could bring me more joy.” 

She smiled beatifically.  “I hoped you’d react like that.  But, I mean, we hadn’t really talked about kids yet, and I didn’t know how you felt, and…I don’t know.” 

He chuckled.  “Why do you think I selected such a large house, love?  Of course I want to have a family with you.  What better way to overcome our painful pasts than to share our love with a family of our own?” 

As Killian and Emma celebrated their happy news and began planning for their upcoming Thanksgiving dinner, Killian couldn’t keep the smile off his lips.  Though he’d never before heard of the custom, he very much looked forward to this holiday called Thanksgiving.  With a wife he loved beyond all reason, a teenage son he adored, an entire family to care for and now a tiny son or daughter on the way, he had more blessings than he could count in three lifetimes.

There was much for which to be thankful.

Next Chapter-->

[ouatsnark]

Rolling my eyes.

Saw a confession saying things Emma and Killian should not name their kids: Liam, Leopold, Hope, Alice, Milah, etc.

I can't remember them all.

And someone turned it into a 'things I think Killian and Emma should not do together': have kids.

Bleh.

Like.

First of all, the confession is dumb. Like. I understand why not Milah or Leopold or Eva.

Eva, James, Leopold, Ruth, and Robert (which I think were also names on the confession) Emma didn't know.

Killian also probably wouldn't be comfortable naming their kid after the grandfather he murdered (Robert). Emma probably wouldn't be comfortable with it (unlike SOME PEOPLE).

Milah, Graham, and Neal, well. They're exes. And I'm not sure either would be comfortable with it, though I wouldn't necessarily be opposed to Graham as a middle name if they were. But again. Not likely.

And Liam. Well.

Liam would have been a nice name had Emma not met Liam in the Underworld. He acted badly so of course they might not want to use the name.

That's not even accounting for Liam Jr, Killian's younger brother whose existence would probably keep Killian from using the name.

Brennan is a heck no, for obvious reasons.

Ingrid is iffy.

But Hope?

That was the literal canon name for the Captain Swan baby. My friends like to think of it as a tribute to Snow White and David's whole hope thing. Which. Nice. It's not a bad name.

Alice isn't either (it's also a semi-canon and nice one, if you assume Rogers and Killian's mon had the same name. Even though I like to ignore/rewrite season seven completely minus the newer characters).

Like. I personally don't like the whole reusing the names thing because it was done a lot. But saying they shouldn't name their kid Hope, and then the whole 'shouldn't have kids thing'.

It's just rude.

And of course, they had the nerve to do laughing emojis too but if I do that for their ship I'm wrong (which, for the record I wouldn't do. I don't post my opinions on ships unless asked and even then I'm not outright rude about them).

I really don’t care about the other ships on this show until they come for mine but stuff like this is why I don’t care to keep silent. If they can spout their nonsense then I can drop some truth bombs.

Was there a reason they gave for why “Emma and Killian shouldn’t have kids?” Or is this another “if CaptainSwan has a baby then Emma is replacing Henry but if Emma and Regina or Regina and someone else had a kid that’s perfectly fine” double standard bull shit?

I agree that the whole “reusing names” thing is tiring. Emma’s baby brother being named Neal was dumb enough. I stand by the theory that Emma just never told the Charmings the entire story and by the time Neal died the writers had the characters viewing him as some kind of hero. Idiotic really. Or maybe it was for Henry’s sake. I don’t know. It was dumb. The only one that made sense was baby Robyn.

But it is crazy to even list some of those names… I mean the writers are stupid at times but none of them would be stupid enough to name the CaptainSwan child Milah, Alice or Liam! Liam and Alice already have living namesakes. A second would be absurd. And I also don’t think the writers were dumb enough to name the CS child after their respective dead exes or almost exes! I wouldn’t even agree with Graham because Killian never met him! I can’t see Killian wanting that, personally.

I wouldn’t have minded Eva or Ruth as a way to honor her parents and the family line (people do it even if they never met the relatives) but I always saw Emma and Killian giving their children names that were significant to their journey together. I'm not sure Ingrid would fit since she didn't have that much of an impact on them... Elsa, maybe! But I don't think that fits either, honestly.

I am firmly in the “Fook and Hook do not share the same past” camp. So much was retconned for that wish realm that I just firmly believe that other little details could be different. Killian never mentions his mother’s name so in my mind she’s a nameless figure that died before he is even old enough to remember her.

I have heard SQers try to say that Hope is a Swanqueen thing but it isn’t. It is a Charming/Snow White thing. So it makes perfect sense that Emma would want to name her daughter Hope.

[snowbellewells]

Self Promo Sunday: 3 Thanksgiving Stories

Alright folks, this week you get three stories in one promo. There are so many wonderful Halloween-themed and Christmas-themed CS stories, but I have always wished there were more centered around our pirate and princess (and the rest of the OuaT gang) celebrating Thanksgiving together. Over the years, I’ve written a few myself, and I couldn’t choose between them this morning, so I’ve included all three in this week’s self-promo post. 

They can also be found on AO3 and ff.net. If that’s your preference, just look for the links below:

“And All the Trimmings”      AO3       ff.net

“We Gather Together (Glad for the Blessings)”    AO3      ff.net

“Bless What is Given You”     AO3       

Some Thanksgiving fluff written during 5B as I anxiously hoped for them to return from the Underworld with their hero party still intact and a pirate in tow. Nods to CS, Snowing, and OQ in here (I even intended on trying to work in Rumbelle, but it didn’t happen) Anyway, think that’s it. Enjoy – and please let me know what you think if you’re so inclined!

“Charming?” his lovely wife’s voice rings brightly from the loft’s small kitchen right into the erstwhile Prince of the Enchanted Forest’s ears as he bustles through the door of their apartment, arms full of groceries and cheeks red from the first deep chill and frost of the year. “Is that you?”

“Yes, Snow, I’m back!” he calls, bemused smile quirking up one side of his mouth. A chuckle escapes David Nolan’s throat at how happy and excited his Princess sounds. Setting his purchases on the table until he can hang his coat back on its peg, he shakes his head with affectionate good humor and goes to meet her in the kitchen.

If he’s honest with himself, David is nearly as anxious and thrilled as Snow. After all, their entire family, with all its odd, extended members, will soon be gathered here with them for the first Thanksgiving holiday they have celebrated together. His heart swells at the very idea – even if at the same time he has to simply hope the whole thing will really manage to go off without a hitch…or any bloodshed.

“Looking for these?” he asks with happy teasing in his voice as he enters the kitchen, sets the several plastic bags from the market on the counter, and leans over the center island to plant a kiss on Snow’s upturned lips.

“Yep,” she chirps, beaming at him as they part and reaching in to begin unpacking, “I was.”

Charming moves back into the front dining area, preparing the table and making sure they have enough chairs, that the candles and centerpieces Snows wants are out, and letting her get back to her cooking in the meantime. Between the homemade noodles, green beans, and the mashed potatoes and gravy his wife has simmering all at once, Charming is impressed she can keep everything going without setting anything on fire, much less have the whole apartment smelling good enough to make him drool, and he certainly doesn’t want to distract her from it. No matter how long they have been married, or what realm they find themselves in, it doesn’t take long for Snow to prove that she will never cease to surprise and amaze him.

He has just stepped back to survey his handiwork proudly when the doorbell rings. Swiftly moving forward to answer it before Snow comes running, Charming’s smile grows even wider as Henry bursts into the room, greeting him enthusiastically and launching right into a story of their hectic morning. He is followed by Roland, who is practically bouncing up and down in place and vibrating with rambunctious energy, his deep dimples cracking wide across his face. After their two boys come Robin and Regina, each laden with items that Charming attempts to help take off their hands.

Robin hands over the delectably scented and delicious-looking turkey, beaming proudly as he gives a nod toward the perfectly crisped and golden brown bird on the platter, which has clearly been charmed in some way by Regina to stay warm and ready to place on the table. “Caught it myself, Mate,” Robin says. “Should be a good one.”

Charming sets the turkey on the long dining table he has just finished with, then claps his friend on the shoulder and ushers him in. “I’m sure it will be. Thanks,” he answers.

Robin slings an insulated bag off his shoulder and holds it forward as well. “Regina’s apple tarts,” he explains with both a mischievous smile and a shrug of feigned innocence. The former thief knows the rest of the family’s understandable aversion to the fruit, but he also somewhat adores his beloved’s rather twisted sense of humor and refusal to shy away from her past by making a dish that highlights the difference in her now and just how far she has come. With a wink, he tacks on, “Taste tested them myself, and they’re irresistible.”

The archer moves past, on into the loft to greet Snow and to catch and corral his young son. Regina raises a sculpted brow at David as she enters after Robin, their new little girl sleeping cradled in her arms and a diaper bag slung over her shoulder. Though David knows all too well that having a newborn in the home can be harrying, the formerly evil Queen looks as completely polished and put together as always – not a hair out of place. “Charming,” she greets with a wry nod, somehow managing to inject even the simplest hello with her trademark dry sarcasm. They may be on the same side now, fumbling towards being a truly non-dysfunctional family, but he somehow feels that her half-mocking way of using the name Snow gave him will never change, and perhaps – in Regina’s own way – it is meant as an endearment.

Peeking into the layers of lavender blanket bundled around Robin and Regina’s little daughter to shield her from the biting wind outside, Charming can’t help a soft grin at the sweet, perfect infant sleeping peacefully, the softest wisps of russet curls on her little head and her soft, pale pink skin. “She’s lovely, Regina,” he murmurs in quiet awe, not wanting to rouse little Mariana, and feeling a flood of affection for this woman who once hunted he and Snow, wanting both of their heads, but who also saved Snow’s life as a child, and has clawed her way back from the bottom to right her wrongs.

Before he can close the door behind her, Emma and Killian come tramping up the hall stairs, cheeks flushed and both laughing at some unknown joke between them, but greeting him heartily as they see that he is standing there watching. Emma reaches David first, falling into her dad’s arms and returning his hug exuberantly before reaching back to pull Killian in as well when he hesitates, effectively sandwiching herself between the two of them in a three-way hug. The laugh that rings from his daughter’s throat, light and open and at last free of the guilt and pain she had been saddled with for too long, is all David needs to be as grateful this Thanksgiving as at any he can remember.

“Thanks Dad,” Emma mumbles almost bashfully when she does ease back and both she and her pirate boyfriend pull away. They follow him into the house, their food contributions in hand.

“Aye, thank you for having us, Mate,” Killian adds with a dip of his chin as they all step through the door and he shuts it behind himself. He offers his love’s father a genuine smile when their gazes meet, Emma having busied herself with hanging up their jackets and removing her boots. For a moment, David is frozen in place, forcibly reminded of how Killian had looked just a few weeks before, when they had found him in the black depths of the Underworld. As long as any of them live, David fears the sight of Killian Jones which had greeted them beyond the Veil would be hauntingly branded on their souls. Chained to a dank stone wall in the furthest recesses of Hades’ domain, the shade of a pirate that they’d found was not the dashing rapscallion they knew. Though bearing his torment in stoic silent, he had been emaciated and shivering, the dark rings under his eyes clearly showing that Killian had known no sleep nor peace since he left their world. The rest of the rescue party had stood horrified as Emma fell to her knees before him, tears pouring down her face while she reached out to cup his bearded cheeks in her hands. Worse than all that though had been the blank, almost unseeing despair in blue eyes that had always been so full of life; the vacancy in their depths no longer seemed like Killian at all and had truly made their blood run cold.

To see that spark back in Jones’ smiling gaze, and the dark bruises beneath his eyes fading, reminds David forcibly just how much they do have to celebrate before he clears his throat to respond with hoarse emotion. “Of course. We’re glad to have everyone. Snow’s really trying to outdo herself.”

Without further ado, David soon finds his family gathered around the table, talking, laughing and reveling in the warmth and happiness of the occasion. There is good natured ribbing at Emma’s continued inability to cook and a playful debate over whether or not the bottoms of several of the butter horn rolls she had made were more burnt than a nice golden brown. Mariana wakes from her nap and begins to gurgle and coo at everyone she can see gathered around her. Snow gushes over the pecan pie that Emma grudgingly admits Killian had made, complete with perfectly crimped edges of crust and an ornate little ‘KJ’ carved into the crunchy sugared top. ‘Figures,” Charming hears his daughter grumble with teasing chagrin, “He can cook circles around me with only one hand.”

Snow is quick to assure her daughter that she will get better with practice, but Killian only smirks at Emma, looking entirely as though he wants her to either smack or kiss the grin off his face. “Well, I had to sign such artwork, Swan,” he counters playfully. “You might have tried to take credit for it otherwise.”

The whole table laughs and carries on, but is quickly more absorbed in eating than talking, just comfortable in each other’s presence and enjoying a quiet moment. David looks to the other end of the long table and catches Snow’s eye, perfectly understanding the misty look he finds there. This was all either of them had ever wanted: a family, all together, happy and safe. It is what they had sacrificed so much for their best chance at preserving. He smiles at his True Love, marveling that two other pairs of True Loves sit in this very room with them, and tucks into his own meal at last. Now that they have all found each other, this family has every blessing it could possibly need.

~*~ Post s6 Thanksgiving fluff; Other than Robin being alive, and Belle not being reconciled with Rumple, I don’t think there is any reason this couldn’t fit into the timeline somewhere after the CS wedding. There aren't a lot of Thanksgiving fics in this fandom, despite all the Halloween and Christmas ones, and so I thought I would try to do my part with this little one shot – especially seeing as it's a holiday I truly love, and I would adore being able to watch the whole Charming-Swan-Jones-Mills family get to relax, break bread together, and just enjoy a "quiet moment" or two. 

Barreling into the kitchen calling out "Henry?! Killian?!", Emma Swan was already well into panic mode due to the charred, burning smell that had reached her nostrils as soon as she'd mounted the steps to the front porch and the plumes of grey smoke wafting into her vision in the entryway once she opened the door. She was skidding to a stop at the kitchen table before she realized that though the fire alarm had been bleating raucously, there were no sounds of panic or yells of dismay. Instead, though both of her True Loves were now frozen, looking to her guiltily as if caught with their hands painted red - Killian bent over the open stove and Henry with his arm outstretched, fanning the air with a hot pad - they appeared to have been happy as clams until her sudden entrance..

Clearly they weren't in any immediate danger, and Emma's posture relaxed upon seeing the house wasn't burning down and neither her son nor her pirate was blackened to a crisp. Shaking her head at them both, she genuinely tried to look stern instead of both relieved and ready to burst out laughing. Crossing her arms, she mused aloud, "Do I even want to know what the two of you are doing?"

Sighing in defeat, Killian stood to his full height, letting the oven door bang closed and not quite meeting her reproving gaze as he raked a hand through his hair, darted a quick glance at Henry, then finally answered her question. "We were trying to help you, Swan. It seemed prudent to get started with the main course before hosting your entire family tomorrow, and the lad felt sure he could offer guidance on the proceedings."

Henry flushed as Killian gestured toward him, and shrugged sheepishly, looking up at her with big brown eyes that, though in an older face, still proved as irresistible to her as when he'd showed up on her doorstep as a ten-year-old. "I may have overestimated how closely I was watching my other mom the last time she did this."

Emma couldn't help it; her metabolism did tick up a few notches and her eyes widened in shocked dismay. "Oh no, don't tell me… Do you mean to say you guys ruined that 19 pound Butterball I had all ready in the freezer?"

Killian winced a bit at her reaction. "Come now, Lass, it isn't as if we did it on purpose. You were just saying last night how you wanted everything to be perfect, you've never been able to celebrate a real family Thanksgiving with all the trimmings before, and everything should be just right. We only wished to help you along."

Emma gave an exaggerated nod as she responded, "Ah, I see," before a knowing light slipped into her eyes while studying one and then the other to see who would crack first. "Just selfless action from the good of your hearts, was it?"

Henry nodded, pulling off a ridiculously innocent look, but Killian couldn't quite meet her gaze, peeking up at her from beneath the fringe of his dark hair and eyelashes like a poor, repentant rascal. "Well, Swan, if the truth be told, we might have become a bit distracted…"

"I thought so," she affirmed with one last quick, triumphant dip of the head.

"Yes, well," Killian hemmed and hawed adorably, and Emma was almost afraid she might bite through her lip trying not to laugh out loud, the whole kitchen mishap long forgiven, but watching him stutter in embarrassment like he often caused her to do was too priceless to end just yet. "Love, your boy's moving picture box sucks a man in with its programs. Are you sure it doesn't possess some sort of hypnotic magic of its own? Perhaps we should not let Henry…"

"Okay, okay, hold up," Henry broke in anxiously, not about to see his stepdad - much as he might love him - relegate him back to the Stone Age with concern over modern technology.

Emma couldn't hold back her dissolution into helpless giggles any longer, and Killian stopped short with an affronted look at the noisy interruption from both of them at once. After a few moments, Emma reined in her laughter, assured Henry he wouldn't be losing all television privileges, and turned with the both of them to survey the wreck that had been her nice, clean kitchen when she'd left that morning, hands on hips. "Well boys, let's see what we can salvage," she said at last.

OoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

In the end, the turkey is magicked to golden brown perfection for the holiday meal. Emma had hoped to succeed at doing it the old fashioned way, but after seeing the damage Killian and Henry had wrought with their attempt – and though she only admitted it to herself, knowing either one of them was better in the kitchen than she was, when not unfortunately sidetracked – she decided there was no sense in further risking the main course she intended to serve to company.

She, Killian, and Henry did spend a warm, domestic, evening making the accompanying side dishes together. After placing a tray of butterhorn rolls in the oven to cook, Emma turned to see Henry flip a spoonful of cranberry sauce at Killian, hitting him square on the nose and making him jerk back in surprise at the splat of impact.

"Hey now," her pirate warned, glowering as he raised a spoonful of stuffing for a counterattack.

Emma thought idly that she should be warning them not to waste food, not to destroy their kitchen for a second time in one day, and basically chide them both to behave themselves, but instead she could merely watch as author and pirate mounted a giddy food fight she eventually joined, hugging herself tightly so she didn't simply burst with the joy swelling up inside her, so full of gratitude for both of them, for a home and family at last, and for this moment in which to enjoy it all. Thanksgiving, indeed.

That night when Henry had settled into his own room and the house had grown quiet, Emma stopped Killian as he left the bathroom after brushing his teeth, biting her lip at the all-too-inviting sight of him in dark blue lounge pants with little white anchors printed on them that he wore for sleep and all that dark hair on his toned and scarred chest. He looked upon her with a curious quirk to his brow, but didn't question her, only wrapped his arms around her waist and brought his forehead to rest against her own.

Enveloped in his warmth, Emma grew almost dizzy at the minty fresh breath he exhaled against her neck and nearly lost her train of thought altogether, but she pulled out the item she had intended to show him. It was the wishbone from their turkey, and she held it out for him to see. "Do you know what this is?"

"Aye," Killian answered, though she could tell by his expression he had no clue why she would draw his attention to it. "It's some part of that fowl we prepared for tomorrow's feast, but why…"

He trailed off when she twined the fingers of her free hand with his and brought his hand up to grip the opposite end of the wishbone from the one she held. "They're for wishing on," she explained briefly, playful mirth in her eyes. "People pull them apart and whoever gets the larger piece makes a wish that is then supposed to come true."

"Alright Lass, if you say so," he agreed gamely, a bit of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth now as well.

Holding her breath, Emma thought of all the times she had wanted to do this as a kid and had never been the one who got the wishbone. Or all the times as an adult that she'd had it, but no one in her empty apartment to hold the other end, or to appreciate the wish she'd made, nor share in her joy if it did come to fruition. As the fragile bone snapped and they looked down to the pieces in their hands, Emma and Killian found it had broken almost evenly, and so she whispered, not wanting to break the calm stillness in the room, "Let's say we both wish…together."

Killian merely nodded and closed his eyes as she did. When she opened them again, it was to meet his blue, blue gaze shining back at her. She had the feeling they'd wished for the exact same thing…many more years of holidays like this.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

The blessed feeling carried over to the family dinner the next day. Sitting at the head of the long table in the dining room of a home of her very own – hers, Henry's and Killian's – the first time she'd ever had such a thing, Emma felt as though the whole scene was bathed in some sort of golden light, like she was living inside a perfect Norman Rockwell painting. The table surface was packed, crammed, overloaded with food – from the golden brown, crisp-skinned, turkey and their perfectly toasted, flaky butterhorns to Regina's apple dumplings, green beans, noodles, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and cranberry sauce. The ten-year-old foster child inside her nearly drools at the bounty, never quite able to banish the breakfasts, lunches, and dinners missed, the times she had sat alone in some cafeteria, eyes fixed on the food other students carelessly tossed in the bins which she would have loved to have while she had been packed nothing to eat and had no money to buy even a carton of milk, of the times she had gone to bed in a rickety bunk, stomach growling and unable to stop fixating on those cabinets full of snacks that were off limits. Seeing Henry to her right, ruffling his hair affectionately for just a second before he turned to grin at her proudly, clearly pleased their time spent cooking the previous evening had given them this much to show for it, she could only rejoice that he had never known such days, and the neither she nor Killian ever would again.

She gave her father a nod of confirmation where he sat at the other end of the table, leading him to grin widely, the warm look of love and happiness on his face making her feel even more that this moment right here really was all she had been missing – all she had ever wanted – all those years she spent alone. As David stood to carve the turkey and Snow alternated between beaming up at her husband proudly and passing the plates now loaded up with juicy slices of turkey down the table, Emma squeezed Killian's hand with her left, and he cut a knowing glance at her, showing clearly that he understood and felt it too.

Beside Henry sat Belle, then Snow, and across from Henry were Regina, Robin, and Roland. It would seem that their family continued to grow and warmly open to welcome into its circle anyone with nowhere else to belong on this day meant to be spent with loved ones. As she had wished for that very thing each holiday season for 28 years, Emma could think of no better nor more heroic thing for her family to do.

Once everyone had been served – both turkey and all the other dishes filling the long table – Killian stood with raised glass, even as Emma tapped her spoon against her own to garner everyone's attention for him. "A toast, mates, if I may," Killian announced jovially in that rich, enticing voice. Emma shivered slightly at the way its tones thrilled through her, though trying to give no outward sign; she would gladly listen to him read the ingredients of the box for the stuffing, but she knew everyone else was hungry and ready to dig in, so her heart swelled just that much more when the others around their table dutifully paused and turned to listen to him with genuine interest and agreement.

"I daresay I shan't keep us from this delectable feast for long," her pirate intoned, "but I have more to be grateful for this year than I have ever possessed in my ridiculously long life, and my thanks must be offered…"

He paused, meeting the eyes of each of those gathered around the table briefly, and then continued with a fervent tone which came out sounding a bit choked with emotion. "When I first arrived in this realm, still lost in my bitterness, anger, and thirst for revenge, I could not have imagined a day like this, full of peace, love, and gratitude. Emma, Love, when you offered me the chance to join you and be a part of something, and we undertook that desperate quest to Neverland, the idea that we could come to belong to each other as we do now, that you would hold my heart in your very palm, or that I would find myself with a true family again, seemed inconceivable. Yet, I am so glad you gave me that last chance, like a line thrown in the drink to a drowning man. It saved my life, turned me back around to the man I once meant to be. My thankfulness to be here with all of you today cannot be adequately expressed." He swallowed hard, dipped his head, and then took his seat again. "You have all blessed us with your presence at our table."

"Cheers!" everyone else agreed, raising their glasses to clink with each other around the table, several other eyes misty and voices husky with feeling besides their captain's. Emma blinked quite a bit herself, glancing around at their motley crew.

Her fingers reached across to trail lightly over Killian's shoulder, stroking his back soothingly for a few moments and then rising to delve playfully into the dark hair at the nape of his neck. Brushing gently through the soft strands, Emma smiled affectionately as his head inclined slightly toward her, thinking humorously that if he were a cat, her sailor would be nearly purring in contentment right now. This moment deserved to be captured – preserved – in her mind forever; she couldn't feel any more stuffed with grateful satisfaction.

OooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooO

It was nearly midnight when the last of their guests had been seen to the door and out into the chilly dark of Storybrooke's nighttime streets. Henry had gone with Regina; they had a tradition of shopping, followed by decorating the mayor's mansion for Christmas, and then capping the evening off with homemade apple turnovers running over with icing on their day after Thanksgiving. Emma marveled at Henry's blithely forgiving ability to still eat the things with relish after nearly dying from one bit of just such a poisoned pastry also made by Regina long ago. Still, she couldn't deny she was also glad to have her pirate to herself this night – a true quiet moment for the two of them.

They were curled around each other on the couch in the living room, watching flames crackle merrily in the fireplace, feet up on the coffee table, each of them enjoying a sweet taste of leftover pumpkin pie.

"Open up, Darling," Killian urged, fork upraised to her lips with a piece of sticky filling and flaky crust adorned with the sweet white topping she loved. Emma really didn't need him to feed her, but she playfully went along with his gesture and hummed in pleasure when the flavors exploded on her tongue.

"Mhmm, really good," she mumbled, her mouth still full, but nodding her head and moving to get a piece on her own fork and return the favor for him.

Killian's deep, reverberating chuckle stopped her though, and he leaned forward just enough to wrap his lips around the tip of her nose, licking off the bit of whipped cream he'd gotten on her moments before. It was a mostly innocent gesture, but his proximity, the warmth of the near kiss, and the fact that they were truly – finally – alone, relaxed, and had nowhere else to be had her heart hammering triple time as she sat up quickly, unfolded her legs and pulled him up with her.

"Come on, Pirate," she spoke a little breathlessly, a devilish gleam in her eyes, "we can finish this later."

It didn't take him long to catch on and follow her eagerly, still chuckling with his hand in hers, as she picked up the can of whipped cream from the coffee table where she'd placed it earlier and hurriedly pulled him upstairs.

This last Thanksgiving rerun was originally written as a birthday gift for a shipmate; there’s a nod to a missing moment from 3x19, but then it jumps to post s6 in Storybrooke, to all of them in their happy beginnings…

“Do you mean to tell me you think you know better than a queen?” Regina’s haughty voice practically dripped disdain from each clipped, precise syllable she spoke. The perfect arch of her sculpted brow rose in question, disbelief and disapproval clear on her challenging, flawless face, even if her tone had not made her opinion more than apparent. “My mother was Rumplestiltskin’s most prized pupil; he sought me out himself to train me as well, chose me to cast his precious Dark Curse… Do you honestly think the fact that you can scare off a few monkeys with your arrows and you’ve been squatting in his deserted castle makes you a better judge of...of…” Even though she spoke the “you” as though her mouth was swallowing something foul and her face scrunched up accordingly, it seemed that the formerly Evil Queen was at a rare loss for words to express just how ridiculous the very idea was.

Unfazed, the scruffy archer gazed right back at her cheekily, seeming more than a bit amused by her ruffled feathers and inability to continue. “Not sure that is quite the distinction you’re making it out to be, Milady,” he offered with a smirk.

From across the way, Snow couldn’t seem to resist chiming in with the outlaw who had once befriended a princess on the run; who, in what now seemed like another life had helped her fine-tune her skills with a bow and advised her on spots in the forest where one could most easily hunt game to eat without encountering Regina’s guards. Though Snow had long since made the choice to put their painful and sordid history in the past, there was something that teased a warble of delighted laughter up her throat at the sight of this bandit who once graced “Wanted” posters by her side agitating Regina to the point of losing all her icy, polished reserve. “It is a bit of a dubious honor, Regina, you have to admit.”

Charming beside her dipped his head to hide the chuckle rumbling in his chest as well, reaching across their round council table’s polished surface to squeeze her hand. The shepherd-prince consort would have been lying if he refused to admit there wasn’t a part of him who enjoyed watching her Majesty flunder for her unaffected poise. It went without saying that the curse they were speaking of had ripped he and Snow apart and taken their daughter from his arms almost the moment she was born; consigning them all to 28 lonely years of misery. The truth was that plain and that simple, but he wisely held his tongue. At least since his recent pirate friend had gone off on his own after their arrival back in their land, Robin was someone to break a bit of the tension and who might lighten all of their dark and despairing moods once in a while.

As they returned to discussing the plan to raid Gold’s castle here in their home realm, knowing Zelena had holed up in the Dark One’s stronghold - with Rumplestiltskin himself still prisoner - it became clear it was really the only method they had left to try, to hope that the man who always knew so much more than anyone else would also know some way out of this mess, some way to stop Regina’s rage and envy fueled half-sister. Belle across the table looked pale and strained, her lips pressed together in a thin line but determined, needing to help in whatever way she could. Even if they couldn’t free her True Love, even if his mind were already too fractured by his near death, the half-possession that had held his son’s mind within his body as well, and then that son’s violent loss, he wouldn’t want things to continue as they were; with him under Zelena’s control and bent to her will. Belle had to cling to that truth if nothing else.

Seeming to sense her flagging spirit, Charming saw Leroy sitting next to her place a clumsily large, axe-calloused hand over her slender, tiny one and give it a reassuring squeeze. The dwarf leaned over to whisper encouragingly to the petite beauty, and the prince realized that even within his inner circle of friends and allies there were deeper friendships, and stories leading to them, that he didn’t know, as Belle’s petite frame relaxed and her tense shoulders lowered slightly at the stout little man’s clearly welcomed assurances. The former shepherd thought he just made out the kind, if gruffly voiced, words, “Hang in there, Sister, the battle ain’t over yet.” Charming smiled; that might as well be a mantra for all of them.

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

Robin of Locksley, otherwise known in the Enchanted Forest these days by his more colorful moniker of Robin Hood, simply could not seem to help it. He knew something about him - be it his cavalier attitude towards risk and danger, his leisurely and rather lax methods of ruling over his crew (Can he help it if he’d trust them with his life and has never had cause to question their loyalty or skill?), or perhaps it was just his very form and person she objected to. Whatever the case may be, he couldn’t help goading her Majesty, rattling that posh control of which the woman seemed so proud. Behind the cool and haughty veneer Regina Mills carefully wore, he sensed something injured - fragile, even - though she would be appalled at the thought that any weakness showed, he had no doubt of that. The irony, of course, was that bit of a chink in her flawless armor was the one thing that kept him from dismissing her as another selfish, cruel royal stepping on the backs of those less fortunate to get ahead. Her tiny show of pained humanity, the loneliness hidden behind those large dark eyes, beguiled him no matter how hard he tried to resist; drew his empathy where otherwise he would have had only scorn for her past actions and the villain she had been.

They were in the Dark Castle; seemingly, hopefully, having escaped Zelena’s notice so far, but stymied by a large door into the chamber where Rumplestiltskin had to be imprisoned. They had searched the entire rest of the castle and found it empty. None of them were foolish enough, however, to assume that the fact that they had not yet seen the Wicked Witch meant that the way ahead was safe or that she had not laid hidden snares for any intruders. Particularly not if this door were the barrier beyond which she was hiding the powerful being she meant to both use and prove herself to. There had been no other closed doors until this one, after all.

With a huff of impatience, as if she couldn’t be bothered to waste another second of her time - even with safety - the former Queen reached forward, her perfectly manicured hand nearly to the golden inlaid handle despite the Princess Snow’s warnings for caution and the Lady Belle’s wise suggestion that they wait. What appeared as bold unconcern and decisiveness radiated down her spine of steel, held ramrod-straight, but there was a slight tremor in those pale fingers, one he would have missed if he hadn’t been seeking it, just before they closed around the polished metal.

Some strange shiver of foreboding knowledge borne of a life in the forest, in the shadows, constantly on the move, pursued and on the run, made some more than tangible knowledge run through him, and Robin’s limbs and muscles were reacting before his mind issued a conscious order. Knowing the proud woman plowing ahead would not heed any words he called out anyway, he had silently reached over his shoulder, pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocked it to his bow, and let it fly before another moment passed, startling Regina enough as its course whistled past her ear to make her jerk back several steps. 

The feathered missile embedded in the heavy oaken portal with the solid “thunk” of a shot ringing true, but to the horror of all, rather than remaining there, vibrating from its landing, the arrow was lost from sight as the entire door was engulfed in instantaneous flames.

Watching the blaze which would undoubtedly have devoured her as well had he allowed her to touch that door before loosing his arrow, Regina paused for mere moments before whipping around, dark eyes flashing, to arrest him angrily. “That arrow nearly took off my head!” she barked, voice as sharp as jagged glass.

Robin shot back, unable to keep himself from rising to the bait. Her lack of gratitude didn’t even surprise him by that point, but he hadn’t intended to be chastised for his quick-thinking aversion of danger either. “Where I come from a simple thank you would have sufficed.”

The regent’s black eyebrow rose in eloquent derision, making her opinion of where he came from quite clear without speaking a word. Yet, despite that hateful, snarling facade he could see the slight tremor he had previously noticed in her pale hands become a full-body quivering that, while still not plainly visible, had to be making it hard for her to remain standing, much less glaring at him with such vitriol. Her full, blood-red-painted lips trembled minutely as well until her perfect white teeth bit into the lower one, stilling it and making him swallow heavily with some reaction he couldn’t explain. She was shaken; that much he knew. But he could understand refusing to admit fear, not being able to let it show for the sake of those who follow, who must see strength to stay their course.

Thankfully, the clearly magical blaze soon expired and the way before them was as clear and unbarred as all the previous entryways they had encountered. Not without a bit of trepidation, but also as brave and determinedly as he had long since learned their hero contingent to be, Prince Charming and Snow pressed forward, followed anxiously by Belle (whom Robin’s heart panged for as she clearly ached to find the man she loved still able to recognize her and navigate his own mind) and the rest of their group. Regina just to the side, looked for all the world as if she were in no particular hurry to enter and see her former mentor, but could instead care less one way or the other. Hanging back, the outlaw of Sherwood Forest made sure the others had passed through the door and into the other room, well out of hearing, before he stepped up to Regina’s side, drawing almost nose-to-nose with her. He then leaned forward practically brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured. “There’s no need to pretend you’re made of stone, your Majesty…” He put precise emphasis on the title that she had let him know in no uncertain terms that she preferred upon their first meeting in the forest. “In fact, with the present company, I believe you might get much further by letting them see that you have doubts and fears, just as they do. I know I like you much better seeing you as more than the Evil Queen.”

At her sharp intake of air with his last pronouncement, he pulled back quickly, half expecting a slap to be stinging his skin at any moment. Instead, he found color rising hotly up her neck, her chest rising and falling strenuously in that ridiculously low-cut corseted gown, and her generally looking more flustered and affected than he had ever seen her before.

She opened and closed her mouth soundlessly for several seconds until her tart tongue seemed to return to her, then spit out a quick, “Insolent bandit,” before moving to brush past him and follow the others.

Something in Robin snapped and surged to life in answer to her challenge; not allowing her to push him aside, he grasped her upper arm firmly and held on, her back to the wall and crowding in close to her, until their breaths were mingling in the same air, their faces were so close. Even as his pulse pounded and his heart rate skyrocketed, Robin wondered what had come over him. The woman had maimed and killed, schemed and plotted for her own selfish ends, and stood for everything he had devoted himself to toppling. She was nothing like his beloved Marian had been; someone with whom he would not have imagined sharing a thing in common - and yet he couldn’t fight the pull he felt. The need to imprint upon her not to put her life at risk so needlessly again.

Sweeping forward, he dove into an all-consuming kiss, taking her mouth with his and giving no quarter, delving further instead, and swallowing the whimper and hum that escaped her throat unconsciously, despite her best attempts to remain unaffected.  

Regina’s hands grappled blindly at his biceps as if trying to steady herself. She scrabbled for solid support before helplessly melting against him, opening for his questing mouth and giving herself over to the heated embrace. When they finally broke for air, she was breathless, and he huffed out a winded chuckle himself when she managed, “Well, Thief, that really was quite pleasant… Even if you do still smell of forest.”

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

Several realms, curses, and years later, in Storybrooke

The three men and their half dozen offspring of various ages creeping through the woods on the border of Storybrooke out near the town line are quiet and intent, completely and unabashedly focused on their prize. Up ahead, atop the small rise of a hill as the sun climbs fully into the cold, clear November morning sky, their prey struts proudly, stopping occasionally to offer its warbled call or peck at the rough ground beneath its feet. They have been tracking the large turkey for some time now, since before day fully dawned, and the time to strike has come at last.

Briefly, the thought flits through Robin’s head that this could be the same tom that had escaped himself and his Merry Men in this same forest years ago, when the hunt had been interrupted by the nightmarish interruption of a winged simian attacker and LIttle John’s subsequent transformation. To this day, the large and otherwise unflappable man stays far away from this particular section of the forest and refuses to go anywhere near the town line on foot. A quick glance at David and his preteen son to the right, then Killian and his little girl and second son to the left, gives him the hint from both men’s expressions that they are also remembering that rather ill-fated day, as bows are readied and last instructions offered.

He can only hope they will face nothing so unexpected this fine morn. The turkey before them has been promised to grace the main table of the large community Thanksgiving feast, and between the three men and their brood of adventurous junior hunters it is a matter of pride that they not return empty-handed today. Roland was promised the first unobstructed shot, and the young man, just barely a teenager but already capable and thoughtful as an adult, has already taken aim and is readying his shot to fly, much to his half-sister Margot’s displeasure as she stands just behind her big brother at Robin’s elbow. She is as untamed and mischievous as Roland is quiet and serious, and was much put out at the decision that Roland as the oldest child should get first chance, arguing rather heatedly that Roland might be biggest but she was the best shot. His blond-braided, green-attired second child is one of the best shots he’s ever seen at barely ten, but if she doesn’t learn to keep her temper and her slightly spoiled younger sibling petulance under control, he is certainly in for further trials in a few years.

Even in the few silent moments afforded him as they all hold their breaths, Rob feels the gratitude and love he has for his children, and the friends and adopted family surrounding them, surge through him with new strength. He had so very nearly left this world, numerous times over, as had the men on either side of him, and the women each of them loved. It was part of the heavy mantle they wore when standing against the Darkness in the world and fighting it back from the light and good time after time. Still, what better time than the present holiday to give thanks for the fact that they are all still standing and present to celebrate together?

Roland lets out a soft breath and then releases the arrow, just as a sharp cry rings out to the left.  His son’s aim is true, but the bird is startled from its perch just in time to have the shot glide by beneath its talons as it takes flight. David on his right is already directing Leo to adjust his aim quickly and get off a second shot, even as Robin’s eyes sweep to where Killian is righting Hope from a tumble over a jutting tree root, brushing off her dark leggings and checking her for injury as she clearly struggles to hold back embarrassed and disappointed tears.

What he hasn’t banked on is his daughter’s inability to wait her turn or hold back any longer. Quick as whip, Margot lets fly, striking the bird right as she intends and sending it toppling from the sky. Mouth falling open in surprise at her audacity and her skill in equal measure, Robin can’t help the surge of pride at his daughter’s prowess, even if he knows he should admonish her for taking Leo’s moment from him and wondering if he should be making certain Roland doesn’t feel overshadowed.  However, his eldest spares him the trouble when he whoops and claps Margot on the shoulder, crying out “You got him on the fly, Sis! Nice one!”

When the whole group converges together, he decides to let the lecture about abiding by the rules and taking turns slide for the time being upon noticing that Leo looks rather relieved that the pressure to prove his mettle before their quarry escaped has been taken off of his shoulders. Instead, he claps his little girl on the shoulder, squeezing with gentle affection until she looks up at him, beaming.  Like her brother before her, she is growing much too fast, turning into a young lady before his eyes, and so for a moment, he lets himself revel in the fact that she still wants to spend time out in the woods with him and wishes to make him proud. Her papa won’t hold the favored spot in her heart forever, so he may as well savor it while he can.

He thinks Killian’s youngest, barely old enough to be tromping around out here with them in truth, looks a bit teary at the downed and unnaturally still bird before them, so he hurries to bag their prize for the journey homeward and puts it out of sight over his shoulder while Killian picks his tired youngest up off his feet and begins asking him how many different types of trees he can recognize from their leaves on the way back. That seems a bit difficult for a five-year-old until little Liam David begins happily babbling (suitably distracted thankfully) and pointing out oaks, maples and scotch pines as the pirate’s unerring sense of direction leads their whole troupe out of the forest toward the main road where they’ve left their trucks, Margot takes his hand, and Hope her grandpa’s, and Roland and Leo fall in behind talking amiably and carrying the bows. Apparently they have a budding naturalist in their midst as well, and Killian Jones - as usual - knows exactly what he is doing.

When he, Roland, and Margot trail back into the mayoral mansion some time later, discarding their muddy boots by the door, but still scattering crumbled leaves and dirt in the entryway, Regina stands in the hall shaking her head, and directs the children toward the laundry room to discard their outerwear before heading up to wash for dinner.  She looks at him, trying to muster exasperation, but unable to do so. That flawless Queen is long gone; she has come a long way since they snapped and snarled at each other in self-preservation back in their home realm, neither wanting to fall in love and risk heartbreak again.

Snatching his jacket collar and pulling him in close, Regina nips at his lips playfully before murmuring against his scruffy cheek, “You still smell like forest,” she mocks, “but somehow you’ve managed to steal my heart.”

He shakes his head, offering back words she’d stunned him with once long ago, “That’s not quite the way I remember it.  If I recall, your heart was given to me,” he whispers, emotion taking over the jest, “and a person can’t steal what’s been given to him.”

All in all, he’s been given much more than a simple archer from Sherwood Forest could have ever hoped.

Tagging a few who may enjoy (or for whom these stories might even be new...)

@jennjenn615 @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @laschatzi @spartanguard @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @thislassishooked @anmylica @sotangledupinit @cosette141 @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @ilovemesomekillianjones @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @zaharadessert @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx @kday426 @scientificapricot @xarandomdreamx​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @ineffablecolors​ 

[jamessunderlandgf]

hi 4, 5, 10, and 14 for odette and smoke from those ship asks owo

4: their favorite physical feature on each other? 

odette loves her man’s shoulders brother SHEESH 🤭 seeing him flex as he stretches his arms and hyper focusing on the musculature. knowing he could hold her entire body weight up there for… untoward activities. you know.

tomas love’s this woman’s legs an unreal amount. she is so tall and allllll of her height is in her legs and he goes crazy over them all the time. he wants them tangled up in his limbs at all times. wrapped around his hips always. you feel me.

5: how do they comfort each other when they’re sad?

tomas runs her a bath. 11/10 guaranteed to make her feel like a person again.

odette’s love language is quality time, so she will literally just sit in silence with him, her head resting on his shoulder, his chest, wherever it fits in the moment and just lets him exist, suspended in time. neither of them have to pretend to be anything but themselves for an evening. it does wonders for their psyche, collectively.

10: do they have pet names for each other?

it’s a lot of “dear” thrown back and forth. but tomas has caught on to odette’s favorite being “sweetheart”, so he throws that one at her once in a while. he uses it sparingly so it doesn’t lose its potency, so when he does use it she FOLDS. he could ask her for the world in that moment and she would prepare to gather it for him.

he only ever says it to her in moments of tenderness tho, just to make the moment even better.

14: is there anything they associate with each other?

tomas is the embodiment of “looks for you everywhere. finds you there.” sentiment. it comes most often in the literal sense of just seeing people existing with their partners and wishing it was him and odette. he just misses his girl cs they are literally realms apart.

odette will light candles just to blow them out so the scent of smoke will assault her sinuses, so she can close her eyes and pretend that tomas is there. she’s a little delusional let her live.

[olivethetreebitch]

Aight, more for the fic I wrote about this morning at 2am.

Along with the motorcycle they drive, I think Judai would be the kind of person who skateboards and dances, there’s this TimmyTocker that I follow who would be the inspiration for his dances. They’re really cool and I put a link here to their page:

https://www.tiktok.com/@bgirlcocoa?_t=8XjrS4OCvoB&_r=1

So, I would think that this time around maybe Jaden would try to focus on his studies, like now they’ve gotten some actual experience in applying the stuff that would be taught at duel academy so…. Probably getting Bs and Cs, they’re passing this time. Also the fact that Atem probably taught both Yubel and Judai about Egyptian culture, literature, practices, eta. Atem wouldn’t leave this child (no he (Atem)does not have the memories and stuff) without some form of schooling, and it would probably be a way for Atem to reintroduce themself into their own culture.

Also the Yugi and Atem thing I should probably explain- So the two of them started out in the Season 0 timeline where Atem was cruel and Yugi was small(er). This is not a part of the GX fic but just worldbuilding.

Yugi figured out that “Hey there’s someone in here with me” and they met. No it was not smooth, but they figured out how to get along, “Yami” was always this shadow figure and didn’t have a corporal form/Yami Yugi form. After some proving that there was no ill wishes on both sides, they got along. They start working together and become friends, (Puzzleshipping is here, you can write it as platonic and/or romantic)

Around the Battle City Arc, Kaiba makes a device to trap “Yugi” in a duel with him, not knowing that it was ment to split the victim’s soul away from the body. (Meddling from Mav or Bakura it’s anyone’s guess) but because there were two souls inhabiting one body (they kept it under wraps really well) instead of sending “Yugi” (both Atem and Yugi) to the shadow realm, the universe went “Aight, time to reset” and sends them back to the pilot of S1, so, the universe went “That was a little dark let’s make it more kid friendly” and so Yugi and Atem (Still called Yami because of stupid memory loss) traverse the Duel Monsters show :D.

Judai makes a conscious effort to not show any of their powers/spooky shit that happens when they are around friends, and everyone thinks that Jaden is normal. Also Koriboh isn’t with him in card form, but is there in spirit knowing that Judai is the spirit successor (I would say it shows up around the 6th or 7th week of class)

Judai did the whole “Showing up late” thing on the first day and fought Crowler on the first day getting the Hero deck. Solidifying the “class clown” role he had the first time around. Vibes in the forest or on the rocks on the beach all the time if nobody is needing them, and is very good at deflecting when it comes to people asking about his backstory.

Judai also when pissed LOOKS like Atem from s0, like the parallels are ✨there✨ and yes he looks like his father. I love it. I’ll add more later and probably put a number on them so people don’t get confused-

[exhaustedpirate]

Regina being the one to get Emma from the wish realm was such a terrible idea...

The episode was fine and it was fun to see who was who in this new version of reality (even if I still have a lot of issues with it).

Regina is the Evil Queen, aka Snow and Charming's archenemy, aka the reason Emma became the Saviour in the first place, so it would be safe to say that something would have to happen involving Regina in order for Emma to not be the Saviour.

The fact that no one in the room, specially Regina "everyone is dumb except me" Mills, think that "hey, maybe Regina isn't the best option for this rescue mission" is ridiculous.

I'm not saying that Killian should have gone because of the possibility of more CS scenes (à la season 3 finale) - I am saying that Regina was the worst choice.

Besides, because Regina was the one to go, Emma had to endure her parent's death and Henry had to live with, not only, seeing his grandparents die but also see his mom taken away by the family's greatest enemy. Regina doesn't have the emotional pull any of the other characters could have - this seen by the fact that she thought killing Snow and Charming in front of Emma was a good idea. And while I appreciate the fact that Regina didn't retaliate against Wish!Henry's murder attempt (even though I was aware she wouldn't), it still doesn't stop it being a terrible plan.

Besides we wouldn't have that terrible misuse of Robin Hood.

I know that neither of them thought that the Wish Realm was an actual place like theirs but that shouldn't stop them having feelings towards the people in it - just like Emma was distraught over seeing her parents die, it should have been enough to stop Regina from murdering her enemy-turned-close-friend and her husband.

[donteattheappleshook]

How long, love, before you go

Part 4 of Lover of the Light 

Summary:

The story Killian and Emma told her parents in part 3, of how they met and fell in love.

Rated E

This whole chapter is a completely self indulgent piece that nobody asked for but I needed to write... 

Catch up on Ao3 (where my italics work) or on Tumblr: 1 2 3 

Happy Happy birthday @the-darkdragonfly​! Here is the second half of your gift! <3

Thank you a hundred million times @elizabeethan​ for betaing this absolute monster!

****

Part four

He was getting too old for this, foot slipping on the smooth cobblestones of the road, the sound of laughter and rowdy pirates echoing behind him, the light of the tavern snuffed out by the slam of the door. He rested his hand upon it, then his head for a moment. Far too old for this. When he was a younger man he could drown himself in a barrel of rum or ale, stay at the tables until he’d won the money off every man who couldn’t hold his liquor well enough to tamper his tells and still have his wits about him enough to charm a pretty barmaid back to his ship.

Now it was barely past midnight and he caught himself letting out a sigh of relief at the semblance of quiet. It was never truly quiet in these port towns, the noise of drunken sailors and clashing steel and the ever present, ever constant crash of waves against rocks and ships a reminder that there was never truly any rest either in this life he’d chosen. 

He ached. His eyes burned with lack of sleep, his bones weary from the storm that had forced them to dock, the wind that had yanked at the sail as he and his crew had tried to tether it. The calluses on his hand still burned, ripped bloody by the harsh rope that had slipped from his grasp. 

He let himself rest another moment. Perhaps not too old, he allowed, denying rest to his limbs that wanted to sag against the door, his shoulders that wanted to shuck off the heavy coat and fall into an empty bed, but tired. He’d been old for a long time, after all - centuries spent in Neverland hunting what he thought would bring him peace. But in the fifteen years since he’d finally found a way to leave that cursed place behind for good, he’d started to feel his age. The ravages of time had finally caught up to him after so long. 

His body was still relatively young, yes, despite the silver that had begun to streak through his hair and beard, the lines around his eyes a permanent feature now, his muscles leaner and more easily strained. But it was as if his heart had grown impatient, racing to make up for lost time, all the years he’d been able to ignore its every splintered, longing beat, taking hold of him in a matter of years. And he was weary, exhausted from suddenly carrying the weight of so many lifetimes in a fraction of one. 

He couldn’t pinpoint the moment it happened, maybe it was when he’d given up on his revenge. Milah, who was so full of life, so desperate to live every moment of the short time she’d been given, would have wanted him to stop long ago. For the first time in his long life he’d found himself  with no reason for his existence, no purpose to lead him through the days that grew longer as his time grew shorter.  

You’ve had too much to drink, Killian chided himself, the same drink that used to bury his pain and his anger now only ever leaving him brooding and melancholy. A sad, old man, that’s what you are, he laughed dryly, one who needed to get himself to bed. He didn’t envy his future self the headache he’d have in the morning. 

***

She’d been such an idiot, thinking she could cover her hair with a hood, hide her dress beneath a cloak and on one would recognize her. Thinking she could walk onto the first ship she found and buy passage out of the kingdom and no one would question it. She wasn’t so naive, the fear and the haste with which she’d made her escape not giving her time to think, to reason. 

She should have known better, she should have thought, then maybe she wouldn’t have found herself here, now, facing off with an angry pirate who seemed less interested in the bounty he’d receive for delivering her to the queen, and more interested in making her suffer. 

She hadn’t meant to do it. But they’d grabbed her and she’d panicked and now two of his crewmen lay at her feet. God she hoped they weren’t dead. From the look on Blackbeard’s face, she knew he would make her pay regardless, for the embarrassment to him and his crew. He wouldn’t kill her, she knew that. She was too valuable alive. But he could make her hurt. 

The man drew his sword, towering over her, a giant with silver hair that hung in ropes around him, beard still black as night. There was a darkness in his eyes she’d never seen before. She had no sword of her own, ducking as he approached to pull one from the hopefully-not-dead pirate’s belt.

The sight of her raising a sword between them only seemed to anger him, the first blow coming down furiously upon her. His blade hit hers so hard she felt the shock reverberate through her bones, shoulders shaking with the effort of holding him back. Blackbeard snarled, raising his sword and striking again, and again as she continued to ward him off, each of her reactions slower than the last. There was no chance to strike back, no opening left that wouldn’t leave her too in danger of catching one of those attacks. Each block grew weaker, his blows closer, she wouldn’t be able to hold him off much longer.

It happened too quickly, her grip not sure enough, the sword knocked from her hand, the sound of it clattering to the deck echoing in her ears where silence had fallen, everything else tuned out as she waited for what would come next. She turned away at the last moment, instinct at seeing the weapon coming for her and fearing he might actually kill her in the end. What was one ransome? 

It was the blood she noticed first, a puddle of it forming at her feet, dozens of drops raining down on the deck as they came together and soaked it. It wasn’t until her hand landed in it, splashing against her cheeks that she saw it was coming from her, the fabric of her dress already soaked through, rivulets sliding down her arm like little rivers, pooling in the spaces between her fingers.

Then the pain came, white hot and raging, so sharp it took the air from her lungs, took her ability to scream, to make a sound. The sound returned next, the deck loud with chaos once again. Emma raised her head just enough to see his shadow, see him lift his sword a final time, and she squeezed her eyes shut. 

But the blow didn’t come, the scrape of metal against metal jarring as she looked up and saw his blade, inches from her neck, caught by a hook. She couldn’t lift herself enough to see him, whoever it was that had just saved her, the pain too sharp if she moved, her head spinning when she raised it. She just needed to get up. Get up and fight like she’d been taught to her whole life. 

The clash of swords echoed across the deck, the two taunting one another like they knew each other well, and then silence. Suddenly she was yanked up by her hair, a blade pressed to her throat by one of the pirates. When the pain cleared from her eyes, she could see the man standing over Blackbeard, a sword pointed at his heart. 

“He dies, and your lass dies with him!” the man behind her shouted. She clawed at the hand that held the dagger. This man didn’t know her. She wasn’t his anything. She had no strength left, but if she was going to die, she would go down fighting to the last second. 

When she looked back at the man, he was staring at the one who held her, a threat in his eyes, and then he lowered his sword. The dagger left her throat and she was tossed towards the deck, caught by the stranger who rushed to her side.

“Can you walk?” he spoke against her temple as he helped her to her feet. “Don’t you die on me now. How would it look if I saved the damsel in distress only to have her collapse in the escape.” He backed them slowly towards the gangplank, Emma leaning heavily against him. 

“I’m not a damsel,” she snapped - or would have if she had any strength.

His laugh sounded forced. “What? Is that the thanks I get for such a dashing rescue?”

“I was handling it.” 

This smirk was real. “I could see that.” Her feet stopped cooperating, he alone keeping her upright now. “We need to get you to a healer.” 

She shook her head. “No.”

“A witch then -”

“No! No magic.” 

“You’ll die.” 

“Don’t be dramatic.” Every word made her wince.

“Love…”

“I can’t.” It was too much of a risk. She could be recognized again, brought back to the castle. She couldn’t let them find her. “They’ll…” speaking and standing at the same time was becoming difficult. “If they…”

She could see the moment he put it together. “Bloody hell. Who are you running from?” 

“Please,” she begged.

He sighed, definitely not happy with the decision. “Alright, come on,” he said, tucking his hook beneath her knees and lifting her into his arms. 

***

Killian riffled through the various chests in his quarters while she watched him sleepily from an armchair. “This won’t be pleasant,” he warned, digging out the needle and thread from his desk. He’d stitched wounds before, but never with any skill. Milah had always been better at that. 

“Unlike the rest of our evening?” the girl slurred from her perch. He stood behind her, carefully unlacing her overdress to see the wound.  “Aren’t you supposed to buy me a drink first?” He couldn’t believe the smirk that tugged at his lips. “Ow! What the fuck!” she shouted, jumping when he poured rum over the gash. “That’s not what I meant!” The wound was big, the width of her shoulder blade and it would leave a nasty scar. 

“I warned you,” he reminded her when she turned to glare at him, more alert now from the shock. “Last chance to find a healer.”

She clenched her teeth, some of that fear breaking through her bravado, and shook her head. Bracing himself, Killian took a swig of his flask for himself - this would be unpleasant for the both of them - and then offered it to her.  “For the pain.” 

She winced enough as she swallowed for him to know she didn’t indulge often. That was good - it would take effect sooner. 

It was slow, and long, and while he tried his best to get it over with as quickly as he could, he also needed to do it right. His fingers were still dexterous from decades of knots and mapping, but his eyesight struggled in the dim light. Her fist clenched each time he pushed the needle in, but she didn’t make a sound, not until he reached where the wound was deepest. She let out a curse that would make the men on his crew blush and he fought a laugh. 

“Do you need something to bite on?” he teased, hoping to distract her as he pushed the needle in again. 

She cursed again. “I’ll bite you if you don’t shut up.” 

He caught his lip between his teeth to keep from smirking at her threat. Though, taking in the long pale curve of her neck, the golden curls that hung over her other shoulder, and recalling the striking green eyes that had been glaring at him moments ago, he couldn’t pretend he was totally opposed to the idea. 

Stop it. She was at least a decade younger than him if not more, and fierce, and beautiful, and clearly above the likes of a pirate like him. And while he’d been with noble women before, that had been when he was a devilishly handsome young scoundrel, not a weary, greying man with nothing to offer. 

“Sorry.”

He shook his head though she couldn't see it. "Threaten me all you want, love, so long as you're around to follow through on them."

Her small hum of laughter was weak, but it made him smile nonetheless. And when he chuckled as she hissed out 'fuck!' he could feel her glare. "I'm glad you find this amusing. This a habit of yours? Casual sadism?"

"Oh, aye," he smirked. "Is this a habit of yours? Consorting with pirates?"

"Not usually. Son of a bitch, are you doing it on purpose?" 

He thought about teasing her for complaining, but a fine sheen of sweat had begun to dampen her still too-pale skin even as she remained cold to the touch, and he knew the pain had to be immense. 

"I don't think I've ever encountered a lady with a mouth quite like yours."

She tensed and he paused in his work. "Who said I was a lady?" A poor attempt at sounding nonchalant that may have succeeded under different circumstances. 

"That's a very fine dress you're wearing.” Or it was anyway.

"Maybe I stole it." He could hear the challenge in her voice. A weary, long forgotten part of him begged to be allowed to rise to it, drawn out by this woman who surprised him each time she opened her mouth, and charmed his old, beaten heart with every word. It had been a long, long time since someone surprised him and despite the fact that they'd been fighting for their lives - and she still was - he couldn't remember the last time someone had made him smile quite so much. 

But he didn't, as much as he may have wanted to; it was too dangerous. A woman like her was the kind he could lose his heart to if he didn't hold onto it tight enough. And what would she want with a worn and hollowed heart? 

"Ah, so you're a thief, then. Is that it?" Her shoulders relaxed, at least enough that he could make another stitch. 

"Maybe," her voice was strained, spoken through gritted teeth. 

“So just who are you, love?” 

“Nobody,” she sighed, sounding tired again. “I’m… nobody special.” 

Killian cocked his head, “I doubt that.” The words felt too much like flirtation as they passed his lips. Some stupid, forgotten version of himself finding its way out from where he’d long kept him buried. She kept doing that, finding the bits of himself he’d given up on, drawing them out, drawing them to her. 

She glanced over her shoulder, brilliant green shaded by dark smudges against pale skin. He tried to keep his hand steady as she offered him a small smile, dry, pale lips brightened with a warmth he hadn’t expected.

“Thank you. For saving me tonight.” 

Killian cleared his throat against the old, unfamiliar rush that crept through his chest. “We’re almost done here,” he promised, finishing the last stitch.

“Will I live?” She sounded exhausted, humour falling flat.

“Aye.” 

“That’s good. But… I think…” He frowned as he tied off the thread and helped her to her feet. “I think I might -” She didn’t get to finish her thought, falling into his arms as she fainted.

Killian sighed. “I suppose you’ll be spending the night, then.” 

***

She felt something ghost across her wrist, warm and rough and gentle, and blinked her eyes open slowly. A man sat across from her, the man who’d saved her last night - the one she’d threatened to bite. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, his hair and clothes rumpled. She wondered if he’d slept in that chair all night. 

He was holding her wrist, finding her pulse with his thumb and keeping it there. There was blood on both their hands, old and dried and likely all hers. He looked up, surprised to find her awake.

She smiled. “I’m alive.”

He cleared his throat. “Aye.” 

She waited for him to remember how conversations worked, then glanced down at her hand when he didn't. “Are you just double checking or…?” she teased and he released her quickly, his cheeks going red as she smiled again. He looked different this morning, not that she’d really had much of a chance to look at him last night, too busy trying not to die and all… 

All she’d remembered was the solid feel of his shoulders, keeping her upright, the strength of his arm holding her weight when she couldn’t anymore, and the foreign way he pronounced the words with which he teased her. 

So she looked at him now, her hero, she almost smirked - they were, after all, on a pirate ship. He was striking, dark hair and bright eyes. His beard and his temples flecked with silver somehow made him more handsome than he had any right to be, pieces of it falling over his brow, head bent above her in his chair. 

There were lines at the corners of his eyes, but she hesitated to think they came from laughter, not when she met them, that deep blue fixed just as intently on her. There was a sadness in them, an ancient, deep melancholy far beyond his age and her heart broke for him. She reached for his cheek, wanting to comfort him in some way but she’d barely moved before a brutal, sharp pain ripped at her shoulder.

“Motherfucker.” 

She saw him bite down hard on a laugh, his shyness fading as he spoke. “Killian, actually.” Emma raised a questioning brow at him as she settled back down on her side. “Killian Jones. Though some know me by my more colourful moniker, Hook.” He raised the appendage in question for emphasis. 

Ah yes, she remembered that too now, the way it had caught Blackbeard’s sword and the feel of his brace beneath her as he’d carried her to his ship. “Pleasure.” 

He began to smirk when the silence hung a moment too long. “This is the part where you tell me your name.”

“I’m Emma -” she started automatically, the introduction drilled into her since birth. The shape of her last name and title forming on her lips before she stopped it, looked away so he wouldn’t see the hesitation and the lie. The less he knew about who she was the better. She looked away, needing to think of something -  “Swan. Emma Swan,” she finished, testing the name, liking the sound of it.  

Killian met her gaze for a moment, cocking his head and she held it defiantly until he turned to look over his shoulder to where her eyes had darted. When he looked back, his face split in a wide grin. Fuck. 

“Are you certain about that?”

“I think I know my own name.” Her cheeks burned, but she kept her chin high. 

“You’re absolutely sure it isn’t Emma Kraken? Or perhaps Emma Horse?” he teased, gesturing to the two illustrations that flanked the one of the swan behind him. She glared and he laughed. “Alright, then, Swan.” he conceded. “You should rest some more, eat something.” She sighed in relief that he was letting her have this one.

“Could I trouble you for some water? I’d like to wash the blood from my hair… and my skin… and my dress.” And his sheets, she realized, noting the blood stains that would probably never come out. 

“There’s a hip tub behind the partition. I’ll bring you some water.” 

She caught his wrist before he could leave, tanned skin dark against her own, the blood on his fingers matching hers. “Thank you for saving me - I know I wasn’t the most gracious victim last night.” 

“You were hardly a victim,” he said kindly as she let go. “And I can’t hold you accountable for things that were said under the influence of pain and rum.

“Well, I’m sorry I called you a sadist… and probably a lot of other things… and threatened to bite you.”

Killian smirked. “There’s soap by the basin.” 

Sitting in the small tub, the lilac scented soap worked through her hair again and again until the water ran clean, she stared at her hands. Maybe it was gone for good, maybe all her problems would be over and she could go home and pretend like nothing happened. 

As though it knew she was trying to wish it away, she felt the soft hum in her fingers, the glimmers of light beginning to dance between them. Emma let out a cry, shoving her fists beneath the water until it stopped, and then letting her tears fall into them. She could never go home. 

***

He wasn’t exactly sure how he’d ended up with a long-term guest aboard the Jolly. Neither had suggested she stay, but neither had suggested she be on her way either. And somehow it had been three days since that morning after he’d brought her on board.

He’d woken up disoriented, and somehow even more exhausted, his back and neck protesting painfully from sleeping upright in the armchair he’d dragged to the side of the bed. He wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there, watching her, counting every rise and fall of her breaths, fingers sliding softly over her wrist a dozen times to feel the slow but consistent pulse beneath his thumb.

When she’d emerged from his quarters, hair damp and blonde again, loose waves hanging down her back and colour returning to her cheeks, his breath had caught. She’d smoothed her hands over the dress he’d brought her - ‘I think yours has seen it’s last sword fight’ - Milah’s dress. The faded red was nowhere near as fine as the silk she’d discarded, but she’d looked stunning nonetheless and he’d found himself at a loss for words again. 

“Thank you for the clothes.” He hadn’t trusted himself to do anything but nod. “I hope whoever’s this is won’t miss it.” 

Pain had caught in his throat at the memory of her - still, after all these years. “She won’t.” 

“Oh.” He’d met her eyes and wished he hadn’t, a sadness in them like they’d reached out and touched his own and he could tell that she’d read his heartbreak as easily as if he’d spoken the words aloud. He’d never been good at hiding his feelings, better and masking them, burying them between anger and bravado. “Who was she?”

“Someone from long ago.” 

To his relief, Emma hadn’t pushed, sitting down with him at the table and sharing the plate he’d put together. She hadn’t brought the topic up again, even when he’d gifted her another dress that morning.

***

They’d fallen into a routine, or she’d fallen into his, one he couldn’t shake after centuries of habit, waking with the sun and taking breakfast in the galley. He’d taken to sleeping in Mr. Smee’s quarters, unsure she realized who’s room she was in. 

He spent the mornings charting courses to upcoming destinations, planning future raids and deciding if they should take on passengers in the interim. She sat pouring through the small library he kept on board, learning everything about what he was doing, asking all the right questions. 

She’d wanted to be helpful, so Killian had taught her knots - easier ones with her arm in a sling. There was less to do when they were in port, but Emma seemed determined to be of service and a part of him wondered if she felt the need to earn her keep. 

That first evening, she’d sat at the small harpsichord in his room, fingers tracing carefully over the ivory keys until he’d asked if she played.

“My parents made me learn. Do you?”

“Poorly,” he’d smirked, holding up his hook. 

As a young man he’d loved the instrument, dedicated himself to mastering it when he and his brother had joined the navy and for the first time in his life he’d had the opportunity to learn anything he wished. He’d chosen everything. He’d told her all this, secrets of his past and the joys and heartbreaks of his life spilling out of him of their own volition. It had been a long time since anyone had cared to ask, let alone to know. And yet he still only knew her first name. 

“Play with me,” she’d offered. “I’ll take the left and you take the right.” 

“You haven’t got a left at the moment, love.” She’d dismissed it but he’d refused nonetheless, prefering to hear her play. He’d refused the second time she asked as well, and the next.

***

When the wake of the tempest that had brought them into port had finally slipped away, the air no longer heavy, the skies no longer blanketed by black clouds, the anxiety that always lingered in his bones and pricked at the back of his neck when they were near subsided. 

Emma watched him, charting a course to Agrabah where he’d heard rumours of a magic lamp that kings would pay a fortune for. “Have you been before?” 

“Aye,” he didn’t look up from his work, used to her questions now. 

“What’s it like?”

“Hot. Have you travelled much before?” 

“Nowhere interesting,” she sighed. “Just neighbouring kingdoms, and Arendale.”

“Why Arendale?”

“I have a friend there.” 

“What’s it like?”

“Cold. Tell me about Agrabah.” He laughed at her impatience. She was a lady, he’d figured out that much, but the mold didn’t suit her. The manners and demureness she performed - likely trained since childhood - so easily forgotten when she was excited, or annoyed. He so enjoyed bringing her out.

Killian looked up at her then, met with eager anticipation. “The air smells of spices.” She smiled, catching it between her teeth, waiting for him to go on. “The entire kingdom is covered in sand, mountains of it, as far as the eye can see. And it’s ruled by a great and fearsome queen, and a king who was once a thief.” 

“What?”

“That’s the story they tell: the princess and the street rat.” 

“That can’t be true.” 

“Perhaps, though they say the king of this land was once a shepherd, so maybe true love does conquer all.” 

Emma tensed at the mention of the king and his playful smile faltered even as she slipped back into her polite persona. “You’ve been to so many places.”

“Aye well, I’ve lived a long life.”

She raised a brow at him, the real her breaking through once more. “Not that long.” 

“I’m older than I look.”

“How much older?” 

Killian huffed a laugh. “That’s a very complicated question.” Her brow rose higher, waiting. “Time doesn’t move the same way in some realms. The lines between days and years get blurry.” 

“Guess.” 

“Too old,” something he had to keep reminding himself of when she rolled her eyes at him like that, or smiled at him, or looked at him, or found herself too close - like now as she rounded the table to look over his shoulder at the maps.

“How do you read these? There aren’t any roads to follow.” He sucked in a breath as silently as he could, her breath hot against his ear.

“Latitudes and longitudes, the stars, charts.” She reached for his maps, constellations laid over sea and land, and traced the lines reverently. The warmth of her pressed against his back made him tense, everything about her so bloody inviting. “We also have compases, sextants,” he listed. 

“That thing?” she asked and he was forced to raise his head to follow her gaze to the sextant resting on the table. His cheek brushed against her temple, her hair catching in his beard, but she didn’t seem to mind. 

“Aye.” 

“It’s beautiful.”

“It was my brother’s.” He spoke without meaning to. Secrets of his past and the joys and heartbreaks of his life spilled out of him of their own volition these days. It had been a long time since anyone had cared to ask, let alone to know. And yet he still only knew her first name. She put a hand on his arm, not needing to be told what fate had befallen Liam. Her touch calmed his pain at the memory of that horrible day, feeling like he could take a breath, and stirred longing beneath his skin, a long forgotten desire for the feeling, and it left him uncentered and untethered. 

He reached for the sextant, handing it to her, an excuse to put distance between them. Emma took it carefully despite the way he practically thrust it into her hands, and examined the instrument. She raised it up to try to look through it. “Is it like a telescope?”

“Did you not live in a port town?” he teased and she rolled her eyes even as she shut one, squinting. 

“I lived near a port town. I probably know more about the forest and tracking than you do. You only seem smarter because we’re on the water.” 

Killian smirked. “Aye, you probably do.” He adjusted the sextant, his hand closing over hers with no other place to hold it, his hook looping around her other wrist as he tilted and raised it. “You need a horizon,” he explained, moving his hook to slide the index arm enough that the mirrors shifted and she bit her lip, concentrating. “But you can use it to find where you are using the sun.” 

She lowered the sextant when he let go so she could look at the number now indicated below it, hair falling over her shoulder as she did. “So it keeps you from getting lost.” 

“Aye.” He reached out to tuck her hair back behind her ear and she turned her head. He froze. He hadn’t meant to do it, but now she was looking up at him, green eyes searching his own. His hand was still by her cheek, thumb still at her temple, fingers still woven through the soft strands, and she was close enough that he could feel her breath against his chest.

He thought of how easy it would be just to fall into her, to kiss her again and again like he’d wanted to for days now. He wanted to feel her mouth under his, feel her skin under his hands, under his tongue, to know what she tasted like, what she would sound like when he touched her, when he was inside her, what she would look like when she fell over the edge.

He thought he imagined the way her chin lifted, just a fraction, when his gaze dropped for a moment to her lips. And a blush pinked her cheeks when he came to his senses and dropped his hand and said, “I think that’s enough maps for one day.” 

****

“You know this one,” she accused, pausing in her playing. A small smile was tugging at his lips from where he sat listening.

“I know all of them.”

Emma rolled her eyes. Of course he did. “But you know this one. You know how to play it.” 

“Aye, well, you never forget your first,” he smirked, and she raised a brow in delighted surprise at his boldness.

“Even if it was such a long time ago?” she teased and he managed to look offended and amused at once. “Prove it, then.” He smirked at her challenge but didn’t bite. “Are you ever going to play with me or am I to be your personal concert pianist?” 

“Well, you’re doing a lovely job.” 

“Killian,” she warned. He hummed in laughter before sighing. 

“You’re not going to stop asking, are you?”

She beamed; she had him. “I will if you say yes.” 

With another sigh he rose, rolling his eyes at her triumphant smirk, and took a seat next to her on the bench, leaving as much space between them as he could. Emma slid over under the guise of reaching for the center of the keyboard and she felt him stiffen as their shoulders brushed. She could feel the heat of him where her thigh was pressed against his, even through all the layers of fabric.

Something had happened a few nights ago. He’d stopped it, but she’d felt it for a moment, his hand at her cheek, his fingers in her hair. There had been a moment, one where she thought he might lean in, might kiss her, might let her kiss him.

She didn’t know what was holding him back. They had an age difference but it was hardly anything obscene at ten or fifteen years. And she’d seen the way he looked at her, had felt the way he reacted to her touch. What did it matter how many years were between them if they both wanted the same thing? 

But she remembered that sadness she’d noticed in his eyes the first time she’d really looked. Something had left him broken, as though she could see each piece of his heart shattered into a thousand pieces and reflected in the stormy depths that shone such a brilliant blue in the light. Maybe that light had been absent from his life for so long he’d forgotten how to live in anything but darkness.

She turned to him, wondering if she’d see that sadness again, if there was hope of chasing it away, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. He watched his hand instead, playing the first few notes of the song and prompting her to join. 

They played the song, and then another, his fingers clumsy and forgetful after not having touched the instrument in so long. He paused at one point - ‘I don’t remember…’ - Emma reached over, playing the notes slowly for him. He watched her hand, then watched her and she could feel her skin warming beneath his gaze, looking at her again in that way that sent her heart racing, like he wanted to consume her, like he was afraid she would consume him. 

She felt the brush of his fingers against her palm when she pulled her hand back and froze, the music that had been surrounding them coming to an abrupt silence. His hand turned upwards from where it had been resting on the keys, she watched as he played his fingers along the length of hers. Careful, tentative, he slipped into the spaces between, testing, and folding around hers when she didn’t pull away. 

He was still watching her, the weight of his gaze growing more intent, and she turned to meet it, that stormy grey tinged with the lightest of blues. He said her name, soft, imploring, as he looked from her eyes to her lips and sent her heart racing in that agonizing way it did right before a kiss and then… no, not now. The warmth that had begun to spread through her turned to a burn, a pulse she couldn’t control, something inside of her called out by him, to him.

She stumbled back off the bench, hands snatched from his, balled in a fist behind her back where he couldn’t see, where it couldn’t hurt him. He looked at her, shock, confusion, regret, as she whispered, “I’m sorry,” and ran from the room.

***

Hoofbeats and metal jarred him from his sleep, or something close to sleep at least. He hadn’t been able to find any rest after last night, after she ran from the room, from him like he’d burned her. 

He lunged from his bed as the thundering sound approached, grabbing for his sword. Shouts carried over, orders being called out, growing closer. He hurried down the hallway, had nearly reached the captain’s quarters when Emma burst from it, dressed in only her shift and looking wild with panic. She ran to him, crashing into his chest, fingers grasping desperately at the sleeves of his thin shirt.

“Can we get out of here?” she demanded, looking back over her shoulder toward the stairs that lead above deck. “Can we get away in time?” He shook his head. He could hear them boarding ships already. Whoever they were, they’d be here soon. “Can you hide me?” she begged. “Somewhere they won’t look?” He frowned, still catching up to what was happening. Were these the people she was running from? Why would such a large cavalry be sent after one woman? “Killian,” Emma snapped, fingers tightening in his shirt and yanking him to attention. He felt a burn on his arm, hot and gone in an instant when she released him. “If they find me here, with you… they’ll kill you.” 

That seemed to frighten her more than the idea of being found and he tried to search her face, anything she’d said over the last four days that could explain any of this, but the men were boarding the ship now, and he hurried her back into his room. “Come on,” he urged, leading her to the inconspicuous looking wall beside his bed. Pressing the spot he knew by touch and memory, he opened one of the smuggling compartments, the one where he kept the magical artifacts he’d collected over years of hunting a way to kill the Dark One. 

“Don’t touch anything and stay quiet.” She nodded. “I’ll get rid of them.”

***

“They’re gone,” his voice carried through the wall. 

She was still staring at the artifacts around her, rows and rows of shelves in the narrow room he’d hidden her in, filled with things as mundane as a tailfeather from a bird she didn’t recognize, to a flame burning inside of a quartz the size of her hand. 

He’d told her not to touch anything and she hadn’t, but she could feel every item in the room, calling to her, singing to her blood and making it answer in turn. She could sense the power that flowed from each, felt some of it draw on hers, some feeding her own. It was like standing in the middle of a crowd, everyone talking, the sounds becoming nothing but an overbearing buzz and trying to single out a lone voice. 

She felt frantically for the door in front of her, afraid she’d go mad if she kept listening, and breathed a small sigh of relief when she shut it tight behind her. Emma followed the sound of scraping furniture to the galley, coming upon Killian righting benches that had been turned over in the guards’ search. They’d trashed the whole ship, leaving it in disarray, all because of her. 

“I’m sorry,” she said from the door, fingers playing sheepishly with the hem of her bodice. 

He stopped tidying. Leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms, a practiced pose, one that was both authoritative and non-threatening. He cocked his head at her. “Do you want to tell me who you’re running from, love?” 

She hesitated, lips pressed together tightly. He had a right to know what he’d gotten himself involved with - though she suspected he knew already. They really would have killed him if they found her, on a ship with a pirate with his notoriety, injured, and dressed as they were too… her father would have run Killian through himself before she could explain.

 “My parents.” 

Killian blinked, so maybe he hadn’t been expecting that. “And who are your parents?”

She couldn’t look at him as she answered. “Snow White and Prince Charming.”

“Bloody hell,” he groaned, pinching his brow. 

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I’ll go, I’ll just -” 

“Why are you running from them?” he asked, rubbing at his temples with finger and thumb before dropping his hand and waiting. 

She froze. Telling him who she was was one thing, but telling him why she ran… If he was anything like her parents she’d be better off running now. But he was waiting for an answer; he was trying to understand.

“... The room you hid me in, it’s full of magic, isn’t it?” 

Killian frowned. “Aye?”

“Why?” Because he hated it? Because he loved it? Feared it? Wanted to destroy it?

“It’s a collection I’ve accrued over the years. What does this have to do with -”

“My parents hate magic. They think it’s dark and evil and something to be locked up in the dungeon or destroyed. Do you believe that?”  

Tears were burning her eyes and his expression softened when she met them. “No, love.” Killian spoke quietly, like he was trying to calm the storm she could feel brewing within her. “I’ve been to many lands. I’ve seen all kinds of magic. It’s not magic that makes someone good or bad. It’s the person wielding it that chooses what to use it for.” Her lip trembled and she caught it between her teeth, taking a breath to calm herself. He didn’t think she was evil. “Emma, why are you running?” he asked again. 

She could feel it starting, the warmth blooming in her palms, the rush coursing through her skin like adrenaline, like relief and panic and pleasure all at once. Not now, not now, she begged. She just needed to calm down. But it was too late, he’d seen the light shining through the cracks between her fingers even as she shut them tighter. She couldn't contain it. It was stronger than her. 

“Do they know?”

Emma shook her head. “I didn’t know. I was angry one day and I just… broke something without touching it. And now whenever I’m upset or afraid it just,” she lifted her hands between them. The golden-white light burned in her upturned palms, the magic she held in them. But it came from within her, this awful, terrifying thing that she didn’t want. “They would lock me away, Killian, or worse.”

“They’re your parents… I’m sure they’d -” 

“Regina was their family too.” 

The magic roared inside her, angry, terrified, how would she be any different than the Evil Queen? Her mother would see the danger of it, and only the danger of it. How many times had she been told that Regina was good until she was corrupted by the evils of magic? 

She squeezed her fists shut again, the light almost blinding, desperately trying to calm it, to control it. And then he was there, Killian taking her shaking fingers in his hand and hook, setting them on his chest and for a moment she panicked, afraid that she would hurt him as he lay her palms flat against silk and skin.

“You’re alright, love. Nobody knows you’re here. I promise you you’re safe now.” 

He wasn’t afraid. He’d pointed her magic straight at his heart and yet she could feel it beating slow and steady under her touch. He wasn’t afraid of her. 

He took her next inhale with her, exaggerating it, breathing out slowly. She followed his exhale and the light began to dim. Another breath and it was out. 

“Where were you going?” he asked and she only stared at him, still too stunned to do anything else. “When you tried to barter passage with Blackbeard, where were you headed?” 

“I… I hadn’t gotten that far,” she admitted. “I just ran.” 

“Where would you go? Is there someone you could have gone to? Your friend in Arendale, maybe?” 

“Do you want me to go?” Her voice sounded small even to her own ears.

“No, love, I don’t want you to go. But we need a plan.” 

***

She’d given him two letters to mail. 

“This won’t be the last time they come looking for you.” He’d warned her. “Write your parents, tell them you left for whatever reason they’ll believe and let them think the letter took a few days to arrive.” 

“That’s.. Very smart.” 

“You needn’t sound so surprised.” 

One letter was written to her parents saying she’d gone to visit a friend in Arendale, and one to that friend, explaining the lie and asking her to cover for her should anyone ask questions or come looking. ‘And what does your friend think of you sailing off with a pirate?’ ‘Well, I didn’t tell her all the details…’ 

He wondered what Emma had told her, the letter heavy in his hand with the temptation to peak. How exactly did she describe him or her situation to a friend she obviously trusted? 

A wicked smile had pulled at her lips later that day when he’d asked that very question. “I told her that I’d had enough of royal balls and diplomatic visits and that I’d run off with a handsome sailor I met at the docks to get away for a little while.” He’d nearly choked on his rum. “The best lies carry truth, after all.” 

“Not one for dances?” he asked. 

She shook her head, her smile softening to something he may have called flirtatious if he hadn't been so busy adamantly convincing himself that was impossible… She was too young for him, too beautiful for him, too good, a bloody princess. “I love dances.”

Killian cleared his throat, knowing his ears were red and that she could certainly see it, and stood, tucking his flask back in his pocket. “We should set sail. I’ll show you how to weigh anchor,” he nodded towards the hall for her to follow. “You can help mind the tiller when we’re far enough out at sea that no one will see you.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” 

***

“Are the stars different there?”

“Not there, though other realms have their own constellations.”

“How do you keep track of them all?” 

“Each one has a story that goes along with it.” 

“Can you tell them to me?” 

“I can show them to you.”

He showed her all of them, some she knew by name from lessons or books but the stories were all new to her and even in the darkness he could see her eyes light up as he told them. She laughed about the three bears and the cobbler elves, listened raptly to the story of the girl in the tower as he pointed out the seven stars that made up her braid, and she cried for the little mermaid who lost her love to an evil sea witch.

“I know you’re making that one up,” she insisted, lying next to him on the deck of the Jolly and turning her head so he could see her roll her eyes. He’d been telling her about the Pirate, a dashing rapscallion who went about wooing all the other constellations and sailing the stars looking for treasure.

“I’m not,” he insisted. He was. But it was so fun to watch her work out the true stories from the false ones - she was brilliant, and quick. “It’s right there, by the sea serpent.” It wasn’t. 

“That,” she said, pointing to where he suggested, “is the frog who turned into a prince - unless you were lying about that one too.” 

Killian laughed, she was a very quick study. “Alright, fine.” He told her the story of the princess trapped as a swan next. Cursed to regain her human form only between sunset and sunrise, and her prince who found her and broke the curse with love’s kiss.

“Are you making that one up too?”

“No, Swan, I’m not.” She narrowed her eyes at the use of her definitely false name and probably the reason she doubted this story. “He’s up there too with her.” 

“Where?” He pointed, explaining where to follow the stars to the end of the swan’s wing and she shut one eye, squinting as she tried to follow it with her own finger. “There?”

Without thinking he took her hand in his, sliding across the sky until she found the right spot. “Those three make up his crown,” he explained. “And if you look beneath it,” he guided her hand again, “you can see the sword he carries.”

“I thought that was her wing.”

“Aye, their stars are intertwined, like all great love stories.”

“I like that one,” she said, still looking at where he guided her hand. “I like that they got a happy ending.”

Killian hummed in agreement. “Aye, those are all too rare in this life.”

They were both still gazing up at the constellation when he felt her hand shift in his. Heart trembling rapidly against his ribs, he watched it turn, slowly, carefully, barely brushing along his skin, rough callouses under soft touch, enough that it could be dismissed as an accident. She grew bolder, fingers slipping tentatively into the spaces between his own and his next breath shook. She watched them too, both focused only on their hands, barely entwined, and the stars behind them. 

It would be so easy just to turn his head and meet her gaze, to kiss her - entangle his fingers in her hair instead of her hand and feel her lips against his the way he’d been longing to for days now. And he may have, if he was ten years younger - or two hundred - and he hadn’t lived the last few decades maturating in his own remorse, his failure of Milah, his disappointment in himself, in this life. She had a light inside of her, bright and beautiful and strong. He wouldn’t snuff it out. 

His hand tightened around hers, stalling her movements and dragging them both from the intimacy of the moment. She turned to look at him and he didn’t dare do the same. She was too close, too tempting, and he was not a strong man - not with her.

“You’re cold, love. We should get you inside.” Dropping her hand, he stood, reaching with his hook to help her to her feet.

What was it about this woman that left him so out of sorts? Even with Milah, even when he loved her most deeply, he’d been able to keep his wits about him. Perhaps that had been the foolishness of his youth, the belief that the world was theirs for the taking, that he was worthy of the love she gave in return that made it so effortless to fall into. But he’d failed her. He failed at saving her from the Crocodile, failed her boy in Neverland, and failed to avenge her after two hundred years of hunting the monster who took her from him. 

He didn’t know what she saw in him, if he was imagining what he thought he saw when she looked at him, but if he gave into whatever spell it was that she cast over him and she saw the truth of what he was, not the hero who saved her, not a man of honour anymore but an old, tired pirate who’s heart was too battered by time and tragedy to be of use to anyone, he would only disappoint her.

He lay in bed that night thinking of the warmth of her hand in his. Killian could still feel the ghost of her breath on his cheek, imagining what could have been if he’d met her earlier, when he was the man he’d once been, young and foolish and brave enough to have turned his head.

****

There was something almost heartbreaking about seeing her in the sunlight. After so many days hiding in the cabin he’d not noticed the freckles on her nose and cheeks, or the way her hair turned gold in the sun the same way it turned silver in the moon. She was almost too beautiful to look at, the light making her eyes shine and her skin glow. She turned her face up to the sky, sighing at the feel of the heat on her cheeks as she stood on the deck, the wind whipping wildly through her braid.

“Have you got a hat?” she asked.

“A hat?” 

“Yes, they go on your head.”

“I know what a hat is, Swan.” 

“You just seemed confused.” 

This woman was absolutely insufferable sometimes. And it was far too enjoyable to be teased by her and tease her in return.

“Is your delicate complexion being blemished by the sun, Your Highness?” Emma glared at him, hating the title. 

“You’re just jealous that I’ll have retained my youthful glow when I’m your age.” His laugh burst from him, catching him by surprise and he noted the pleased grin on her lips. “Which is…?” she hedged and he shook his head. Her determination to know his true age since his comment about being older than he looked had turned into a sort of challenge for her, one he refused to lose. 

“You could look in the trunks in the crew’s quarters,” he offered. People left all kinds of things behind when they went ashore. None would miss a hat. 

Emma stood. “You could use one too, you know.”

“It’s too late for my youthful glow - save your own.” 

He turned his own face up to the sun, having missed it as well, spending his days below deck with her before they left. He wondered how he’d gotten himself into this situation, on the run from bloody royalty, on a ship with no crew and no destination, and a fugitive princess with magic glowing hands. You know exactly how you got here. A strong-willed woman who’d threatened him while he tried to save her life, and eyes the colour of sea glass. 

The scream was so faint he thought it was the wind, the whistle as it crossed the ocean, the sea empty for miles around them. But the second was his name, piercing, terrified and coming from below deck. He’d never run so fast in his life, nearly breaking his neck on the steps from the helm and into the cabin. 

There was smoke, the hall filled with a faint blur that stung his eyes and burned his nostrils. Emma shouted his name again and he rounded the doorway to the crew’s quarters, heart pounding. Two of the bunks were aflame, every candle in the room blazing high and wild, the curtains at the far end beginning to smolder. It was spreading.

“Swan!” he shouted, searching for her. 

“Killian!” Her voice came from the other side of the bunks, and he covered his nose and mouth as he pushed past them to find her curled in the corner.

“Let’s go, love. We have to get out and put this out.” He reached for her but she flinched and the curtains burst into flames. 

“It’s me,” she shouted, terrified. “I can’t stop it. It’s following me. You have to go,” she told him. “Get off the ship!”

Like hell was he leaving her here. A piece of the bunk fell to the floor, enveloped in flames and she screamed, the fires around her roaring hotter in answer. It was feeding on her fear, terrifying her more and repeating the cycle. 

He removed his coat, smothering the fallen beam and the curtains, then kneeled down in front of her, taking hold of her arms. “Swan, listen to me, you need to calm yourself or it’s not going to stop.” Her breathing was coming in hiccups and stuttering inhales. She wasn’t breathing, not between the smoke and the panic, not enough to calm down. He remembered how she’d calmed when he’d taken her hands last time, but she held them tight under her arms, fists balled tight. So he reached for her, tugging her against his chest and holding her. “You’re alright, love, don’t let it feed on you. Your magic belongs to you. You don’t belong to it.” 

His lungs were starting to burn, hers no doubt also, but she took as deep a breath as she could and he watched in terrifying awe as some of the flames flickered. “That’s it,” he told her and slowly they became a fire and not an inferno. “Keep doing that,” he said and stood again, pulling a blanket from another bunk and setting to smothering more flames. 

Killian hissed as he caught his arm, shirt burning. Emma called his name as he used his brace to stop it charring more of his skin. She rushed to his side, using her dress to smother the last of it. The pain was white hot and he gritted his teeth against it until he felt a drop on his cheek. He looked up. More drops fell from the ceiling, a blanket of them. It was raining. Inside. 

He looked at her, mouth gaping as the impossible rain fell over the fire, reducing it to smoke and ash. She was crying, rainwater falling on her cheeks and mingling with her tears. Whatever magic it was that she had, it was fearsome and powerful unlike any he’d ever seen. No wonder she was terrified of it if this is what it did without her even trying. If she could learn to wield it, she would be an unstoppable force. 

She still held his arm. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I found something that reminded me of home and it was so stupid but it made me sad that I couldn’t go back and then angry that I had to leave at all and… I’m so sorry.” He brushed the tears from her cheek, the rain slowing around them. Moving his arm burned, like the fire was there all over again. Emma pushed carefully at his sleeve when he hissed again.

“Let me see,” she insisted as he let her look. She held his wrist, fingers feather light around the outside of the burn as she examined it. Suddenly there was a faint shimmer of light, golden like sun after the rain, that spread over his skin. And then the wound was gone, the pain along with it. Emma turned wide eyes on him. “I didn’t mean to do that.” 

It took him a few moments to find words. “I think… perhaps you did. It hears you, love. You just have to learn to make it listen.” 

She stared at his arm, then up at him. “How?”

“Practice.”

***

“What do you usually do for fun?” she asked when they’d dropped anchor again, the sun long set and the night quiet around them. 

“I don’t have fun,” he said, sounding even older than he felt. It was only mostly a lie. 

“Well that’s not true,” Emma challenged. “You all spend weeks out here, months even. What do you do to pass the time?” 

“Bored already, Swan?” She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes they play music, we had a man onboard for a while who was a bard before he turned to piracy. There are card and dice games too, and drinking.” 

“Let’s do that,” she said excitedly and he frowned. 

“Drink?”

“No, the games. Will you teach them to me?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“On how much coin you brought with you in your escape.” 

The number turned out to be upwards of a lot. So he taught her piquet, and 21, and cheat and liars dice. ‘Such wholesome names these games have.’ ‘Pirate.’ The dice were her favorite, and she was good at it, frustratingly so.

“You’ve taken all my money, Your Highness,” he accused when she won another round. She made a face at the title.

“It’s not my fault I’ve always been good at telling when people are lying,” she giggled - they’d decided to try the drinking too. She hummed. “I wonder if it has anything to do with the magic…”

“I think that counts as cheating.” 

“Pirate.”

Killian laughed. “One day at sea and you’ve taken to the life?” 

Emma shrugged. “I’m on a pirate ship, on the run, wanted by the King and Queen, and I’ve already made an enemy of Blackbeard. What would you call it?” 

“Well regardless I’m out of bets to make.” 

“What if we bet something else?” 

That sounded like a dangerous proposition and he eyed her carefully. He’d had his fair share of wild nights that had begun with that same suggestion. “What did you have in mind?” 

She thought, rolling her lip between her teeth and he hadn’t had nearly enough rum to justify the way heat burned in his stomach at the sight. “Truths.”

“How does that work?”

“Loser has to answer a question for every round they lose - and answer it honestly. One truth for every lie you’re caught in.” A very dangerous proposition. 

She won the first two rounds, asking silly things, trying to make him blush or share an embarrassing story. The third was his - ‘Did you really write what you said you did to your friend?’ ‘Yep.’ - and the fourth hers again. 

“How old are you?” He sighed and she beamed in a way that suggested she’d been waiting to ask this one. 

“Roughly?” She nodded. “Two-hundred and thirty years old.” Emma blanched, clearly not the number she expected. “I told you, far too old.” 

“You look amazing for your age.” 

He laughed out loud and collected his dice. They rolled again. 

"Who’s Milah?” His breath caught and her next question. “I saw your tattoo,” she confessed. He couldn't find words. “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “You don’t have to tell me. I’ll think of something el-” 

“She was my first love,” he confessed. “The only woman I’ve ever loved.” 

“In two hundred and thirty years? There’s been no one else?” She sounded surprised but there was no judgment in her question. 

“I’ve not been a saint,” he admitted, thinking of how far he’d fallen into sex and drink and debauchery in the years that followed her death, even further than he had after he lost Liam. “But no. No one else.” 

He'd started gathering his dice when she spoke. “She was lucky, you know. To be loved by you so deeply that centuries couldn’t temper it. That’s what we all want in the end, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer, voice caught in his throat at her words. He’d never thought of Milah’s loss as anything but a tragedy. But what she said was true, he’d loved her with his entire being and likely always would. 

They rolled again, bet again, his win. 

“Have you ever been in love?” He wasn’t sure where the question came from, perhaps a deep need to know if she’d lost someone the way he had, or if there was someone who still held her heart now. But the wisdom of her last comment, for someone so young, left him wondering who may have loved her - or hurt her.

“No. I thought I was… once. But no, I’ve never been in love.” He had so many things he wanted to know, so many questions to ask, but the next round was hers. “Do you think you could ever love someone again?”

The question felt impossible. For centuries the idea of finding love again had felt like a betrayal of Milah. So much of her memory was wrapped up in vengeance, darkened by those horrible, final moments, and twisted by his guilt, every good memory turned bitter sweet, every thought of her marred with heartbreak and shame.

He’d used her memory as an excuse to keep out love, so afraid that if he found and lost love again, it would break him completely this time. And worse he feared that he’d forgotten how - how to give someone his entire soul and trust that they wouldn’t misuse it. He’d forgotten how to let someone love him, how to let them see all the darkness in his past and in his heart and still hold him close. 

Killian had buried himself in revenge and hatred and, as time caught up with him, in the emptiness that losing all of it had left behind. And he’d accepted it, not wanting to betray Milah’s memory by finding someone else, by replacing her. But he considered, for the first time in a long time, if that emptiness meant that there was space for something else, if there was any part of his heart that had come out unscathed, and what it would mean to risk it all again.

“Perhaps, I could... I don’t…” She saw his struggle, like she saw so much, and he wondered if she knew how much of it had to do with her, that he’d never even thought about any of this until she came into his life and began disrupting his melancholy with smiles and laughter. 

Emma gathered up his dice, handed him his cup. “Let’s go again.” 

***

She found him in the galley the next day like she did every morning, watching him fill a mug with spiced tea that she knew was for her. ‘It’s a bloody good thing I’m already planning to return to Agrabah. You’ve drunk more in a week than the whole crew in a year.’ 

Emma was a little surprised to see him standing. They’d switched to rum after his last confession, a drink for every loss, and he was very good at losing.

He smiled softly when he saw her. He was so unfairly beautiful, too-long strands of black and silver falling into his eyes as he stood in his shirt and leathers. This was her favorite time of the day to see him, before he donned all his layers, covered up so much of himself, hiding from the rest of the world, protecting himself. 

He looked softer in these moments, less the imposing Captain Hook who had faced Blackbeard on his ship, but just Killian. In his galley, on his ship, in the first grey light of dawn, she got to see the kind, gentle man beneath all the armour, the one that looked at her like she was the most captivating and terrifying thing he’d ever seen - like he was now.

Emma crossed the room, taking the mug he offered and setting it back down on the counter beside him. She studied him for a moment, his brow lowering in confusion. She took another step, close enough now that she could feel the heat of him, always warming the space between them, the scent of leather and salt enveloping her and making her head swim with the desire to be nearer, to have him wrapped around her. 

Waiting just long enough to see if he’d pull away, she ran her fingers through the silver at his temples, combed back the pieces of his fringe that had fallen into his eyes so she could see the devastating blue of them. Then she took his face in her hands. Emma could feel his heart pounding through his chest, into her own as she rose up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his, soft and warm and perfect beneath hers. The taste of the spiced tea still clung to his lip and she almost smiled. She would never be able to drink it again without thinking of this. 

Emma pulled away before he could kiss her back, before he could decide if he would or not. Killian was frozen against her, eyes shut and lips parted, holding onto the moment for just a little while longer. She brushed at an errant tear that fell down his cheek and he finally blinked his eyes open, watching her. 

“What… what was that for?” 

“Because I wanted to.” And because she knew he wouldn’t. She’d seen it last night, even if he hadn’t told her, how terrified he was. Two hundred and thirty years. He’d been alone and unloved for so long. After so many years keeping themselves closed off from the world, she’d imagine a person would forget how to let someone care about them, how to feel any of it. “And because I wanted you to know that you could… if you wanted to.” 

“I…” She didn’t expect an answer now. 

Emma took her mug, thanking him for the tea and leaving the galley. The first taste of spice on her tongue made her smile, made her hope, even more than before, that he’d let her kiss him again.

***

“It won’t work.” 

Emma stared down at him from the helm. She’d only just left him in the galley after having turned his whole world upside down in a moment. Killian could still feel her mouth on his lips, the smell of lilacs still clung to his skin. She cocked her head as he emerged from the cabin. “Why not?” she demanded. 

Slowly, Killian made his way across the deck, calling to her over the distance and the wind. “There are too many obstacles stacked against us, love.” 

“Like what?” He could tell she was gearing up for a fight. He sighed; he’d already had this fight with himself, night after night since she came into his life, and he’d lost every time. 

“I’m too old for you.” 

Emma scoffed. “What if I don’t care?” 

“It doesn’t change the fact that it’s true.”

“Not good enough,” she called down.

Insufferably stubborn lass. He reached the stairs to the helm, stopping at the bottom and looking up at her. “What about your parents? You’re a bloody princess, Swan; what do you think they’d make of a pirate on their daughter’s arm?” 

“What they’d think doesn’t matter.” 

He took a step up. “You’ll have to go home eventually.” 

“What if I don’t? What if we just kept sailing and never looked back?”

“They would turn the world upside down searching for you.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“Aye, I do.” He was almost at the helm now, exactly what he’d hoped to avoid. He’d hoped he could convince her before he reached it, because now that he was near her, he could hardly convince himself. 

“How?” she challenged.

“Because I’ve met you.” Killian brushed away an errant strand the wind seemed determined to free from her braid. “And I would.”

She set her chin defiantly. “Is that all you’ve got? That I’m too young and my parents won’t approve of you? Because I have to tell you, Killian, bigger obstacles have been surmounted. People face those problems every day.”

“Not with two hundred years and a throne to inherit between them.” 

“Why are you so determined for this not to work? Give me a real reason. Even if it’s because you don’t want it to, at least tell me the truth.” 

“Swan,” he murmured, reaching for her when she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. He didn’t know how to touch her, how to soothe her when he needed her to realize that she shouldn’t be with him. He needed her to be the one to make that decision, because he couldn’t. He pulled her to him, wrapped his arms around her even as she stayed in her stubbornly defensive position, elbows digging into his ribs. But she sank against his chest when he held her. “Of course I do.” 

“Then why are you being an idiot?” Her voice was muffled against the leather of his jacket and he’d have laughed if he wasn’t trying to get her to break his heart. 

“Because you should be with someone who can give you the life that you deserve - a prince, maybe.”

“I’ve met a lot of those. They’re overrated.”

“Is this really the life you want?” Always on the run, always in danger, no land to go home to, just the sea, the ship, and him. 

“It could be,” she said quietly into the hollow of his throat, arms loosening to settle on his chest. 

He sighed. “You deserve-”

“Stop telling me what I deserve,” she groaned, lifting her head to glare at him. “I get to decide what’s right for me - nobody else. You only get to decide for you.” 

He said it anyway, the truth she’d asked for. “You deserve better than me.”

“Killian,” she slid her arms around him, tucked under his coat and holding him tight. “I wish you could see…” He waited while she found her words and she ducked her head, pressing a kiss over his heart like she could feel it beating furiously against his ribs.

“Do you know how scared I was that night you saved me? Between my magic and Blackbeard and almost dying? Do you know how hopeless I felt when I woke up on your ship? I’d lost everything, my whole life, my family-” 

Her voice broke and he pressed a kiss to her temple.

“That. That right there,” she said, looking up at him. “The way you just… You make me feel safe, Killian. You’re the kindest man I know. The fact that you can’t see that kills me. You made me smile and laugh on the worst day of my life. You made me feel like everything’s going to be okay. You still do. Don’t I deserve,” she said the word like a curse and he’d have laughed if there’d been room in his chest for anything apart from this nearly painful hope that he’d forgotten he could feel. “... to be with someone who makes me feel like that?”

He had to swallow against the emotion in his throat, the words still coming out choked. “Aye, you do.”

“And maybe you deserve to have someone try and make you feel even half of the way you make me feel. You’ve suffered in whatever penance you think you owe for a long time. You’ve earned the right to let someone try to love you.” He squeezed his eyes shut and felt her hand on his cheek.

He let out a shaky breath, eyes burning into hers as he carded his fingers through her hair. He tried to find the part of him that knew better as they cradled the back of her neck, but couldn’t, and he let his forehead fall against hers. There were so many reasons this wouldn’t work, couldn’t work, but she’d laid waste to all of them and now there was only him standing in their way. And she’d laid waste to him long ago. 

Her words were barely a whisper breathed against his cheek. “Let me try.”

He pulled her to him, capturing her mouth with his and kissing her with all the desperation of refusing to let himself touch her until now, with all the heartbreak and hope of thinking for so long that this would never happen for him again, with all the feelings - too soon and too fast - that kissing her sent flooding to the surface. 

He tasted her with lips and tongue, slow and deep and thorough, stamping down the hunger that wanted to take her right there against the bloody helm. He took his time, learning how they moved together, what made her seek more, what made her lean in or breathe little sounds against his mouth that drove him mad. He’d lived over two hundred years, kissed hundreds if not thousands of women in that time; all of them were different, and none of them were like this.

She chased his mouth when he pulled away, his breathing ragged, Emma’s shaky against his lips. She kept her forehead pressed to his, fingers hanging on to the lapels of his greatcoat. Her nose brushed his cheek when she tilted her head towards him and drew in a breath, waiting. She wasn’t done yet.

“I’ve wanted to do that,” he panted and Emma leaned in, close enough that he thought she could taste his words. “Since you told me off for saving your life.” He felt her smile against his own.

“Took you long enough.” 

He chuckled. “I’ve had many years to practice patience, love.” 

“Yeah, well I haven’t,” she said and yanked on his coat, bringing his mouth crashing back down onto hers.

***

“You’re getting better at it, you know.” 

Emma looked up when he draped his coat over her shoulders, the air cold and angry around her. ‘A storm’s coming,’ he’d said. ‘Any day now.’ She had a mug on the ground before her, one she’d broken by accident that morning, startled by a bloody cat in the galley when she’d been making tea. ‘That’s just William,’ Killian had explained when he’d run in after hearing the crash. ‘He’s the reason we have no rats on board.’ 

She’d been focusing, sitting cross legged on the deck while she tried to channel her magic into something good. If it could do good maybe it wouldn’t be so terrifying, maybe she wouldn’t have to hate it. The pieces of ceramic had slowly been coming back together, one at a time, a long and arduous process. 

“It would have been faster to mend it without magic,” she said, sounding as petulant as she felt. 

Killian laughed.“You know you can practice inside, aye? Where you won’t freeze to death?”

“I’m fine. It’s not that cold,” she shrugged, the mist from the sea and the drizzle that had started like ice against her skin. 

“Your teeth seem to disagree.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated, and then more softly. “I don’t want to risk it again until…” The sight of those flames still plagued her every time she tried to use her magic, the heat of them and the sight of Killian’s arm so vivid in her memory. 

“Swan,” he said gently, sitting down beside her with a grunt and a look when her lips curled up at his effort. “You can control it. I know it doesn’t feel that way and that it’ll take practice but you forget, you healed me. You made it bend to you instead of letting it take over. You’re more powerful than you think” 

“It’s not the same,” Emma insisted, watching one of the little ceramic pieces of the mug - his favourite mug - tremble pathetically on the deck. “I was only able to do that because I was so upset over hurting you. I can only bring it on when I’m feeling big feelings.” 

He smirked, “big feelings?”

“Yes,” she gave him a look that suggested that it would be in his best interest to keep his mouth shut. “When I’m just trying to call on it or make it do what I want it’s-” she gestured at the still mostly broken cup in frustration. Killian hummed, understanding, and frowning at the mug. When he didn’t say any more, she went back to her task, trying to focus on making the many pieces one again. 

Her breath caught. His fingers traced delicately over her skin as he pushed her damp hair behind her ear.  “What are you doing?” His thumb grazed the shell of it before continuing on to trace the length of her neck where it met her shoulder. He hummed again, in question this time, the sound far too innocent as he shifted, settling slightly behind her, his breath hot on her neck. A shiver ran through her when she felt his lips press to the back of her shoulder through her dress. “Killian.” It would have been a warning if her voice hadn’t come out so breathy. 

“Carry on, love. I’m just seeing if I can bring on any of those big feelings.” Emma felt his smirk against the neckline of her shirt. She said his name again when he found the dip where her neck met her shoulder and pressed another kiss there, this one longer and slower. “I’m just trying to help,” he spoke against the skin of her throat, teeth grazing gently and she let out a shaky breath. She’d be angry if she didn’t enjoy the big feelings he was stirring so much. 

When his lips closed around her earlobe she let out a small sound that might have been his name, hand reaching to grab at the opening of his vest. His tongue flicked over the spot behind it, working a mark into her skin as he sucked it gently into his mouth. She could feel it building in her - whether magic or desire or both, she wasn’t sure - prickling beneath her skin and demanding more. 

He hadn’t touched her since their kiss a few days ago, not beyond the gentle kisses he gave her along with her tea now in the mornings or when he bid her goodnight, and the way his fingers kept finding their way into her hair almost unintentionally, ghosting against her skin every time. She’d been going mad trying not to push him, not to make him rush into anything too fast after spending so much time grieving the woman he’d loved. 

But when he smirked against her neck, beard and teeth scraping at the sensitive skin, whatever it was she was feeling overtook her. She wrenched her head away, turning and pulling on his vest so that she could steal a kiss. His hand came to her cheek immediately, not the gentle caress she’d gotten used to but fisting in her hair and holding her there while he took control and devoured her mouth with his. 

This kiss was different, hungry and intense, his hook snaking around her waist to drag her closer to him as he bit at her lip, tongue soothing it before pushing into her mouth in search of her own. She let out a low moan, trying to press herself closer to him, hands finding purchase in his hair and he deepened the kiss at the sound. His hand came to her waist, squeezing before sliding up her ribs, thumb brushing the underside of her breast through her corset. Yes. Finally. 

She arched into his touch, the need and the want building inside of her, threatening to burst when he pulled away to find her neck again, working another mark into her skin. She gasped, his hand inching closer to where she wanted it when she heard something shatter. Killian released her, breath ragged and eyes dark, yanked out of whatever had taken over him. They both looked down at where the mug now lay, broken into even more pieces. 

“Well,” his voice was rough. “Not quite the effect we were looking for but at least you’ve found your magic.” 

Emma balked at him, no words, too stunned and breathless and confused. He smirked, pulling back and pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “I’ll let you get back to your practice.” 

“Are you kidding me?” she demanded when he stood again, still panting from his kiss. He smirked again and she glared.

“Pretend to be as angry as you want, Swan,” he said. 

“Pretend?” 

He nodded, reaching down and stroking her cheek. “You’re glowing.” 

Emma frowned, looking down at herself and startling as she saw the faint glow. The golden light that hovered in her hands had become a thin, swirling magic across her whole body. Killian smiled when she met his gaze again, more genuine this time, and winked. Then he walked away and left her on the deck, glowing. 

She stared after him and then turned to the mug, waving a hand over it and watching bitterly as it traitorously put itself back together.

****

Killian was used to storms, to the tempests that turned calm seas into rough waves and turned the sky he lived his days beneath violent. He had two hundred years of weathering the roar of thunder and winds that shook the ship, and of the downpour that soaked him through in seconds, chilling him to the bone. Emma did not. 

She sat curled by the windows in his cabin, watching the storm that raged with anxious eyes and tense, restless limbs. She had a finger raised to her mouth, chewing on the nail absentmindedly as she watched the waves throw themselves against the hull, the Jolly swaying under the assault. She didn’t like storms, waiting it out with that same uneasiness he’d had the first time he’d faced one at sea as a boy, the night his father left. 

Thunder crashed and she jumped, looking out the window as though she could see it as Killian counted the seconds until the lightning lit the sky. “We’re alright, love. It’s far away. We’re just catching the edge of it.”

“For now.” She didn’t even glance over at him and he pressed his lips together, not wanting to laugh at her when she was genuinely upset. He’d already explained that the storm was blowing away from them, that it would last a few hours - maybe the night - and pass in the morning. 

“I thought you wanted a life at sea,” he teased. 

“Yeah. A life at sea. Not a death.” 

He smiled despite himself, walking over to the window where she sat, brushing a hand though the back of her hair before pressing a kiss to her crown. “We’ll be fine, love. The Jolly has weathered more fearsome storms than this.” She didn’t look at him but she leaned slightly into his side, resting her temple on his stomach. “We’ve anchored the ship, battened down the hatches, all that’s left to do is wait it out dry and warm below deck.” 

Emma nodded, but he knew she wasn’t convinced. Then, suddenly, she jumped, straightening. “Where’s Will?” 

“The cat?” She’d nicknamed the bloody cat. 

“Yes, the cat! He could be out there! Oh my god, Killian he could get hurt, or die!”

“I’m sure he’s deep below deck. Animals know to find shelter in storms.” 

“But what if he wasn’t yet and we locked him out?” She sounded almost frantic.

“He probably knew it was coming before we did, found some place to wait it out.” 

“Maybe…” she said, though her eyes were still wide and wet with worry, and he saw the way her lip trembled before she caught her thumbnail between her teeth again. 

Killian shoved at one of the barrels in the hold, heavy and full of grain, scraping across the floor as he looked for the blood rat cat. He called its name. “Probably don’t even know your own bloody name,” he grumbled as he searched behind boxes and bags of storage, stumbling when a particularly strong wave rocked the ship. 

He heard a mewl from behind him, obviously not the only one displeased with his being here. “Ah, there you are,” he said when he found the creature, black as night and nearly invisible in the shadows, and picked it up by the scruff of its neck. The cat let out a sound of protest and Killian hushed it. “I’m not happy about this either, alright? But if I don’t bring you back, Emma’s going to go out looking for you in this damn storm.” William meowed again and Killian sighed. Talking to a bloody cat.

To his credit, the creature did seem to help. Emma still sat by the window, but busied herself with stroking it’s head instead of chewing her nails down to the quick. The cat, for his part, seemed more than content curled up in her lap, nudging her hand whenever she became too distracted by the storm and stopped in her attentions. They sat in a slightly more comfortable silence, Emma watching the storm, Killian watching her when he looked up from his book, and the cat - he swore - watching him, smug. 

“I’m going to go check the mainsail,” Killian told her after a few hours had passed and the storm hadn’t let up. “The ship is moving more than I’d like.” He’d lowered it, but the wind was stronger than he’d anticipated and he suspected it would need to be taken down less it send the ship spinning at the wind’s discretion. 

“What?” She stood as he did, the cat jumping, irritated, from her lap and darting across the room. 

“I won’t be long,” he promised. He wasn’t worried; there was no need to worry. But she didn’t know that, no matter how much he tried to tell her. 

“Let me help.” 

Killian smiled at her. He’d no doubt that one day he would. But she didn’t know what needed to be done and there was no more terrible time to show her. “Next time. I’ll teach you how when the storm clears, aye?” She nodded but her brow was pinched with worry so he smoothed a thumb over her cheek, leaning in to press a kiss to her lips. “I’ll be right back,” he promised again. She caught him before he could pull away, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down to kiss him again before letting go. 

“Be careful.” It was a warning, an order, not a request. He gave her a salute with his hook before heading out. 

“Make sure the bloody cat doesn’t get out.” 

It took him longer than he’d have liked, the sail and the rope fighting him as the wind whipped rain and sea water in his eyes. He was soaked through when he finally shut and locked the doors to the hull. His boots made a wet sound as he walked down the hall to his bosun’s room, and he kicked them off. Some of his clothes had been moved here since Emma had come aboard. She’d been upset when she figured out he’d been letting her take over in his quarters while he stayed elsewhere, but he’d managed to convince her at last - how, he’s still not certain.

“Killian,” he heard from the doorway, turning to see Emma standing there with William in her arms, staring at him in relief and disapproval. 

She dropped the cat, who took off running back towards the hold, and she came inside. “You’re soaked. You’re going to freeze,” she insisted, reaching for his greatcoat and pulling it off his shoulders. It felt as though it weighed a hundred pounds, watered down and cold and it hit the floor with a satisfying sound. She came around in front of him, unbuttoning his vest and she’d nearly finished when she halted her movements, seeming to realize what she was doing. Her cheeks flushed a lovely pink. 

“Sorry… I was just…” Killian could only stare, frozen in place while his whole body burned, heart beating heavy and loud. “You should get out of your wet things…” she tried to explain, unable to meet his gaze. 

“Aye,” he nodded and his throat felt like it wanted to swallow every word that was desperate to come out. 

They hadn’t gotten this far - not that it was very far at all in the grand scheme of things - a few heated kisses, affectionate touches, and that one moment on the deck. But he’d been hesitant, waiting, both for her and for himself. He didn’t know her past, if she’d had lovers or not, if she had been hurt or made afraid. He didn’t want to rush her, didn’t want her to feel she had to do anything or that he wanted anything from her unless she wanted it too. 

And he… he hadn’t made love to anyone since Milah. He’d been with women - many women - in the years after she died, trying to quell the emptiness that had taken up a permanent residency in his heart. But they had never meant anything. He’d been kind to them, made sure they found their pleasure as well, but it was never more than satisfying a need or a desire - for sex, for fun, or just to have someone to lay with him at night when the loneliness of an empty bed began to ache. Emma would be none of those things. She would mean something, the start of something he hadn’t been sure he was ready for. 

“I should,” he finished and her eyes darted up to his, reading them. Something unspoken passed between them as it so often did. She caught her lip between her teeth and then raised careful hands to the edges of his open vest, holding his gaze as she worked it off his shoulders, as though she was as afraid of pushing him as he was of pushing her. 

Her hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, the few that were done up - more than he had in his youth but old habits died hard. Every brush of her fingers against his skin sent desire burning where she touched him, stomach clenching as his breath grew more shallow with every button. 

When she finished, she reached for his collar and he caught her hands, held them there at his shoulders and waited for her to turn her face up. He studied it, looking for any sign of wariness or discomfort. 

“Are you sure?” His words were a whisper and she met his eyes, a small nod, a small smile before he felt the slide of her hands against his shirt and let go so she could remove it. The wet fabric slid down his arms, getting caught on his brace and he lifted his wrist to work it the rest of the way off. He unfastened his hook next, setting it on a table nearby. 

He hadn’t expected to be so nervous, standing before her, young and beautiful, shirtless and bared to her. He’d once considered himself quite handsome, his body strong and well built, his shoulders broad and solid from life at sea. But the years had lengthened his muscles, leaving them leaner, less defined, his stomach softer, the hair that blanketed his chest now peppered with silver. 

Emma’s eyes ran over the length of him, lips parted as she reached for him, hands falling on his shoulders, sliding over his chest to his waist and back up. He could see the desire in the way she looked at him, his heart racing at the fact that she would want him, that she wasn’t disappointed by what she found. Her fingers traced the curve of his shoulders, over his biceps like she was making a study. One hand slid along his forearm, the other over his brace and he tensed, drawing her attention. She didn’t say anything.  

“It’s… it’s not pretty.” 

“Okay.” There was no judgement, no expectation either way. 

He wanted to. He knew that Emma was a woman he could love someday. He wanted to lay himself bare to her, but there was so much ugliness beneath that brace, not just the scars and knotted skin, but the tragedy that had caused it, the darkness that had followed, and it was too much. He’d never taken it off with anyone.

“I’m not…” He wasn’t ready. 

“Okay,” she said again, so patient, so understanding. 

“I don’t - I -” He couldn’t find the words he needed, a tightening in his chest where they stuck and faltered. 

“Hey,” Emma took his face in her hands as she had that morning in the galley. “It’s okay.” He let out a breath and she cocked her head at him. “Are you sure?” Killian nodded, all the anxiety, all his fear leaving him at once when she stroked the lines of his brow and cheek, and jaw. He’d not been so sure of anything in his life until this moment. “Good.” 

A smile tugged at his lips before he bent to kiss her, slow and thankful and completely in awe of her. He kissed her for a long time, her mouth chasing his every time he tried to break the kiss so that he could touch her, drawing him in again, pressing herself closer like he was trying to run from her. Her hands caught the back of his neck, refusing to let him move when he went to trace his mouth along her throat like he’d been wanting to since that day on the deck. 

He laughed against her lips, wondering if this was all they were going to do tonight and not necessarily minding. He’d forgotten what it was like to laugh with someone like this, out of happiness rather than teasing. She was the one to pull back. “What?” 

“I just wondered if you were going to let me kiss you anywhere else.” Well, maybe a little teasing.

“Oh.” He smiled again. “Yes, sorry… You’re very good at that. I got carried away.” 

Killian beamed, a vain sort of pride filling him at her confession. “Feel free to carry me wherever you like, love,” he said before capturing her mouth again. He drew out every kiss, the lighthearted, gentle touch of his lips against hers growing deeper, longer. 

Her grip tightened in his hair, gasping soft sounds and shaking breaths into his lungs as his brace slid across her lower back, tugging her until she was flush against him. He slid a hand over the laces at her back, finding the knot and working it loose with practiced fingers. She sought his tongue with hers as he drew the laces free, touch ghosting over the skin of her back through her shift. 

Emma let him go so that he could pull the dress from her shoulders. He kneeled when it reached her hips, tugging the fitted material down and letting it fall to the floor so she could step out of it. He kissed her stomach through the thin fabric that hid her from him, her ribs and between her breasts as he stood, finally finding her neck and tracing his lips and tongue over the length of it. He wanted to hear that sound she’d made on the deck, finding the dip of her shoulder, the spot behind her ear. She let out a quiet little cry, one that she tried to hold back as he dragged his teeth across her skin. There it was. 

Slowly enough that she could stop him if she wanted to, he slid his hand to cup her breast, thumb rolling over the stiffened peak and she moaned, low and wanton and he felt himself growing hard at the sound. He did it again, desperate for the way she arched her hips into his and then ducked his head to close this mouth over her covered nipple. 

Her hands were vice like in his hair as he teased her breast, moving on to the other, pulling the hardened peak into his mouth as he brought his hand to the other. She let out a moan that might have been his name, tugging at him until he lifted his head from her chest and he nearly shuddered at the want in her eyes.

She took hold of his hips, guiding him along with her as she backed them towards the bed and he’d almost reached it, almost fallen onto it with her when he stopped. “Wait.”

Emma blinked up at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, everything was perfect, except… “But I’m not making love to you in Mr. Smee’s bed.”

She raised a brow at him. “So then where are you going to do it?”

Killian growled, there were so many places on this ship that he wanted to have her. He wanted a memory attached to every inch of the Jolly so that he wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without remembering what it was like to be inside her, to watch her fall apart. 

“I have a list.” Emma looked at him in amusement. “But for tonight,” he said, taking her hand and walking her out across the hall to his own quarters - her quarters. “I want you in my bed.” He shut the door behind them even though there was nobody who could walk in - except maybe the bloody cat - and trapped her against it, enjoying the way she gasped at the press of his cock against her center. “I’ve thought about you sleeping here, night after night, jealous of my bloody bed and dreaming of making you come apart against the sheets.” 

He kissed her neck again, her breathing ragged as he sucked at the sensitive skin, his hand skimming over her breast to open the tie at the front of her shift. Killian kissed along the neckline, lower now, hanging off her shoulders. He traced his tongue along the exposed curve of her breast. He stepped back when she reached for the thin fabric and slid it over her shoulders. 

Killian could only stare as it fell to the floor. Gods she was beautiful, every long pale line and dip and curve of her body on display for him. He wanted to touch every inch of her he could reach, taste every bit of skin. Her hands came to his belt and he couldn’t help the way his cock hardened even more beneath her palm as she worked open his leathers and pushed them down his hips. 

“Bloody hell,” he cried out, when her palm slid over the length of him, taking him by surprise. He almost laughed in disbelief when she wrapped her finger around him, the feel of her so unbelievably perfect, and he feared this night wouldn't last as long as he’d planned. He fell into her with a groan when she stroked him, pressing his forehead against hers and wanting nothing more than to kiss the self-satisfied smile off her lips. 

He caught her wrist. “Love, you need to stop. I have too many things I want to do with you to spill myself in your hand before we even start.” 

Emma pouted but released him and he reached for her thighs, pressing her against the door so he could lift them over his hips. She wrapped her legs around him, arms draping over his shoulders as he turned to walk her to the bed. 

She didn’t look real as he lay her down, her skin like moonlight against the dark sheets, hair a mess of golden waves spread over his pillow. He could see the fading marks across her throat and chest where he’d run his tongue and teeth over her and he groaned. He wanted to leave more, to ensure not an inch of her remained untouched. But they would have time later. He didn’t want to tease her; he wanted to worship her. 

He kissed his way up her stomach as he crawled over her on the bed, taking a moment to trace his tongue over her breasts. Her fingers found purchase in his hair as he settled between her thighs and Killian groaned at the way she arched her hips into his, cock sliding against her wet heat and making his mind go blank for a moment. 

When he came to his senses he pulled back, searching her face at her obvious invitation. He wasn’t sure how to ask her, didn’t want to offend her. But he wanted to know how careful he should be, how slow to take things. 

Emma understood him, of course she did. “You won’t hurt me,” she promised, and he kissed her again, then her neck and over her ribs and stomach, her breath hitching when he reached her hips and drew his tongue over the delicate skin on either side. 

Killian thought he heard her ask something when he pulled her leg over his shoulder, words lost to her shaking breath. But when he looked up she only nodded and he ducked his head, pressing an open mouthed kiss to her clit and dragging his tongue through her folds.

“Fuck,” she whispered, and he should have known she’d curse in bed. He licked her again, tongue finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and working over it in little flicks and circles, pulling on it with lips, with teeth, learning what she liked. He took his time as he did with everything; age truly had taught him patience. He watched, listened, repeating anything that made her moan or gasp, slowing and restarting when she grew quiet. 

When he found a rhythm that had her gasping and panting, he rested his brace across her stomach, holding her there and sliding a finger inside of her in time with the roll of her hips against his mouth. He added another, fucking her with tongue and fingers, feeling her legs tremble and tighten around his shoulders. 

The gasps she made turned into cries, Killian surprised and smug at how quickly she was racing towards the edge. She called his name, back arching as she began writhing on the mattress, feet slipping against the sheets and he pressed his hips into the mattress to relieve some of the ache, painfully hard at the sight, at hearing his name fall from her lips in pleasure. 

She cursed again, words that would make a sailor blush, and her knees began to tremble. Her whimpers of ‘yes’ and ‘please’ drove him mad with want, her fingers grabbing at his hair, fisting in it as he continued to work her until she bowed off the bed with a broken cry.

He pressed kisses to the insides of her thighs as she sagged against the mattress, boneless and spent and panting. But when he rose to join her she reached for him, pulling him into her arms. Her mouth was hot and eager against his, tongue sliding past his lips, curling around his own and drawing a moan from deep in his chest.

“I want you,” she breathed into him and he groaned, her fingers sliding along the length of his back. She traced over scars and skin, pulling him closer until his hips were flush with hers once more. 

He’d planned to make her shatter on his tongue and fingers so many times before taking her, but the small whimper that left her when his cock nudged at her entrance was his undoing. She was whispering pleas in his ear and rolling her hips against his and then he was pushing inside of her until he was buried to the hilt.

“Yes,” she sighed, sounding so completely content, already having found her pleasure once and wanting him again, and he couldn’t believe that he had found her, that she’d found him, that she wanted him. This beautiful, magical, fierce woman wanted him and she could have him for the rest of his days if she desired it.

He slid from her slowly, drawing out all the way before thrusting back in just as slowly despite every muscle in his body demanding that he just take and take and take. She rolled her hips with every drag of him inside her, one of her hands leaving his back to take hold of his hip, trying to draw him even closer. He shifted, pressing his chest to hers, angling his hips so he ground against her every time he sheathed himself inside the unbearable heat of her. 

She cried out. ‘Yes’ and ‘just like that’ and ‘don’t stop’ breathed like a mantra against his lips. “You won’t hurt me,” she reminded him when he started to tremble from restraint, from keeping the slow, careful pace he’d set. That wasn’t what he was afraid of.

“Aye, but you may destroy me,” he confessed, a whisper into her skin.

She kissed him in answer, the slant of her lips against his fervent and full of that same longing he’d felt when he’d kissed her on the deck, when she’d asked him to let her try to love him. He decided he didn’t care if she destroyed him. He would go willingly, like a sailor following a siren’s call if it meant one more moment with her, one more moment of this. 

He thrust into her harder, faster and she swore against his lips, nails digging into his back and hip. Her head fell against the pillow, eyes watching him, half-lidded in pleasure and it was the most breathtaking sight he’d ever seen. 

“Fuck, Swan,” he hissed, so close to the edge. It had never been like this, so intense, so easy, like they were the only thing in the world that made sense, the only thing that was truly right. 

“I know,” she gasped, “I know.” He felt her begin to shudder around him, walls vice like on his cock and he choked out a growl as he watched her fall apart. Every candle in the room suddenly burned bright and high as she broke, lips parted in a silent cry and she dragged him along over the edge, spilling himself hard inside her. 

His whole body trembled, hardly able to keep his weight off of her as their panting breaths filled the quiet room. She didn’t seem to mind, wrapping her arms around him and absentmindedly stroking the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Did I do that?” she asked, and he followed her gaze to the candles. 

“Aye, but only the candles this time.” He kissed her. “Are you alright?” 

She nodded. “Are you? You’re shaking.” 

He chuckled, nodding as well and he felt her shift and the sound, legs tightening around his hips where he was still buried inside her. His stomach dropped. “Fuck. Swan,” he said, sliding from her. “I’m sorry.” He hadn’t thought, hadn’t had the presence of mind to consider what he was doing before coming inside her like a bloody teenager with no self control. 

“It’s alright. I take a tonic.”

“But I didn’t know, and I just -” 

“Killian, it’s alright. I don’t think I could have stopped to think of it either. That was… Don’t ruin the moment,” she said sternly, hand at his cheek to make him look at her. He nodded. He would be more careful in future. He didn’t want to derail her life by saddling her with his child because of his lack of thought. “Although,” she added, “I’ll probably have to find more tonic soon because we’ll definitely be doing that again.”

He smiled, kissing her gently and slowly before laying down beside her. “Aye.” He draped his arm across her stomach, pulling her close, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. She yawned. “Sleep, love,” she said. “The storm’s over.” It was, the rain only a drizzle against the window now. She hummed in agreement and he pulled the blanket over her. 

“You’re not staying?” she asked, sounding hurt when he rose from the bed. 

“Aye, but someone lit all the bloody candles,” he pointed out and she giggled as he stood. He could feel her eyes on him as he circled the room, blowing out each little magic flame and tried not to blush when he turned to find her smirking appreciatively with a raised brow. “Perhaps next you could learn to put them out,” he teased. 

“I can.” 

“What?” She focused on the one still lit on the table next to the bed and beamed as it flickered out. Then she lit it again. He smirked, unable to hide his pride even as he shook his head at her. “And yet you let me leave the warm, comfortable bed to blow them out?” 

“I was enjoying the view.”

Sliding in beside her, he pulled her against his chest. She squealed with laughter when he nipped at her neck. “Bloody vixen you are,” he accused.

He settled under the covers, his braced arm across her stomach. She traced patterns sleepily over the leather, not seeming to mind that a part of him was missing, not treating the straps and buckles any differently than she would his skin and it made his heart clench. He shifted, the still damp leather chafing and rubbing uncomfortably. 

“Is it hurting you?” she asked, turning her head to look at him. 

“Aye, a bit.” 

“I can’t imagine it’s very comfortable to sleep in.” 

“No.” He spoke into her shoulder. He knew what he wanted, heart pounding against his ribs. His voice was unsteady as he spoke. He was terrified, vulnerable in a way he’d never been. “Will you help me with it?” 

Emma nodded, sitting up and loosening the straps one at a time, pausing whenever his shaking breath became almost panicked and waiting for him to calm and nod before continuing. She didn’t remove it once the straps were undone, that hadn’t been what he’d asked, but he nodded at her again, taking a steading breath through his nose and she slid the brace off his arm. He pressed his face into her shoulder, eyes burning with tears that dampened her skin when she rubbed at the places that had gone red from the friction. 

“Better?” she asked and he finally dared to look at it, at her. 

She was tracing patterns again, over his skin now and his voice cracked with emotion when he answered. “Aye, thank you.” 

She kissed him, brushing her thumb over his cheek to wipe at a tear the way she had that morning in the galley. Then she turned in his arms, pressing her back to his chest and reaching back until he extended his blunted wrist. She took it gently, pulling his arm around her and holding it carefully to her chest.

He’d been wrong. She wasn’t a woman he could love someday. He was far too deeply in love with her already. 

***

Emma woke to kisses being pressed across her back, one to her shoulder, above the scar that had begun to heal, one to the crook of her neck, one to her ribs. Her hair slid across her back as Killian moved it out of the way, lips finding the length of her spine and she hummed at the feeling, still half asleep, flat on her stomach, body warm and relaxed and tingling wherever he touched her. 

“Good morning,” he spoke against her ear before nipping at the shell and she let out a small moan. He continued his exploration of her back, mouth hot and wet against her as he kissed her ribs, licked at her spine, grazed his teeth over the dimples at the base. She groaned his name when his fingers traced her thigh, curling to the sensitive skin on the inside. She gave a small, tired moan when they dipped between, touch feather light against her center. 

She raised her hips, parting her legs to give him more access and he grinned, beard scratching at her lower back. Everything felt so good, all of her so at ease, hypersensitive to everything - his mouth, his breath, his fingers. The thrill of not being able to see him, her cheek pressed into the pillow, made everything more intense, unable to anticipate where he would touch her next. 

His hand slid up her thigh to trace the curve of her ass, squeezing and giving an experimental smack. She let out a sharp little gasp and he gave a low moan of appreciation. His mouth traced over the rounded curve of her backside to her leg, nipping at the inside of her thigh before soothing it with his tongue. She remembered the feel of his mouth on her last night, heat and desire making her slick with want, wondering if he would do it again. She’d- 

“Fuck...” His fingers had slipped between her legs again, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and teasing it slowly and she rocked her hips against his hand. 

“Gods you’re a wanton thing in the morning,” he teased, the smirk evident in his voice and she could only nod, going mad with the tease of his touch, just too light to give her what she needed. His fingers pushed inside her and gasped. “Bloody hell,” he groaned, sounding truly wrecked. “Already so wet,” he slid his fingers in and out of her painstakingly slowly, stretching her with ease. “Do you think you’re ready for me?” he breathed. 

Emma nodded again. “Please.” 

His hand slipped from her heat and he shifted to lay between her thighs, spreading them wider to make room for him. The press of his chest against her back was sinfully good, the scratch of his chest hair, the way it pushed her breasts harder into the mattress. And oh, god, he was hard, his cock pressing against the curve of her ass, velvety steel, and her mouth watered, wanting him inside her. 

She’d not expected his size last night; having only been with one man before, she was taken aback by the length of him, how thick and heavy he was in her hand. If it had been anyone but him she’d have been worried it would hurt. But after he’d made her see goddamn stars she’d wanted all of him, deep and full and perfect.

He slid his blunted arm under her hips, angling them up as he took himself in hand and guided his cock into her. He inched in more carefully than last night, her body not as prepared this morning, but the stretch and the burn as he filled her made her groan wantonly, gripping the pillow under her head and she pushed back against him until he was as deep as he could go. 

She gasped into the pillow when he pulled out and thrust back in, slow and lazy like he had all the time in the world. When he believed she would keep her hips up, he moved his blunted wrist, both arms on either side of her shoulders as he fucked into her. The weight of him pressing her into the mattress made her tremble, breasts and clit rutting into it with every drive of his cock. His hand slipped between her and the bed, playing over her center in slow, patient movements and suddenly she felt a ripple of heat and pleasure shudder through her as she came, small and lazy and leaving her more boneless than before. 

Killian froze. “Did you just…” She hummed, nodded, sated, sleepy. “That may be a personal best.”

Emma spoke into her pillow. “Well done.” He laughed, pressing a kiss to her shoulder and sliding from her. “Hey, wait, we’re not finished,” she insisted, even as the words were mumbled. He hadn’t come. It wasn’t fair.

“Sleep a little more love,” he told her, brushing her hair from her face. “We can continue this when you wake.”

“Okay, just a little bit,” she agreed, so sleepy, eyes already drifting shut.

The second time, she woke before him, curled against his side, her head on his chest, having rolled in the night - or had it been morning? She propped herself up on her elbow, careful not to disturb him. She’d never seen him asleep. He looked peaceful, and younger, the lines around his eyes softened and the heaviness he carried in his brow and his eyes lifted for a moment. 

He was so bloody beautiful, she thought, borrowing his word, because it was the only one that fit. The fact that he didn’t seem to know it, that he thought his age had done him a disservice rather than make him handsome in a way that men her age weren’t broke her heart. You deserve better than me, he’d said. She would prove him wrong. One day she would make him believe her. 

Emma traced the lines of silver in his hair, ghostlike, careful not to wake him, and played her fingers over his jaw, the beard that was a beautiful mix of ginger and black and white. If he’d somehow been more attractive when he was young, she was glad she hadn’t met him then - she didn’t think she could have handled it.

He stirred slightly when she pressed her lips to the corner of his jaw, but didn’t wake. She shouldn’t wake him… She should let him rest. He never slept enough, late to bed and up with the dawn. But they had unfinished business. 

Killian let out quiet sighs and hums in his sleep as she traced her mouth over his neck and chest, climbing over him. His cock twitched as she moved lower and he woke with a deep inhale when she traced her tongue over his stomach, kissing below his navel.

“Wha-” Emma looked up, smiling at his sleepy, confused expression before she kissed his hip and he mumbled a curse, fingers sliding into the back of her hair. He hissed her name when she licked the length of him, liking the way his grip tightened, and took him into her mouth. His moan was choked, a small, disbelieving laugh blooming from his chest as she worked him with her hand and tongue, swallowing as much of him as she could. 

“Bloody hell,” he groaned, back arching and head thrown back. She sucked hard on her next pass and his hips bucked up into her mouth. “Fuck, sorry.” Emma only did it again, moving faster and harder as she watched him coming apart. She liked knowing that she had this effect on him, that the way she felt when he touched her, untethered, unbound, insatiable, may also be the way he felt when she touched him. 

She’d never craved someone like this, never wanted to drive them mad with pleasure, never enjoyed it quite like this. With Neal she’d done it because he asked, because she cared about him and wanted to make him happy. But Killian hadn’t asked, he’d stopped her from touching him last night when he thought he wouldn’t be able to give her her pleasure if he found his too soon. He'd pulled away this morning and let her sleep, gentle and content and in no rush. It was all so foreign to her and left her overwhelmed with the need to make him find his release, feeling bold, and wanton, and powerful now where she’d only felt compliant, embarrassed in the past. He was the one at her mercy, not the other way around. 

Emma studied him the same way he had her as she licked and sucked his cock, finding what he liked from the way his hand fisted in her hair, from the curses he let slip, the little movements of his hips he was so annoyingly in control of now. She’d never watched a man come undone from her touch, from her mouth and it was an addictive sight. His head tossed back against the pillow, lifting to watch her swallow his length again only to fall back again with a sound that made her thighs press together. Never had doing this made her own desire stir so violently, torn between wanting to watch him finish like this and wanting to sheath herself on his cock. 

Killian gasped, teeth clenched and jaw tight when she slipped her other hand between them. “Love, if you want - if you don’t want me to -” He cried out again when she redoubled her efforts, taking him in faster, harder, her tongue sliding over every inch of him she could reach. “Gods, Emma, I’m going to -” 

She felt the sharp tug on her hair, a warning to back away if she didn’t want him to come down her throat. But she did, letting him sink deeper into her mouth, feeling him tense and strain, then tasting his release on her tongue when he fell over the edge with a strangled shout.

He was still panting when she crawled up the bed, tucking herself back against his side and resting her cheek on his shoulder, biting her lip proudly. His blunted arm came around her automatically, settling on her hip as he stared at the ceiling with his brow furrowed and his cheeks red. Emma pressed a kiss to his chest and wrapped her arm around him. 

After a minute his finger crooked under her chin, turning her face up to look at him. “Are you bloody real?” he frowned. Emma smirked, tilting her head to kiss his palm and he took hold of her chin so he could urge her up, lips finding hers softly and slowly. 

“Killian,” she asked, head back on his shoulder, fingers playing absentmindedly with the hair that blanketed his chest. He hummed, he’d been quiet so long she thought maybe he’d fallen back asleep.“That thing that you did last night…” 

“You’ll have to be more specific, love.” His voice was rough with sated pleasure.

“You know… before.” She felt her face go red. 

“Ah, that,” he smirked, cheek resting on the crown of her head. “What about it?”

“Is that…” She didn’t know how to ask, feeling inexperienced and shy. “Common?”

Killian craned his neck, trying to look at her but she steadfastly avoided his gaze. “What do you mean?”

“Is that something that people… that you would do often?”

She heard the hesitation in his voice. “Did you not like it?” 

Emma laughed, disbelieving. “Oh, no, I liked it. I’ve just never…” 

He shifted then, looking at her with concern, and guilt she couldn’t understand. “I’m sorry, Emma. When you said I wouldn’t hurt you, I thought you meant that you’d laid with a man before.” His hand came to her cheek, stroking it carefully searching her face. “Are you alright? Did I -” Her face burned. He thought he’d taken her virginity. If she hadn’t felt inexperienced before she certainly did now.

“No, I have,” she insisted and he frowned. She shouldn’t have said anything. “I’ve just never done that.”

He frowned again, understanding dawning and then birthing more confusion. “You did it to me.” 

“Yeah, I knew I could do it to you. I just didn’t know it… went both ways,” she shrugged, unable to look at him again. “Nobody’s ever done that for me.” He was still and tense beside her and when she faced him again she was thrown by the set of his jaw. “Are you angry?” 

“Not at you, love,” he promised, turning and pressing his lips to her forehead. “Just at whichever men you were with before me.” 

“Man,” she corrected and he raised a brow in question. “Just one man.”

“Well, that will certainly make him easier to track down,” he mused, “knock some sense into him.” Emma rolled her eyes and he smirked. “But to answer your question,” Killian continued, rolling them until she was on her back, hovering above her. “Yes, it is common.” He bit his lip at her word and she shoved his chest, blushing again. He laughed, ducking his head to capture her lips, speaking against them, “and I intend to do it very often,” he promised before sliding down the bed and pressing a kiss to her stomach.

***

It had been two months since they’d sailed away from Misthaven. She’d written her parents twice in that time, promising she was having a lovely time in Arendale, and her friend, Elsa, almost weekly. ‘I want her to know I’m okay,’ she’d explained when he’d found her at his desk writing yet another long-winded letter. He hadn’t missed the way she’d hid the contents from his view. ‘Hmm, and how does she know I’m not holding you captive and making you write all this?’ he’d asked, busying himself with trailing kisses up her neck. ‘We have a code.’ ‘A code?’ She’d shrugged. ‘We’re princesses… we thought it would be a good idea - just in case.’ ‘In case a pirate stole you away and spent his nights ravishing you?’ His hand had slid over her shoulder tucking into the neckline of her dress and watching her shudder with pleasure as he’d teased and tortured her breasts and neck until she’d shoved the chair away, Killian tossing her onto the desk and hiking her skirts up around her waist. 

He’d been making good on his list, slowly making their way through the ship, finding a way to have her in every corner, on every surface. He couldn't go into the galley without remembering her splayed out on the table, his tongue between her legs, or picturing her bent over the counter, knocking tea and cups to the floor, searching for something to hold onto as he pounded into her. The walls had seen them both pressed against every panel, seen both of them on their knees while the other fell apart. The helm… the helm would never be the same, not after she’d taken him in her mouth while he steered and then asked him to fuck her against the wheel before he fell over the edge. 

They’d stopped at an apothecary in one of the towns they’d docked in to pick up more of her tonic. ‘A stronger one,’ she’d blushed, apparently at the shopkeeper’s suggestion. She’d refused to tell him what had led to the suggestion. Perhaps it was her age - or his age that made him notice at all - but she’d been insatiable. She seemed to want him for no reason other than that he was standing there, or looking at her, or the weather was bad and they had to hide inside, or the weather was good and she wanted to sit astride him on the deck. 

‘It’s like bread,’ she’d explained, the two of them straddling a bench in the galley, picking at a plate. He’d raised a confused eyebrow at the piece in her hand. ‘This is really terrible bread,’ she’d gone on, making him take a bite. It was terrible. ‘But it’s still bread, and bread is delicious, so you still like it and still want to eat it.’ He’d nodded even though he’d not been sure he was following. ‘So imagine you’d only ever had this bread, and then someday somebody gives you a really, really good piece of bread, the kind that makes your mouth water even just to think about, and they serve it to you with all sorts of other delicious things you’d never even heard of.’ A ridiculous smile had forced its way onto his lips and he'd had to hide it behind his hand while she kept explaining. ‘You wouldn’t just have a piece, you’d have the whole loaf, you’d have as many loaves as you could get your hands on.’ ‘Am I bread in this scenario, Swan?’ She’d nodded. ‘Well,’ he’d grabbed the backs of her knees sliding her across the bench, making her squeal and giggle, as he laid her back against it, taking the piece of bread from her hand and tossing it across the room. ‘You won’t be needing this, then.’

When they weren’t busy making bread - ‘We’re absolutely not calling it that, Killian.’ - Emma had been practicing her magic. She was a wonder to watch, her focus and determination, and her joy when she succeeded. She’d managed to get a handle on it, to figure out how to keep her magic from using her as a vessel. ‘It’s like thoughts. They’re always there and sometimes they’re loud when I don’t want to hear them, but I get to decide when they get turned into words. Magic’s always there, I always feel it now.’ ‘It’s a part of you, love.’ ‘Yeah, but now I get to decide how big a part.’ Though they did, occasionally, light an accidental candle or ten. 

“Have you been thinking about it?” he asked, wrapped around her in their bed, Killian tracing her fingers as she let a glow of magic trail in his wake. 

“No, and I don’t want to.” 

“Swan,” he sighed, kissing her shoulder. He didn’t want to think about it either. “You have to go home eventually. Elsa can only keep your secret so long and it’s just a matter of time before your parents start to suspect something, or go looking for you.”

“I know.” 

“You’ve got control of your magic. You don’t have to worry about them finding out.”

“I know.” 

“Emma…”

“I know, okay? I know.” She took her hand back, curled it against her chest. Killian slid both arms around her, enveloping her completely, holding her close and tight like he knew she needed when she got like this. “I’m just not ready.” 

“To face them?” he asked gently into the crook of her neck.

Emma shook her head. “For this to be over.”

His heart fell, dropped from her hands and landing somewhere hollow. He hadn’t realized that her going home would mean the end of them, that that was what she wanted. He swallowed, the words sharp in his throat. “Does it have to be over?”

She must have heard something in his voice because she turned in his arms, fingers tracing his jaw. “No, not us,” she said gently and he tried not to let the relief show on his face. “But this - I love this little life we’ve made here. I love being with you, here, where it’s just you and me and the rest of the world can’t find us.” She looked up at him then, fingers tangling in his necklace. “I love you.” He thought his heart may have stopped. Those words had never fallen from her lips before. He never thought he’d hear someone say them to him again. “I don’t want anything to cha-” 

He cut her off, mouth crashing down onto hers, wanting to hear the rest of what she had to say, but she’d just told him she loved him and he felt like his entire soul was trying to throw itself from his body so that it could touch her, hold her, tell her. His lips slanted over hers, hard and deep as he caught the back of her head, holding her firmly to him as he kissed and kissed and kissed her. If it was possible to hold someone so close they became a part of him he’d have done it, but he tried his damndest nonetheless.

They were both breathless when he broke away, pressing his forehead to hers. “Say it again.” 

“I love you, Killian,” she repeated and he captured her lips a second time, a third. 

“I love you,” he said against her, breathed it into her between kisses. “I love you.” Another kiss, longer, slower. “I love you.” The words were barely a whisper that time, both of them panting into the space between them. “And nothing, not time, or distance, or a bloody kingdom is going to change that.” She looked up at him, eyes wet and still worried. “It doesn’t matter where we are, Emma. Nothing about us will change.” 

She nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. “Do you promise?” 

Her voice was muffled against his skin and Killian turned his head to kiss her hair. “Aye.” He traced fingers up and down the length of her spine until he felt some of her tension start to ease. “Besides,” he gave a smirk he knew she couldn’t see. “It might be fun to sneak around.” 

She huffed a laugh. “You’re the one risking the dungeon if we get caught.” 

He hummed. “If you want me in chains, lass, just say so.”

***

Their last night had been the hardest, even as he insisted it wasn’t their last. ‘I’ll meet you in two weeks, at the tavern by the dock. Find an excuse to be gone a night or two, aye?’ He’d made love to her slowly and painstakingly, as though they had all the time in the world, bringing her over the edge again and again until the sun came up. And even then she’d refused to let him leave, convincing herself that if they just stayed in bed, then tomorrow could never really come, and she wouldn’t have to leave. 

But it had come, and they had spent the day sailing back to Misthaven. Despite how strong he’d been when she couldn’t, constantly reassuring her that it would be alright, Killian hadn’t been able to stop touching her. He reached for her when he stood at the helm so he could pull her back against his chest and steer with her in his arms. His hook had tucked around her thigh as they tried to eat though neither were hungry, his hand slipped into hers, through her hair, traced the length of her spine, her arms, lips finding her shoulder, her temple her cheek as they waited out the longest day of her life. 

He’d been the one to break, pressing her against the mainsail when Misthaven became a shadow on the horizon, mouth and hand frantic against her, the thrust of his hips hard and fast as he took her roughly against the pillar until she’d screamed out her release. ‘We have time,’ he’d growled, fingers slipping between them. ‘Give me another,’ he begged, rutting into her, shoving at the neckline of her dress so he could taste her, building her up again before she’d even come down. ‘We have time. We have time.’ He’d repeated it like a mantra against her skin, into her ear, on her tongue as he fucked her like it would be the last time, shattering with her when she came again. 

But they were out of time. His crew would see the sails soon, no doubt wondering where their captain had been, and she was expected home before sundown. He pulled her hood over her head after they’d docked, wiping an errant tear from her cheek and offering her a watery smile. “Two weeks,” he promised. 

Emma nodded. “Two weeks.” 

He kissed her, even though he probably shouldn’t have, too many people who could see them now, but neither cared enough. He led her off the ship, pointing her to where the ship from Arendale would be docking, where she could pretend she’d gotten off with the rest of the passengers. It had taken all of her strength to let go of his hand.

If her parents noticed her heartbreak, they didn’t say anything, acting the same as always, asking about her visit, Emma reciting the stories she and Elsa had agreed on, and waiting. The days dragged on and she couldn’t find anything that quelled the emptiness left behind, nothing that was interesting enough to distract her as the days passed. It was fine, she told herself. It was just because it was the first time. It would get easier. 

And then two weeks had gone and she’d found herself in that tavern, holding a glass of rum she didn’t drink and looking up each time the door opened. When he finally walked in she forgot herself, running across the room and throwing herself in his arms. He backed her quickly towards a dark corner, kissing her as though he’d been away a year rather than a fortnight.

“You came,” she beamed.

“Did you doubt that I would?” She didn’t answer and she didn’t have to. The fear would be ever present now that he wouldn’t come one day, not because he didn’t want to but because he’d been delayed, or injured, or worse. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Swan. I’ll be here until you send me away.”

“Never.”

***

They’d carried on this way for a year. Meeting her in that tavern every time he was in port, never gone for more than a fortnight. He’d heard the rumblings of his crew, trying to figure out why their captain seemed so keen on this town, or worse, complaining behind his back. The ones that had been here the longest, the ones who had known Milah, didn’t have to wonder. They knew. And they knew better than to say anything.

He’d met Elsa, a complication when her parents had insisted on joining her in Arendale and he’d gone to collect her once they’d left. ‘So you’re the other Elsa,’ she’d said, looking him over carefully and he’d smirked. He liked her. And to his great relief she liked him too, enough that she continued to help them with their ruse. ‘One of these days you have to actually come visit me though,’ she’d insisted, saying goodbye to Emma.

The days at sea with her were never enough, the nights in their room above the tavern - where the barkeep was paid handsomely to keep his mouth shut - were always too short. He wrote her every chance he had, letters addressed to her maid, a young, discrete woman who read far too many romance novels. 

He loved her. And she loved him. But he could tell she was growing weary. He’d never trade anything for the time they had together, but this arrangement wasn’t what either of them wanted. Stolen moments were exactly that, time that didn’t truly belong to them. These days together were an interlude in their lives, a little world that existed outside of reality. He wanted to live in that little world with her forever, tired of sailing away month after month. And he saw the toll it took on her to watch him leave her again and again.

“What if we just ran away?” Emma ducked lower under the water letting it swallow her up to her ears. Her hair fanned out around her, collecting rosebuds and lavender sprigs that floated across the surface. She looked like a bloody siren, beckoning him to follow her and all her dangerous ideas. 

“Shall we plan another trip to Arendale?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head and slinking across the tub. Her arms folded over his chest, chin resting on them and he shifted, letting her lie across his body. His fingers found the base of her spine, splaying his hand over her skin, tracing the length of her back and wishing he had two to touch her with. “I mean for real. We could take the Jolly, sail to another realm where they can’t find us.”

“And where would we go?” he asked, wishing such a thing were possible. 

“Where would you want to go?”

Killian brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek, leaving a petal behind in his wake. “I’d go anywhere with you, love.” 

“I’m serious.”

“As am I.” 

“No, Killian,” she said, rising from the water, hands settling on the ledge over his shoulders. He had to force himself to hold her gaze as she brought herself eye level with him, cock twitching as her breasts met the cool air, peeking through the wet curls of her hair that hung around them, temptingly close. “I’m serious. We could go today, right now. I don’t ever have to go back to the palace; no one would know.”

She meant it and it broke his heart. He sighed. “There’s nothing I would love more, Swan.” Then her hands were holding his face, her mouth on his, smiling into the kiss. Killian pulled back, watching with remorse when her expression shifted from excitement to confusion to disappointment as he sat up. Water sloshed over the edges of the tub as they rose, Emma perched in his lap. “But we can’t do that, my love.”

“Why not?” He didn’t have to tell her why not. She knew as well as he did. “Don’t you want to?” 

He leveled his gaze on her pointedly. “You know I do.” 

“Then do it, whisk me away to some far off land,” she said, leaning down to kiss him again. “Let them all wonder what happened to the princess of Misthaven,” she smirked, lips closing on the skin below his ear. He laughed even as his blood started to warm and his hips shifted below hers. He sucked in a breath when her tongue flicked over the spot. 

“And have the whole kingdom think I stole you away?”

Emma hummed, mouth on the hollow of his throat now, licking at the water that clung to his skin. “Could be fun, the princess and the pirate. We haven’t played that game in ages.” He still argued that it didn’t count as a game if it was true, but she was settling in his lap now. 

“Swan...” he warned as she rolled her hips over his length that hardened almost instantly. 

“We could go to Agrabah,” she suggested against his ear, moving her hips over his again. “You could show me the sand and spice.” She ground against him in a slow, steady rhythm that had his focus faltering, hand gripping her waist tight. Her lips were at his throat. “Spend our days hot and sticky from the heat and our nights finding ways to keep each other warm.” She bit at the curve of his shoulder, moving faster and he let out a moan he tried to hold back. Her own breathing was heavy now. “Or we could go to the Fae realm, exist where time doesn’t matter and we do nothing but eat and drink wine and make each other fall apart.” 

Her hands slid over his chest to his stomach and he caught them, panting. He raised a brow at her. “Swan, you can’t seduce me into kidnapping you.” 

She raised one back, her smirk wicked. “Are you sure?” 

He wasn’t. 

“I don’t want to spend the rest of our life running,” he told her, lifting one of her hands to kiss her palm.

“But you want to spend it hiding?”

“If it’s the only way to be with you, then yes.” 

She looked away, down at the petals that floated between them. “What if we couldn’t hide anymore?”

Killian frowned, something in her expression foreboding and he felt his intuition creep across his neck. Something had changed. “Why? What’s happened?”

She stared at the water, gaze far away until he curled his palm around her cheek, imploring her to meet his eyes. “Nothing,” she said, finally looking at him, hiding whatever it was that was upsetting her. Emma leaned down, kissing him.

“Love -”

She shook her head. “Nevermind. It was a stupid idea. Let’s not ruin our night.” She kissed him again. He tried to say her name again, her fingers coming over his lips. “Please. Can you just take me to bed and we can pretend that things are easy and normal between us?” 

Killian hesitated, knowing he should press her. But he knew her well enough to know he wouldn’t get any answers tonight, and that she needed him now to make her feel safe, to make her feel like everything would be alright, to pretend that they could have this despite the world being pitted against them. 

He nodded, standing as she wrapped her arms and legs around him, and walked them across the room that wasn’t theirs to the bed they could pretend belonged to them. After all, that was what these nights were for. 

***

“And that, little love, is the story your papa told your grandmother so that she wouldn’t cut his head off.” 

“Killian.”

“What, Swan, don’t you want her to know the story of how her parents met?”

“She’s too young to understand any of it,” Emma says, reaching for their daughter who’s stretched out on her father’s chest in the grass, just barely able to hold her head up while she tries to eat the pendants around his neck. She pulls Hope into her lap, covering the baby’s ears. “But she may remember something about her grandparents trying to kill someone,” she hisses. 

“Of course she understands,” Killian insists, rolling over to face the two of them. “Look at how bright she is.” His daughter stares at him with wide, fascinated eyes as he beams at her, tickling her tummy with his hook, dull now where it used to be sharp. She reaches for him, already a daddy’s girl - ‘Ha, get used to it,’ her mom had said dryly - and Killian’s already wrapped around her finger. Hope grabs his hook with strong little fingers and sets to chewing toothlessly on it. “She should know where she comes from and why she has all that magic.” 

“We don’t know if she’ll have magic yet.” 

“She will.” He says it with such certainty, not even looking up from where he’s making faces at the girl and it melts her heart a little. Even before she was born, he’d been adamant that Hope was the product of true love - ‘just like her mother’ - and he’s not wavered in his belief. ‘What else could nearly cause the downfall of a kingdom?’ ‘That’s a bit dramatic.’ ‘And what other force in the world could have kept your father from running me through when he found out I’d put a little pirate in you.’ ‘I don’t know how much you want to brag about that one considering how close it actually came. He drew his sword.’ 

He does look up when he feels her hand on his cheek. Emma smiles, thumb stroking the grey and white that’s slowly taking over the ginger. She leans down to kiss him, his mouth warm and soft against hers, the gentle scratch of his beard familiar on her chin. He kisses her back like it’s the only thing he’d ever want to spend his time doing, slow and lazy and deep and her heart aches for all the tenderness in him, all the kindness and humour and love. 

When she was a little girl, her parents raised her on stories of shepherds and princesses, of knights and bandits, and she’d grown up knowing what true love looked like. She saw it every day in her parents, in the way they looked at each other, and held each other, and laughed, and argued. But knowing she came from true love didn’t mean she believed she’d ever find it. And as the years passed and after a first heartbreak, she’d stopped looking at all. 

Then one stupid decision almost two years ago had brought it barreling into her life wrapped in leather and metal. Maybe they were predestined. Maybe every Emma in every reality had a Killian and it was just fate that decided when they would meet. But true love never comes easy and they’d fought for theirs, against the centuries that should have kept them apart, against her family, and against Killian’s fear that he wouldn’t be able to love again, that it would break him, that he’d forgotten how. 

She’d fought him the hardest. Because she knew then just like she does now that no one loves as much, as well, or as completely as him. She’d seen it when he’d let himself love her despite his feelings for his first love, and again when Hope was born. Killian never has to try and find room for someone in his heart, he simply makes more.

Emma can feel his smile when she pulls away, lips still touching and she speaks against them. “Marry me.”

“Aye, when?” His smile deepens. She expected a bit of a fight, or at least some teasing considering she said no when he asked her six months ago. 

‘Are you asking because I’m pregnant or because my dad threatened to give you another hook if you didn’t?’ 

‘Neither.’

‘I don’t believe you. I’m not marrying you because my father is making you.’

‘Love,’ he’d laughed, ‘are you really not going to marry me so that you can rebel against your father?’ 

‘No, but I’m going to have a baby.’ 

‘I’m aware.’

‘So in a few months our whole lives are going to change - and that’s good - but I don’t want to spend the little time we have left planning a wedding.’ 

‘We could elope.’

She’d laughed out loud. ‘You think my dad is scary? Try suggesting that to my mother, I dare you.” Emma panicked when she saw the challenge in his eyes. ‘I just want to be able to be us, just you and me, no sneaking off to taverns or lying about being in Arendale. This, right now, is everything I wished for and I just want to be with you and love you before we share that love with someone else.’ 

‘That’s the most beautiful refusal I’ve ever heard,’ he smiled, deep and soft and sincere before kissing her. ‘Take however long you need, love. I’ve all the time in the world.’

So when he says yes right away, tugging her and Hope down to lay in the grass with him, both curled against his chest, there’s only one answer she could ever give. 

“As soon as possible.”

*****

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[sparrow-orion-writes]

Hi, it's still Wednesday here, so: wbw!!

We/I know about Roman, but what other traces are there if the different races coexisting in CS? :0

~ M

Oh, hundreds if not thousands, I couldn't possibly go through them all. The main ones so far that are in the novel are:

-The fey-kind: These are creatures that hide portals to their own mirror-world in forests and hillsides. Fey-kind come in all variety of shapes and sizes, taking on different forms and vessels. Some are fully shape shifters, others have bodies that sort of unconsciously do as they please, others can glamour themselves to look completely human.

-Fey-touched: this isn't a race, it's more of a category. These are creatures that aren't from the fey realm, but are in some way aligned with the fey. Aspen, for example, was a human, but because of the Forest's influence he is now half-human, half fey touched. Another example is the deer fey that they encounter, it's not a faery in the traditional sense, it was created by the fey as a guardian to one of the portals but ultimately became its own sentient creature worshipped by humans.

-Sirens. These are creatures of the Sea that live in the depths of the waters. There are as many types of Siren as there are fish. Fairweather is an example of a Siren. Roman is also an example, but Roman is quite different from the normal Siren, with Fairweather being mildly different for similar but different reasons.

-Demons. White is a demon who fairly regularly causes havoc on earth. Demons tend to come and go as they please. Again, have portals to their own domain hidden throughout earth.

-Water sprites. Guardian spirits commanded by Sirens.

-Mermans. Half human, half Sirens, live relatively peacefully with both humans and Sirens.

-Giants. Usually sleeping, waiting for humans to die out so they can have their planet back. They don't have an issue with humans but they do wish they hadn't evolved.

-Goblins. Type of fey-kind, they mostly just chill in forests but some live with humans, they're not harmful, tend to be tradesmen and and are a little sick of the myth that they're greedy hoarders.

-Dragons. Dragons are shape shifters with a control over an element. They're as old as the fey themselves, but don't particularly bother with them. Usually have a hoard of some sort but it's rarely gold.

-Trolls. Tend to live in mountains. Kinda chill but don't like it when people just come wandering in. Prefer to live separately from humans.

There's more somewhere but I will be here all day and I have to get to work :(

[infinitylifestyle0369]

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[bliss0709]

The Magic of Augmented Reality Rings and Loose Diamonds

In today’s dynamic realm of jewelries, technology is extending its influence over the identification and procurement of our valuable possessions. Spanning from one’s loose diamonds to augmented reality jewelry, these advancements are adding to the seemingly endless fun and ease in choosing and buying one’s ideal jewel.

Just think, Augmented Reality will allow you to easily switch between different styles of AR rings and see how they look on your finger in real time, and you will not need a few days and several sets of loose diamonds

Transforming Jewelry Shopping

The concept of Augmented Reality Jewelry is changing the way consumers browse jewelry stores specifically gems and other valuable possessions. With help of the augmented reality jewelry technology, the customers will be able to see how the certain piece of jewel will be looking like on them when they will be purchasing the certain jewelry product. This technology helps clients to experiment with different styles and designs of the augmented reality jewelleries without the need for going to the shops physically. When it comes to augmented reality jewelry, the customers’ preferences are matched more easily and it is easier to find the perfect item without leaving the house.

Experience Rings Like Never Before

Using Augmented Reality Ring technology, customers are allowed to try rings before they have to put down their money to buy them online. To illustrate the utilisation of the augmented reality ring app or feature, shoppers can get a feel of the various styles, sizes, and designs of an augmented reality ring with respect to their fingers. This innovation assists the buyers in the purchase decision by giving a good view of how the definite ring will look like once it is placed in daily use in the case of an augmented reality ring.

Choosing and Customizing Your Perfect Gemstone

Conclusion

As predicted and expected with the rapid evolution of technology, the way through which consumers make their choices with regards jewelry has also been revolutionized. The new inovatations of augmented reality jewelry and the choices that come with the ability to buy individual diamonds are already paving the way. Not only are these novelties more entertaining, but they also help you to make wiser and niche decisions.

Thus, the use of augmented reality rings that give a preview of how different styles will fit on the finger and an option to select the loose diamond for the non-traditional engagement ring makes the search for the perfect piece of jewelry so much more thrilling. Develop these progressive utensils and techniques in order that the subsequent piece of jewelry you wish to purchase might be as special as the event you plan to commemorate. Bring out the explorer, the visionary and the artist in you as begin the new era of jewelry shopping.

FAQS

How do I choose the right loose diamond?

When selecting a loose diamond, consider the Four Cs: cut, color, clarity, and carat weight.

What is augmented reality jewelry?

Augmented reality jewelry uses technology to allow you to virtually try on different pieces of jewelry.

How does an augmented reality ring work?

An augmented reality ring lets you use an app or online feature to virtually try on rings.

[kazoosandfannypacks]

"Wishing it Wasn't" by kazoosandfannypacks

Chapter 5/18: Oldies on the Radio Pairing: CaptainSwan Rating: Teen (for violence in later chapters) Word Count: (1K/19.5K) Summary: Season 2 Canon Divergence: When Neal tells Emma he has a fiancée, she claims to have a new boyfriend of her own, and blurts out the first fairytale name she can think of: Captain Hook. Killian agrees to this ruse, but when feelings grow between the two, will the con be more than they can handle? Chapter Summary: Emma picks Killian up for their date. Tags: season 2, canon divergence, gun violence in later chapters, angst with a happy ending, fake dating, mild character death, mildly anti neal Author's notes: DISCLAIMER: I apologize in advance to anyone and everyone who is offended by the two songs I've used as "oldies" in this fic. Thematically, they fit well with the story. I googled the definition of "oldie" and found it to be very much in flux, but at least one source said that music from the eighties count as oldies, and the song from the eighties I've included… works, it works, trust me. I'm not trying to make anyone feel old. Taglist: @zahara @kmomof4 @jonesfandomfanatic @booksteaandtoomuchtv @jrob64 @tiganasummertree @anmylica @teamhook @undercaffinatednightmare @gingerchangeling @lonelyspectator @caught-in-the-filter @ultraluckycatnd @cs-rylie @pirateprincessofpizza [if you'd like to be added to or removed from this list, hmu in my dms or askbox!]

Also on Ao3!

 The women Killian usually courted appreciated a man in captain's attire- his best vest, long black jacket, extra flask of rum tucked away in his back pocket, just in case. But since that woman, Tamara, would be there tonight, he'd have to settle for something a little more "modern" as Emma put it, and he settled for a dark blue button down with a black vest.

 He smiled at the dashing rapscallion he saw in the mirror in his quarters.

 "Yes, I'm even devilishly handsome by this realm's standards." He winked at his reflection. "Swan doesn't stand a chance." 

 Killian was used to the women he met falling all over him, but Emma held her ground every time she saw him- she was well guarded, walls built up high- but something about that pursuit allured him.

 It wasn't just the chase he loved though- there was something about Emma that was different from the women he'd met over the last few hundred years. She'd bested him on the beanstalk, she'd beaten him at lake Nostos- and yet, at the town line when he'd been hit by one of those mechanical moving contraptions, she'd made sure he made it to the hospital. He could even remember, despite the chaos and rush as they'd brought him into their infirmary, how she'd insisted their medical staff keep him hidden from the Crocodile's fury, and how she'd come to check on him there.

 He grabbed his jacket and threw it on before leaving his cabin and stepping out onto the deck.

 "It's just a pretend date." Killian thought. "Someone like her wouldn't take interest in someone like me otherwise. Those hero types don't tend to go for us villains."

 Killian looked across the portside of the Jolly Roger's stern and saw Emma's yellow car, and Emma coming down the docks where he'd said he'd meet her.

 He was thankful for the cloaking spell Cora'd put on his ship, because it meant Emma couldn't see him as she approached, couldn't see how his jaw dropped when he saw her.

 There was a lot that he had to complain about in this realm, but the acceptable length of a woman's dress- or lack of length thereof- was not one of those things. The pink dress Emma wore fell just below her knees, and her shoulders were bare, and the neckline low.

 "It's just a fake date, just a fake date." He reminded himself. "I could almost say she dressed more for him than for me."

 He bit his lip as he watched her look around the dock for his hidden vessel, then decided he'd kept her waiting long enough.

 "Why, Swan," he smiled as he walked down the gangplank, through the cloaking spell.

 She looked up at him, startled at first, but then almost seeming pleased to see him.

 "You look…"

 "I know." She rolled her eyes. "Let's just get a move on, or we'll be late."

 "As you wish." He said, watching her turn to leave, then following after her.

 "I would've gotten you flowers," Killian said as they walked along, "but your local florist seems to have a vendetta against me."

 "Probably because you shot his daughter."

 Killian nodded. "Yeah, that would do it."

  When they got to the car, he ran ahead to her side to open the door for her, and she seemed a bit surprised by his act of chivalry. He then ran around to his own side and climbed into his seat. He fumbled about with the seatbelt, not very used to using a seatbelt, but not wanting to participate in another dangerous accident. He was also having difficulty manipulating the fake hand, and missed having his hook.

 Emma sighed and took the buckle from him and buckled it.

 "Thank you." He said, his response coming out more sheepish than he'd hoped for.

 "Least I can do." Emma said as she started up the car. "I appreciate you helping me with this."

 "My pleasure." He smiled, trying not to stare at her as she drove them to the restaurant, but finding his eyes fixed on her. When it looked like she was about to turn to look at him, he quickly turned and looked out the window- though he was sure she knew he'd been watching her, that his gaze was almost palpable.

 Killian watched out of the corner of his eye as Emma turned a knob next to the clock, and her car started singing. He looked down at where the music was coming from, fascinated by the beat that felt like sailing with the wind in your favor, with words he'd never heard in a shanty before.

 "Yes, I saw her face, and now I'm a believer."

 "It's called a radio." Emma said. "It plays recorded music."

 "Not a trace of doubt in my mind."

 "Amazing." Killian said.

 "I hope you like oldies." Emma said. "Old music- though probably not too old to you."

 "Yes, I'm a believer, yeah yeah yeah. Yeaaaahhhhh."

 The song faded out, and another song started, one with a beat like electricity, like a ball being thrown back and forth quickly.

 "Looking through the window above, like a story of love-"

 Emma turned the knob and switched stations.

 "Don't like that 'oldie,' love?" Killian asked.

 "Long live the walls we crashed through"

 Emma bit her lip. "Not anymore."

 Killian nodded, pretending to understand.

 "How the kingdom lights shined just for me and for you."

 "This one's not an old one; it's pop, but it's tolerable."

 "I was screaming long live all the magic we made. And bring on all the pretenders- one day we will be remembered."

 Killian smiled toward the end of that line- because he heard Emma singing along.

 "I didn't know you sing." Killian said.

 Emma turned down the radio. "I don't."

 Killian raised an eyebrow. "Sure."

 "Okay, maybe I sing along to the radio sometimes." Emma said. "Is that a problem?"

 "Absolutely not." Killian said. "And if this magic box was set to 'shanties,' I'd be right there singing along with you."

 "Well that's the beauty of pop." Emma said. "You'll pick up on it by the last chorus."

 Sure enough, Swan was right, and by the end of the song they were both singing along.