#cs au

[whisperingmidnights]

Starcrossed: Chapter Five

Pairing: Rhysand/Reader

Word count: 6,185

Series Masterlist

     I wheeze, the air rushing from my lungs Iris yanks on the laces of my corset, pulling it tighter than I typically wear it – when I can be bothered to wear one at all. I don’t like to be restricted and, no matter how pretty the lacework is, the boning feels like a cage. Asterope had offered to dress me, but the moment she reached for the gown hanging behind the screen – a gown I have yet to see myself – Iris all but snarled at the poor female and shooed her from the room to tend to our mother, who already has two maids of her own attending her. When I feel her beginning to tie the laces, I manage a small sigh of relief as my hands wander towards my curled and coiffed hair.

     The smack of my sister’s hand against my own echoes through the room.

     “Iris!” I huff, rubbing the thin skin on the back of my hand.

     “Stop touching it or it’ll fall. Then Asterope will have to do it all over again, and it already took hours.” After one final knot, she steps back to look at me as I watch her in the mirror, impatient and bored with the tedious task of dressing. I love pretty gowns as much as anyone, but so much goes into getting ready for a ball. We should have requested Day Court fashions since there aren’t nearly as many buttons or laces involved in them. Just yards and yards of artfully draped fabric. “There, now you should fit.”

     “Should?” I grumble, glancing over at the partition hiding our gowns. Iris tugs at the end of her elaborate braid, her lower lip pulled between her teeth. “I thought you’d commissioned this gown with my measurements.”

     “I did, but it’s a new style,” she huffs, tossing her braid over her shoulder as she goes to fetch the gown. Her robe flutters around her ankles, cut from the softest blue silk that reminds me of the morning sky. It’s lovely on her, the right shade to bring out the autumnal hues in her hair and eyes. When Iris emerges from behind the screen, I’m expecting to see a gown in shades of grey or cream, something soft and light.

     Draped over her arms is the most daring shade of crimson I’ve ever seen.

     “Try it on before you say anything,” she interjects as I open my mouth to protest. “Please?” Please. Iris doesn’t often ask me for anything, at least not since I’d returned from my first visit with our grandparents several weeks ago. It’s strange to be standing in my room in their palace now with her at my side after I’d grown so accustomed to being alone here. Well, as alone as one can be with a maid. Iris has been good about keeping out of my way, I suppose the least I can do is humor her.

     She only squeals a little when I beckon her over with the gown.

    “The fabric has cooling enchantments woven in,” she rambles as she kneels at my feet, helping me step into the gown before she pulls it up, “so you won’t be too hot in it. And there are lifting charms in the skirts, so it won’t be too heavy. All things considered, you should be rather comfortable.”

     “My ribs in this corset would beg to differ.”

     “Well, I didn’t say it was perfect, did I?” she asks as I shove my arms through the long sleeves. It’s heavier than I’d anticipated, the silk is far thicker than those we purchase from Dawn. Once the neckline is situated just over the corset and the cuffs of the sleeves are secure, Iris buttons the gown and I watch it transform. The waterfall bishop sleeves sit just off of my shoulders, flowing effortlessly into the deep, heart-shaped neckline; the ruching over the bodice creates the illusion of a sort of explosion, like a heart bursting. When she finally fluffs out the train, I glance back over my shoulder to see beautiful gold embroidery along the hem of romantic swirls and whorls I’ve only ever seen in her lacework.

     “Oh, Iris,” I gasp, twisting to get a better look at the gown. “This is incredible.”

     “Do you like it?” she asks, twisting her robe between her fists as she steps back to admire her handiwork.

     “It’s lovely. Did you help with the embroidery?”

     “I designed it. It wasn’t meant to have any,” she shrugs sheepishly, “but when you returned from your visit here, you were…different. And I thought the dress might need to reflect that.”

     “Different how?” I laugh, turning to look at myself in the mirror. All of my life I’ve had a plethora of beautiful gowns, but nothing quite this dramatic or flattering. It’s truly the most breathtaking dress I’ve ever owned.

     “Softer.” The word falls from her lips like a confession, and I stop admiring the gown to look at her. “A little dreamy, like your head was in the clouds until it was time to come back. Whatever you were thinking of, it looked like it brought you joy.”

     “You didn’t say anything about it.” Iris has never shied away from barging into my business before.

     “I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

     “That hasn’t stopped you before.” I wince at the statement. It came out more bluntly than I’d intended, and my heart seizes at the way her face falls before she shrugs it off. We so rarely get along. I always feel as though she clings too tightly to me and I don’t know how to stand it. It’s so easy to push her away. I’ve been doing it for years, telling her I don’t need another shadow. Perhaps I’ve been too harsh.

     “This time it did.”

     “We can talk about it,” I tell her, this time more gently, “if you want. Preferably when Linden and Aspen aren’t around. They’d both have too many of the wrong sorts of questions or they’d bring it up at the wrong time, you know?”

     “In other words, you don’t want it getting back to Papa.” The gleam in her blood moon eyes makes me laugh and I shake my head at the fox-like smile on her lips.

     “I’m not hiding anything, Iris.” That’s not entirely true. There are letters hidden in a compartment of my trunk I only dare to reread in the dead of night, when the world’s gone quiet. I wonder if he keeps mine tucked away somewhere special. If they mean anything at all. “You should get your gown, I’ll help you with it.”

     “Oh, it’s simple enough that I won’t need help. But will you tell me about your secret?” I follow her over to the screen, stopping just shy of the edge to give her privacy as I hear her robe flutter to the floor. Smoothing my hands over the thick, pleated fabric of my skirt, I’m at a loss for what to say. How do I tell her of the male that haunts my dreams? We only shared a moment alone in the garden temple and a handful of letters in the passing weeks, little mementos that began to appear under my pillow a few days after his departure. Surely it will sound ridiculous and make me appear childish, to have latched so strongly onto the idea of someone. But when I think of him, the way my heart flutters in my chest, the deep sense of knowing that settles over me, I just…can’t bring myself to feel ridiculous.

     My name on my sister’s lips spurs me on, unlocking a latch I hadn’t realized was there until the truth comes spilling out of me like the opening of a dam.

     “When I was here last, helping Grandfather with the drought, they played host to Night’s new High Lord and his inner circle for a few days. Something about trade agreements or treaties, I wasn’t really paying attention when they were introduced.” My cheeks flood with heat as I remember the way Rhysand had looked, how his presence had filled my mind so thoroughly it was impossible to think of anything else.

     “You didn’t mention it at your return dinner, when Papa asked you if anything interesting happened while you were away.” Iris says, briefly poking her head around the screen. Her eyes are wide, sparkling with delight, and I shrug in response.

     “It didn’t seem important, and I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was particularly interesting.” Lie, lie, lie. I should have mentioned it, but I didn’t.

     “But it was, wasn’t it? What happened?” The sound of rustling fabric and frustrated huffing fills the room, and I almost offer to help her again. “Did you get to meet them? Were they as terrible as everyone claims?”

     “You knew Rho as well as I did-”

     “Not true. She didn’t like to speak to me nearly as well as she did you-”

     “-regardless, she wasn’t terrible. I didn’t expect her brother to be either and, well, he wasn’t. None of them were, really. A little cold, perhaps detached…but not terrible.” Not terrible at all. I begin to fuss with the pleats in my gown, running my fingers over the thick fabric until the skin begins to feel dry. “He, uhm…he might have happened upon me in the garden temple on his last day here. We had a…strange encounter, I suppose. I don’t know.”

     “You don’t know? What does that even mean?” Iris crows, stepping out from behind the screen. My lips part in an ‘o’ of surprise as I take in the details of my little sister’s gown. Cut from pale shades of twilight, the bodice is sleeveless, embroidered with beautiful, crystal beaded blackberries and flowers more akin to something you might find in the mountains than the autumnal forest of our home court; the skirt, flaring out from her waist, is constructed of many layers of sheer fabric cut to mimic the petals of a flower opening, occasionally interspersed with lovely, metallic silver accents.

     On a good day, Iris is one of the loveliest females in any room.

     In this gown? My sister is a vision. It illuminates her pale complexion and compliments the deep merlot curls cascading over her shoulder. She fluffs her skirt a bit as she sidesteps me to find the mirror, where she takes in every angle of the gown with an exacting eye. 

     “Oh, wow,” I murmur, crossing my arms as I admire her. “Your dress is amazing, Iris. You look beautiful.”

     “Don’t cross your arms like that, your gown will wrinkle.”

     “Am I supposed to hold them out by my sides all night?” I ask, flinging my arms out wide in a rare show of drama that makes her eyes sparkle. My beautiful, radiant sister. Envy roils in my gut and I do my best to shove it down.

     “I certainly hope you intend to do more than stand around all night. You might actually have to dance or have something to drink, socialize, you know. What people do at balls.” She laughs when I roll my eyes and wanders over to sit on the edge of my bed. “Now tell me more about this new High Lord. If he’s as handsome as his father was-”

     “Iris!” I huff, feeling my own face reddening at the very idea of my younger sister looking at anyone that old with such blatant interest. A heavy knock on my door is all the warning we’re given before it’s thrown wide open and Aspen comes barrelling in, his auburn curls still damp from the bath. His pale trousers and forest green jacket are almost certainly a miniature version of what our father must be wearing tonight. Mother does love for them to match on public outings. Following at his heels with a sour expression, Linden shrugs into a satin jacket the color of marigolds. There’s no trace of my gangly little brother in his soldier’s build or the sharply chiseled jawline, more defined now that his long hair’s been cut, but a familiar glimmer of mischief lights his russet eyes when they cut to mine.

     “Mother will be cross if your jacket is wrinkled, Aspen,” Linden reminds our youngest brother with a lazy grin just before he can barrel into Iris. The boy settles at her side instead, leaning against her as she runs her fingers through his hair.

     “You’re no fun anymore.” I tap a finger over my lips to contain the giggle threatening to bubble up at the pout on Aspen’s freckled face.

     “That’s what military service does to you, Asp,” Iris mock-whispers as she kisses the crown of Aspen’s head. “Makes you terribly boring.”

     “I’m afraid it’s more the promise of Mother’s wrath.” Linden’s nose wrinkles at the prospect as he falls in at my side, lightly bumping my shoulder as his eyes sweep over my gown. “Father sent us to hurry you along. Are you quite finished primping, or should we stall for five more minutes? I doubt it’ll help either of you-”

     “Watch it,” I warn, reaching up to tug the hair curling near his collar, “or I’ll give you another bald spot to fuss over.”

     “The hair’s grown back, no thanks to you,” Linden mutters, batting my hand away. “Some welcome back this is.”

     “Oh hush. A ballroom full of eligible females should make up for your arduous time spent along the northern border. I’m sure the cattle and fields cause many problems.”

     “Laugh all you want, you haven’t seen the creatures crawling down from the north.”

     “I see Papa’s reports, too.”

     “You think they’re putting them in official reports?”

     “What do you mean?”

     “If you have to ask, it’s not my place to say-”

     “Well then don’t start conversations you don’t intend to finish,” Iris huffs, her eyes flashing a violent shade of crimson as the flit between us. Aspen groans, kicking his feet up on the bed as he lays his head in her lap, guiding her hand back to his hair.

     “I’m hungry,” he whines, the very picture of the pampered youngest brother. Little Juniper’s going to need to give Aspen a run for his money soon, or he’ll be insufferable forever. Iris shushes him in much the same way Mother does, running a thumb over his cherubic cheek as she narrows her eyes at Linden. She’ll make a formidable mother herself someday, though Linden remains unfazed. He casts a sidelong glance at me and gives a casual shrug, tilting his head towards the door.

     “Come on, they’re expecting us. Grandfather will be anxious to go down soon, I’m sure, if only to ensure Aspen is fed.”

     If he were shorter, I’d shake him the way I used to when we were small: until his teeth rattled and he told me what he knew. Unfortunately, we’re expected to be adults, so I suck my my teeth and shove my feet into the golden slippers beside my mirror, a perfect match for the embroidery on my gown. Aspen scurries off with a whoop, the sharp clip of his shoes echoing in the hall.

     “Go do something useful beyond stirring the pot,” Iris snips at Linden as she slips into her own silver shoes. I blink at her, taken aback by her attitude, but light sparks in Linden’s eyes as he gives her an assessing glance on his way out after Aspen. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He might like to think he’s worthy competition for you, but Papa would never-”

     “Oh, we don’t know what Papa will do, not that it’s necessarily up to him. And, who knows, perhaps Aspen will beat us all out-”

     “Oh please.”

     “You don’t know how he’ll settle.”

     “He’ll be lucky if he has half the power you do.”

     “Power isn’t everything,” I tell her as we hurry to join our brothers in the family sitting room. Papa, Uncle Lucien, and Grandfather stand beside an open window, looking out over the grounds as Juniper dozes in the crook of my grandfather’s arm, lost in some low conversation the sound of my grandmother’s fussing drowns out. Aunt Jesminda is seated uncomfortably on an emerald velvet sofa, her chestnut hair hanging in wild curls around her slender shoulders as she glances between my grandmother and mother. Her palm rests over the slight swell of her belly, the ruby in her mating ring gleaming in the warm, golden fae light. She smiles up at us as we enter, holding her hand out for me to take as I settle at her side. My head rests on her shoulder as I take in her scent, letting it calm the erratic beating of my heart.

     “Hello, sweetheart,” she whispers, kissing the crown of my head. Her golden gown is stunning, warming her skin, breathing a little life back into her. It seems this pregnancy has been more nightmare than blessing so far, but she’s well enough to be here with us. That counts for something. “How are you feeling? You look beautiful, kit.”

     “Thank you. I’m okay, are you okay?”

     “Perfectly fine, sweetling. It seems your cousin is as stubborn and difficult as the rest of you.”

     “It’s a Vanserra trait,” my mother adds, sitting on the sofa at my other side. Her gown of silver spidersilk is more revealing than she dares to wear at home, and lends towards the haunting image she usually cuts at my father’s side. The smell of dark, blackberry wine drifts up from the dark goblet dangling between her fingers, and I wrinkle my nose at it. She must have already made arrangements for Juniper if she’s drinking tonight. Her fingers curve around my chin, lifting my head from my aunt’s shoulder so she can properly look me over. I don’t know why she bothers, it seems there’s always something for her to be unsatisfied about when she looks at me. “Iris chose your dress well tonight, the color does much for your complexion.”

     “Thank you?” I say, pulling my chin out of her hold. I can hear Iris’s dramatic sigh from her place at my grandmother’s side, and I glance away from my mother’s harvest moon eyes to see my sister scowling down at her. Bright, tentative satisfaction bursts in my chest as I realize she’s taking my side, and how nice it is for her to do so. I should make more of an effort with her. Grandfather clears his throat then, drawing everyone’s attention to him as he hands off Juniper to Papa. My grandmother squeezes Iris’s arm before she drifts to his side, both of them resplendent in white and god.

     “Before we join my court to enjoy the night’s festivities,” Grandfather begins, placing his hand at the base of my grandmother’s back, “there’s something we wanted to share with all of you.”

     I look towards my father just in time to see him share a pointed look with Uncle Lucien. Aspen leans back against Lucien’s legs, fidgeting impatiently while Linden’s vacant gaze is fixed on a point on the far wall. He can’t even pretend to be interested. I feel for the currents in the air that help me generate lightning and carefully form the smallest burst of blue light right against the back of his neck, shocking him out of whatever daydream he was having with a small yelp. The older males glance at him, their faces painted in varying shades of bewilderment, then my father looks to me with a raised brow. I shrug innocently, giving him a bland smile before I turn my attention back to my grandparents.

     “It seems,” my grandmother says, looking to her children and their spouses before her eyes land on me. She smiles so warmly, I can’t help but return it. “It seems we’ll be welcoming another member of our family before spring. Helion and I are expecting a babe-”

     “You can still do that?” I’ve never seen my Uncle Lucien clamp a hand over Aspen’s mouth so fast, but the question is already out there. He received the talk after my mother fell pregnant with Juniper, and it seems he has not forgotten how babies are created. Lucien looks to my father again, something like horrified amusement on his face, and my father slowly blinks in return. Grandfather’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as he buries his face in my grandmother’s hair, who looks to be seconds away from erupting into laughter herself. My mother certainly has never looked so pale as she does now.

     “Congratulations,” Papa says diplomatically, giving my grandmother a warm smile before he directs his attention to my mother. “It seems we have more work to do with the boy regarding manners, yes?”

     “That’s an understatement,” Iris mutters, leaning against the back of the sofa. That’s all it takes for laughter to break through the room, and I rise to hug my grandmother. Her arms wrap tightly around my shoulders, and Grandfather’s hand rests between my shoulder blades, warm and steady. This close, I can smell the way her scent has changed, softer and sweeter as a result of the pregnancy.

     “Congratulations,” I whisper. She kisses my temple, pulling back to look into my eyes. All my life, she’s been nothing less than joyous, but I have never seen her quite so radiant before. It’s like the sun itself shines from her russet eyes. Even her beautiful red hair has a golden hue to it. She must have had a glamour on before, hiding these little changes.

    Her hands cup my cheeks, her thumbs trailing along my cheekbones. “My sweet girl. You’ll help me design the nursery, won’t you?”

     “Iris might be better at that than me.” Her joyous expression falters a little at my suggestion, and I quickly add, “but if it’s my help you want, consider it yours. I would like nothing more.” It’s not the truth, but it’s not technically a lie either. There are more thrilling things in life than designing nurseries, but I love my family. And something tells me my grandmother has waited a very long time for a babe she can openly celebrate. Moments later, my mother’s hands settle on my shoulders, shuffling me off to the side for everyone else to extend their congratulations.

     I’m strangely grateful for the intrusion. Father hands Juniper to me before embracing my grandmother, and I take the rare opportunity to look down at the sister I’ve made no effort to bond with. She’s small, with a little, scrunched face and chubby cheeks. Her red hair is a little darker than it was, easing more towards wine red than fire. She is objectively a beautiful baby, but looking at her, I don’t feel that rush of affection or protectiveness I did with the other three. Something must be wrong with me.

     My mother takes Juniper after a minute, handing her off to a nursemaid before ushering the rest of her children into the hall. We’re used to this by now, and arrange ourselves in order of birth, with Linden escorting me while Juniper and Aspen trail after us. We’ll follow behind our grandparents and parents, with Uncle Lucien and Aunt Jes at the back of the procession. Linden pinches me as he threads my arm through his and, the moment Mother’s back is turned, I zap him again. Iris giggles behind us, and I catch her eye over my shoulder. She winks at me, and the affection I’d been searching for with Juniper tugs at my heart. Perhaps it will just take time.

- - -

     The grand ballroom is a sea of gold and glimmering jewels. Fae from every court fill the room, drifting in and out of the archways leading out into the main garden. My eyes search the sea of them, taking in the varied fashions and colors until I find the dark figure I’m looking for leaning against a marble column. The Night Court stands on the periphery of the celebrations in a tight circle, but I notice the shadowsinger drift forward as my siblings and I take our places at the high table. Iris stiffens at my side, like a marionette whose strings have been tugged. I look over, trying to figure out what she’s looking at, but her gaze drops to the porcelain plate as Grandfather’s speech begins.

      I lean over to whisper in her ear. “Are you alright?”

     “Fine,” she mumbles quickly, looking towards our grandparents, her cheeks tinged with pink. Red tendrils of hair have fallen loose around her face, softening her features. She reminds me of something lovely out of an old painting. “I’m fine.” She doesn’t seem fine, but maybe she just doesn’t want to talk about it here. I reach for her hand, squeezing her fingers, and she returns it with a bone-crushing grip of her own. Iris has never been crowd shy a day in her life, I don’t understand why she looks so unsettled now. Once my grandfather finishes speaking and the room fills with thunderous applause, I look back to where Rhysand was leaning. His spymaster has disappeared with the general, and the High Lord of the Night Court is staring straight at me. He smirks, tilting his glass towards me, and I raise my own to my lips.

     He’s beautiful, dressed entirely in black, his jacket trimmed with gold. The blonde at his side, Morrigan, is swathed in a gauzy, delicate white gown. Her tan skin is beautiful, contrasted by the stark fabric of her dress. A cousin, he’d said, distant but family nonetheless. All the family has left, it seems. I try not to let him distract me as the meal appears and everyone else takes their seats. Our plates are soon laden with fish and pasta in a creamy lemon sauce, and fresh, perfectly seasoned vegetables. Golden, crusty bread with oil and fresh herbs accompanies dinner, with light, sparkling peach wine and carafes of cold water.

     This truly is a celebration. Golden orbs blaze overhead like miniature suns, filling the space with light as dusk gives way to dark, glorious night. A string quartet plays in the corner, their music soft and lovely as pixie wings. My heart sings for the joy and laughter and love in this room, even if I don’t quite feel a part of it. After dinner, dessert arrives: peaches and sweet, vanilla cream or light, fluffy limoncello cake that tastes of liquor and sugar. I pick at the peaches, waiting for the rest of the musicians to arrive so the dancing can begin. It’s my favorite part.

     All through dessert, I search the ballroom for a head of raven black hair and that rich, dark laugh. I don’t hear or see him again until well after the dancing begins. The click of the heels of his polished black boots on the floor makes my breath catch as I lean around Linden to see Rhysand stop before the head of the table, giving my grandfather a respectful bow. The look he exchanges with my father is nothing short of complicated. I’ve never seen Papa look at anyone with so much mistrust as he leans back in his chair, his arm draped over the back of my mother’s chair as he sips his wine. Rhysand doesn’t seem to care much as he strides toward me. My brother bristles and from the corner of my eye, I see Iris glancing towards me, her blood moon eyes wide.

     “Lovely to see you again, Princess.” A few of the dancers behind him pause as the High Lord of Night formally addresses me. I straighten in my seat, trying to portray myself as the elegant Autumn lady my mother raised me to be. The wicked amusement in his eyes tells me he’s not fooled, but he’s not the one I’m putting on the act for. “You are a vision in crimson this evening.”

     “You flatter me, High Lord,” I reply, taking another sip of my wine. The flavor of peach and sweet vanilla tingles over my tongue, loosening the muscles in my shoulders, making me a little bolder. “How generous of you, to remember me after all these weeks.”

     “As though I could forget Autumn’s greatest treasure.” A few females in the corner titter, their heads bowed together as they watch the exchange. “You’ll forgive me, Lady, if my methods toe the border of propriety, but I’ve recently been told fortune favors the bold.”

     “And what could you possibly need fortune’s favor for tonight, High Lord?”

     “A dance, my lady. With Autumn’s loveliest jewel, if she would be so kind to oblige a northern lord.”

     I feel Linden rather than see him, his breath against the shell of my ear as he leans in to whisper, “oh fucking gag me. You’re not seriously entertaining this, are you?” I do not even deign to look at my younger brother. I merely shrug and smile at the male before me, elated at the opportunity to stretch my legs.

     “It would be an honor, High Lord.” Our family is hosting the revel, after all. It would be impolite to turn down the request of a guest. Rhysand meets me at the end of the dais, holding out a hand to help me descend the few short steps as the last song finishes. The crowd parts as he leads me to the dance floor, their whispers and my father’s pointed gaze on my back fading into the background as I look at him. He is beautiful. The scent of citrus and seawater wraps around me, marrying my own rain and orchard scent until all I can smell is us. My hand trembles as I set it on his shoulder, the other enveloped in his own. His arm slides around my waist, pulling me far closer than proper as the dark strains of a Night Court waltz fill the air. The music is slow, refined, and will gather speed in no time. It’s been a long time since I trained in this style of dance, but I remember enjoying the feeling of it. The slow, measured seduction of the beginning followed by the flurry of lifts in the middle. It was overwhelming to learn, but-

     “Just look at me, Dove.” His words are a command, and I turn my gaze to his. Gone are the dark shadows. In his eyes, all I see is beautiful, burning starlight. “It’s only us here. And it is so lovely to see you again. Did you receive my last letter?”

     “I did. The portrait you described was stunning, Rhysand.”

     “One day, perhaps I’ll show it to you.” I shiver at the idea of walking into that cruel, wicked court beneath the black mountain at his side. The mere thought of it is equal parts thrilling and terrifying. I’ve heard the rumors of how they tear each other apart, of the faerie heads mounted on spikes in a long path before the entrance to the court. Of the beasts that reside in the pits of their dungeons, dark and monstrous things that know no master, only hunger. Only death.

     “I think I’d like that.”

     “You would be a vision there, too. A flame against the dark.”

     “I think you’re mistaking me for my sister.”

     “No. All I see is you.”

      In that moment, I am lost. Entangled in everything he is: the smell of him, the feeling of his body everywhere it meets mine, I am helpless in the face of the sheer power radiating from him. On our first lift, I lean my head back, letting the light wash over me as I begin the slow slide down his body, into his arms once more. Possession drips from his hands, every movement he makes a perfect mirror to my own, and something vicious and beautifully golden pulls between my ribs. A blue flash of lightning stretches across the sky, illuminating the grounds, and those violet eyes are full of unholy delight as he stares down at me.

     “I see you, too.” And, for a moment, I think I truly do. In the span of a breath, the bravado falls away, giving me a glimpse of something almost tender. Almost. But the mask slips back on before I can blink, and he’s spinning me in circles around him, little more than a planet in his orbit, a surety to his movements that doesn’t allow me to falter. Finally, when he pulls me back against him, the room falls into a hush. The music winds down, drifting into something softer and lovelier, and Rhysand’s arm is a solid weight around my waist. He’s looking down at me as though the stars are born and die in my eyes instead of his own, and my chin drifts up like he might kiss me here, in the middle of this room, with my entire family watching.

     Linden appears at my side, his hand outstretched to take me from the Lord of Night. Rhysand’s grip tightens, his expression flickering between possession and rage before his arm falls away and we step back from each other. My chest tightens, the space between us is too much to bear, but I remember myself before I can launch myself at him. We’re in the middle of a ballroom, and we both have roles we must fulfill. Lives that aren’t our own. I sink into a low curtsy, my head dropping as the thick, scarlet fabric of my dress fans out around me.

     Linden’s hand is an insistent presence at my side, and I reach for it as I stand. My brother turns me away, and I don’t hear the High Lord’s footsteps at my back, but I note the way Linden’s expression softens at his obvious departure. The minute the other dancers fill in the dance floor around us, I step on his foot.

     Hard.

     My little brother doesn’t even flinch. Asshole.

     “That was some display,” he grunts, pulling me into a much slower waltz. “What were you thinking?”

     “That a High Lord asked me to dance and I wouldn’t do him the dishonor of saying no.”

     “Well, sister, most of the other High Lords aren’t cold-blooded murders-“

     “Please, Lin, tell me which of them has unsullied hands and I’ll propose marriage myself. Go on, I’m waiting.” His jaw clenches, yet he says nothing. He can’t. To date, every High Lord has come to power with blood-soaked hands, our father included. He hates Night’s High Lord on principal, because their court has a long history of a sort of vicious cruelty our kind likes to pretend we’ve overcome. Rhysand doesn’t apologize for who he is or what he’s done. If he didn’t refuse to play the game, Linden might like him better.

     The fact that he doesn’t play the same, tired game makes me like him more.

     “Father is displeased-”

     “Because I shared a dance with a male who asked me?”

     “Because he was looking at you like he might burn the world for you,” Linden huffs, shaking his head. “And you were staring at him in kind. You know that’s not a match he could ever approve of.”

     The condescension in his voice is what makes me snap. “I’m not asking for his approval, Linden — not his or grandfather’s or anyone’s. And certainly not yours.”

     I disentangle myself from my brother’s arms and leave him in the center of the dance floor, storming off beneath one of the archways into the darkened garden. I hear him call after me, but I don’t deign to respond. Magic seizes me in a flurry of darkness and pressure. I can’t think or breathe, I don’t know where I am.

In the next moment, I step out into the center of the hedge maze. The stars wink to life overhead as the moon begins to rise, and sweet, warm air caresses my face. In the distance, I can hear the tburble of a nearby fountain. I shouldn’t have snapped at Linden, but I couldn’t endure another moment of him talking like he knows what’s best for me. None of them know what’s best for me, what I dream of, what I long for…yet they all have something to say about the way I choose to live my life.

     I’m not there longer than five minutes before the scent of sweet sea air envelops me. Threads of darkness dance along my skin, tugging at my arms, coaxing me to turn around. A warm hand gently clasps my shoulder and, finally, I look back. We don't speak, but we don't really need words. Not now. As day yields to night, I turn and grasp the front of his jacket, sinking into his arms as his lips meet my own.

     I feel like I’m burning alive. The brightness in my chest pushes its way out, expanding with every breath. The kiss deepens, his tongue darts against my lips, seeking entrance I willingly grant. Kissing Rhysand ignites something in me I know I can never extinguish. It is light and life and sweet, claiming darkness. Kissing him like falling asleep. Is this what it is to dream?

[cstveamaryllis]

CARMEN SANDIEGO: THE VILE EYE

to be released by : may/june 2025 (author’s note below the cut)

sorry for keeping you all waiting!! i wasn’t feeling well physically and mentally this week (ive been dealing with my depression), and to keep you all waiting since 2022 in general! i’m happy to announce that it will be out by this year! the written version at least. the comic one will take a bit of time, but it wont be long! STAY TUNED ILY ALL

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Sleeps Ten, My Ass (2/2)

Summary: It's become tradition for Emma Swan to spend the holidays with her brother, their cousins, and their families. This Christmas was no different. The group booked a four night stay at a cozy mountain cabin to celebrate. The listing said it sleeps ten, but upon arrival they discover a small issue. The listing was wrong and now Emma and Killian Jones, the only two single people within their group, have to spend the next four nights sharing a bed. Fortunately... they've shared a bed before.

A/N: @eastwesthomeisbest I'm sorry this Part Two took a little longer to get to you than I'd planned, but I hope you'll find it worth the wait! Again, it was lovely being your CS Secret Santa!! I hope you have a wonderful 2025!!

For the rest of my readers, I started over with my Curious Crew Tag List (which I typically do at the first of the year). Although I'm pretty sure I've added everyone who told me to date that they wished to be added, if I missed you (SORRY) or you wish to be added, please let me know!!

Thanks to @kmomof4 for looking this over for me and to the @cssecretsanta2020 for once again hosting a fantastic event. Side note, this fic also completes my Only One Bed: Holiday Edition square for the CS Winter Bingo!

Rated E / Also available on ao3 / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me! / Part One

Part Two

“Merry Christmas!”

Emma clinked her mimosa against the glasses of her family and friends then settled onto the sofa next to her brother. Taking a sip of the bubbly beverage, she perused the room and let the early morning alcohol warm her from the inside as the fireplace beside her took care of the outside.

Much as Killian had done for her last night.

Shaking off that thought - and the remnants of the dreams she’d had where he’d kept her warm in other ways - Emma tucked her legs beneath her and gave Liam her attention as he passed out the gifts.

The couples tended to exchange gifts with one another in private before they met as a group, and Emma imagined this year was no different. The gifts Liam was handing out were the ones each of them had brought for a specific member of their group. Every Thanksgiving they drew names at random so each person only had to buy something for one other person. Then, Christmas morning, they would all open their gifts and reveal who had bought for whom.

Emma was grateful that she did not have to buy something for everyone, but she did not enjoy the fact that they opened the gifts one at a time while the rest of the group watched, making the person unwrapping the center of attention.

Well, the person unwrapping and the person who had gifted it.

“David, I love it!” Elsa praised with a laugh, holding up the lightweight sweatshirt for everyone to see.

Printed across the front in bold lettering, it read: No. I don’t need a coat. The cold doesn’t bother me.

“That’s perfect,” Liam chortled, already tearing his gift open.

And around the room they went. After Elsa was Liam, then Kristoff, then Anna, who Emma had drawn and gifted a pair of boots she’d known her cousin had been wanting. When Anna was finally done gushing over them, Emma began to open her gift.

“So… who will I be thanking for this…” She’d gotten the rest of the paper off and the lid to the box open when her words fell away as she looked over the myriad of items within.

“It’s a, uh...” Killian cleared his throat and pawed at the patch of skin behind his ear as he went on to explain. “It’s a sort of… winter stake-out care package, I guess is what you’d call it.”

Emma began lifting the items out of the box as Killian described them and the thought process behind his selecting each one.

“I’d noticed earlier this month when we all got together for that holiday festival that you needed a new beanie,” he said as she slipped the hunter green beanie onto her head and then pulled out a pair of soft gloves. “Now, I know you don’t tend to wear gloves on a stake-out because they get in the way of you taking photos or making notes on your phone, but with these you can slip the individual fingertips off so your hands can stay warm while you still have use of your finger pads.”

Emma tested them out whilst he explained their function, loving the ease with which she could quickly bare her thumbs and fingertips. They would certainly come in handy, as would the next item.

“A portable electric kettle,” Killian informed the group when more than one of them had murmured an inquiry about the item in question. “You just add water and plug it into the cigarette lighter in your vehicle and it’ll boil in less than 90 seconds. It also serves as a thermos once you’ve heated the water.” Killian lifted his chin in a pointed gesture and added, “There’s some hot cocoa packets and instant coffee in there as well.”

“This is…” Emma began, somewhat at a loss of what to say.

“Do you like it?”

Emma’s eyes jumped to Killian’s which were filled with a hesitant anticipation; his brows furrowed as his Adam’s apple bobbed.

“I do,” she answered, smiling softly at him. “This was all so thoughtful of you. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Swan,” he replied, a bright smile adorning his lips as he let out a heavy breath of relief.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Mary Margaret elbow David in the ribs. No doubt it was an attempt to keep whatever snide comment he had at the ready about her occupation from falling out of his mouth. Emma knew her brother did not approve of her line of work. In truth, most of them didn’t. The only one who never gave her a hard time about it, who never questioned her abilities or capability, who only ever asked about it out of genuine curiosity and interest, and without an ulterior motive to somehow diminish her success or exaggerate the dangers, was Killian.

Emma tried to focus on the remaining gifts being opened by the rest of their group, but her mind kept circling back to her own. The way Killian had noticed the state of her beanie and how he inherently knew and understood the reason why she tended to not wear gloves, despite her having the opposite reaction to the cold from her cousin.

The cold did bother her. It always had.

The contrast of her and Elsa’s response to it had always been a source of amusement within their circle. As evidenced by David’s gift to Elsa and past comments made regarding the issue. It struck Emma, in that moment, that Killian had never taken her objection to the cold lightly. From the beginning, he had always made sure she was comfortable. Warm. Content.

Like last night. Like many times before. Like with his gift. Making sure she’d be warm and comfortable during the long, wintery nights whilst on a stake-out. The way he’d made sure she was warm that night. The night in the Caribbean when a cool ocean breeze had met her damp skin - sweat soaked from dancing in a crush of people - and she’d shivered, her slip of a dress, which left little to the imagination, unable to combat the chill as goosebumps erupted over her entire body.

She could still feel the soft fabric of Killian’s jacket around her shoulders, the warmth it transferred from his body to hers, his scent lingering on the collar and intoxicating her sinuses in the same way the rum had infused their blood. The memory of the heat of his hand, pressing against the small of her back as he walked her to her cabin made Emma shift in her seat, as did the whisper of his hot breath against her neck when she recalled the words he’d murmured into her ear.

“I’ll keep you warm, love. Just say the word and I’ll make you burn until morning. It would be both our pleasure, I swear it.”

He had been good to his word.

So, so good.

“Who's ready for breakfast?”

Mary Margaret’s inquiry, which signaled the end of the gift giving portion of the day, shook Emma from her thoughts. Her highly inappropriate thoughts. Thoughts that had caused her cheeks to grow hot and blush pink; a fact she hoped no one had noticed.

“You look a bit flushed, Swan,” Killian commented on their way to the dining room - much to Emma’s mortification. “I guess my gifts are doing their job.”

Unable to meet his eye, Emma swiped the new beanie off her head and peeled the gloves off her hands. “Yep. I’m nice and toasty now. Thanks.”

“Anytime, love,” he replied in a deep, quiet timbre. Was she imagining the mixture of promise and longing in his words? Was he merely being his usual cheeky self, or was he reminding her of all the ways they could produce heat together… and his willingness to explore them with her?

“Who needs a refill?” Elsa offered, holding up the bottle of champagne and the pitcher of orange juice.

“Me!” Emma responded, hurrying towards the island with her champagne flute and receiving the first of many, many refills she’d imbibe that day.

~/~

This was a bad idea. No, it was a great idea, but it was also, potentially, a very, very bad idea.

It had been Anna’s idea. Which wasn’t the reason it was a bad one. It was actually a really good one. After a long day of cooking and drinking and eating and games and drinking and cleaning and drinking, her cousin had suggested they end the evening with a soak in the hot tub.

Which was a terrific idea, except… wearing nothing but her bikini, in a hot tub, with Killian Jones, also in his swimsuit, with his hair curling from the steam and water droplets clinging to his chest hair and pooling in the hollow of his throat while she - and the rest of them - continued to polish off the bottles of champagne that never seemed to end was a very, very bad idea.

But when had a bad idea ever stopped her before?

Especially when said bad idea had actually crossed her mind days before when she’d packed her bag. More specifically, the tiny, red, string bikini she’d worn during their cruise vacation. But no, she absolutely did not choose to pack this particular bikini because she remembered the look on Killian’s face and the hunger in his eyes when he saw her in it the first time on the pool deck. The same hunger that was threatening to devour her from a darkened, forget-me-not gaze across the hot tub.

Okay, maybe she did pack this particular bikini on purpose with this particular scenario in mind.

The idea wasn’t the only thing that was bad. Emma was also being bad. Very, very bad. And she wanted to do bad things. Very, very bad things with the man she found herself alone in the hot tub with after all their family and friends had decided to turn in about an hour after they’d first all got in.

“D’you wanna stay inna bit longer or turn in,” Killian asked with a heavy tongue from all the alcohol he’d consumed over the course of the day.

The same amount that was currently coursing through her veins and causing her to want to act on her very, very bad ideas.

“Prolly should turn in,” she replied in an equally tipsy tone. “M’ry Marget wants to head out early for after Kissmas shopping.”

Another loathsome tradition, but one Emma complied with for her sister-in-law’s sake. She wasn’t much for bargain hunting, but she knew what the bonding time together meant to the woman who had married into a sisterhood (despite Elsa and Anna actually being Emma’s cousins) after being an only child all her life and an orphan for the greater part of it.

“Right then,” Killian said, standing from where he’d been lounging in the corner and offering her a hand up. “We should get you to bed, love.”

Taking his hand, Emma stood, then immediately lost her footing and fell into his wet, firm chest. His arms circled her waist, his inebriation making him a bit clumsy and the slickness of their skin causing one of his hands to inadvertently land a bit too low. Palming her ass cheek may have been an accident, but the way his grip tightened, his fingers digging into her skin as he prompted her hips forward was not.

Nor was the way she responded, bringing herself flush against him as their lips, teeth and tongues met with fervor. He groaned into her mouth when she raked her nails down his back, then reached up and wrapped his other hand around the back of her neck.

“I want you,” he breathed, the much needed air secondary to the words he seemed desperate to convey.

“I want you, too,” she told him before suddenly finding herself in his arms, being carried out of the hot tub and into the cabin. After setting her down by the dying embers of the fire, he grabbed a nearby towel and wrapped it around her.

“I’m gonna shut off the hot tub and close things up,” he informed her. “Wait for me in our room?”

Emma nodded, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she headed for the stairs. Glancing back over her shoulder, she giggled at the way he hurriedly - and drunkenly - took care of the tasks so he could follow after her. He didn’t keep her waiting long. No sooner had she finished drying off - still clad in her bikini, so not completely dry - and taking her hair down from the high bun she’d pulled it into so it would stay out of the water, than he came through the door like a man on a mission.

His mission, it seemed, was to pick up where they’d left off. In less than a second she was back in his arms, their hands indulging in the vast expanse of exposed skin while their mouths fought to devour the other.

“You’ve no idea what seeing you in this bikini does to me,” he growled against her lips, his fingers toying with the knotted strings tied at her back.

Reaching between them, Emma cupped his hardness through the thin, damp fabric of his trunks and hummed into his mouth before murmuring, “Actually, I think I do.”

“We’re drunk,” he stated, pulling back slightly while his hands gripped her hip and grazed her back.

“W’are,” she slurred, flicking her gaze up to his. “Your point?”

“We were drunk last time, too,” he reminded her, sloppily. “I’ve always regretted that.”

“Regretted it?”

“Not what we did,” he clarified, his fingers brushing up her side, over the back of her shoulder, then back down her arm. “I regret I wasn’t in complete control of my faculties when I took you. That the details of you, naked and quivering beneath me, are hazy in my memory because of the alcohol clouding them.”

Emma cupped his length harder, pulling a grunt from the depths of his chest and causing his eyes to slip shut as his lips parted in pleasure. “Will that regret keep you from taking me again?” she asked, kneading the underside of his balls with her fingertips. Reaching up on her tiptoes, she gripped his earlobe between her teeth, eliciting a sharp intake of breath that interrupted the moans vibrating up his throat. “Will that regret keep you from allowing me the pleasure of being taken?”

Killian jerked his head away, her teeth scraping against the lobe of his ear. A growl rumbled in his chest as he pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes dark and piercing despite the alcohol hooding his gaze.

“Absolutey the fuck not,” he declared in a tone that curled her toes and nearly made her knees give out.

With a series of sharp tugs, he undid the knots that had kept her bikini top secured, then tore the flimsy piece of fabric from her breasts so his mouth and hands could replace it. Clutching his head to her chest, Emma gasped and wrapped her legs around his waist when he managed to lift her, one handed, so he could carry her to the bed. He probably would have deposited her on the mattress with more finesse had he been sober, but Emma wasn’t complaining, not when he sank to his knees at the end of it and began divesting her of her bikini bottoms with his teeth.

She wasn’t sure whether she said them out loud, but the last coherent words to flow through her consciousness before his tongue began its assault on her sex were, we really ought to do this sober at some point.

~/~

“Got our to-go coffees!”

Emma groaned, her head resting against her arms which were crossed on top of the table they’d just finished having breakfast on. If you could call a slice of dry toast breakfast, that is.

She really shouldn’t have drank so much the day before.

She hated to think how much worse her hangover would be if, after their… relations, Killian hadn’t insisted they both take an aspirin and chase it with a large glass of water before crashing.

Yet another thing to be grateful to Killian Jones for.

And he had given her many, many things to be grateful for last night.

Of course, she’d given him her fair share as well.

Not that she should be thinking about any of that now, especially when thinking in general was causing her head to pound.

“Here,” Elsa said, prompting Emma to sit up and take the to-go cup being offered to her. “I slipped a little hair of the dog in it for you.”

Emma glanced down to where Elsa was brandishing the flask she had tucked away in her purse, a very Jones-esque smirk pulling at her lips.

“Your brother-in-law is a bad influence,” Emma chortled, then winced at the way the action made her stomach gurgle.

Elsa laughed and stood, prompting the rest of the table to follow. The four women made their way out of the diner and towards the shops that were just beginning to open for the after Christmas sales. Emma took a large gulp of her doctored coffee, willing it to sustain her these next few hours. She was gonna need all the help she could get.

“Emma,” Elsa said quietly, as they milled around the third - or was it the fourth - shop of the day.

When Emma glanced over at her, Elsa tilted her head towards the corner, indicating a more private place to chat, and Emma, curious, followed her cousin.

“What’s up?” Emma asked, noting the discomfort and hesitation Elsa was struggling with.

“It’s just…” Elsa began, tentatively. “I know you were joking before, when you said Killian was a bad influence, but…”

“But?”

Elsa’s cool blue eyes locked onto Emma’s. She knew that look. It was the same look David would give her when he was about to go all I’m-telling-you-this-for-your-own-good, trust-me-I-know-what-I’m-talking-about, slightly insufferable, older brother on her.

“He isn’t a bad guy.”

Stunned, Emma blanched and assured, “I know that.”

“I mean,” Elsa continued. “I know David thinks he has a reputation of being a ladies’ man, and has written him off as a ‘bad boy’, but Killian isn’t actually like that.”

“Okay,” Emma drawled, suddenly very uncomfortable with where this conversation might be going. “Why are you tell--”

“Because… He talks about you all the time,” Elsa told her. There was something in her tone that alerted Emma to the fact that her words might be considered a betrayal, but she’d decided to place her loyalties with her cousin rather than her brother-in-law. “He asks about you when it’s been awhile since we’ve all gotten together. I really… I really think he has a thing for you, and I wouldn’t want any misconceptions to get in the way of you possibly--”

“Elsa, stop.”

Emma couldn’t listen to anything more her cousin had to say. It was too much. Too much to hope that this… whatever it was between her and Killian, was more than some ‘dalliance’. More than an itch he felt the need to scratch or some challenge he wanted to conquer.

More than just another notch on his bedpost.

“Look,” she said, her tone not quite as snappy as it had been. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but you don’t have to defend Killian to me. I know he’s a decent guy, and I…” Emma wasn’t sure what else to say without giving away her feelings, something she was barely ready to do with herself, and nowhere near ready to admit to anyone else.

“Right,” Elsa said, letting Emma off the hook. “Well, I’m glad we got that sorted. I just… Now that Liam and I are married, the Jones brothers are a permanent fixture in our lives and I--”

“I know,” Emma interjected, wishing to end the awkward conversation. “I get it.”

“Do you?” Elsa asked, stepping a bit closer. “Emma, Killian isn’t going anywhere. I know you keep your guard up because you’re afraid of being wrong about him, but… give him a chance? I really think he just might surprise you. In the best way.”

Elsa’s words lingered in Emma’s mind for the rest of the day, as did nearly every interaction she’d ever had with Killian over the past several years. If what Elsa had said was true, that Killian had genuine feelings for her, then why hadn’t he ever made a move?

Granted, in the early years of Elsa and Liam’s relationship, he only came around a couple of times, but he had been a solid member of their group for at least the past two. Yet, he’d never given her any indication of being serious about her. Sure, he flirted and made suggestive comments and did outrageous things with his eyebrows and tongue, but he did that with everyone, right? Even David and Kristoff.

He didn’t have their preferred drink at the ready when they inevitably showed up late, though. Nor did he buy them thoughtful gifts that affirmed and supported their chosen profession. He also did not gravitate towards the rest of them like he did her. And she to him.

He didn’t look at any of them the way he looked at her. In fact… She could not recall a single time they’d been together when she’d seen him look at another woman that way. Not even on the cruise when there had been no shortage of beautiful women in revealing, eye-catching outfits. Not even when those women had come onto him, slipping their room numbers, phone numbers, and who knows what else into his pocket.

Surely, given the fact that he was gorgeous and charming and sexy as hell - don’t get her started on the accent - and had women throwing themselves at him, he had no trouble keeping his date book full and his bed warm. It’s not like he’d been pining after her all this time.

Right?

~/~

The ladies got back to the cabin later than they’d planned. Initially, the group was going to make do with the leftovers for dinner, cleaning out the fridge and making sure nothing went to waste before checking out the next day. However, the shopping and bonding and girl-time had led to them informing the guys that they’d be dining out instead and to not wait up.

Emma - despite the internal turmoil and lingering questions her conversation with Elsa had left her with - had actually enjoyed the day with her cousins and sister-in-law. So much so that it might have been her idea to ditch leftovers with the gents and treat themselves to a lovely meal at the bistro they’d walked by several times during their shopping ventures through the town.

Was a small part of that suggestion due to the fact she wasn’t ready to face Killian?

Yup. Absolutely. 100%

There was no putting it off any longer, though. Despite their insistence that the men should not wait up for them, they had. Because, of course they had.

After a brief recap of the day and a run down of what would need to be done in the morning before they checked out of the cabin, the group dispersed, heading to their respective rooms and turning in for the night. Emma glanced at Killian, whom she’d been avoiding making eye contact with, and could see the same uncertain, hesitant, bracing-for-what-may-come-next demeanor she knew she’d walked into the cabin with.

Making her way into their room, she noted how he’d made the bed and picked up their discarded suits that had still littered the floor when she’d left early that morning. She swallowed heavily at the memory of her quickly quieting her alarm and getting ready - queasy and heavy-headed - as silently and stealthily as possible as not to wake him and force an interaction. What had it been like for him to wake up alone? Had he been plagued by thoughts and memories and questions all day like she had? Eager to see her and discover what it all meant whilst also willing to allow the hours to drag on and avoid having to face a reality that may not meet hopeful expectations?

The door softly snicked closed, the air growing heavy and charged as tense anticipation palpated throughout the room.

“Swan,” Killian began, his voice gentle but resolved as he hovered by the door, giving her as much space as he could within the privacy of their room. “I know talking about last night is probably the last thing you wish to do, but I really think, given that it’s happened twice now, that we really ought to dis--”

“You’re right,” she agreed, cutting him off. “I think we need to talk about it.”

Killian balked. That was clearly not the response he’d been prepared to receive from her. “You do?”

“Yeah,” she said, wetting her lips and shuffling her feet against the carpet, her gaze turned downward as she slipped her hands into her back pockets. “I’ve, uh… I've been thinking about it all day. I mean…” she paused, her eyes closing briefly at how that statement could be misconstrued, even if the presumption wouldn’t be completely off base. “I’ve been thinking about us all day.”

“Me, too,” he replied with understanding, no hint of teasing or suggestive provocation in his tone.

Emma lifted her gaze and met his eyes. He was looking at her as one would a cornered animal, cautious and careful of making any sudden movement that might frighten the creature away.

“Actually,” she continued, her heart thumping wildly in her chest as she gathered the courage to make her next confession. “I’ve been thinking about us since that night on the ship.”

“Aye,” he breathed out on little more than a whisper. “Me, too.”

With her hands still tucked away in her pockets, she dipped her gaze down to her feet once more and said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he replied without hesitation.

It took her a moment to get over her own.

“The other night,” she began, haltingly. “When you implied that you didn’t share your bed often enough to develop a preference on which side of the… I know it’s none of my business, but…”

“But?”

Flicking her gaze to his once more, she took a breath and asked, “How often is not often enough?”

Killian reached up and scratched behind his ear; a usually endearing tell of his, but one that had her stomach churning at that moment.

“I, uh… actually…” He cleared his throat and cast his gaze aside, though he did throw a furtive glance her way as he answered, “This past year I’ve only shared my bed with one person.”

“Oh,” Emma replied, her heart sinking a bit. “Can I ask who?”

Killian’s head snapped back towards her, a look of amused confusion on his face. His expression softened and he closed the space between them, his hand coming up to cup the side of her face, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw as he said, “Don’t you know, Emma… It’s you.”

“What?” she exhaled, stupidly. “What do you mean… me?”

“I haven’t been with another woman since last Christmas when you kissed me beneath the mistletoe.”

Emma knew her mouth was hanging open. She knew she must have looked - in his words - absolutely gobsmacked. “B-But that was…” she stuttered, recalling the moment he was referring to. “That was just a silly, little peck on the lips because Elsa had hung it over the bar station and caught us standing there. It was hardly even a kiss.”

“Perhaps not to you,” he said with a tinge of hurt in his voice. “But it was to me.”

Dropping his hand he took a small step back and Emma instantly regretted making it seem as though the kiss hadn’t been a big deal. In truth, she’d had to convince herself for months afterward that it wasn’t.

“But it wasn’t just the kiss,” he continued. “It’s what the kiss exposed.”

Emma felt her breath hitch at the way he was looking at her now: vulnerable, unguarded, and - to use the word he’d just uttered - thoroughly exposed.

“Which was?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and a longing took over in his forget-me-not depths. “That you’re it for me, Swan. I…” Boldly, he approached her again, his words and expression leaving no room for doubt as to his sincerity. “There’s no one else. I don’t want anyone else. You’re the one I want.”

“Why… Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked, the sound of her heart thundering in her ears, her chest rising and falling a bit too rapidly.

He cocked his head to one side, an uncomfortable expression taking hold of his features as he reminded her, “At the time, you were with that Walsh bloke, and despite my dislike of the fellow, it seemed bad form to make heartfelt declarations whilst you were in a relationship.” Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled heavily and added, “When it did, thankfully, end, although his timing was rubbish, leaving you high and dry on Valentine’s Day, you seemed a bit… put off by the idea of, well, all men.”

“Right,” she said, her cheeks flushing hot at the reminder. “My rant at the pub about how all men are bastards and how I was vowing to live a celibate life from then on.”

“Aye,” he chuckled. “Didn’t seem like the right time to suggest we start… anything.”

“So,” she said, understanding why he’d taken a step back. “You gave me some space.”

“I thought it best to give it time. Let you heal. Remind yourself that, though the wanker had broken your heart, at least that meant it still worked.”

“And then,” she said, prompting him to continue. “The cruise.”

“Aye, the cruise,” he parroted, swallowing hard. “Liam and Elsa’s wedding, both of us in the wedding party, spending all that time together, flirting, connecting. I thought… I thought, perhaps, it was finally my chance. Our chance. We had that amazing night together. Not just the sex, but everything else that had led up to it. And then…”

“And then, I metaphorically ran for the hills the next morning.”

Killian dropped his head, his shoulders tense as he drew in a deep breath. “I was afraid that I may have taken advantage of--”

“No, Killian,” she said, cupping his cheek and urging him to look at her. “We went over that the next day. You didn’t take advantage of me. At least, not anymore than I took of you. That wasn’t why I--”

“I know, love,” he murmured. “I know you weren’t ready. You were still getting over--”

“No, I wasn’t,” she told him. “I got over Walsh a long time ago, I just…”

“What?” he asked, his eyes flicking between hers. “You just what, Swan?”

A contrite expression pulled at her brows and she dropped her hand to his chest as she confessed, “I didn’t want to be just another notch on your bedpost. I didn’t want to be some conquest.”

“Oh, Emma,” he whispered, gathering her in his arms. “You are not some conquest. Not to me.”

He held her for several beats of their hearts, his face nuzzling the top of her head. “Ever since that night, I have waffled between the desire to respect your wishes, and the urge to fight for what I want.” Pulling back, he gazed down at her and professed, “I’m done waffling. I want you, Emma. I want to be with you. I want to pursue you, and woo you, and court you in all the ways you ought to be.” Bringing his hand up, he caressed the side of her face with the backs of his fingers and murmured, “But only if you want that as well. Whatever we become is as much up to you as it is to me.”

“That all sounds good to me,” she said, pulling a deep chuckle from his chest, and they both smiled at one another, basking in the joy of the moment.

A joy that transitioned as they stood there, lightly caressing the other, breathing the other in, and gazing into each other’s eyes. Eyes that were darkening and becoming more hooded and intense as the atmosphere began to electrify around them.

When their lips met, it wasn’t in the chaotic and frenzied way they had in the instances before. There was no less passion, no less heat, but the desperation in this kiss was for closeness, intimacy, and not because either of them thought this might be the only time they’d ever get a chance to experience the other in this way.

After a long, thorough, languid exploration of her mouth, Killian’s moved to her jaw, the space below her ear, then down her neck. Emma’s fingers carded through his hair as his tongue mapped the slope of her shoulder, his hand gently pulling at the collar of her shirt to expose a greater path.

“I agree,” he murmured into her skin, his lips applying soft kisses and gentle, sucking pressure to her pulse points as they traveled back up her neck.

“With what?” Emma panted, torn between wanting to bask in this unhurried moment of enjoyment and her eagerness to move things along so they could get to the really good stuff.

“With what you said last night,” he reminded her, pulling his face away from her neck so he could stare down at her with a smoldering gaze of desire. “We really ought to do it sober sometime, and I see no better time than now. Do you?”

“Uh, yeah. No. I mean…” Emma silently cursed herself for sounding like an idiot. Taking a deep breath, she reached down and grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, then began lifting it as she replied, “I think so, too.”

Killian raised his arms, allowing her to peel the shirt from his body. His breath visibly hitched beneath her touch as she ran her fingers down the front of his chest; the muscles in his lower abdomen jumping when they reached the top of his jeans where his body hair began to taper into a happy trail. She could feel the heat of his gaze as she loosened his belt, heard the soft gasp that fell from his lips when she unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, and the groan he let out when she slipped her hand past his boxer briefs to wrap around his hardening, hot, velvety length sent a shiver of wonder down her spine.

“I think,” she whispered in a sultry tone, flicking up her gaze up from beneath her lashes to meet his; her words causing them to open after her actions had clearly made them fall shut in pleasure. “I’ll be the one doing the taking this time.”

A shudder ran through him and his gaze darkened. “As you wish,” he murmured, his timbre low and gravelly and making her want to do all sorts of naughty things to him.

Her hand still wrapped around his cock, she guided him to the edge of the bed and prompted him to sit on the edge as she sank down onto her knees.

“Lie back,” she instructed while working to free him from his jeans and underwear.

“As my lady commands,” he replied, collapsing back onto the mattress, though his head remained lifted so he could watch.

After divesting him of his remaining garments, Emma pulled her hair into a high ponytail. She delighted in the way his body jumped and quivered beneath her touch; her teasing caresses and taunting kisses applied to all the areas except where he’d want them most. Pained pants puffed from his chest and soft whimpers collected in the back of his throat. The cords of his neck strained whenever his head fell back, his eyes following the motion, his lips parted and sticking at the corners whenever his teeth weren’t burying themselves into their soft flesh. When she finally turned her attention to his neglected manhood, his hips jerked off the bed from the feel of her tongue running the length of his cock.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed, his hands balling up the comforter in a white-knuckeled grip.

“Shhhh,” she admonished. “Don’t make me gag you like you had to with me last night.”

The reminder forced a half-growl, half-groan from his chest, but it fully transformed into a moan of pleasurable relief when she took him fully into her mouth.

“Gods above, Swan,” he croaked after several minutes of her working him over, trying to keep his voice down. Trying… and failing. “Fuck!”

With a soft pop, Emma released him and stood.

“Apologies, love,” he whispered in a desperate tone. “Please. Don’t stop.”

“I have no intentions of stopping,” she assured him. “But you clearly need help staying quiet.”

If he had a retort to her statement, it must have been forgotten when she lifted her shirt over her head and then removed her bra. Killian’s tongue slowly dragged across his lips, his eyes intently focused on her as she shimmied out of her own jeans and panties. Her black lace panties that matched her bra; a set, like her swimsuit, she had intentionally packed with him in mind.

Black lace panties that she picked up off the floor and let hang off her index finger as she made her way up onto the bed, mounting him dramatically and straddling his hips.

“Are you gonna be a good boy and keep quiet, or…”

She swung her panties once around her finger. His Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes trained on the black fabric until it came to a rest, crooked on her finger once more, before they met hers. Emma could see the gears turning in his mind, trying to decide which he’d prefer.

After a deliciously taut moment, he said, “I’ll be good. I promise.”

“Mmmm,” Emma hummed, leaning down so her lips could hover over his. “Good choice.”

She laid her panties on the pillow next to his head as they kissed - just in case. Killian groaned when his tongue ran alongside hers and Emma knew it was because he could taste the brine of his precum still lingering there. When she finally broke off the kiss so she could sit back and position herself over his length, he followed. They both broke the promise of being quiet when he slipped inside her, filling her, stretching her, molding her to him as though they were only ever meant to fit one another.

Rolling her hips, Emma began to move as Killian held her. Murmurs, grunts, staccatoed breaths, sweet nothings, curses, praises, all filled the space between them as their bodies rolled, their hips swiveled, their lips collided, their eyes connected, and their pleasure mounted.

Whenever Emma would arch her back, Killian latched onto her breasts, lavishing them with his tongue and applying sweet torture with his teeth. Torture that reverberated down to her clit, causing it to throb and ache until she couldn’t take it any longer. Pushing Killian back down onto the mattress, she ground down hard against him in an attempt to alleviate the torment. When she felt the damp press of his thumb against her she nearly cried out before remembering herself.

“That’s it, love,” he encouraged, vigorously applying just the right amount of pressure and rhythm to her clit as he shifted beneath her so he could continue to thrust up into her warm, slick center. “Fuck, you feel so good. So tight. So soft. So wet.” His words became breathier and more strained, his exertions unrelenting as his thumb and cock competed to bring her to completion. “Come for me,” he pleaded, though there was a tone of command that grew more prominent as he repeated them.

“Come for me, love. I want you to come. Need you to come. Come for me, Emma. Oh, Emma. Emma, Emma, My Emma. Come!”

And come, she did.

Hard.

Showing her no mercy, Killian kept pounding into her, his ministrations at her clit sending wave after wave of ecstasy and bone-numbing pleasure through her, making it impossible for her to stay upright. Collapsing against him, she felt his rhythm falter for a few brief seconds when he brought up his knees, giving him the necessary leverage to chase after her into the euphoric abyss she was still tumbling down. The sounds of his desperation panted and grunted and moaned in her ear, until his breath hitched and guttural groanings, deeper than words, reverberated through his chest and stuttered over his lips like his hips did against hers.

Emma wasn’t sure how long they laid there, sated and spent and unbearably content as their bodies cooled and their breaths evened out.

“Do you need to move?” Killian asked, his legs stretching back out as his arms kept her held firmly against him.

“I don’t want to,” she mumbled into the side of his neck. “But I probably ought to.”

During their post-coital cuddling, he’d already begun to soften and slip from her, but the emptiness she felt when he fully left her had them both quickly moving through their aftercare routines so they could be back in the other’s arms, nestled beneath the covers, as quickly as possible.

“Does it all still sound good to you, love?” Killian questioned between the soft kisses he was applying to the back of her shoulder.

“The wooing and pursuing and courting, you mean?” she clarified, sleepily.

“Aye.”

“Mmmm, you bet.”

~/~

“Well, I think that’s everything,” Liam said, tying a knot on the last of the trash bags that needed to be taken out. “Elsa is going over the check-out list one last time, but I think we’ve taken care of everything.”

“I don’t see why we even bothered,” David groused. “It’s not like the owner kept up his end of things.”

“And Elsa will make sure her review reflects that,” Liam assured him.

Emma and Killian exchanged amused glances with one another. Other than the heat going out that one night - which Kristoff had managed to fix the next day - she and Killian had been the only ones truly ‘inconvenienced’ by the misleading information in the cabin’s listing.

An inconvenience she was tempted to leave a five star review for.

Sleeps ten, her ass… and her eternal gratitude.

The End

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

(Please be advised that I only keep one tag list for all fic updates and new works. If at any time you wish to be removed, just shoot me an ask or a DM. No worries.)

@bluewildcatfanatic @scotchiegirl @jonesfandomfanatic @idristardis @lfh1226-linda

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@kday426 @gingerchangeling @winterbaby89

[st0r-fruit]

FINALLY!! A PROPER INTRODUCTION FOR (one of) MY CARMEN SANDIEGO OC!!

Meet Adya Hartono, or his codename; Bishop!

@the-cs-oc-archives you might wanna see this 👀

(ignore the mismatched shoe, it's actually fully black)

Do not steal my art!

[alicre]

Another art of @thatbennybee ‘s au!

Ignore how wonky the hands look lmao

I got once again inspired by a thing they said lol

Without text and a thank u ⬇️

I just wanted to say thank u benny for noticing me! You’ve been a big inspiration for me since I appeared in the trolls fandom! And ur the reason i actually decided to learn how to draw trolls!

2023-2024 me would be jumping from happiness rn :3

Buh-bye!

[everything-person]

Summary: Killian, along with his brother, lived deep under the sea being raised by his grandfather King Triton in King Posideons court. Emma lived high on land in the Enchanted Forest being raised by her parents Queen Snow White and King "James" in the Misthaven court. Their worlds so close yet so far. What happens when they meet and their curiosity gets the best of them?

A/N: This story is based on one of the first fanfics I ever read, Castles in the Sand by alleycat22 on fanfic.net. It was unfortunately never finished so this fic is an ode to that story. I am not trying to plagiarize anyones work there will be similarities because one fic inspired another.

Prologue

The mist of the sea sprayed against her skin as the wind whipped her golden hair. The wood bit into her palms as she gripped the railing of the ship leaning back enjoying the sea air; listening to the waves crash against the ship beneath them.

“Isn’t this great?” She turns her head upwards to see her father standing just behind her, a smile gracing his features.

“The salty sea air, the wind blowing in your face,” He inhales deeply before letting out a sigh, “Perfect day to be at sea.”

Finally looking down at her she smiles back at him.

“A fine strong wind and a following sea,” the gruff voice of a sailor near them caught her ear, “King Triton and Poseidon must be in a fine mood.”

“King Triton?”

“Why ruler of the merpeople your highness,” another sailor answered.

“Merpeople?”

“Yes! Mermaids and mermen, half fish half human, swimming about below this very vessel.”

The young girl’s eyes went wide as she leaned forward, feeling her father’s hands come to rest on either side of her waist, bent in half staring at the water below them, trying to catch a glimpse of the creature the sailor spoke of.

“And King Triton rules over them with a mighty hand. ”

She absorbed every word the sailors said. Her imagination running wild with all this new information. Then she paused, standing up straight once more she turned her attention to the sailors.

“Who's Poseidon?”

“Poseidon is his brother. He rules all the sea and the creatures that live there. Each brother can control the tides and the storms too, so when the sea is restless you know something is a miss in their kingdom.”

Almost as if to prove the sailors point a strong waves rocked the ship, nearly causing the young princess to tumble over if it wasn't for her father hands still griping her sides.

She turned to her father, “Do you think it's true, Papa?”

Her father shrugged, “I’m not sure, Emma. I’ve never seen a merperson.”

“I have.”

They turned to see the lady of the ship finally on deck. Emma raced over to the woman looking up at her, eyes slightly widened, mouth agape.

“Really, Mama?”

Her mother knelt down, gently brushing her daughter's wind swept her from her face. “Really. She was beautiful and very kind and very curious.”

“How come I’ve never heard this story?” Her father asked behind her.

Her mother shrugged looking up at her husband, “You never asked.”

“Will you tell me?”

She looked down at her daughter, “I’d love to.”

Emma's face lit up with her excited smile.

“But another time. You have some studying to do,” the twinkle in her daughter's eyes quickly faded as her mouth turned down into a pout, “Just because we are traveling doesn’t mean you get out of your studies. I promise when we are done I will tell you all about my friend Ariel.”

Her mother stood, grabbing her hand to lead her below deck. Emma dragged her feet but followed her mother, though the pout never left her face until a question came to mind.

“Mama,” she said, catching the woman's attention, “Do you think I could meet a mermaid?”

“Maybe.” The woman thought about her words carefully, not wishing to deject her daughter, “It is rare to see a mermaid, let alone meet one, like I did, but anything is possible.”

They passed by a sailor who had just pulled up a fishing net, detangling their catch. He pulled out one that was slightly too big for his hand, so when it started the squirm as the ship was rocked again, it slipped from his grasp, falling back down to the sea. It swam deeper and farther trying to get away from its captors. It swam right past a young boy.

Following the trail the fish left, the boy saw it lead to the surface. His curiosity got the better of him so he swam up, seeing the hull of the ship cutting through the water. The closer he got the more his curiosity grew, and he reached out his hand towards the ship.

“Killian!”

He turned to see his brother's scowl, “What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?”

“I was just-”

“First, you are late! Grandfather has everyone looking everywhere for you! And I find you chasing after a human's ship!”

“I-”

His brother grabbed his hand, beginning to drag him the opposite way of the ship towards their home. “You could’ve been seen! You could’ve been caught in one of their nets! You could’ve been harpooned! You could’ve been killed! Is that what you want? Huh? To be dragged out of the water and hung up to dry in the sun? Is it, little brother?”

“Younger brother,” Killian muttered.

“What?” His brother turned to face him again.

“Nothing happened, just relax.”

“This time! Nothing happened this time. You need to be more careful. You’ll be lucky if I don’t tell Grandfather about this.” Never letting go of Killian’s wrist, his older brother began swimming again.

They swam for a while before reaching an iridescent glowing city. Continuing through until they reach a glittering palace, that currently had many merfolk anxiously swimming around its grounds.

“King Triton, he's found!” a guard called into the palace, as the two boys swam into view.

In an instant the boys found themselves in front of the king himself, relief washed over the grand king's face as he spotted the two boys.

“Killian, thank the seas you're alright,” The older man embarrassed the smaller boy.

The once anxious waters calmed with the king, as merfolk stopped their search and went back to their duties.

“Liam, where did you find him?”

“Um, well.”

At the older boy's hesitation, the king pulled away from the younger, holding him by the shoulders, fixing both of them with a look. “Where did you find him?”

KIllian’s hand found its way to the spot behind his ear, “I was just exploring.”

“Exploring where?” The man's eyes shifted between the two boys as both were seemingly more interested in their tails than in giving him an answer.

With a sigh Liam spoke up, “I found him chasing a human ship.”

“HUMANS!”

Killian flinched, “I was just curious.”

“Killian, how many times must we go over this?! The surface and humans are dangerous!”

“I was being careful. Nothing happened.”

“THIS TIME! You could’ve been seen by one of those barbarians! I’ve already lost two daughters to them! Do you think I wish to lose one of my grandsons as well?! I am never NEVER to hear about you and humans again, is that clear!” The king’s voice boomed with authority off the palace walls.

Killian’s head bowed deeper as Liam gave a quiet “yes sir.”

The king sighed, “What am I going to do with you boys?”

Silence hung in the water between the three of them before the king spoke up again. “You are both to go to your room for the rest of the day. I will have supper sent to you. Neither of you are permitted to leave this palace until I say so. Is that understood?”

“Yes sir,” the boys answered.

As soon as they did, the king waved them off and they swam to their room.

“I don’t know why he’s so mad,” Killian started, “It wasn’t like I was seen.”

“He’s not mad, Killian. He’s scared. As was I.”

Killian continued as if his brother had never spoken, “And I don’t know why he talks about Ariel as if she's dead. She isn’t.”

“But Mother is.” Liam said pointedly.

Killian turned away at his brother's remark.

“Humans aren't to be taken lightly, little brother. They are dangerous and can be cruel.”

“Younger brother,” Killian muttered. 

They stayed in silence. It was only when they reached their room that Killian spoke up. “I’m not afraid of humans. I could fight.”

Liam chuckled “Oh yeah?”

He nudged his brother who pushed back. Their pushing turned to shoves, which turned to grappling, which turned into an all out wrestling match. They wrestled until Liam pinned him. 

“You were saying, little brother?"

“Younger brother.” Killian stated defiantly as he shoved Liam off him. “Do you think I’ll ever meet a human?”

“For your sake, I hope not,” Liam said just as Killian grabbed onto his shoulder and began round two of their wrestling match.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AND Thats all she wrote. I hope it was worth the read.

[teamhook]

Savage Heart~ CS AU

Beta’ed by @ilovemesomekillianjones

Chapter 1: The Wedding

~~EPOV

Emma stares at her reflection in the full-length mirror. She looks at the image she makes today, dressed in the most modest white wedding dress she has ever seen. It's plain and simple, nothing exquisite or extravagant about it, nothing like the dress that she had always dreamt of when she was a young girl.

Once upon a time, the day she'd been promised a betrothal to August, she'd envisioned such a dress. Unfortunately, she will not be marrying August, the man she loves, as she must protect him and her family's honor.

This is my duty, is all she keeps telling herself. She knows it is crazy, but she still longs for August, even though he chose another. Tears slowly fall and it makes her more determined to conclude this transaction because essentially, that is all it is - a business deal.

A soft knock raps lightly at the door and Mother Superior's voice sounds softly. "Emma, it is time. They are ready for you."

Emma slowly walks to open the door and closes her eyes desperately hoping for a sign that she doesn't need to go through with it, alas nothing happens. She has no choice, so she slowly covers her face with the sheer material her veil is made of. This is her final moment of freedom.

She can faintly hear the wedding march playing on the other side of the tall twin doors. Suddenly the doors open and she starts her walk down the aisle. She holds her head high and the voices fade into the back of her mind by the time she reaches the altar.

The priest starts reciting the exchange of vows consent.

"Emma and Killian, have you come here freely and without reservation, to give yourselves to each other in marriage?" They both answer in unison, "Yes." The priest continues, "Will you honor each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives?" They answer, "Yes." "Will you accept children lovingly from God, and bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church?" The answer is prompt, "Yes."

"Since it is your intention to enter into marriage, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church." They heed the priest's words. Killian looks at Emma and says his vows.

"I, Killian, take you, Emma, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life. "

Emma takes a breath and starts her vows in reply. "I, Emma, take you, Killian, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life."

They follow the traditional vows with the Blessing of Rings and a kiss that seals their union. Although this is not their first kiss, Emma has never experienced a kiss like this one before, a kiss tinged with the promise of something more. Quickly composing herself, Emma puts that thought in the back of her mind. Suddenly everything is a whirlwind around her and the next thing she remembers is finding herself in a carriage with her husband, headed to an unknown destination.

Not long ago she was ready to make vows of a different variety. Losing her love had broken her heart. She couldn't bare living under the same roof as the happy couple. She tried not to let it show that she was hopelessly in love with her cousin's husband. She knew love would never find her, so the only choice was the convent.

But now, so many changes have happened so fast. This marriage is the only choice she's decided for herself, no one can take this from her. Never again will Emma find herself at the mercy of others.

That lovely chapel in the convent had been her haven for a short time, but now a new endeavor is upon her. Emma looks at her husband and hopes that God will forgive them for a marriage that was not entered in the name of love. They had lied through their teeth to the priest.

She had felt the guilt right away, but the alternative is not an option.

~~KPOV

Killian Jones always considered himself a patient man, but right now that ability to wait is nowhere to be seen. He feels powerless and he hates that feeling. Killian looks toward the doors, willing his bride-to-be to finally show herself. For a few seconds, he fears Emma has betrayed him.

He looks around the chapel. There are no loved ones here to show support on either side, just some novices and a few of the older nuns. He has no family in town left alive, only a longtime friend that refused to show because he does not agree with this marriage.

When he finally hears the music begin to play, Killian takes a breath and tries to form a smile. He looks to the opening doors and finds himself entranced by the woman slowly making her way to him. He is not a blind man, she is beautiful, but sadly she is not the woman deeply embedded in his heart. But he will have his happy ending and it does not matter what needs to be done or how long it takes for him to get it.

The priest starts reciting the exchange of vows consent.

"Emma and Killian, have you come here freely and without reservation to give yourselves to each other in marriage?" They both answer in unison, "Yes." the priest continues, "Will you honor each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives?" They answer, "Yes." "Will you accept children lovingly from God, and bring them up according to the law of Christ and his Church?" The answer is prompt, "Yes."

"Since it is your intention to enter into marriage, join your right hands, and declare your consent before God and his Church." They heed the priest's words. Killian looks at Emma and says his vows.

"I, Killian, take you, Emma, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life. "

Emma takes a breath and starts her vows in reply. "I, Emma, take you, Killian, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life."

They follow the traditional vows with the Blessing of Rings and a hope-filled kiss that seals their union. It is a first kiss that holds so much promise for both Killian and Emma, they are unknowingly courting danger as neither suspects true love could soon be in the cards for them.

Not long after the ceremony, the newlyweds find themselves in a carriage headed home.

Killian can see the guilt all over his wife's face. He didn't know how it was possible to be able to see her truly. Yes, he knows his way around women, but with Emma, it is something entirely different.

"Darling, we will arrive soon to our new home," Killian says, and their eyes meet and time stands still for a brief second.

Tagging:

@hookedonapirate @kmomof4​ @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @killianjonesownsmyheart1 @thisonesatellite @thesschesthair @winterbythesea @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke  @superchocovian  @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @thislassishooked @shardminds @winterbaby89

[searchingwardrobes]

Scarborough Fair 9/?

Yes, it's true. You aren't dreaming. I am finally updating this long-neglected fic! Not only that, but I will be finishing it. As a matter of fact, you will have an update every day this week. If anyone still cares, that is, lol. I know the fandom isn't what it once was. However, I suddenly got inspired again to finish this. So whether or not anyone reads it, it's getting the resolution it deserves. Why did I neglect it for so long? Writer's block. I just haven't written hardly a thing in at least a year, probably longer. So when I laid awake, unable to sleep because I was finishing this fic in my head, I was ecstatic. That's why I'm finishing it whether anyone reads it or not. Of course, if you are still reading it, may I politely suggest commenting? It definitely feeds the muse!

Rest assured, there will be an update tomorrow. I don't have much going on tomorrow, and I actually planned more in this chapter originally. So be looking out for that!

Much thanks to the two biggest fans of this fic, Krystal @kmomof4 and Marta @snowbellewells - re-reading your reblogs of this fic helped kick me back into high gear!

And as an extra treat, here is a picture of Emma's wedding dress in this chapter:

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Emma Swan has had a charmed life, despite being a foster child. She has a wonderful family who loves her, and the best friends in the world. The only thing that mars her idyllic existence is her birth mother: a homeless woman who mutters nonsensical rhymes and claims to be Snow White. One fateful night, however, Emma’s world is shattered. Perhaps her mother’s rhymes aren’t nonsense after all.

Rated: M for date rape, dubious consent, teen pregnancy, and sexy times (the good kind!)

Words: Over 1k in this chapter

Chapter One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight

Also on Ao3

Tagging:  (let me know if you wish to be removed or added):  @snowbellewells @teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @xhookswenchx-reads-blog @thisonesatellite @welllpthisishappening @spartanguard @ohmakemeahercules @tiganasummertree @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1 @jamif @undercaffinatednightmare @onceratheart18 @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressay

Liam and Ingrid, unsurprisingly, had concerns when they came home to Emma and Killian announcing their engagement. Anna, unsurprisingly, was bouncing up and down with joy. 

“Are you sure you’re proposing for the right reasons?” Was their main question for Killian.

“Well, the main reason is I love her,” he told them with conviction, “but it’s also the timing. She needs me. I know deep in my bones I was always meant to be her husband, so if she needs me now, why wait?”

“Are you sure you aren’t just accepting out of fear? Because it’s safe?” Was their main question for Emma.

Emma’s answer was delivered with just as much conviction. “It isn’t just that I feel safe with Killian; I love him. Shouldn’t love feel safe, anyway? And I feel the same way he does. If we waited five more years, or ten, or twenty, nothing would change. We’re meant to be together.”

Liam and Ingrid couldn’t pretend to be surprised. Both of them had noticed a soulmate type of connection between Emma and Killian for a long time. They also couldn’t deny the logic of the decision when it came to Emma’s security and the baby’s. There was only one other concern.

“What about school?”

“I can finish high school married just as well as I can single,” Emma told them with a shrug, and Killian vowed he wouldn’t get in the way of her education. 

“But Boston College, Killian?”

He squared his shoulders and looked his brother dead in the eyes. “I won’t be returning. I’ve already told my boss he can count on me full time with the construction company. He’s promoting me to a foreman position, so I can easily support Emma. When the baby’s a little older, I can enroll at Red Oak and get my degree there.” 

Liam wanted to argue, but there really wasn’t anything wrong with Killian’s plan. Lots of people worked a year or two, or longer, before getting a degree. He wanted to say that Boston College was a lot more prestigious than Red Oak, but he knew full well it was a pretty weak argument. Killian would save a lot of money by transferring to Red Oak, not to mention gaining job experience. He let out a long breath and shared a meaningful look with his wife. 

“Well okay, then,” she said, her signature grin filling her face, “let’s plan a wedding!”

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

A date was set for mid-August, giving Emma two weeks between the wedding and the first day of her senior year. Unfortunately, Elsa wouldn’t be back from her study abroad program in time for the ceremony. It also gave them only three weeks to throw a wedding together. Thankfully, neither Emma nor Killian were big on grand ceremonies. 

The first item on Ingrid’s checklist was the venue. The bride and groom solved that easily: their own living room. Anna and Ingrid - and Elsa via Zoom - tried to protest that it was too small, but Emma just shrugged them off. 

“We can just pull out all the furniture and line up folding chairs. It’s not like we’re inviting that many people.”

Ingrid was concerned that the second item, the dress, would be impossible. Fate, however, seemed to be in their favor. Emma found a vintage dress that suited her personality perfectly at a thrift store downtown. She hadn’t even been dress shopping that day. Ingrid had taken her for ice cream after one of her prenatal appointments, and they had decided to stroll around the square with their ice cream cones. They were simply walking along the sidewalk, licking scoops of chocolate ice cream, and suddenly, there it was, displayed in a window. 

Emma wasn’t even sure it was meant to be a wedding dress, but it didn’t really matter. It was a cream colored, empire-wasted, sleeveless dress with one tier on the bottom of the long skirt. The fabric had a delicate floral pattern in light gold that shimmered when Emma moved. The top was a halter, which flattered Emma’s fuller bust due to her pregnancy. The empire waist also masked her growing baby bump and provided plenty of room in case she gained more in the next few weeks. When she tried it on, Ingrid started to cry. 

An employee stopped to admire Emma. “We just got that in yesterday,” she told her. “A woman told us it was her mother’s prom dress in 1976.”

Emma’s mouth fell open as she locked eyes with Ingrid. Her foster mother pressed her hands to her mouth and let out a happy squeak. 

“It’s fate, Emma,” she told her, and the two embraced. 

They left the store with the dress lovingly wrapped in its original box, having paid a whopping thirty-five dollars and seventy-five cents. 

 Every single item on Ingrid’s list was checked off with simple solutions by the bride and groom:

Killian’s tux? Well, if Emma was wearing a 70s prom dress from a thrift shop, Killian would find a thrift store suit, too.

The food? A potluck lunch would do just fine. 

The cake? The ones at the grocery store would do. As George Banks said in Father of the Bride, a cake is just flour, eggs, and sugar, right? Or something. 

The only thing Killian was concerned about was a place to live. Sure, he knew his brother and Ingrid would never kick them out, and there was at least a modicum of privacy in his attic suite. Still, it would be a little awkward, for one. More than that, however, was Killian’s pride. If he was really providing for Emma and the baby, he should be able to put a roof over their heads. 

His pride wouldn’t even allow him to go to his own brother with his concerns. Yet, Liam somehow knew anyway. Which was why he greeted Killian at the door one evening, a week and a half before the wedding, with a huge grin on his face and a slip of paper in his hand with an address on it. 

After hearing what Liam had to say, Killian raced eagerly up the stairs to Emma’s room with the good news. He came to a sudden stop in Emma’s open doorway, the smile falling from his face. She was sitting atop her bed, hugging a pillow, hastily wiping tears from her cheeks. Her mother’s journal rested atop the quilt beside her. 

“Hey,” Killian said softly as he entered the room, “what’s wrong?”

Emma slid over to make space for him on the bed, still trying to wipe the traces of tears from her cheeks. Killian picked up her mother’s journal as he made himself comfortable against the throw pillows along the headboard. Emma lifted his arm, put it around her shoulders, and tucked herself against him. 

“Is it the curse?”

She shook her head. “It’s my mom,” she told him softly.

He waited, rubbing her arm gently, and pressing his lips to the top of her head. Emma let out a shaky sigh before continuing.

“I wish I knew where she was. I’m getting married, and she doesn’t even know.”

Killian nodded but said nothing. Emma lifted her head just enough to look up at him. 

“Is it crazy that I wish she could be there?”

“Of course not. She’s your mother.”

“My insane, homeless, unpredictable mother who threw glass bottles at my head.”

Killian chuckled lightly. “True,” he tapped the green, cloth-covered notebook resting on the bedspread, “but I think reading her journal has given you a glimpse of the woman she was before. I think it’s made you realize, maybe for the first time, what you’ve lost.”

“That makes sense. I think I’m also worried that we haven’t heard from her in so long.”

Killian didn’t know what to say to ease her worries, so he cupped her face in his hand, tipped her chin up, and covered her lips with his. The kiss started gentle, intended simply to comfort, but then she responded so fervently and eagerly, that he lost himself. He shifted so she was beneath him, which caused a mewling sound to pass her lips that drove him wild. Emma slid her hand beneath his t-shirt, sending shivers up his spine as her fingers caressed his lower back. His hand grasped her waist, and his thumb slipped beneath the hem of her shirt. At the simple contact, Emma arched into him, and he began to trail kisses along her jawline. With one hand still on his back, her other hand threaded through his hair. She gasped when his lips trailed to the sensitive skin behind her ear, and something about the sound snapped him out of his haze of desire.

Killian pulled away abruptly and sat up, putting some distance between them. Emma still lay there on the bed, her face flushed, her hair splayed out on the pillows beneath her, a look of confusion marring her brow. 

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said thickly, fixing his own mussed hair with shaking hands. 

“What for?” Emma asked indignantly, sitting up beside him. “We’re engaged.”

He turned to her and took her face gently in both hands. “I know. I love you, Emma, and I plan to cherish you. You deserve that. After everything you’ve been through, I’m not going to take you like this, hurried and frantic, thinking in the back of our minds that someone could interrupt us at any moment.”

Emma glanced sheepishly at the still open door and giggled. “Then close the door next time.”

He laughed with her and pulled her to him, holding her gently. He ran his fingers through her slightly tangled hair. 

“I want to make love to you. Slowly. Thoroughly.”

Emma shivered in his arms. “Are you trying to torture me on purpose?”

He laughed again. “I feel a bit tortured, myself, truth be told. But we only have a week and a half. Then we’ll have the time and the privacy we deserve.”

“Time maybe. But privacy?”

Killian pulled the forgotten slip of paper from his pocket. “Yes, privacy.”

Emma snatched it from his hand, looking at it curiously as she settled in the middle of the bed with her legs crossed. “An address?”

“Our address,” he told her, grinning broadly.

“For real?” Emma’s eyes widened.

“For real.”

Emma squealed and threw her arms around his neck. He laughed as she peppered kisses all over his face. 

“How?” she finally asked. 

“There’s a professor of archaeology taking a sabbatical to do a dig in Greece. He told Liam he was looking for someone to take care of his house while he’s gone. So it’s ours. For free.”

“For free?”

Killian shrugged. “Well, there are also some maintenance things on the house I’m agreeing to do for him free of charge, but basically.”

Emma gazed in shock and happiness at the paper in her hands. “It’s too good to be true.”

“It’s fate.”

Emma’s eyes shone with happy tears as she looked back up at him. “It really is.”

Killian was ready to throw caution to the wind and press Emma back down into the pillows when Ingrid appeared in the doorway. He was worried what she would say, seeing him on Emma’s bed, but Ingrid seemed too ecstatic to notice. 

“We’ve found her!” she told them. 

“Who?” Emma asked. 

“Your mom!”

[lmelodie]

Happened mere SECONDS after his toddler sister interrupted them and ruined the mood in the most embarrassing way possible.

[sweet-cuddlebug]

Rage aspect and meta. Pre and post retcon. Homestuck au inspired by csau. Past Gamzee/Terezi. Gamzee makara recovery/dealing with the consequences of his actions. Post-sburb gamtav.

[The texts in this post are mostly my own messages copied and pasted from HS Discord. It's recommended that to better understand this rant you read my other posts about Gamzee and these concepts, not necessarily mandatory.]

Ok so listen yall im thinkin about the rage aspect and post-sburb au

My understanding of Rage and Hope is that one is more connected to reality, and the other to fantasy. In Rage's case, it's everything that's true and exists as it is, while Hope is all the infinite possibilities of what can be. So I figured maybe a rage player could gain some sort of insight/understanding into the reality of the story and their place in it.

That's why Gamzee can do what he does, he's passively destroying reality/the story.

SO

Rememeber how Terezi recovered the memories of her past self (before retcon) due to her mind+seer powers and emotional turmoil

I'm writing an au where that also happens with Gamzee in the retcon, maybe after they defeat LE and destroy Cal (<- VERY important for that to happen), due to the sudden freedom granted to his mind Gamzee suffers some kind of emotional and mental shock, similar to what happened with his chucklevoodo (unconsciously giving John nightmares etc etc)

And I'm not even sure if this happens to Gamzee in canon, but here he gains some understanding of the meta and manages to regain his memories from before the retcon

And then comes the emotional spill and meltdown blah blah blah his reality is shattered and he's miserable etc etc

THEN

This contains OCs and I'm not gonna go into too much detail but they're the ones who are mainly in charge of getting Gamzee through the door

TIME SKIP

FOUR YEARS LATER

Gamzee received professional help and support in addition to getting used to this new life outside of anyone's or anything's control, but he also has to deal with the consequences of his actions

WHICH LEADS US TO Gamzee meeting and having a conversation with Terezi (also Nepeta, Karkat, Equius and Tavros etc BUT MAINLY TEREZI FOR NOW) and both of them talking about their relationship and what happened before the retcon, since it's only them + john + time players + sprites who know

I forgot to talk about this on discord but it is in this conversation that both manage to reconcile and receive the answers/apologies they deserved IMPORTANT THAT THIS HAPPENS 4 YEARS LATER OR MORE AFTER THE GAME both need time to heal and improve at their own pace

We continue with the discord messages

OOOOOOH I THOUGHT OF SOMETHING

similar to the scene with Lapis Lazuli, Gamzee is with a group going about their normal day and things take an unexpected turn and now Gamzee is having a breakdown, he's questioning if what he's doing is okay, questioning if he can really be a better person, and ADMITTING that sometimes he "misses" what he went through in the game, AND IT'S CRAZY BECAUSE NOTHING GOOD HAPPENED TO HIM, and he's like (I don't know how to replicate gamzee's speech, I apologize) "i know it sounds bad but sometimes i think i miss the purpose LE gave me" and someone (I didn't put any specific character but I imagined this scene happening with Tavros, I'll explain more later) retorts with "but he was evil and he made you suffer!" and gamzee retorts with "IM EVIL, I MADE MY FRIENDS SUFFER, I TORMENTED KARKAT AND TEREZI AND I KILLED EQUIUS AND NEPETA AND A LOT OF OTHER BAD THINGS" and maybe he mentions something he did before the retcon and everyone's like "what when did that happen" and gamzee gets worse because he remembers that only a few people know the damage he really caused

Okay, as I said, I was going to talk more about Tavros. In my AU, I plan to make flushed Gamtav canon, but like with Terezi, for that to happen, I need a time period where the characters involved can heal separately, so the development of their relationship would not begin until almost 4 years after the game. And just like in csau Tavros gains the confidence (and wings) that he previously lacked/wanted, and the dynamic between Gamzee and Tavros changes.

Tavros becomes more confident and assertive about the type of relationship he wants to form with Gamzee (<3), while Gamzee is now the one who doesn't know if he wants to pursue that (because he doesn't trust himself and that he's not going to ruin everything again). They first begin by forming a friendship; both are different people and must learn to love this new version of themselves. But as time passes, it's clear that Gamzee isn't talking about some things that bother him and prevent him from expanding his friendships/relationships (idk maybe they should mention the makeout with his decapitated head, maybe who knows). This would lead to the scene described above.

Original messages:

Dividers made by enchanthings-a on Tumblr

[eastwesthomeisbest]

🎃 HAPPY HALLOWEEN 🎃

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@kmomof4 @snowbellewells @lifeinahole27 @cocohook38 @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @resident-of-storybrooke

[whisperingmidnights]

i’m sooo ready for flufftober- thank you for all that u do for us! would it be possible to do feysand x dove x azriel for nightmares? 🫣🫣

The AU where they all end up together would be the best, wouldn't it? It's something we need and deserve.

Raindrops pepper the windowpanes when I wake, for the first time in a long time, to a cold, empty bed. Pressing my palm against my chest, I take a few deep, steadying breaths to calm the erratic beating of my heart. Without two or three other bodies to warm the bed, the room feels too large and empty.

Apparently, none of us are resting well tonight.

Stuffing my feet into the slippers at the side of the bed, I tug on my robe and quietly creep past the nursery and subsequent bedrooms, where our babes all seem to be sleeping soundly. My mates have likely looked in on all of them since I'm the last one awake. A glance at the grandfather clock in the hall tells me it's almost three.

Too early for us to be out of bed, in my opinion.

I find them in a smaller sitting room in the family wing, the one looking out over the back rose garden. A fire blazes in the hearth, and Azriel's shadows swirl in the warm firelight like fish, weaving intricate patterns on the floor. Their master is tucked into a far corner of the couch, a book on the history of Raskian weaponry propped open on his bare chest. Feyre's bare feet are tucked beneath his thigh as he rubs idle circles on her ankle. Her blue eyes stare listlessly into the fire as she reclines back against Rhys, clinging tightly to the arm banded around her while he flips through a book of his own.

Neither male appears to truly be reading, though. Their eyes flick to me the moment I lean against the doorway, my arms crossed over my chest.

"Bad dreams?" I croak, clearing my throat to try and shake off the remnants of sleep. Rhys's book appears in a swirl of darkness. His hand twitches like he might reach for me, as he usually does, but his fingers curl into a fist instead. I'm not sure what to make of that.

"You too?" Feyre asks, glancing up at me with an echo of a smile. I hum in affirmation, giving her a short nod before I peel myself off of the doorframe and wander towards the kitchen. I know something that will lift all of our spirits.

I'm in the process of heating milk on the stove when the first of my mates arrives, winding strong, tattooed arms around my waist. Azriel's mist and cedar scent washes over me like a balm, and I lean back into his embrace as I continue to slowly stir the milk to keep it from burning.

His lips map a trail along my jaw to the corner of my mouth, and I make a small, contented noise as scarred fingers gently tilt my chin up, allowing him to kiss me properly. My closest friend, the lover who knows me best of all, I could never deny him an ounce of affection. He so rarely openly seeks it, but when he does, it's a bit like watching a flower bloom.

He takes his time, and I savor the quiet moment. It's only when I hear the milk beginning to bubble that I remember to keep stirring, and he smiles against my mouth before he pulls back, rustling his wings as he peers over my shoulder.

"Warm milk?" He asks, looking at the sizeable pot on the burner.

"It'll be hot chocolate if you chop up the bar in the cabinet. I may have forgotten to do that step first."

"Mhm." Azriel drops a kiss on my temple before he steps away, shuffling to the cabinet at the end of the counter, where all of the baking supplies are kept. Feyre drifts in while he's chopping up a bar of rich, sweet chocolate, greeting me with her own kiss before she tucks herself against his back, resting her head between his wings. His chopping doesn't falter as he tucks his wings tighter, squeezing her between them for a moment before they fall loose again. The way she tightens her grip on his waist brings a smile to my face.

I'm mixing in the chocolate when Rhys finally joins us, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as he presses a kiss to the crown of my head. "Sorry," he whispers into my hair, and I just shake my head, reaching up to squeeze the well muscled forearm tucking me against him. I can't remember my own nightmare, and I don't need to know what tore each of them from our bed on such a cold, dreary night. It's enough that they're here with me now, safe and warm.

[enchanted-swans]

CAPTAIN SWAN - RAPUNZEL Re-imagined the s7 Rapunzel episode again! I'm a CS fan at heart and forever. ♥ You can check out my first s7 Rapunzel-CS edit here. I hope you enjoy them! ♥

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT CREDIT. PLEASE DO NOT ERASE THE WATERMARK. I don’t put big watermarks so people can enjoy the fanarts. I trust your respect in people’s work. Thank you.

[hollyethecurious]

CS AU: Sleeps Ten, My Ass (1/2)

Summary: It's become tradition for Emma Swan to spend the holidays with her brother, their cousins, and their families. This Christmas was no different. The group booked a four night stay at a cozy mountain cabin to celebrate. The listing said it sleeps ten, but upon arrival they discover a small issue. The listing was wrong and now Emma and Killian Jones, the only two single people within their group, have to spend the next four nights sharing a bed. Fortunately... they've shared a bed before.

A/N: @eastwesthomeisbest it is I, your CS Secret Santa! Thank you for being so patient and understanding! I'm sorry I couldn't post this sooner, but between the normal busyness of the holidays and my entire family coming down with Covid, finding time to write was a struggle. I hope you find this worth the wait. It was lovely hearing about your traditions and I hope you had a fantastic holiday!

Thanks to @kmomof4 for looking this over for me and to the @cssecretsanta2020 for once again hosting a fantastic event. Side note, this fic also completes my Only One Bed: Holiday Edition CS Winter Bingo square!

Rated eventual E / Also available on ao3 / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!

Part One

She was late. Super late. Incredibly late. Late enough that she was certain her brother had already called the cops to report her missing. Late enough that it was already pitch black on the back mountain road, forcing her to drive at a creeping speed so she didn’t careen off the side of a cliff, which was making her even more late.

In her defense, they should all have expected that she’d be late. She was always late. Every dinner, every holiday get together, every vacation, every celebration, Emma Swan was always notoriously late.

Not because she didn’t want to spend time with her family. Far from. She just… wasn’t always in control over her own schedule. Bail bonds and bounty hunting wasn’t exactly a 9 to 5 gig, and when a mark finally crawled out of whatever hole in which he (it was more often than not a he) had hid himself away through some dumbass attempt to avoid the consequences of his own dumbass actions, well… many times it meant a change in her plans.

Was it annoying? Yes.

Did she make sure to take out that frustration on the perp? Also, yes.

Was it even worse for the offender when he made her late for the Christmas get-together her cousin Elsa had planned for them all - a four night stay at a picturesque mountain cabin big enough to sleep three married couples and two singles with amenities that would keep them cozy and content over the holiday? Oh, yes.

Big. Fat. Yes.

To go with the big fat payout she needed in order to pay her portion of said holiday getaway.

Rounding another winding corner, the soft glow of the illuminated cabin stirred a strange mix of sensations in her chest; a swirl of relief at nearly being there and panic over what was awaiting her inside. Parking her bug next to the vehicles that signalled she was indeed the last to arrive, Emma fortified herself for a moment before exiting the vehicle, grabbing her bag, and marching up to the cabin as though she were about to face a firing squad.

David, her brother, and Liam, Elsa’s husband, would likely scold her with their hands firmly planted on their hips or their arms crossed tightly over their chests. The rebukes would be drowned out by David’s wife, Mary Margaret, and Elsa’ sister, Anna, who would both rush at Emma and force her into claustrophobic hugs while they expressed their worry and relief, offering Emma a blanket, a place by the fire, a plate of food, a cup of tea, all without taking a breath between them as Anna’s husband, Kristoff, tried to tell the women to let Emma breathe and get settled.

The only one who would not be making a fuss would likely already have a drink ready for her, a knowing smirk teasing his lips as he tried to stifle an eye roll at the group’s overreaction.

Killian Jones. Liam’s brother and the only other single member of their group.

Hand on the doorknob, Emma took a deep breath and opened the door to the expected chaos. And chaos there was, but… none of it seemed to be about her and her tardiness.

Elsa and David were in the kitchen. One of their phones, clearly on speaker, was held between them as they argued with whoever was on the other end of the line. Liam and Kristoff were seated at the dining table with a laptop open, the elder Jones frantically typing and clicking as Kristoff scrolled on his phone with a furrowed brow.

“There’s nothing up here that could be used as an extra one,” Anna called out from the top of the stairs. “Mary Margaret and I have looked through all the closets and checked all the furniture.”

None of them had noticed her presence yet, and she was about to say something when heavy boot falls sounded from the porch behind her.

“Ah, Swan. You arrived in one piece then?” Killian said cheekily with an arm full of firewood.

“Uh, yeah,” she replied, setting her bag down so she could help with the load he was carrying. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No worries,” he assured her, making his way to the fireplace and stacking their logs beside the hearth. “You missed the initial excitement, but you’ve made it in time to witness the spiral everyone has since descended into.” Emma glanced around the cabin at the said spiral, wondering what had set everyone off as Killian added a couple of logs to the fire, then grabbed the poker so he could stoke it. “I told them I’d make do on the couch, or even a pallet on the floor, but--”

“Sleeps ten, my ass!” Elsa shouted as she angrily hung up the call. “They swapped out the couch and forgot to update the listing!���

“What?” Emma said, but no one other than Killian seemed to have heard her, or even realized she was there.

“That’s ridiculous!” Liam bellowed. “What do they plan to do about it?”

“Can they bring an air mattress or cot?” Kristoff asked, still scrolling through his phone. “Because none of the local stores seem to have one, and even if they did, they’d be closed by the time we got back to town.”

Killian stepped away from the fire he’d coaxed back to life and into the metaphorical one building at the kitchen island where the rest of their group - save for Emma - had gathered.

“I already told you, the couch will be fine.”

“Don’t be silly, Killian,” Anna replied. “Have you seen that couch? It’s far too narrow and your feet are gonna dangle off the end.”

“Then the floor will suit me--”

“For the amount of money we spent renting this place, you are not sleeping on the floor,” Elsa declared. “I cannot believe this! How could they make a mistake like that?”

“What did the owner say?” Mary Margaret asked, setting out a platter of food she’d removed from the fridge and encouraging everyone to eat something… as though snacking would somehow fix the issue. An issue Emma still wasn’t sure was the cause of everyone’s upset.

“He won’t do anything,” Elsa snapped. “He said they had to replace the couch, which had been a sleeper, and apparently forgot to update the listing, but didn’t see the problem since we only have eight people, not ten, and there are four king size beds.”

“Didn’t you explain that there weren’t four couples, though?”

“Oh, she did,” David interjected. “But the man didn’t seem to care about anything other than getting back to his tropical Christmas vacation.”

“So what do we do?” Anna asked. “Where is Killian gonna sleep?”

“He and I can just share the bed.”

Seven heads collectively snapped in her direction, a mixture of shock and surprise being directed her way as her family, for the first time, realized she was there and then computed her words.

Words she would later blame on the fact that although no one seemed bothered by the fact she was late, she still felt the need to make up for it and therefore was compelled to offer a solution to the problem, even if said solution meant sharing a bed with a man she absolutely did not have feelings for and no one would convince her otherwise, not even her own treacherous heart, and thereby torturing herself for the next several days.

“Are you sure, love?” Killian asked, his eyes scrutinizing her, looking for any hint that she might be regretting the offer and wished to back out. “I wouldn’t want you to do anything you weren’t completely comfortable with.”

“Are you planning to make it uncomfortable for her?” David asked in his overly protective, brotherly tone. “Because I’m warning you--”

“Warning him?” Liam braced his hands against the top of the island and leaned over it, staring David down as he asked, “Are you insinuating my brother is some sort of cad who would take advantage of--”

“We all know Killian’s reputation.”

“Okay,” Emma interjected before things could escalate further. “I think you’re all forgetting that I have a reputation, too. Of being able to take care of myself. Besides, I trust Killian. We’re both adults. There’s no reason for either of us to sleep on a couch or the floor when there is a perfectly good bed, big enough for us to share. So…” She marched back over to where she’d dropped her bag and collected it as she continued on, “If you don’t mind. I’ve had a long day and all I want right now is a shower and some sleep.” Directing her gaze to Killian she asked, “Where’s your stuff?”

“It’s uh…” he began, scratching behind his ear as he furtively cast a glance towards David. “It’s on the landing.”

“Great,” she said, turning towards the stairs. “Grab it on your way up so you can settle in while I shower.”

“Emma,” Mary Margaret called out. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat or--”

“I’m fine,” Emma answered back halfway up the stairs. “I’ll see you all in the morning.” Looking over her shoulder, she saw Killian hesitate at the bottom step. “Are you coming?”

“Aye,” he answered, following after her two steps at a time and grabbing his duffle before slipping into the room behind her.

Tossing his bag onto the bed, he glanced around the room and inquired one last time, “You’re certain you’re okay with this, Swan?”

“Yes, Jones,” Emma replied in an exasperated tone she hoped masked the nerves currently coursing through her. After gathering up her toiletry items, she straightened and faced him, a thought suddenly occurring to her. “Unless… You are uncomfortable with it and would rather--”

“No, no,” he insisted, his shoulders relaxing and his usual cocky demeanor coming forward. “It’s not that,” he said in a cheeky and slightly taunting tone.

“What is it then?” Emma asked, trying hard to not be taken in by his charm as he swaggered towards her.

“Well, I seem to remember you saying something about it being a one time thing the last time we shared a bed,” he crooned, twisting a section of her hair around his finger. “Seems you’ll have to eat those words now.”

Emma wet her lips and tried to squash the delighted feeling surging through her at the way his eyes dropped to follow the motion. “Bad form bringing up our… what did you call it?” she asked in a mocking tone as she cocked her head to one side. “Our dalliance?” He winced at her terrible attempt to mimic his accent and they both chortled as she reminded him, “I thought we agreed to never speak of that night again.”

“You’re right, Swan. Bad form indeed,” he conceded in a soft timbre. “My apologies, love.”

He backed away and retreated to the other side of the room where he made himself busy unpacking his duffle. “Go ahead and shower, Swan,” he said. “I’ll hop in after you.”

“Thanks,” she threw out over her shoulder as she shut herself in the bathroom, suddenly very eager to have a bit of separation from him. From him and the memory of that night. The night they had shared a bed - and a whole lot more - with one another after copious amounts of alcohol and hours on a dance floor somewhere in the Caribbean during the cruise they’d all taken together earlier that year to celebrate Liam and Elsa’s wedding.

A memory that stubbornly refused to be cast aside, making for a very long shower - a fitful, highly inappropriate shower - especially considering the man she’d been fixated on was in the next room, waiting on her to finish so he could get naked and wet and…

Dear God, Emma. Get a grip!

Emerging from the bathroom, adorned in her pajamas with her wet hair wrapped in a towel, Emma hoped the red in her cheeks would be chalked up to the heat of the shower and not because her fantasies had gotten away from her.

“All yours,” she said, pulling her hair dryer out of her bag and plugging it into the wall at the makeshift vanity.

She combed through the wet strands as Killian hovered at the doorway to the bathroom. Pausing her actions, she stared up at him expectantly, trying not to remember what he looked like shirtless.

“About before,” he said, his voice deep with an edge of concern. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by bringing up that night, I just…” He left out a heavy breath and ran his hand through his hair. “I was just trying to bring a bit of levity to an otherwise tense situa--”

“Killian,” she said, waving him off. “It’s fine. Really. You didn’t upset me by bringing it up.” Shrugging, she tried to give off a sense of nonchalance about the whole thing. “It happened. We’ve both moved on from it. No big deal.”

“Right,” he said with a bit of a drawl. “Well… I’ll try not to take too long, so as to not keep you up.” Glancing towards the bed, he said, “I hope it’s okay that I took that side. I didn’t know if you had one you preferred.”

Emma turned to see which side he’d taken. Not that it mattered.

“Honestly,” she answered, “I don’t really have one. It’s not like I share my bed often enough with anyone to develop a preference.”

“Aye. Same,” he replied with that adorable lopsided smile of his.

Emma’s heart fluttered for several seconds after he disappeared into the bathroom. He didn’t often share his bed? Really? Like David had said earlier, Killian had a bit of a reputation as a ladies’ man. It was one of the reasons she’d pulled back after their night together; she’d hated being just another notch on his bedpost.

How many notches had he added since her, she wondered.

She had plenty of time to contemplate that question. It wasn’t until well after she’d dried her hair, set her alarm, and settled under the covers that Killian emerged from the bathroom. The last drowsy thought Emma had was whether he’d taken advantage of the memory of them together to help let off some steam whilst he was in the shower like she had. She didn’t get a chance to dwell on the thought, though. The tiring day had caught up to her and sleep took over the moment she felt the bed dip beside her.

~/~

“Morning, Emma! Sleep well?”

Anna’s voice was far too perky for the current early morning hour, causing Emma to grimace as she shuffled past the red headed woman on her way to the kitchen.

“Oh, sorry,” Anna whispered, tiptoeing behind her. “Coffee? I just brewed a fresh pot.”

“Please,” Emma grumbled, slumping down onto one of the barstools at the island. “A fresh pot? How early did you get up?”

“Mary Margaret and I got up with the guys,” she said, pouring Emma a cup, then placing it and a tray of fixings on the counter top in front of her. “We wanted to make sure they got a good meal and some coffee before they headed out.”

Emma nodded her understanding, adding enough sugar to her cup that it would have earned her a disgusted look from Killian had he been there and not out traipsing through the woods with an axe. It was an annual tradition at this point. For the past five years - ever since the Jones brothers had entered their lives through Liam and Elsa’s courtship - the guys went out on Christmas Eve morning and cut down a tree for them to decorate. While they were out finding the perfect specimen, Mary Margaret would lead - or in Emma’s case, berate - the girls in making the decorations. The guys would join in once they got back and set up the tree, and the day would be spent stringing popcorn or dried oranges or cranberries for garland as well as attempting to avoid tiny cuts from the origami-esque construction of paper or cardboard ornaments.

There were also snacks and cocktails, the occasional break from crafting to watch a Christmas movie or play a game. Of course, every year, Emma and Killian would insist they watch Die Hard, which Mary Margaret would dismiss as not being a Christmas movie and an argument would ensue - mostly because it gave both Emma and Killian a perverse sense of pleasure to rile up Mary Margaret. Not that they didn’t love the movie or wholeheartedly believe that it was, in fact, a Christmas movie.

“Oh, Emma! You’re up!” Mary Margaret set down a stack of boxes on the island, the contents of which held various crafting supplies no doubt. “Did you get some breakfast?”

Emma shook her head and waved off the woman’s attempt to feed her. “Not yet,” she said. “I’ll get something after I’m sufficiently caffeinated.”

“Well drink up,” Mary Margaret ordered as she began to retreat back into the room she and David were using. “We need to get going on these decorations.”

A moment later she returned with several sacks and with Anna’s help, began organizing the supplies. Emma took that as her cue to find another place to enjoy her coffee.

Glancing out the French doors that led to the back deck she caught sight of a platinum blonde braid. Emma grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders before joining Elsa in the peace and quiet of the mountain morning.

“Hey,” she said, pulling Elsa’s attention away from the view. “Mind if I join you?”

“Please do,” Elsa replied, making room on the bench. “Do you want me to turn on the heater?”

It shouldn’t have surprised Emma that her cousin hadn’t already started the propane heater. The cold had never seemed to bother her like it did Emma.

“No, I’ve got it.” Emma cranked up the heat then sat down, snuggling into the blanket she’d brought out with her.

“Sleep okay?” Elsa asked. “Any problems with the room?”

“No,” Emma answered, taking a sip of her coffee before adding, “The room’s great. Very comfortable.”

“Good,” Elsa said, turning her attention back towards the snowy mountain view. “And sharing with Killian? That, uh… Did that go okay?”

Emma rolled her eyes and hid her knowing smirk behind her mug. “It was fine,” she replied.

“I mean, I’m sure Killian was a gentleman, I just hate that the two of you have to endure this awkwardness when I did my best to--”

“Elsa,” Emma interrupted. “It isn’t your fault, and we will make do. It’s fine. Really.”

The icy blonde’s shoulders relaxed and a puff of exhaled air lingered at her lips for a moment before she said, “Good. I’m glad.” With a furtive glance in Emma’s direction she muttered, “Let’s just hope David thinks it's all fine.”

“I’m a big girl,” Emma reminded her cousin. “David will get over it.”

“I don’t know,” Elsa replied in a sing-song tone. “He was looking pretty hostile this morning when Killian sauntered down the stairs with a whistle on his lips. I’m pretty sure Liam made sure to be the one who took the axe when they left.”

The two women shared a chuckle, both of them knowing full well there was no danger of the men resorting to violence, even if they did bluster a bit.

���I’m sure Killian is reveling in the opportunity to needle David, but I trust Liam to make sure cooler heads prevail.”

“And his needling wouldn’t have any elements of truth in it, right?” Elsa inquired, not so subtly.

Emma sighed exasperatedly. “No,” she stated adamantly. “Nothing happened, and nothing is going to happen.”

She shifted uncomfortably under Elsa’s scrutiny, her piercing blue eyes cutting through her assertions as she hummed a dubious sound.

“If you say so.”

Emma was about to double down on her words, but was cut off by Anna’s sudden appearance.

“Everything is ready! Come make decorations with us!”

Emma and Elsa shared a resigned look then followed Anna back into the cabin, after shutting off the heater, of course. The ladies then spent the next hour or so making handmade decorations whilst also prepping food items for the upcoming meals.

When the guys returned, Emma stayed out of the way. She’d learned from years past to just let David, Liam, Mary Margaret, and Elsa duke it out on the best way to set up the tree. While the four of them conferenced in the living room, she joined Anna in the kitchen, who was busy making everyone a hot cocoa.

“Need a hand?”

“Yes, please!”

The two women filled and garnished mugs of hot cocoa while every so often peeking outside to watch Kristoff and Killian clean up the tree. Once it was suitable for indoors - and they’d gotten the final word of where to set it up - the men brought it inside and secured it in the stand. Everyone stood back to admire the magnificent find as Emma and Anna handed out the beverages.

“Jones,” Emma said, offering him a hot cup as she came to stand beside him.

“Thank you, love,” he replied, slightly out of breath. A half-smile pulled at his lips and crinkled at the corner of his eyes when he noticed she’d adorned his in the same manner as hers - with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon. It was how she’d always taken her cocoa and slowly but surely she was converting the rest of their group to do the same.

“It’s a great looking tree,” she commented, sipping her hot chocolate nonchalantly so he wouldn’t read too much into her compliment.

“Aye,” he said, taking another long look at the fruit of his and the other men’s labor. A fruit that was quickly filling the living room with a pungent pine scent that tickled Emma’s sinuses. “And what of your efforts?” he asked, turning his attention onto her. “Care to show me what you lasses have been working on and how I might assist?”

Emma rolled her eyes and led him to the dining table where he prompted her to give him a demonstration of the crafting. Soon, the others joined them and the day went on just as Emma knew it would: completing the decorations, stringing lights and garlands, decorating the tree, gorging themselves on a big meal, partaking in snacks, then some drinks, then some more drinks, and arguing over then watching several Christmas themed movies and shows. Unfortunately, no Die Hard.

“You know, Swan,” Killian whispered in her ear as everyone began to disperse from the living room to turn in for the night. “We have a TV with streaming services in our room…”

The feel of his breath against the shell of her ear, as well as the way he said ‘our room’ sent a thrill up her spine.

Fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice.

Was it fortunate?

“Your point?” she said, her voice a little too breathy, but maybe he’d think it was because they’d just climbed the steep steps to the second floor.

“My point,” he continued, following her into their - THE - room, “is once we’ve showered and readied ourselves, we can watch Die Hard in bed and celebrate the season properly.”

“Sounds like a plan, Jones,” she replied, even as her heart skipped a few beats at the reminder they’d both be taking turns getting naked and wet with only a flimsy door that did not lock between them.

Ever the gentleman, Killian let her go first. While he took his turn, she busied herself with getting ready for bed, queuing up the movie, and adding an extra blanket to the stack of covers. In no time, they were settled on their respective sides of the bed, enjoying watching John McClane run around Nakatomi Plaza barefoot whilst being a ‘fly in the ointment’ to Hans Gruber.

They both barely remained conscious, but somehow got to the credits before crashing. The constant recitation of dialogue probably helped.

At some point in the night, a rustling sound in the corner of the room stirred Emma. Instinctively, she reached over to feel for Killian, only to find his side of the bed empty.

“Killian?” she croaked out, his name heavy on her tongue from sleep. “What are you--”

“The heat went out,” he told her, making her aware of her own shivering and the frigid air of the room. “Elsa is having kittens over it,” he went on to explain. “Giving the owner a right earful as we speak.”

A low hum and soft glow began to fill the room. Killian stood and visibly shook himself before heading back to bed.

“What’s that?” Emma asked, shifting in bed and moving closer to the middle.

“Space heater,” Killian answered, still shivering from the cold. “The owner relented and gave us the code to the storage closet. There were a few of these in there.”

Emma hummed in response, her mind weighing whether to bring up the idea of--

“Swan?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind if we… that is,” he hedged, clearing his throat. “Until the heater manages to raise the temperature, would you be okay if we…”

“Sure,” she said, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically as she scooted closer to him.

“Thank you, love,” he murmured, his chest already plastered against her back and his face buried in the crook of her neck.

Emma moaned in relief, the heat of his body already warming her and staying the chills that had made her tense. In an effort to find a comfortable position for her legs - without entangling them with his - she rocked her hips back into his and felt…

“Bloody hell,” Killian grumbled in an embarrassed tone as he pulled away. “Apologies, Swan. I didn’t intend--”

“Killian,” she laughed, rolling over to face him. “It’s fine. It happens. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“I just don’t want you to think I have ulterior motives for suggesting--”

“I don’t,” she assured him. “I know guys can’t always control… that.”

“Well, I am usually much more in control of such things, I assure you.”

“I’m sure you are,” she said in an appeasing tone, earning her a side-eyed glare. “Seriously, though,” she continued, trying to coax him back to her. “Your morning wood doesn’t offend me, so will you please come back here.”

He relented after some not so gentle tugging, and a moment later they were once again entwined in the other’s arms.

“Mmmm,” Emma hummed, nestling a bit further into his chest. “How are you always so warm? I feel like I’m always cold.”

As Emma drifted off to sleep she was certain she heard him say, “I know, love. But I’ll always be here for you when you need to keep warm.”

Part Two

[st0r-fruit]

ROUNDABOUT X OC!!!

Oc: Bishop/Adya Hartono

Art by @soyoni , thank you for the birthday gift broski :3