#csss2017

[noahreids]

What a Year (for a New Year) (CS FF)

Rated: T Words: Too many 13.5k Summary: Killian Jones, Boston Bruins right winger, needs a break from the questions and concerns over his career-threatening injury. He thought Storybrooke would be the perfect place to escape to. What he didn't expect was Emma Swan, her kid and a holiday season he never knew he needed.

Also on: AO3 | FFN

AN: For @clockadile , it’s been an absolute pleasure being your CSSS and getting to know you. Here’s to more canadian convos and chats going forward. And all my thanks goes to @piratesails !! She is the real holiday hero for being a beta for this monster. Thank you!

What a Year (for a New Year) 

Emma’s eyes lazily follow the thick snowflakes as they rush from the slate-colored sky, quickly blanketing everything they touch. The layers of snow grow higher by the hour, across the railings and over the small cedar bench (one she should have put away weeks ago). A shiver catches her suddenly, and she absently rubs her hands over her bare arms as she slides her gaze over to her computer screen. She frowns at the blinking black bar. Her eyes narrow, wondering if she can will the words to appear on the screen.

The bar continues to blink.

Apparently not.

She closes the cover delicately -- a deep contrast to the frustration she’s feeling -- and concedes momentary defeat.

Emma knows action. She knows how to find and help people. She knows which doors to knock on and which to knock down, but there’s also so much more she wishes she could do. She wants to reach more people. And Ariel (the Ariel Atwater of the Boston Globe), who had somehow read her small piece in the Storybooke Daily Mirror had contacted her personally, asking her to contribute a more significant feature in the Globe.

“Think of the lost girls and boys, think of how many of them are just like you. Looking for hope, looking for someone to believe in.”

Well, that was a lot to handle in one conversation.

Emma had promptly hung up the phone. Probably not her brightest moment, but when a complete stranger was throwing around words like lost girl, and savior, well, Emma had needed a moment to process. Eventually, after a few days, and Ariel herself showing up at her office in the social services department of city hall, she had been swayed to at least try.

And she had tried and made progress. Emma found herself revealing pieces of her own story that she had never told anyone, but where she was having trouble was finding a way to close it all out. Feeling her tension rise, Emma forces her eyes shut and focuses on what did go well today.

She sees the tentative smiles on Ava and Nicholas’ faces as they are introduced to their father for the first time. The man ringing his hat in his hands before dropping to his knees to hug both children.

She lets her breath out in a long slow stream and feels some of the tension leave her body. After another steady breath, she pushes away from the desk, letting the momentum roll the chair until it stops in the middle of the room. Hands on her stomach she turns the chair this way and that, trying to decide what to do next.

She spies the small black cat peering at her from the arm of the couch.

“What did I say about the couch?” Emma asks aloud. The cat blinks at her once before gracefully jumping to the floor. The feline saunters into the room, tail held high, and pauses at her feet. Emma reaches out a toe and rubs at the cat’s head. “What kind of name for a cat is Graham anyway?”

Emma can almost hear Henry groaning, impatiently explaining for the hundredth time that he got the name from the lead character of the latest comic series he’s been reading, “He’s only the coolest character, mom. Sheriff by day, wolf by night.”  

Emma eyes the cat. “You a wolf by night?”

Graham meows once and flops down to his side.

Emma shrugs at the response and spins the chair to face the kitchen. An unopened bottle of her favorite red sits on the counter. She should get to the laundry, and check her case files for tomorrow. She should do a lot of things, but it only takes her a moment to justify the wine; it has been a long week -- work, countless hours of writing, parent-teacher meeting, hockey practice –

She pushes herself up and pads lightly to the kitchen, plucking the bottle of Masi as she passes, and roots around in the messy catch-all drawer for the wine opener. She is just pulling the cork out when she hears something hit the ground. Emma spins to see the cat sitting at her desk, her notebook on the floor.

“Hey!”

Graham blinks in return, unaffected.

After a beat Emma watches as the cat proceeds to go for her computer wire, sharp little teeth bared.

“Dude! Stop, you little pest!”

At this second warning and with Emma’s threatening step into the living room, the cat finally hops down from the desk and follows Emma into the kitchen, stopping at his empty food bowl. Emma shakes her head but fills his bowl and bends to give Graham a scratch behind his ear.

“Alright, my turn now,” Emma mumbles and turns to fill her glass.

**

Emma gets as far as the kitchen counter, elbows against the chilled marble as she nibbles on crackers and cheese, sipping her wine. Through gossamer curtains, Emma catches sight of the snow that continues to fall. She worries a little about the roads, but Ashley had assured her she would get the kids home safely from the theater. She chooses instead to try and focus on the music that filters in from the living room.

Popping the last piece of cheese into her mouth, Emma, wine in hand, dances over to the radio, turning it up. She twirls as the song comes to an end and switches to a mellower beat. As she comes to a stop, she sips her wine a little slower and sighs when she spots Henry’s sweater under the coffee table. She grabs it and makes her way to his room to toss it onto his bed, but it’s as she sets foot in his room that another shiver racks her frame. The cold floor immediately permeates through her thin socks. Her eyes catch the movement of Henry’s curtains, fluttering softly from an outside breeze.

“Really, kid?” she mumbles crossing the room. She is reaching for the curtain when she feels Graham winding his way through her legs. “What do you think you’re,” her words trail off as Graham hops on the bed and suddenly disappears behind the curtain.

Emma doesn’t think anything of it until she pulls the curtains back and finds an opened window and paw prints in the snow.

“HEY!” Emma hisses at the cat. He at least has the decency to stop and look back. Although in the end, he doesn’t seem concerned with Emma’s anxious call because no sooner, he is on the move again, squeezing through the railings and onto the neighbor’s balcony.

Emma rushes out of the bedroom and to the patio doors, wrenching them open, the snow and wind immediately stopping her short, the cold biting every bare inch of her skin.

“Graham, get back here,” she pleads and takes a tentative step towards the cat. Wrong move.

With a flick of his tail, and to Emma’s immediate horror, the cat darts through the partially opened door of her neighbor’s condo. She hesitates in shocked silence.

“Graham! Here kitty…” Emma pushes out through clenched, chattering teeth, but there is no cat and no movement at the door.

She considers it a small victory that there is no scream of horror from the neighbor. She wasn’t even sure anyone lived there until last week when the mail started disappearing. She hasn’t met them yet, but silently hopes that whoever they are, they aren’t at home. She can get the cat out, and no one will be the wiser.

She studies the waist-high railing separating the two balconies and finally comes to a decision. She steps out, grumbling when the snow immediately slips into her shoes. With a huff, she dusts the cedar bench off and drags it closer to the railing. Wine in hand, she lifts herself up onto the edge of the railing and balances precariously on the top. The thought crosses her mind that she should leave her glass inside, but having gotten this far, she takes a sip of liquid courage and throws her legs over. She lands inelegantly, but thanks to the snow, quietly, nary a drop of wine spilled.

She inches towards the open door with tentative steps and offers a soft, “Hello? Anyone home?”

The silence drags on and it only gets colder. She should have grabbed a jacket.

“Just looking for my son’s asshole cat,” Emma mutters, finally stepping into the condo and onto a small mat of an almost mirror image of her unit. The color scheme is bolder than hers; a dark navy accent wall, stiff looking leather couch, rustic wood coffee table – it all feels very masculine. She slips out of her shoes and closes the door behind her. She looks around the dimly lit home and is about to approach a picture on the wall when she shakes her head, reminding herself of why she is here and how she needs to get the hell out of this stranger’s house. The last thing she needs is to call in a favor to David at the police station and explain why she was caught breaking and entering.

“Graham,” she singsongs softly and pauses. “Psss, psss, psss,” she adds a few sounds she thinks a cat would respond to and waits. Suddenly she hears the sound of nails on material and spins, rushing over to the couch.

“Duuuuude!” she cries out, and the sound stops. She rests her wine glass on the coffee table and drops to her knees, peering beneath the couch. Yellow eyes stare back. The cat is on his back, nails hooked in the material of the underside of the couch. “Look, there’s no damage. No one looks under here. Can you do me a solid and come out?”

The cat rolls onto his stomach and shimmies back. Emma drops her forehead to the floor and groans. And of course, this is when she hears the sound of a key in the front door. No time to come up with a plan, she rushes to sit up, rapping her shoulder on the coffee table. Biting her lip against the jarring pain, she just manages to catch her wine glass before it topples over.

Fuuuuuuck.

And this is how her new neighbor finds her: kneeling beside his couch, glass of wine clutched in a death grip, messy blond hair falling over her face. She blows a stray lock away and furtively glances towards the doorway, eyes downcast. Emma spots the snow-covered boots of a man hovering at the threshold. Her eyes trail up jean-clad legs, to a gray wool peacoat, snow melting across the front.

Well Emma, chin up. You’ve been in worse situations.

She feels the adrenaline kicking in, and before she can succumb to the nerves, she forces her eyes up and sucks in a breath. He just had to be beautiful – although her thoughts hesitate as she takes in the cool blue eyes that are fast on hers – beautiful but a little rough. Her eyes bounce from the cut across his cheek to the dark scruff lining his jaw that looks just a bit unkempt. She watches that jaw clench, and it causes a clenching of another kind, deep in her belly. She inwardly curses her body’s reaction. It’s clearly been too long. She swallows hard, trying to calm her frantically beating heart.

Unsure of what to say she absently brings her wine glass to her lips. His eyebrow pops up, and this small response transforms his features into something a little more approachable and, Emma thinks, a little more familiar. She shrugs, taking a sip of her wine and gets to her feet.

The stranger finally closes the door behind him and tosses his keys in a bowl but doesn’t come any closer.

“You certainly are the boldest puck bunny I’ve encountered,” he finally addresses her in a cold tone. The English accent catches her off-guard, as do his eyes that give her a quick once-over. Emma is suddenly aware of her threadbare t-shirt and leggings. She glances back to him when the words he’s just used rattles around in her brain.

“Puck bunny?” she asks, wondering if it’s an English turn of phrase she isn’t aware of.

He either doesn’t hear her or chooses to ignore the question seeing as he is faced with the more pressing matter of a stranger in his living room.

“Now lass, as beautiful as you are, nothing will be happening here. I need you to kindly explain how you broke into my home before I decide if I’m calling the police,” her neighbor says, pulling his phone from his pocket.

Emma scrunches her nose at his first statement.

Who is this guy and what does he think she’s here for?

However, her thoughts are quickly dismissed as the word police catches up with her. She holds up her hands, before pointing at him with her wine glass.

“Hey, whoa. What are you going on about? No need for the police, I’m just here about my cat,” she protests, and before she can explain further, she is brought up short by his half laugh.

“Cat? Are you telling me you are here about your puss--”

“EXCUSE ME.” She cuts him off, her eyes wide in horror.

He finally cracks a smile and takes a few steps into the room, looking a little more relaxed.

“I’m your neighbor,” she begins but he returns the favor, cutting her off.

“Ruby is my neighbor, you are not Ruby,” he says tongue darting out to wet his lips, eyes trailing over her, smirk in place.

Emma closes her eyes and counts to five.

“You asked me to explain, do you want to hear it or not?”

He crosses his arms over his chest, and it’s then she sees his left hand is wrapped in gauze, three fingers set in a cast. Sensing her eyes on his injury, he drops his hand to his side and gives her a tight nod.

“My name is Emma. Ruby is a good friend of mine; she sublet the condo to me months ago. She told me nothing of this,” Emma waves in his general direction and ignores his popped eyebrow, choosing to continue. “My cat ran in through your open back door – maybe you should close it if you don’t want unwanted guests,” Emma adds pointedly. “You trying to heat up all of Storybrooke?”

“Airing out the place. It’s been closed up a while,” he mumbles and then adds, “I didn’t expect any guests, and so far, I only see the two-legged variety.”

Emma sighs.

“Graham is under the couch. Trust me, I came for the cat, not to throw myself at the likes of you,” Emma explains and partially wishes she’d left the last part out, but she has to admit she likes the way his eyes widen, a little put out.

“With your glass of cabernet?” he adds.

“It’s a red blend,” she mutters, and his eyebrow pops up again. She tilts her head, studying him; there was something familiar about the look. Her eyes flit around the room and land on a framed photograph: elated faces, bodies dressed in thick equipment, hoisting a trophy. “Killian Jones!” she says suddenly, wine glass gesturing to him. “You play for the Bruins.”

She thought he would be pleased that she figured it out. Instead, he frowns and then suddenly the pieces connect.

“Shit. You play for the Bruins. You own my place. Look, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t kick us out before Christmas. Or at all really. It’s just a misunderstanding.”

Killian looks decidedly confused.

“Kick you out? What? Who?”

Emma points to herself, “Emma Swan.”

“Emma Swan,” he repeats, taking a few steps further into the room, only the coffee table separating them now. He taps the table leg in thought before looking up at her from under dark lashes. Emma holds her breath.

“At least I know what name to give the police.”

Emma’s eyes widen, grip tensing on the now empty wine glass.

“You... I told you… The police. The cat.”

He is clearly better than her at keeping his expression neutral and lets her prattle on.

“Again, a cat which I have yet to see,” he reminds her. She frowns, first at the couch where Graham is hiding and then at her empty glass. He gestures towards her glass with his chin.

“Shall I fetch you more wine? I’m sure I have a red blend on hand” He makes sure to stress her earlier correction, a teasing tone infiltrating his accented words.

She narrows her eyes at him. He might be better at hiding his thoughts, but his eyes are dancing. She won’t bite.

“No thank you, I already have a bottle open next door,” Emma responds lightly. “Now if you’ll just give me a moment.” Emma jerks her head towards the couch, from where Graham has yet to emerge.

“By all means,” Killian nods his consent and settles in a chair across from her, ankle over knee. Emma allows herself one last glance at the rousing sight he poses and forces herself back on her hands and knees, empty glass on the table, trying not to feel utterly humiliated.

Graham is exactly where she left him, eyes barely open, paws curled underneath him. If she wasn’t so mad, she might even call him cute.

“Psst, Graham! Come here!” Emma tries again, trying to keep her voice low but the deep chuckle from across the room suggests she was anything but.

“Perhaps if you were politer, love.”

Emma does not reward his comment with a glance, but after biting off a silent oath, she closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths. When she opens them again, she finds Graham staring back.

“Hey Graham, please come out,” she says softly and scratches the floor lightly with her nails. To her immense surprise, the cat slinks out into the open space. She pops up to her knees with a shout of success. The cat rubs up against her this way and that, before taking a seat beside her. She can’t help but grin widely at Killian.

“See!” She points to the cat and turns to scratch under his chin, the purring rolling out of him immediately. She looks up to find Killian crossing the room, a smile on his face mirroring her own. Her stomach flips, and she only hesitates a moment at his outstretched hand.

He helps her up and doesn’t makes a move to let go. She watches his Adam’s apple bob and gains some confidence at his sudden nerves.

“Can you call off the police now?” she asks, squeezing his hand before bending down to grab the cat.

“I suppose I shan’t be pressing charges today. As peculiar as this situation is, I do believe you are telling the truth.” His blue eyes flit across her face.

He’s even more beautiful up close but also, tired. There might be a cut across his cheek from a hockey injury, but the bruising under his eyes comes from sleepless nights and bone-weary exhaustion. She tries to remember what happened to him but can’t recall.

“Thank you,” she whispers, taking a few steps back but pauses, “But, you know, if your door had been closed,” she trails off.

“Wait, this is my fault? Doesn’t your door have to be open too? Shouldn’t we equally shoulder the blame?”

“I have a kid.”

“You have a kid?” confusion coloring his question.

“Yeah, you have a problem with that? He’s a good kid.”

“I didn’t mean-- it’s not,” he trails off, apparently unsure what they are arguing about now. He shakes his head and seems to find his footing again as a smile spreads across his face.

It throws her off.

“I’m sure if he’s anything like his mother, he’s a great kid.”

Emma’s eyes narrow and he holds up his hand in a placating manner but an incredulous laugh bubbles out of him anyway.

Emma feels her smile tugging at her lips. “A good kid who leaves his window open in December. Sorry,” Emma finally mumbles.

“You know, it’s quite alright, love. It’s actually brought some much-needed levity to my day, to be honest.”

Before Emma can ask what he means, they both hear Henry call out for her.

“Mom! Where are you?”

Graham struggles from her arms, and she lets him go. He darts outside, quickly slipping through the rails, and without a glance back, dashes into his actual home.

“I have to go,” she nods towards the door. Killian nods but follows her into the cold.

Emma eyes the railing and jumps when she feels him close behind, his voice a whisper in her ear. She freezes.

“Would you like a boost?”

She turns and has to look up, their breath clouds and mingles as Emma hesitates.

“Are you sure, with your hand?”

His smile drops and Emma immediately regrets her question, albeit a valid one.

“I have a useless hand, but I’m not a complete invalid.”

“I didn’t mean --”

Killian drops his head and takes a deep breath.

“I know you didn’t, I’m sorry, I’m,” he pauses, and Emma shivers as she waits. “I’m sorry, you’re freezing. Let me help; I assure you it’s fine.”

And before she knows what’s happening, his right hand and left palm are on her waist, and he’s helped her up onto the railing.

“Sorry again, and for the, um, breaking and entering. It won’t happen again,” she manages to say and makes to turn but the fingers on his right-hand squeeze, holding her in place.

“And again, after perhaps a rocky start, this was, nice. No need for apologies,” he admits and finally takes a step away.

Emma manages to turn herself and finds her footing on the bench.

“Good night, Killian,” she whispers, giving him a last look before stepping into her place.

She slides the door closed and leans back against it, suddenly warm all over.

“You look weird, why do you look weird?”

Emma jumps at her kid’s voice, suddenly right in front of her. He has Graham purring in his arms. Henry is staring at her like she’s crazy. Maybe she is. She can still feel the pressure of his hand on her hip.

“Maybe it’s because I had to brave the cold, because someone left their bedroom window open. In December I might add, and that someone’s cat escaped.”

Henry looks sheepish.

“Sorry.”

“Mmm.”

Henry wraps her in a tight hug, Graham stuck in the middle and a little less than thrilled about the situation.

“I’ll make you a hot cocoa?” Henry offers.

How is she supposed to be mad now?

She concedes. “That would be great, kid.”

**

“If you get your work done before supper, you can find something for us to watch on Netflix tonight,” Emma says around the grocery bag, toeing off her boots and nudging the front door closed with her hip. She looks around the bag to see Henry kicking his boots into the closet.

“Can I put the lights we got up in my room first?”

Emma hesitates.

“Please, it’s already December second and we don’t have anything decorated yet.”

“Not December second!” Emma teases and she can almost feel Henry roll his eyes.

“Mom.”

“Sure, you can put the lights up, just help me with these groceries first.”

They are on their way to the kitchen when a voice startles them both.

“Greetings, Swan and smaller Swan.”

Henry handles it well, socked feet sliding to a stop across the wood floor, eyes wide. Emma on the other hand handles it with less grace.

She chokes on her scream, only managing to catch it half way when she recognizes the voice. Although, there is no catching her grocery bag as it topples out of her grasp, spilling half its contents over the hardwood. Thankfully the plastic bags stay hooked over her fingers. She closes her eyes and breathes in through her nose but her voice still raises in pitch.

“Really? You broke into my house? Was that necessary?” she asks, grateful the shakes wracking her body don’t sound in her voice. She glances over at Henry to make sure he’s okay, but his look of surprise has already morphed into one of glee at whatever is happening.

What was happening? Since when did Emma have professional hockey players breaking into her home?

“Shh, you’ll wake the beast,” a whispered response filters across the room.

Emma slowly turns towards the living room and spies Killian Jones, stretched out on her couch, one arm behind his head, a sleeping Graham sprawled across his chest. In all the ways she had pictured their second encounter -- and okay, over the last few days maybe she had pictures a few, two, four tops — this had not been one of them.

“Besides, I no more broke into here than you did into mine,” he states, a sleepy lopsided grin on his face. Killian deposits the cat on the floor and lifts up from the couch. The hair at the back of his head is in complete disarray, static pulling it straight out, and she wonders how long he’s actually been there. She can’t help but note he looks a little less tired.

“Mom! You broke into someone’s house? So cool!” Henry exclaims, eyes bouncing between the two before landing back on Killian. “Whoa, wait. You’re Killian Jones.” Henry’s voice is tinted with awe.

And this is what makes Killian look bashful. Not being caught breaking in or this whole odd situation, but her eleven year old kid looking at him like he is some kind of star, which, really, he should be used to. He scratches behind his ear, the tip of which pinks at the statement. Emma tilts her head to study him.

“Pleased to meet you,” he trails off looking from Henry and to Emma. She somehow gets the impression he is asking for permission. Something she appreciates.

Henry looks like he hasn’t heard the question, still clearly enthralled by being in the presence of one of his idols.

“This is Henry, and Henry, it’s actually not cool to break into someone’s house. I was grabbing your cat? Remember? The one you let escape.” Emma gives her son a pointed look before heading towards the kitchen, stepping over the fallen groceries. “You’re picking that up,” she adds over her shoulder, eyes on Killian.

“I’m an injured man,” Killian replies but with no real heat as he is already heading towards the box of cereal and other assortment of canned goods strewn across the floor.

Henry dumps his own bags in the kitchen before hurrying over to help Killian.

“She totally doesn’t care. I had a broken arm once and I still had to take out the garbage,” Henry explains, eager to have something in common, piling his arms with canned tomatoes and sauce.

“I don’t remember your legs also being broken, were they?” Emma asks, slowly pulling items out of the bags, watching the odd scene before her. Killian straightens first and gives her a warm look that has color rising to her cheeks. She quickly looks away.

“Well, it is good form to help your mum whenever you can Henry, so I’m sure it was very much appreciated. Just like I appreciate the help you are lending me now.”

She is not sure if it’s the casual comment or the way her kid’s chest puffs out at the praise, but it causes her breath to hitch and she has to rest her hands on the counter to keep them from trembling. This isn’t how she operates with men, especially not around Henry. And what is she even thinking is going on anyway? She is being ridiculous, tired –

“Love?” his voice is closer, and she jumps when a warm hand closes over hers. She pulls her hand away and busies herself with the rest of the groceries. She can feel him watching her, just like she can feel her son rooting around the bags on the counter.

“I’m going to put these up now, okay?” Henry says more than asks, finding the Christmas lights, already heading towards his room, leaving Emma and Killian alone. She longs for Henry’s stress-free attitude, not the goosebumps that are spreading across her skin or the silence that is stretching out in the kitchen.

Maybe she should put some music on. Maybe she should ask him a question. What is he doing in Storybrooke? What happened to his hand? Why did he look so tired the other day? She turns with determination.

“So, are you going to tell me why you broke into my place or do you do that with all the girls?”

Oh God, where did that come from?

Her own words and the way his eyes shoot to hers, cause her to take a few steps back but he reaches out to stop her from hitting the counter. His hand lingers on her elbow, his thumb running back and forth. She squeezes the bag of marshmallows tightly in her fist as she tilts her head up.  

She watches him watch her. His eyes blue and curious. She hopes he doesn’t feel the shiver as his fingers leave her elbow and trail down her arm.

“Careful love, wouldn’t want to ruin these marshmallows,” he whispers, taking the bag from her grasp and tossing it onto the counter behind her. He also takes a deep breath, preparing himself for an explanation.

“No, this is definitely a first for me and I didn’t quite break in, your patio door was unlocked,” he explains, but it’s the how, not the why. The question must still be on her face because his mouth ticks up in a flirty smirk. “You forgot your empty glass of red blend. I was simply taking it upon myself to return it to you, lest you felt the need to imbibe further.” He nods towards her desk, where a new bottle of wine sits along with her glass but it appears he isn’t done. His teasing smile falls away, replaced with something gentler. “Or perhaps I just wanted to see you again.”

“You could probably just use the front door next time,” Emma whispers before she can think of the implications.

“Next time?” he questions and she’s confused all over again. How is she supposed to think with her fried nerves and the blues eyes, and his chest brushing hers every time she tries to take a breath, not to mention her kid just down the hall, and what does she expect from a professional hockey player anyway? She turns away, needing to get some space. She grabs the marshmallows, shoving them in the pantry, and grabs a few other items, all but jamming them into the fridge.

“Yeah, sure. Next time or not or, whatever,” she trips over her words, shrugging, grateful for the cold air of the fridge against her warming cheeks. She counts to three and closes the door, turning back.

Killian has given her some space, moving back to lean against the opposite counter, legs crossed at the ankles.

“I’d like that.”

Oh.

“Oh, okay. Great.”

She’s making additional plans with a man she’s just met. A professional hockey player. An injured one that doesn’t seem to be with his team at the moment. Is that normal? Why Storybrooke? What the hell is she doing? Emma falls back against the fridge, unsure of what to say next, in case she blurts all the things out.

“I think you put your cereal in the fridge, love,” Killian offers, a new teasing smile stretching across his face, oblivious to all the questions she is holding back.

Emma scoffs, but doesn’t open the fridge, realizing she has no idea what she put in there.

“I did not,” she responds instead. He pushes off the counter and saunters towards her.

“Why don’t we have a look then,” he asks, sliding in close, close enough to feel the heat of him, close enough to--

“I’M STARVING. When are we eating?”

The sudden exclamation from Henry has them jumping apart, Killian back to his spot against the counter, and Emma plastered against the fridge. She looks around the kitchen and grabs the towel from the counter and wrings it tightly between her hands.

Henry stops between.

“You look weird again,” he states, watching her.

“What? I do not.”

He nudges her out of the way and opens the fridge.

“Yeah you do, you look exactly like the other day when you rescued Graham. All pink and weird.”

Killian does his best to cover his laugh with a cough, eyes dancing as he watches her.

Emma opens and closes her mouth, unable to find her words.

“Doesn’t she, Killian?” Henry asks without looking back, as if this is a normal thing, throwing a question to Killian.

“I think she looks lovely.”

Emma can’t look at either of them.

“Oookay. Hey Mom, why did you put the cereal in the fridge?”

This time Killian can’t hide his laughter but thankfully he leaves the kitchen, wandering over to where he left the bottle of wine. Emma takes a few deep breaths and finally steels herself.

“I read about it on Facebook this morning, something about keeping it fresher.”

She’s proud of that one and absolutely refuses to acknowledge the chuckles coming from the living room.

“Whatever you say,” Henry mumbles closing the fridge again. “Hey Killian, are staying for supper? Mom’s making her famous tortilla soup.”

Emma looks to the ceiling. She loves her kid, but sometimes his heart moves faster than she can keep up with. Speaking of Henry’s heart and his eagerness to take in strays, Graham winds his way around her legs and sits beside her.

He gives a small meow as if to say, Well?

She looks up to find Killian watching her.

“You don’t--”

What the hell.

“Well it is famous, at least between these four walls. Would you like to stay?” she finally asks and knows she’s made the right choice when she sees his shoulders relax and a true smile spread across his face.

“It would be an honor,” he answers and picks up the wine, holding it up in question. Emma gives him a small nod.

“Cool,” Henry seems to reply for the both of them, disappearing once again down the hall.

Cool, indeed.

**  

She does get some answers to her questions, but not at first. Oh, he talks. He regales Henry with stories about the Bruins, about other star players in the league and cities he’s visited. Not much about himself but Henry doesn’t seem to mind, thoroughly distracted with all the other information. And Killian listens with rapt attention when Henry describes his first goal, waving away any comments about how long it took him to get it or how he isn’t as good as the other boys on the team.

“Do you like playing? Do you practice hard? Are you having fun?”

Henry had nodded with wide eyes.

“Everything else will come. I was never the best or the fastest or picked first but I loved the game and I worked hard every day. It’s about what’s in here,” Killian paused and tapped his heart.

“For real?” Henry had asked, voice full of hope.

“Absolutely, lad.”

So, she hadn’t gotten answers right away but she’d seen her kid leave the table with a dopey grin on his face and that’s more than she could have asked for.

“Thanks for that,” she says after the dishes are dropped in the sink and the lights are dimmed. Henry had excused himself to work on Christmas cards and they were left alone.

She’d topped off his glass of wine and feeling a little warm and relaxed herself, nudged him with her hip before making her way to the living room. It’s quiet and comfortable on her couch, and she pulls her legs up while she waits to see what Killian decides to do.

He takes a sip of his wine before walking to the living room. He stops to look at the pictures lining the wall.

“Nonsense, Swan. It was my pleasure,” he says quietly, eyes still on the pictures. “Is there a,” he starts and stops, turning around. She waits, pretty confident she knows where he’s going.

He leaves the pictures behind and surprises her by settling in the middle of the couch, thigh brushing her knees. He kicks his legs onto the table and finally looks over.

“Is there a Mr. Swan?” but then just as quickly follows with, “Nevermind, that’s none of my business.”

His eyes are on his wine, swirling it around the glass.

“No, it’s always just been Henry and I. His father was never quite ready for any kind of responsibility,” Emma answers quietly. “I do my best.”

“You’re a marvel, Swan,” he declares quite passionately. Emma snorts.

“Just a few days ago you were going to call the police on me. I’m a work in progress.”

He shakes his head but it’s a with a sad smile.

“If you are a work in progress, I must be an utter disaster.”

He takes a deep sip from his glass, clearly preparing to say more, so instead of protesting his comments or asking what he means, she waits. Later, she would guess it’s the wine that loosens his tongue or perhaps just the need to actually talk to someone that has him opening up.

“Did you see how this happened?” he asks, holding up his injured hand. For the first time, she takes a long look at it. She sees the stitches lining the three fingers that are braced together, the skin still pink and slightly swollen. He seems to stare at it in disgust.

“There’s so much metal in my hand now, I’m not sure a hook wouldn’t be better,” he mutters before finally looking up.

Emma gives him a patient smile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see what happened. I don’t really follow much of the sports news.”

He uses his hands to frame a makeshift headline, “Killian Jones, Boston Bruins right wing has sustained a gruesome injury to his hand for the second time in less than twelve months.”

“But it will heal? You’ll play again?” Emma asks when Killian pauses. He shrugs, leans his head back against the couch and closes his eyes.

“They say eight to twelve weeks but I’m not even supposed to go near a gym right now, I need to let my body recover from the trauma of surgery and all that. I was already struggling this season, trying too hard to get back to my past form. I don’t know if I’ll ever get it back. It’s one of the reasons I had to get out of Boston. Away from the fans, the sports talk radio, the well-meaning family and friends. I tried to tune it out but it’s near impossible. I heard the whispers, that the team would be better off without my salary on the books. I wasn’t the player I used to be after the first injury, now with this second one, it’s a lost cause.”

She hesitates but finally reaches out to squeeze his arm and waits for his eyes to be on hers.

“You don’t believe that,” she states firmly. He looks at his hand. “No, look at me. You don’t believe that or you wouldn’t be so frustrated. Right?” she asks and she taps over his heart, right where he’d showed Henry. His good hand closes over hers and he finally offers her a small smile.

“Perhaps not.”  

“Good.”

As her fingers flex over the soft material of his sweater, she wonders if he knows her heart is pounding just as hard as his is below her fingers.

**

“Don’t rush it, Emma. I love what you have so far. I think we could easily do a few follow up pieces as well. Especially if you are right about the adoption house that accepted bribes to lose the paperwork. We’ll make a journalist out of you yet,” Ariel, voice full enthusiasm, calms Emma’s somewhat frazzled nerves.

She had hit send on her almost completed piece a few hours earlier and had been pacing the living room, between bouts of decorating, ever since. She lets her fingers trail over Henry’s stocking as she takes in Ariel’s words.

“Ok, that’s, that’s great Ariel. Thank you.”

The front door opens and Henry tumbles in, all excitement and awkward limbs. His backpack smashes into the wall in his haste to get it off and Emma cringes at the sound.

“Mom, mom. MOM! Oh, you’re there,” Henry grins as he pushes his hat out of his eyes. Emma points to the phone at her ear but apparently that’s not enough to stop him. “Mom, can we go to Killian’s for dinner? Like now? Can we?”

She can hear Ariel laugh on the other end of the line.

“Henry, breathe. We can’t just show up,” Emma states calmly.

“But Killian said,” Henry starts and the man in question is suddenly behind him, whispering something in her kid’s ear, eyes bright on Emma’s. Her heart stutters in her chest.

“Are you seeing someone Emma? Is he handsome?” Ariel teases across the line. “Killian, you know that’s the name of our missing star Bruin. You aren’t dating a hockey player are you Emma?”

Emma’s heart nearly stops.

“What? No, no. Not at all.”

Ariel laughs again.

“I know. I’m just teasing. I’ll let you be with your family. Let’s chat next week. Bye, Emma.”

The line is dead before Emma can catch up. She drops her arm to her side and finally focuses on the two men in front of her.

“Everything alright, love?” Killian asks, dropping his injured hand on Henry’s shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah. Just my editor.”

Killian’s eyebrows shoot up. They hadn’t gotten that far in their conversation the other night.

“My mom’s going to be famous,” Henry states proudly.

“Hardly, Henry,” Emma tucks her phone away and walks towards them. “I’m just writing a small piece on adoption and some of the difficulties people, kids, myself, go through,” she finishes quietly.

“For the Globe?” he asks and there’s something he’s hiding behind the simple question. Emma has a strong feeling it has to do with journalists and getting away from them.

“Yeah, I’m still in shock, I’ve never done anything like this before.”

He seems to process the information before shaking it off and the smile from before returns. Before he can respond, Henry speaks up.

“So, can we mom?”

Emma is lost, Killian thankfully clears things up.

“I saw your boy in the hall, I hope you don’t mind that I mentioned it to him first. I wanted to thank you for the lovely dinner the other night by having you over. I’m not much of a cook, so I picked up Granny’s. I was assured I have your favorites.”

He pulls up his other hand revealing a large brown take out bag.

Emma waits but it’s mostly to bug Henry who is almost vibrating with excitement.

“Put your bag in your room and feed your cat, then we can go over.”

Henry lets out a whoop and nearly stumbles out of his boots in his haste. She waits until he’s down the hall before speaking.

“You don’t have to do this,” she whispers.

“I wanted to, love.”

She studies him, trying to remember the last time someone wanted to treat her and Henry, someone that wasn’t her brother and sister-in-law.

“Did you get onion rings? Mom loves onion rings. She’ll love you forever,” Henry yells from the kitchen.

“Of course, lad,” he calls back and then softer, “forever?”

Emma hiccups a laugh, better to laugh than to freak out.

“Let’s start with tonight.”

“I can do that.”

**

“Sorry my place isn’t as comfortable as yours. I didn’t really do the decorating, never really expected to spend much time here.”

“This is very comfortable,” Emma assures him. He gives her a skeptical look. They are spread out on the floor after originally trying out the couch and finding it stiff and uncomfortable. Killian had disappeared into what she assumes is his bedroom and come back, arms piled with blankets. She’s wrapped in one now. And she is trying very hard not to think about how it very much feels like he’s wrapped around her; the blanket must be from his bed.

She’s a little overwhelmed.

But she’s also very much charmed.

She leans back against the couch, and glances at Henry, spread out on his stomach, not minding the development in the least, finishing the last of his fries. She takes a deep breath.

Killian stretches out his legs and nudges Henry’s foot with his.

“Want to find us something to watch?”

“Sure.”

He takes the remote from Killian’s outstretched hand, and proceeds to flick through the channels.

“Oh!” Emma’s surprised exclamation receives a groan from Henry but he stops his channel surfing.

“What am I missing?” Killian asks glancing between the two.

“Mom loves these Christmas movies. It’s always about two dumb people who don’t know they are in looooove,” Henry gags on the last word but tosses the remote aside, settling in to watch.

“Kid, we don’t have to watch this.”

“It’s okay. You saw Star Wars with me,” Henry reasons simply and then snickers at a character falling in the snow. Emma stares at her son with a swell of emotion.

“He’s a good kid,” Killian whispers, sliding closer to her on the floor. She turns her head and is brought up short by his proximity. She can’t help but let her eyes drift across his features; the cut on his cheek only a thin pink line now, the shadows under his eyes almost gone, the quirk to his lips. She looks up and finds him watching her just as patiently as ever. That is until his own eyes dip and stall for a moment on her lips. She presses her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from doing anything ridiculous like dropping her eyes to his lips. Except it might be worse, because she has a front row to his dark lashes that almost brush the tops of his cheeks, as she presses her teeth harder, he makes a small sound from the back of his throat that has her heart working overtime.

He seems to surprise himself with it, and looks up. He leans over and Emma holds her breath. He tugs the blanket a little tighter around her shoulders, and just ghosts his thumb over her lips, freeing it from her teeth.

“Thank you,” he whispers, his hand finding hers on the floor, warming her chilled fingers.

“I think I should be the one thanking you.”

But he shakes his head, squeezing her hand, turning towards the TV. The two main characters are decorating a perfectly manicured tree.

“Hey, Killian?”

He doesn’t let go of her hand and she doesn’t move.

“Yes, master Swan?”

Henry snickers.  

“Are you going to put up a tree?”

“Mmm, I don’t think so. I don’t really have any decorations here.”

There’s a pause as they watch the woman on the screen slip from a stepladder and into a man’s arms.

“That’s okay. You can share ours. We are going to get our tree tomorrow, right, mom?”

“Right.”

Killian’s hand tightens on hers.

“See, it’s for me to thank you, love.”

**

He shares their tree. He shows up with antlers on his head and ornaments for each of them. It makes it easier for Emma to pull out the small Captain Hook ornament she found for him. Thankfully he gets the joke, and hangs it with a smile. But it also makes it harder not to reach out and touch him like she wants to.

A few days later he suggests they come over to bake cookies and when Emma leaves the room for five minutes she comes back to not the twelve perfectly round balls they had rolled but one nearly life sized gingerbread man.

“Really, guys?”

The twin grins she receives dissolves any of her exasperation.

He helps Henry with his math homework. They watch terrible Christmas movies.

He somehow, in a few short weeks, slips into their everyday lives.

They don’t talk about what’s happening. Not to each other, not to others. Emma doesn’t tell Mary Margaret when she calls to confirm New Year’s plans and even Henry seems to want to keep it between the three of them. Their own special thing.

And since that first supper at her place, they don’t talk about hockey. That is, until Henry brings it up.

“When are you going to play again?”

Killian turns from the patio doors where he’d been watching the snow fall. He doesn’t look like he knows how to answer, doesn’t look like he knows the answer himself.

“I’m not exactly sure, Henry.”

He looks down at his hand and Emma’s heart aches for him.

“But don’t you miss skating?”

“Henry, give him a break,” Emma steps in, ruffling Henry’s hair.

“No, it’s alright. Of course, I miss skating.”

“We should go,” Henry suggests like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Henry.”

“Sorry.”

Emma huffs and walks over to Killian, touching his arm as he looks outside.

“Sorry. He doesn’t quite understand,” she whispers but hears his tut of disagreement.

He puts his arm around her and pulls her in close. She lets herself melt into him a little.

“It’s quite alright. The lad isn’t wrong. I do miss it, I just don’t know,” his whispered words trail off and she can imagine all the different ways to end that sentence.

He doesn’t know if he’s ready.

He doesn’t know when he will be.

Doesn’t know if he needs to go back to Boston to make that happen. He probably needs to go back to Boston.

Emma’s chest tightens at that thought, suddenly the idea of not having him nearby every day difficult to imagine. She holds onto him a little tighter. But as she takes in his profile, feels his strength beneath the cotton of his Henley, she knows she’s being selfish and so she wonders if there is anything she can do to help. Wonders if Henry actually has the right idea.

So, what does she do? She kidnaps him.

**

“Get in the car.”

“Come again, Swan?”

“I need you to get in my car.”

“And what pray tell are we doing?”

“Killian.”

“Emma”

“Killian, come on!” They both hear Henry call out.

“And put this on.” Emma shoves a hat into his chest. He looks at it, then at her.

“I’m still not sure what exactly we are doing or why you aren’t telling me.”

So maybe she plays dirty. She rises up to the tips of her toes and brings her lips to his ear.

“Please.”

As she pulls back, her lips press a feather light kiss to his cheek. His eyes look at her, unfocused, curious, and finally hungry.

She doesn’t give him a chance to say anything else, instead she opens the car door and all but shoves him in. The quicker she gets him in the car, the less time she has to back out of what very well may be a terrible plan.

**

“What are we doing here, Swan?”

Henry, unable to keep it in anymore, finally bursts from the backseat.

“We’re going skating!” He’s unbuckled and out the door before Killian can clearly fully process what is going on. They both watch Henry, backpack in hand hurry down the snowy path to a bench near a clearing.

Emma can’t stand the silence and she can’t actually get her head to turn to look at him so she fills the silence with as many words and explanations as she can.

“So, I don’t know if this is a terrible idea or not. It may be the worst. I may be the worst.”

“You are most definitely not the worst.”

She chooses to ignore him and forges on.

“But, I thought if you missed skating and I don’t know maybe you weren’t ready to head back to Boston, I mean I’m not ready for you to head to Boston either. But yeah, maybe this would be okay. I know for a fact we’ll be alone. This is a friend’s property, they make this for Henry every year, so no spectators, nothing to worry about. We can stay for five minutes or five hours, whatever you want really. I hope you aren’t too upset. It was my idea, so if you are mad, get mad at me. Henry was just excited to be involved in a covert mission. He called it Operation Icing.”

She closes her eyes and sucks in a deep breath. She thinks she might get sick.

“Look at me, Swan.”

She pops one eye open and slowly turns.

He might be smiling.

“Now the other one, love.”

She opens both eyes and feels a small weight lift from her chest. He’s smiling, a real genuine Killian Jones smile. A smile she’s come to really, really enjoy.

“Are you mad?”

“Not mad.”

“Okay, that’s um, good. Great really.”

They look back outside. Henry already has his skates on and is taking his first turn on the ice.

“Are you getting on the ice too?” Killian asks, slowly pulling off his seatbelt.

“Oh, I’ll get on. Whether or not I stay on my feet is another question altogether.”

“I won’t let you fall.”

She turns to him with wide eyes.

“And Emma, you were right, I’m not ready to head back to Boston either but it has nothing to do with the Bruins or my hand or anything like that.”

Before she can respond, he’s out of the car, jogging down the path, hollering something to Henry about shifting his weight to his front leg.

She gathers herself, gathers the bag with the skates, and joins him by the outdoor rink.

**

He doesn’t let her fall.

**

The first day they met, the circles under his eyes were dark and his whole spirit looked defeated; He’d steadily looked better every day since then. Rested, easier smiles, less irritated looks towards his injured hand.

Which is why when her phone rings and all she hears is her name rasped out in pain, everything in her seizes up. She quickly looks to Henry who is thoroughly invested in his video game before slipping into the kitchen.

“Killian, what’s happened? Are you okay?”

She can hear his ragged breathing, she can almost feel his panic.

“Killian? Where are you?”

“I’m at home. I’m, could you come over? Is Henry alright alone for a moment?”

“Of course, of course. I’ll be right over.”

The phone goes dead and she very deliberately tucks it in her front pocket. She does everything cautiously because if she doesn’t, she might panic as well, having no idea what is going on.

“Hey kid, you okay if I pop over to Killian’s for a second? He just needs my help with something and I’ll be right back?”

He barely takes his eyes off the screen, “Yup.”

She lets herself into Killian’s and finds it dark. She follows the stream of light down the hall and sees it coming from the bathroom.

“Killian?” she asks hesitantly, rapping on the door. It opens of its own accord, revealing Killian pressed against the wall, head back, breath coming in quick pants, a pallor to his skin.

She takes a step in and finally sees his injured hand wrapped in towel, a few spots of blood blooming across the white fabric.

“What happened?”

When he doesn’t answer she touches his chest, places her hand over his heart. She feels it racing. At her touch, he finally speaks, eyes still clenched shut.

“I’m not sure. I was trying to do something in the kitchen and I moved too quickly. I hit my hand, there was blood. I, I don’t know. It’s not the blood. I,” his words come between quick gulps of air. “Emma, if I screwed up my hand again. If I have to have another surgery, if I never plays again--”

His breath comes quicker and she can see what’s happening. She can see him working himself up and she hasn’t looked at his hand yet but if she had to guess, it’s probably fine. What is happening, is a panic attack.

“Killian. Killian, look at me.”

Her hands cup his face, thumbs running gently over his cheeks. He’s clammy and cool.

“Killian,” she urges again and his eyes finally flutter open. She gives him a gentle smile.

“Try taking a deep breath.” She waits until he does, and then nods as he takes a few more. “That’s it.”

He’s still shaking, so she drops the lid on the toilet and urges him to sit, never really letting go. Once he’s settled, she takes his good hand and places it on her hip.

“Squeeze. Feel something real and solid and concentrate on that. Keep breathing.”

He squeezes her once, twice, three times before dropping his head to her stomach. The pressure doesn’t let up on her hip but as she runs her fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck, his breathing finally begins to calm.

“You’re okay,” she whispers any time his breath shudders out and once even that stops, she finally decides to look at his hand.

“I mean, I’m no doctor but I’ll let you know if it’s still there.”

She feels even better when his low laugh vibrates against her stomach.

She pulls the cloth away. She can see where he must have knocked his hand hard enough to draw blood but the small wound is already clotting, no swelling, nothing looks out of place. She turns on the hot water and dabs the area with the cloth, cleaning it up.

“I think we can put a Band-Aid on it and I mean, you should probably call your doctor eventually but I think you’re going to be okay.”

She presses a kiss to the back of his hand, away from the injury and finds his eyes watching her as she pulls away. With the crisis over, she feels her own adrenaline kick in and has to will her body not to shake with the force of it.

“How does it feel now?”

He doesn’t seem to hear her question, choosing instead to look at her in wonder. It does nothing to help the shaking she is trying to keep under control.

She runs the back of her hand across his forehead, happy he doesn’t feel so cold.

“Killian?”

That seems to shake him out of his reverie. He squeezes her hip again.

“Better. Much better. I think I just, panicked,” he finally admits.

“Good. I’m glad.”

She runs her hand through his hair, over his ear, something about touching him, seeing his eyes flutter closed, grounds her.

Until a thought crosses her mind.

“This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have forced you out skating yesterday.”

“You didn’t force me, Swan.”

“I told you to get in the car and didn’t tell you where we were going.”

“You asked me politely to get in the car,” he clarifies.

“Demanded.”

“Strongly suggested.”

Emma huffs. He isn’t making it easy to assume the responsibility, but as she looks at him again, she is happy to see the color returning to his cheeks, his blue eyes clear and sure.

“I also broke into your apartment and found your skates.”

He looks thoughtful for a moment.

“Is it really breaking and entering if I leave the door unlocked for you?”

“I even my brought my kid along to temper your reaction. I mean, who can get mad at Henry?”

Yup, she is shaking now, well aren’t they a pair.

“It’s not your fault, love. I was trying to do too much at once, I wasn’t aware of my surroundings.”

“I just would hate,” Emma’s words catch in her throat as Killian stands, hand still on her hip as he crowds into her space.

Her back hits the wall and she hiccups a small sound of surprise. He rests his forehead against hers and she finds herself holding onto his waist just as tight as he is holding onto hers.

“I would hate to think of not having you here to help me. I can’t imagine. So, thank you.” His voice is a whisper as his lips find her forehead.

“You’d be fi-ine,” she stutters out as he moves to her cheek and presses another kiss there, and then again to the opposite side, all the while whispering his thanks.

She’s not sure how she’s still standing.

He pulls back just enough to look into her eyes, just enough so she can see those eyes drop to her lips, his intentions clear.

She’s not sure if he dips or she rises up on her toes but they meet somewhere in the middle. She hears that sound again from him, something caught between a hum and groan, and it’s something she feels across every inch of her and rolling against her tongue as she opens up for him.

He can’t seem to get close enough, his fingers tightening on her hip, urging her against him. Her hips rising to meet him.

“Oh.” Her sigh of want is lost between them, swallowed by lips that continue to taste, to insist on more.

When he finally moves away from her mouth, when his face is buried against her neck, sucking against her pulse point and his groan causes goosebumps to appear across her skin, she finally finds her voice. Barely.

“I should get back, Henry and—”

Oh, she tries, she really does but when looks up and his eyes are dark and his nose keeps brushing hers, she allows herself one more taste.

“I have to get back,” she finally whispers and she feels him nod against her neck, where his lips trail one last time before pulling away. Her whole body is coiled tight.

“I know, love. I could,”

“Come over,” she blurts out.

The most beautiful smile stretches across his face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, we can have supper and finish Window Wonderland.”

This time she feels his laugh against her lips, and can still feel it when she heads back to her apartment, knowing he is soon to follow.

**

He’s in her living room, staring out the window, when she gets home from work. Nothing usual or startling about that anymore, she almost comes to expect it. What she doesn’t expect is the hard set to his shoulders, the tension she can almost feel from across the room.

She should have known. She watches enough Christmas movies to know something always goes wrong. She’s lived enough of her own heartbreak to know what she’d found was too good to be true. Her lips must be cursed.

“Everything okay?”

She knows the answer is no. She can feel it in her bones but maybe she can be wrong this time. Please be wrong this time.

He doesn’t turn but he speaks, his tone harsh.

“Did you tell Sidney Glass where to find me? Did you tell the Globe?”

Emma doesn’t like the clear accusatory tone of his voice, it doesn’t sound like he’s asking questions. He should know better, he should know her better by now. But she can see he’s worked himself up again and she knows what an asshole Sidney Glass is, so maybe she can let this slide.

“Did you sell me out to get better placement for your article?”

No. Not that though.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. How else did he find me? How else does he know that I haven’t been back to Boston for the PT I should be doing?”

Emma approaches him slowly, trying to stay calm but he takes a step back.

“You know what, it doesn’t matter. I wanted to look up something on your computer and I saw all the tabs, the research into the Bruins staff.”

Emma’s reeling, she has no idea what’s going, she can’t keep up with the accusations. She shakes her head.

“So, you believe him? Over me? Over what we,” she trips over that last thought. “That’s what you think of me?”

“What am I supposed to think?” he asks, voice rising.

Before Emma can say that he’s supposed to trust her, they are interrupted by Henry’s trembling voice.

“That was me.”

They both look over at the same time. Her kid looks ready to cry and now she’s mad. She hears Killian’s quiet curse.

“I was looking stuff up. Not mom. It was for Operation Stanley. For you. I don’t know who that Glass guy is. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad at mom.”

She sees the first tear fall down Henry’s cheek and she wants to hit something, preferably Killian.

Henry disappears down the hall and they both jump when his door slams.

“I think you should leave.”

“Emma,” he quickly pleads, all the fight gone, looking like he only now realizes how much of an idiot he is.

“I don’t know what kind of holiday miracle I was thinking this was. Things like this don’t happen in real life. Besides, you’ll be back in Boston soon enough and leave us anyway. So, it’s probably just best if you go now. I really need to check on Henry.”

“Emma,” he tries again, sounding broken. Well, she guesses they are all a little broken right now, her own dam all but ready to burst.

“You can let yourself out.”

She leaves him standing there.

** Henry’s pain is easier to soothe than her own but she doesn’t much care for her own feelings right now. Or maybe it’s just easier to bury them. She’s good at that.

She assures Henry that Killian isn’t mad at him. That it was a misunderstanding and he had to visit his own family for Christmas. It could be true. She’s not sure. She hasn’t seen him. Not that she’s looked, much. Maybe she knocked once, but the home next to hers remains dark and still.

She appreciates Henry’s easy acceptance. Even if he might not completely believe her, even if he’s believing for her.

She has a really great kid.

They open their presents on Christmas morning, just the two of them. They stay in their pajamas all day and have breakfast for dinner. They FaceTime Mary Margaret and David and promise they can’t wait to see them for New Year.

It’s fine and nice, just like every Christmas, but even though neither say it, they both know someone is missing.

She holds Henry a little tighter that night as they watch The Goonies.

**

“How long do you think it would take for someone to find us if we hit a snowbank?”

Emma eases the car to a careful stop at the blinking red traffic light, and she counts it as a victory that her heart only stutters once when her back tires drift to the right.

“Not helping, kid.”

She loosens her hands on the steering wheel and turns to stare down her son. She feels more confident keeping her eyes on him than looking back outside.

Henry grins.

“Sorry. You’re doing great, ma. Just think of the story we’ll have to tell David and Mary Margaret,” Henry tries instead, and Emma sniffs a small laugh. “Maybe try the high beams?”

She switches her headlights to high, and they both look outside.

“Well, now I feel like we’re in that Stephen King movie,” Emma mumbles.

The high beams only exacerbate the problem, magnifying the amount of snow racing towards the car against the black night.

“That movie was hilarious,” Henry snorts out a laugh when Emma glares at him. He wiggles his gloved fingers at her. “Give me what I want, and I’ll go away,” he quotes from the movie before falling back into his seat, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“I should have never let you watch that.”

“You mean I shouldn’t have let you watch it,” Henry corrects her.

Emma shakes her head but finally cracks a smile before turning back to the challenge at hand. She checks both ways, although it’s not like there’s anyone else dumb enough to be on the roads, and eases forward. The snow cushions the sound of the tires, and they quietly roll further up the winding street.

“How about a driving song?” she asks, needing the distraction. Henry immediately fiddles with his iPod.

Emma startles at the quick drum beat and then has to laugh; he’s chosen, It’s the end of the world.

“And I feel fine,” the both sing together.

***

They pull up to a rustic but charming two-story cabin. It has wrap around decks and Christmas lights that twinkle from beneath the newly fallen snow. The windows glow warmly, and smoke rises in thick plumes from the stone chimney. It looks like the perfect way to spend New Year’s and judging by the amount of snow that is still falling, the next few days as well.

Emma is grateful for the escape from reality and the promise of a friendly shoulder to lean on.

When she and Henry had finally found the Low River Road turn-off, they’d given a small cheer and held their breath as her bug inched up the final steep hill. (With a small note to let David and Mary Margaret know, maybe they could rent a place a little less out of the way.) But now that the handbrake is pulled and the motor off, it’s not so bad.

“Grab your suitcase and the green grocery bag.”

It doesn’t take them long to load up with their bags and push through the snow to reach the front door. After a knock that is met with silence, they figure Mary Margaret and David are busy with dinner preparations and let themselves in.

“Whoa, this is awesome,” Henry whispers in awe as they step inside. They find themselves in a large living room, a fire crackling at one end, large picture windows lining the front wall. Emma has to grab him by the hood before he tracks snow all over the floor.

“Boots, coat, and grab a bag, then you can go find Mary Margaret and David and explore.”

Emma drops her bags and turns to hang her coat when she feels Henry tugging on her arm.

“Uh, mom,” he mumbles.

“One sec, I have hat hair,” she responds tipping her head over to shake out her blonde curls.

“Mom. Now.”

She stands up, words about patience on the tip of her tongue but they get stuck in her throat.

Two people she’s never seen before stand across from them, peeking out from what she assumes is the kitchen, matching confused expressions.

She blinks and reaches for Henry, tugging him closer.

“You said the address was 223,” she mutters.

“It is,” he whispers back peevishly, clearly offended at her assumption that he got something wrong.

And so, Emma takes a deep breath and smiles.

“You wouldn’t happen to have David and Mary Margaret Nolan hiding in the kitchen?” she asks, stuffing her hands in her back pockets.

The couple approaches, not looking much older than her, smiles tentative. She’s clearly interrupted them making dinner, as the man has a Kiss the Cook apron on and the woman is drying her hands on a towel, but they don’t look put out, just a little puzzled.

Before anyone can say anything else another voice calls out from the kitchen.

“Did you want the Pinot Noir or the Cabernet?”  

Emma’s heart might stop completely.

Un-fucking-believable. This isn’t real life. This doesn’t happen.

A dark, messy head of hair looks through the doorway, first, at the couple he clearly knows and then to Emma and Henry. He nearly falls into the living room.

“Emma? Henry?”

She hiccups out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

“Killian,” she mumbles and feels all eyes on her.

***

It doesn’t take long to figure out the misunderstanding. Mary Margaret and David are in fact on 223 Low River Road but somehow in the storm, Emma and Henry had turned on High River Road and let themselves into a cottage that belonged to complete strangers.

Well. Sort of.

The cottage is owned by Liam and Elsa Jones, an extremely welcoming and understanding couple, who also happen to be Killian’s brother and sister-in-law. And while Emma and Killian had stared in silent shock at each other, Elsa had taken charge. She insisted Emma and Henry come inside and warm up by the fire while they figured everything out. Emma had tried to beg off but no sooner were the words out of her mouth, Elsa was at her side, arm around her shoulders.

“Nonsense.”

She just manages to grab onto Henry’s hand, all the while carefully avoiding any direct eye contact with the wide blue eyes that seem to want to say a hundred different things. She isn’t sure she is ready for any of them.

**

“I mean if we made it here, we could probably make it over there,” Emma states without much conviction as she stares out the front window, arms tight around herself. If she squints, she can just make out the glowing lights of David and Mary Margaret’s cottage across the lake.

“You can’t possibly head back out in this, don’t be an idiot,” Killian finally blurts out from the kitchen threshold.

Emma slowly turns to him, as does everyone else.

“That’s the first thing you have to say to me?” she asks. “Pretty sure there’s one idiot in this room and it’s not me.”

Killian sputters, Liam hides his laugh behind a cough, Henry looks shocked and Elsa hurries across the room to wrap an arm around Killian’s waist.

“I think what my brother-in-law is trying to say is, no one should be out in this weather. They won’t clear the roads until morning, and he would much rather have you here safe. We all would. I’m sure your brother told you the same thing.”

Emma opens and closes her mouth and eyes the window, watching the snow continue to fall, thicker and harder than before. Elsa isn’t wrong, David actually threatened to leave her in the cold if she dared to leave.

“We have plenty of food and beds for you,” Elsa adds, smile wide, but Emma notices the pinch she gives to Killian’s side, silencing him. “And plenty of Champagne.”

Emma looks to Henry who shrugs, but she sees the beginnings of a smile overtaking his face, although he hesitates, looking to Killian.

“You really don’t mind?”

A small crack in her armor appears at the sight of Killian’s frustrated demeanor crumbling at Henry’s question.

“Oh, Henry” he starts, pained, and takes a step forward but stops, looking to Emma. She gives him a tight nod.

She has to look away when Killian drops to his knee in front of Henry.

“Lad, of course I don’t mind. I’m quite glad you’re here, that the fates deemed me lucky enough to ring in the New Year with you and your mum. I’m truly sorry what I did made you think otherwise. As ever, your mother is right, I am indeed an idiot and I hope you can forgive me.”

Henry surprises Killian with a hug, nearly knocking him off balance.

She won’t cry.

She roughly rubs a stray tear away with the back of her hand.

She won’t cry more than a tear.

Emma pulls in a deep breath through her nose, trying to get her eyes to focus on something, anything, outside.

“Think I could go apologize to your mum now?”

Henry’s answer is whispered but she assumes it must be in the affirmative because the next thing she hears is Elsa asking him if he wants to help pick out some dessert and Liam’s deep chuckle at whatever Henry’s response is.

She can’t bring herself to move from her spot by the window, especially not when she feels him behind her, close and warm and he has to know.

“I didn’t talk to Sidney Glass.”

“I know,” comes his quiet reply.

“I would never have done that to you.”

“I know.”

“But,”

She feels his hand at her elbow and allows him to turn her. His hand moves to brush against her cheek, knuckles wiping away the wet trails. She clearly isn’t very good at the one tear thing.

“How do you know? How do you know now and not then? Who did you speak to? What,” her voice catches. “What do you want?”

“You,” he says simply.

She shakes her head.

“I don’t…”

“I know you. I knew then it wasn’t you but I let him in my head, I’m so terribly sorry. I saw the research, I had a voicemail from my trainer and I panicked. I’m having a harder time handling this injury than I thought and I took it out on the wrong people.”

His hand finds her hip and squeezes and it’s like something clicks in place. She really looks at him for the first time since arriving. She sees the sincerity in his eyes, sees the man that reached for her in his moment of panic and she lets herself lean into him, hand over his heart. He seems to sag in relief.

“I went to Boston,” he reveals and her hand tightens in his shirt but he shakes his head at her worry. “Wait,” he whispers and takes a deep breath.

“I went to Boston to see my doctor. You were right, I didn’t do anything but superficial damage to my hand that night. In fact, it’s healing quite well and she thinks that I can start some rehabilitation as soon as this week. But I’m going to do it here, in Storybrooke.”

Her eyes widen in surprise and Killian actually smiles. It’s small and a little nervous, but also, hopeful.

“You’re going to stay here?”

“Well, I’ll have to go back to Boston from time to time and eventually I hope I can hold a stick again and play but,”

“You’re totally going to play again,” Emma interrupts his explanation but then apologizes, “Sorry, sorry, but?”

Her heart races while she waits but his full smile now lets her know she has nothing to be anxious about.

“But right now, we have time, here. That is, if you’ll have me? And then we can figure out the rest, together.”

She nods, not trusting her voice. He pulls her closer, forehead falling to hers.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she finally answers, nose nudging against his, lips so close she can almost taste him.

“You guys almost done? Dinner’s getting cold.”

She nearly jumps out of her skin at Liam’s booming voice but she doesn’t go far, instead nearly collapses into Killian. She just catches Henry’s grin across the room before burying her face into Killian’s shoulder, delighting at the feel of his exasperated laugh and his whispered words.

“I got you.”

**

They eat, they drink, they ignore the blustery weather outside and they finally make it to the final ten seconds before the New Year.

And when the clock strikes twelve, Emma finds Henry first, peppering him with kisses that he pretends to hate but laughs the whole way through. She lets herself be pulled into a hug from Liam and to a kiss on the cheek from Elsa but from across the room her eyes find Killian’s and she knows what she wants.

They meet in the middle and she shivers as his lips find her ear.

“Happy New Year, love.”

She glances around and when she finds Henry happily occupied with Elsa and Liam, she tightens her grip on Killian’s hand and tugs him around the corner into the hall.

His breath whooshes out of him when his back hits the wall but he seems more than happy to be in that position. Emma presses up against every delicious inch of him, arms winding around his neck.

“Okay?” she whispers her question against his lips before swallowing his humming agreement, easily getting lost in the warm, wet slide of his tongue. And she knows they should stop, should rejoin the group but he tugs her closer, and she wants to taste the champagne on his lips a little longer so she gives herself a few more moments of being selfish.

When they finally pull away, and she works to calm her breathing, she finds his eyes, blue and full of an emotion neither might be ready to name but she’s certainly close to feeling.

“Happy New Year, Killian,” she finally says, heart absolutely full.

And maybe she lets him kiss her one last time for good measure.

[artistic-writer]

Ultimate Fulfillment :: A CS AU :: E

Captain Swan Secret Santa 2017

Title: Ultimate Fulfillment Summary: Emma Swan does not want romance or the complications of dating.  She just has an itch that she needs to get scratched, and soon.  When her friends David and Mary Margaret sign her up to an app called ‘Ultimate Fulfillment’ with no idea what it is actually for, Emma finds a key that seems to fit into her lock perfectly! Rating: E Word count: 5323 - AO3 Author/Recipient: @artistic-writer for @queencatycat AN: Written for @queencatycat for the CS Secret Santa 2017 - I really tried to stalk you enough to make this worth your while.  I hope you like it, because in truth, who doesn’t like a little bit of daddy!kink with their CS ;)  It was fun talking to you all December, and again, i am so sorry this is late but it got away from me and I wanted to make sure it was perfect!

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At one stage, Emma thought she could have throttled Mary Margaret and David for buying her a subscription to the damn app.  And then she thought she would phone the company directly and give them a piece of her mind, insisting that privacy should be their key priority and what use was their app for that if anybody could simply buy their friend a subscription using said friend’s personal information.  Dating was not Emma’s strong point, and luckily the Nolans knew her well enough not to sign her up to one of these lovey dovey, ‘real match’ websites.  That was not what she wanted.

No.  What she wanted was intrigue, mystery, and a man who could rock her world.  She didn’t want to get tied up in emotions (maybe just tied up) or spend the night, she simply wanted a man who knew what she wanted and how to show her a good time.  She wanted to be gone before he woke up, leaving him yearning for more.  Emma Swan didn’t want to brag, but she was a lady in the street and a freak in the bed, so she had wondered if Mary Margaret had realised what a subscription to ‘Ultimate Fulfillment’ actually was.

Luckily, Emma never had to tell her.  All she had to do was sign in, fill in a few more intimate fields and upload a photograph that didn’t give her six chins and make her look like a bloated corpse.   ‘Ultimate Fulfillment’ was supposed to be an algorithm based app that paired like minded people with certain kinks, eliminating the need and time required to attend specialist parties and conventions.  All she had to do was wait for the app to pair her with a suitable date based on similar interests.  Sexual interests.

The first date she went on was horrible.  How the app had suggested a ninety seven percent match Emma had no clue.  The guy was charming, smart enough, but he had an awful peanut like smell that made Emma think that maybe his sexual interests were a little more...food orientated than he had initially divulged.  The guy even laughed like a chimpanzee and so after letting him buy her dinner, Emma thanked him for a great evening and went straight into her app to blacklist him.

The second date she was matched to, Emma prepared herself for the worst.  At first, he wasn’t half bad.  He was handsome, rugged and Emma even noticed the way that his lips twitched into a tiny sideways smile when he was happy.  Sadly, the app neglected to mention their shared sexual interest, so Emma had to try and work it into the conversation over a rather large pizza.  Domination, as it turned out, would work better for him if Emma took charge, and he was sure she would enjoy it, despite her absolute protests on the matter.  Emma didn’t even hug this one goodnight, instead blacklisting him whilst she still sat opposite him in the restaurant.

Date three was unhinged; a crazy eyed, mad as a march hare sculptor who wanted to cover Emma in plaster, leaving a little hole by which to fuck her, and then paint her.  Oh, and he could only do it whilst she was on her period, because that would be his medium of choice.  Not Emma’s sort of kink, not what she had agreed to when he had sounded so normal over the phone, and not in a million years.  She was so glad their date was in a public place, and politely excused herself to the restroom, ducking out the back and blacklisting him on her way to her car.  So much for third time lucky.

Emma didn’t need this.  She was a busy bail bonds person with very little time to actually socialize and meet people.  It was one of the reasons she had given the app a try, the other being Mary Margaret’s insistence of her finding a nice young man to fall in love with.  With a smile Emma had told her she would give it a go, but deep down love was not on her agenda.  Emma just needed an itch scratched, but she did have a short checklist of requirements that she didn’t think would be this hard to fulfill.

On a rare day off, Emma decided to just sit at home all day and do absolutely nothing.  It was her favourite activity, after the obvious, which also wasn’t totally out of the question right now.  She’d had a bath as hot as she could take it, her skin still red as she lay on her bed wrapped in just a towel, the fluffy white fibres caressing her bare thighs and breasts.  With a little hum, Emma brushed her fingertips over her covered nipples, enjoying the tingle as her skin tightened and they jumped to attention.  If she couldn’t find a man to sate her needs, she would damn well do it herself.

As soon as the familiar ache between her legs had set in and her hand wandered south to glide through the fresh, sweet dampness of her arousal, Emma was rudely interrupted by the buzz of her phone.  It was a strange, two short vibration alert that meant she had another match on ‘ Ultimate Fulfillment’ .  With a short, frustrated huff, Emma gave up on her self pleasure and reached for her phone on the nightstand beside her bed.  She swiped the app open and with a twitch of a smile her anger disappeared, the profile of the man who might just be the answer to her problems lighting up her face.

K.Jones.  36 years old.  Bookshop owner originally from England but settled in Maine now for a little over six years.  Ninety-nine percent match.  No profile picture, but that was okay, Emma wasn’t interested in watching the mantlepiece whilst someone was poking her fire.  She just needed someone, something, anything inside of her to relieve the insatiable need to be fucked, and a ninety-nine percent match meant K.Jones was more than willing to accommodate her needs.  With a grin, she sent K.Jones a message, maybe a little too boldly, asking what he was up to right that second.  In not so many words.

“Wanna fuck? 207-219-7561”

There was a short pause before Emma’s phone rang, the theme tune to COPS blaring through the tinny speaker out into the room.  Number unknown flashed across the display and Emma fought with her lips as she answered, lest K.Jones be one of those people who could hear a smile.

“Emma Swan,” Emma smirked into the phone, knowing who it was but also unsure whether or not it might be a work call.  She was not immune to being interrupted on her days off.

“Swan,” the voice said in a deep, sultry tone that made Emma shudder.  Not a work call.

“K.Jones,” Emma retorted, relaxing back into the pillows of her bed.

“Killian,” he almost whispered, his voice the epitome of sex with his luxuriously devilish British accent.  “Call me Killian.”

“I don’t think names are necessary,” Emma smirked, toying with the edge of her towel, watching her finger as she traced the cotton edge.

“Oh, I see,” Killian purred into the phone.  “But how will you know what to scream as you come, love?”

Emma wasn’t sure if he heard her gasp, but she did.  Normally she would have laughed at such a statement, clearly not swayed by the audacity and flirtation of such a line, but coming, no dripping from the maw of a man she had never met, never even seen, had Emma’s body reacting in a way she had never experienced before.  Her skin tightened all over her body and her nipples sprang to attention once more, eager for more that would not come while Killian Jones was at the other end of a cell phone.

“That’s very presumptuous,” Emma grinned, enjoying the way Killian Jones set her body ablaze and ignited the spark between her thighs.  If only he knew.

A small chuckle trickled down the line as Killian laughed at her words.  “And ‘wanna fuck’ wasn’t?  I’d wager you are much hornier than you let on, Miss Swan.  Maybe I can help rectify this situation.”  He knew.

“It seems you are a master of flirtation, Mr. Jones,” Emma licked her lips salaciously and was sure the mystery at the end of the line, all man shaped and full of sexual tension, could hear her.

“You should see what I can do with my hands,” Killian said smoothly and Emma felt a giggle tumble from her lips. She could practically hear him smirking.

“Maybe,” Emma shrugged.  “Maybe I just need another body part to satisfy my needs,” she whispered seductively.

Killian inhaled hard and audibly and Emma wondered what kind of reaction she was having on his body.  “Would you like to see me?  It seems I have you at a disadvantage, Miss Swan,” Killian purred and Emma could swear he was grinning again. “You have a beautiful profile photo.”

“Are you going to send me a dick pic?” Emma snorted.  She’d heard a similar line before and really hoped Killian Jones was not another eye roll worthy candidate for the blacklist.

“Would you like one?”

“I’d better not,” Emma feigned a sigh.  “I’m only wearing a towel so you know…”

“Indeed,” Killian agreed with an equally exaggerated sigh.  “I’m not sure my phone has a wide enough lens anyway.”

“Oh, he’s funny too,” Emma teased, trying desperately to ignore the way she was clutching the phone to her ear.  

“He’s honest,” Killian clarified matter of factly.  “I would not lie to you.”

The electric buzz over her entire body, infecting every skin cell and making her metaphorically weak in the knees was incredible.  It was addictive, a drug, and Emma wanted more.  For the first time in the thirty years she had been alive, Emma Swan wanted to know more about this man.  She wanted to know what he looked like naked, what he liked to eat, what he did for fun, all of the things she had vowed never to want to know about anyone who could complicate her life.  Emma Swan was lusting over a man, and she wanted the knowledge of his life.

She wanted Killian Jones.

“Ninety-nine percent,” Emma choked out, clearing her throat midway after she was silenced by his admission.

“Ninety-nine percent?” Killian asked softly.

“The app says we are a ninety-nine percent match,” Emma lowered her voice.  “Sexually.”

“Ah,” Killian signalled his realisation and Emma could hear him licking his lips.  “The app is wrong, love,” he said defiantly and Emma flushed hot, her stomach falling away from her.  Great.  Now she would never hear the end of ‘chasing away one of the good ones’ from Mary Margaret.  “I would say we are closer to one hundred,” Killian said darkly and the prickly heat on Emma’s flesh turned to desire instantly.

“How much closer can you get?” Emma purred.

“Why don’t you tell me where you live so I can come and peel you out of your towel and show you.”

Emma giggled.  Actually full on, school girl giggled.  Fuck you, Killian Jones.  No one had ever made her do that before and she liked it.  She liked the way the hair on the back of her neck stood on end and her throat constricted with dryness, the towel loosening around her body once more when her skin contracted and her toes curled themselves into the duvet cover.

“You have no profile picture and half of the fields in your profile are empty, so I have no idea in what way we are matched.  You are a mystery, Mr. Jones,” Emma rolled over, squeezing her thighs together to try and relieve the ache in her sex.

“Invite me over and I can show you what I look like and exactly how we are matched,” Killian insisted with a hint of sexual aggression that Emma had tried so hard to find but had never managed to.  Could it be that she had found a man with the ability to scratch her itch?  Emma bit her bottom lip.

“Will you be my daddy?” Emma whimpered into the phone.

Killian groan of pleasure gave Emma the answer she was looking for and she texted him her address quicker than the surge of adrenaline to her core.

There wasn’t even enough time for Emma to change her mind before Killian Jones was knocking on the door to her apartment.  Her job kept her busy, so busy in fact that she had very little time to actually spend at home, so at least the place was tidy.  Although, Emma doubted very much that Killian Jones was about to enter her life and offer her feng shui tips.  At least, she hoped he wasn’t.  Still dressed in a towel, Emma pulled her fingers through her nearly dry tussled hair and reached for the door knob.

She paused, hand on the cold silver knob.  “Who is it?” she called sweetly, licking her bottom lip as she strained to listen through the heavy wooden door.

“It’s your daddy,” came the reply in a dark tone so full of sinful luxury that Emma couldn’t pull the door open quick enough and when she did, there was nothing that she could do but stare.

Killian Jones was absolutely beautiful, gorgeous, an unbroken work of art sculpted by the very hand of God.  He stood with his hands in the pockets of some very tight black jeans that sat perfectly atop his polished black Brogue style boots.  His shirt was equally as black, ironed perfectly and militarily crisp, unbuttoned at the collar to reveal a fine thatch of inviting chest hair and a very grabbable silver chain that called out to Emma’s fingers.  He was wearing a leather jacket (of course he was) as black as space and a fine layer of stubble littered his jawline and surrounded his very kissable mouth.  Finally, and what probably had the same effect on all women, was his hair, pitch dark and flopped over his forehead, drawing Emma’s gaze to some of the bluest eyes she had ever seen that crinkled at the edges when he smirked at her frozen reaction.

“You don’t look like a bookshop owner,” Emma finally said, swallowing hard and fighting the urge to let her eyes cast one more fleeting gaze over his spectacular being.  Killian chuckled and shuffled his weight, looking at the ceiling and squaring his jaw with a grit of his teeth.  He licked his lips and let his head fall forward once more, his own hungry eyes roaming Emma’s towel clad body.

“And you do not look like anything like your profile picture,” he swooned, stepping forward and leaning on the frame of Emma’s front door.  Emma did not step back, instead inhaling the scent of him, woody and masculine, as he stepped into her space and hooked a thumb behind the buckle of his belt.

Emma gave him a quizzical look before flicking her hair over her shoulder with a toss of her head.  She watched the drop of his gaze to the bare skin of her shoulder and grinned.  “Are you disappointed?” She teased and unable to resist any further, she reached out between them and let her finger trace the cool, metal edge on his jacket zip, pulling her finger across the teeth until she reached the exposed part of his chest.

“Are you?” Killian grinned, his eyebrow jumping up on his face as he watched the glint in Emma’s eyes when she spread her fingers out over his skin, through his dark chest hair and finally raked her nails over his chest with an innocent shake of her head.

“I’m sure I can work with this,” Emma leered, closed her hand around the chain around his neck and pulled him into the apartment so fast that neither of them really had time to recover before Killian was slammed against the door and Emma’s lips were on his.

If at all possible, kissing Killian Jones felt like the most surreal experience of Emma’s life.  It was like she had been there before, her lips pressed to his and their tongues duelling in a well rehearsed dance of muscle memory that made her body ache from her head to her toes.  His lips were soft but his scruff tickled at the edges of her smile as his tongue explored her mouth, pushing forward and chasing her kiss for more when they needed to breathe and their lips parted.  His hand found the back of her head, making sure that she couldn’t escape him as his other hand snaked around her waist and pulled her body flush against his.

“Have we met before?” Emma panted between kisses, her fingers fumbling with the buckle of his jeans, the metal clattering against her hardwood floor when she pulled the leather strap free and tossed it aside.

“I would have remembered,” Killian rasped, sliding his lips from Emma’s to plant hot, wet kisses down the line of her jaw with a contented hum.  Emma pushed his jacket off his shoulders and Killian reluctantly let her go so that he could free his arms from the leather sleeves.

“It’s just…” Emma stammered, her eyes rolling back in her head and all of her coherent thought disappearing when she felt Killian Jones grind his very apparent arousal against the thin towel covering her mound.  Emma dropped his jacket behind him and clutched the back of his neck, keeping his lips to her skin where they continued to brand her body with each and every kiss he lavished down her neck.  Killian pushed against her body gently, walking them backwards further into the apartment.

“We would have both remembered,” he grinned against her skin, letting his tongue dart out to taste the skin on the top swell of her breasts as he kicked his shoes and socks off with ease.

“You’re right,” Emma agreed, pulling herself from his grasp and making him look at her, his already dishevelled hair falling even further over his fine features.  She stepped back, leaving him with a confused look, before she took even more of his breath away as she dropped her towel, feigning shyness behind a bite of her bottom lip.  “You would have remembered this, right?”

Killian surged forward silently once more, closing the gap between them and pushing his lips against hers so pleasurably hard that Emma thought he might be bruising them.  Emma reached up on her tiptoes, looping her arms around the back of his head and pressing her body harder into his.  She could feel the hard planes of his chest under his shirt and her nipples hardened when they brushed against the softness of his shirt, but even more evident was the size of Killian’s erection that strained in his jeans.

Emma’s hands went to work on the buttons of his shirt quickly, her nimble fingers making short work of them before the back of her hand brushed against the bulge in his jeans.  Killian gasped and Emma missed the taste of him instantly when he broke the kiss to give her a big, boyish grin that she mirrored back right away with a salacious lick of her lips.  “And I am sure I would have remembered this,” Emma purred, rubbing her hand over the length of him through the denim covering.

“My god woman,” Killian groaned through a clenched jaw as Emma unbuttoned his jeans and he tore his shirt from his back, both offending items thrown carelessly away from them.  “Where have you been hiding?”

“Who said I was hiding?” Emma smiled seductively, letting him pull her back into his arms and relishing the immediate burn of his skin on hers.

“I honestly live like three blocks away,” Killian nipped at her neck, hands roaming over the dip in her back, the curve of her hips and under the round swell of her buttocks where he found Emma so wet he thought he might be dreaming.  “I’ve never seen you before.”

“Then you need to pay more attention,” Emma chastised before wrapping her long fingers around the girth of him and slowly shifting the skin over his shaft with a gentle twist of her wrist.  

Killian hissed.  “Oh, I’m paying attention now,” he moaned.  “Daddy is listening.”

She was not sure how, but in the excitement of finding out that Killian Jones was not only an absolutely gorgeous specimen of a man and not at all as weird as her last matches, Emma had forgotten about the need to satisfy her desire.  When the app had asked for her sexual fantasies, Emma had immediately thought of her daddy kink.  It was the perfect way to escape her hectic, dominant lifestyle and job and have someone else take care of her in ways she could have only dream of.  She hoped.

“You’d better be good to me, Daddy,” she whimpered innocently.  “I need it.”

“Do you now?” Killian didn’t even wait for an answer before he snaked his hands down the back of Emma’s thighs and lifted her into his arms, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist with a delighted squeal.  “Tell Daddy where the bedroom is, there’s a good love, and we’ll see to what you need.”

As he carried her down the hall where she was pointing, Emma could feel Killian’s arousal bumping her wetness with each step urging on her own lustful desire.  She couldn’t wait to see how it felt to have him inside of her because he had been right, his camera lens probably had been inadequate for photographing the throbbing hardness that was between them.  Emma’s clit pulsed as she squeezed her thighs tighter, desperately trying to gain some sort of friction from Killian’s body.  He noticed.

“There, there, love,” he soothed, stilling her movement with a firm grip on both her hips.  Emma whined and pulled his bottom lip between her teeth, sucking away the pleasurable pain left by her bite immediately afterwards.  “You are a thirsty girl, aren’t you?” Killian smirked and Emma gave him a coy smile.

“Yes, Daddy,” she cooed, threading her fingers into his hair and pulling his face back to hers.  Killian stumbled through what he assumed was Emma’s bedroom door, his shoulder bumping into the frame and causing a shooting pain through the joint.  He ignored it with a grunt.  That could be seen to later.

When his knees bumped the edge of Emma’s bed he pulled his lips from hers and threw her down.  Emma hit the mattress with a squeal, bouncing on the duvet and quickly brushing the hair from her face.  God forbid she lose sight of the man who had, not thirty minutes ago, been a flirty voice at the end of a phone line.  He was even more worth the no profile picture gamble now that he was actually standing at the foot of her bed languidly stroking himself as he took in her reclined figure.

“See something you like, Daddy?” Emma purred, writhing a little from side to side, teasing the edge of her lips with a single finger that she used to trace the outline of her smile before darting her tongue out to taste it.  “I know I do,” she breathed, letting her eyes drop to the heaviness in his hand.

“On your knees,” Killian commanded, stroking his shaft faster.  “Daddy wants you on your knees.”

Emma poked out her tongue and rolled over slowly, making sure to wiggle her behind as she pushed it up in the air.  The scent of her arousal was intoxicating, even to herself and Emma reached between her legs to slick her juices over the curve of her labia and the bump of her hardened clit.  She toyed with herself, rocking back onto her hand with a groan.

“Now I do,” Killian growled, stepping forward and reaching for Emma, grabbing her by the hips and pulling her ass flush to his hardness.

Emma let out a gasp and rubbed up his length, teasing him with the hot, pink wetness between her legs.  Killian kneaded the globes of her ass, pinching and pulling at the flesh between his hands as he watched Emma coat his length in her nectar.

“Can I have it now?” Emma begged playfully, arching her back and letting her rock hard nipples brush the fabric of the comforter.  She needed friction.  Any kind.  Anywhere.  This was single handedly the most turned on she had ever been in her life and it was all due to a stranger she had just met but who absolutely understood her needs.  Dare she think that Killian Jones could be more than a one night stand?  The thought was quickly banished from her mind when Killian’s hand slapped her ass.

“Is this what you want?” he growled, soothing the sting in her behind with a soft palm and rubbing himself between the crease in her buttocks at the same time.  Emma could feel him oozing a little from the tip, coating her skin with his precum and she was sure it made her even wetter.

“Yes,” she hissed, clutching the duvet between her fingers in frustration.  “I want that cock inside of me.  Give it to me,” she whined, rocking back and forth to try and soothe the ache of her want.

Another sharp crack echoed into the room as Killian slapped a flat palm to her other cheek and delighted in the way it made Emma squeak out loud.  “Yes, what, love?” he growled, leaning forward and planting his lips to the stinging red handprint on her behind, chasing away her pain with wet, open mouthed kisses.

“Yes please, Daddy,” Emma wiggled in his grasp, looking over her shoulder at him through lust filled eyes.  “I want it, Daddy,” she reiterated with a seductive smirk.  “Give me Daddy’s cock.”

Killian didn’t need asking twice and eagerly lined himself up with Emma’s entrance.  She was soaked, dripping wet from his erotic torture and Emma didn’t know how long it would take before her itch was well and truly scratched, but she was sure it wouldn’t be long.  Even just the tip of him was heaven, stretching the most sensitive part of her wider and wider, the enticing burn accompanying it the icing on her sexual fantasy cake.  She gasped as he inched himself in, the stretch too much in places which he realised from only her body’s reactions and stilled to allow her to accommodate his girth.  Once he was fully encased in her heated core, he smoothed his hands over Emma’s back and followed them with more kisses to her delicate skin.

“Are you okay, love?  I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered into the silence, his words far away in Emma’s ears but the care with which they were laced washed over her like a wave.  Emma had never known any man to care about her well being during a quick fuck session and it turned her on even more, a soft moan escaping her mouth as her body fully relaxed.

“I’m good,” Emma breathed, her words barely audible above the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears.  

“We can stop if…” Killian began but stopped when he felt her inner muscles clench around him as he shifted a little, another sign Emma’s body was fighting to take him all in without pain.

“No!” Emma laughed softly.  “Don’t you fucking go anywhere,” she sighed desperately.  She reached between her legs once more and began drawing slow circles over her hyper sensitive nub, slicking her juices from around her opening and feeling the thick vein in Killian’s erection pulsing against her walls.  “You promised to be my daddy,” she gasped, her voice higher as she wound herself up higher from her ministrations, each swipe over her clit building the release inside of her.

Killian smirked to himself, his erection growing even harder at the sight of Emma playing with herself.  “Aye, love, I did,” he soothed and then, eager to fulfill his promise, Killian withdrew from Emma agonisingly slowly and felt her shudder as he pushed back into her molten core.

“So, what are you waiting for?  Fuck me, Daddy,” Emma commanded sweetly, shooting him another lustful glare over her shoulder.  “Give me what I need,” she pouted.

Emma had never begged before.  It was a new and exciting fantasy she never even knew she would like until now.  She had lots that she did like and it suddenly occurred to her that Killian Jones, Mr. ninety-nine percent match, probably could help her fulfill a good few of them.  With each thrust Emma felt herself grow even more aroused, her juices coating Killian every time he entered her and withdrew with a grunt of satisfaction, and as her body gave out, white flashing behind her eyes and the void of rapture enveloping her, Emma could only feel one thing;  Killian Jones prolonging her orgasm with steady flicks of his tongue over her clit.

She wasn’t sure when he had orgasmed but Emma could feel he had, their combined essences leaking from her throbbing center.  Normally she would insist on leaving, getting cleaned up and vacating the situation right there, but she was too weak to move, besides the fact that they were in her bed, in her apartment.  She rested forward on her elbows, too feeble to hold herself up any longer, and like a blubbering mess she simply quivered each time Killian licked her swollen sex.  The man was a marvel, a legendary creature of mythic sexual proportions and here he was, in her room, filling her with his seed and licking it from her.  Just when Emma thought he couldn’t get any more erotic.

When he was finished, Killian gave her one final lick and swatted her on the behind once more, letting Emma finally roll over on the duvet, spent and slightly sweaty.  She peered up at him, lifting her leg and trailing her toes through the thatch of hair just above his still semi hard member which Killian caught, lifted to his lips and without breaking eye contact, kissed the inside of her ankle so tenderly Emma’s skin tingled even more.

“Maybe I should call your father,” he rasped, his throat dry from his exertions.

“You don’t know my father,” Emma chuckled.

“Tiny detail, love,” he shrugged, kissing her foot once more.

“Why would you want to anyway?” Emma frowned, trying to catch her breath.

“Just to tell him that you call me Daddy too,” Killian winked playfully and Emma covered her face with her hands as she chuckled harder.  Emma felt the bed rock a little as Killian climbed up next to her, another foreign feature of her many one night stands that she somehow didn’t mind from him.  Killian Jones was different.  He was ruggedly handsome and animalistic, a beacon of light in her otherwise mundane lifestyle of monotony and repetition.  Emma liked different.

“I want to see you again,” she admitted shyly as she turned to face him.  Killian smiled, his face impossibly more handsome when he did so, and he brushed a strand of her golden tresses from her face.

“I’d like that,” he nodded and leaned forward, cupped Emma’s face in his hand and captured her lips for a toe curling kiss.  He tasted of her juices with a slight tang of his own and Emma couldn’t stop the moan that slipped from her mouth.  “I’d like that very much,” he pressed his forehead to hers and smoothed his thumb over the apple of Emma’s cheek.

Emma smiled and decided that maybe Mary Margaret and David’s present wasn’t so bad after all.  She was Ultimately Fulfilled.

[mayquita]

Looking For A Smile

Surprise @awkwardnessandbaseball !! I'm your Secret Santa! I've decided to post your gift today because I'm leaving town tomorrow and I didn't know if I would have time to do it properly, so here it is. I'm a little nervous because this is something a bit different from what I usually write, so I hope you like it. It has been a pleasure to share these messages with you during the last weeks. Merry Christmas to everyone!

This is unbeta’d so apologize in advance for all the mistakes.

@saraswans , you’re the best, thank you for everything

Summary: The first time Killian sees her, he thinks she is just a tourist, strolling the streets of Storybrooke camera in hand. Soon, he discovers that this enigmatic woman is much more than that. Modern AU.

Ao3 / FFnet

When Killian sees her for the first time, he thinks she's just a tourist, strolling the streets of Storybrooke camera in hand. There's something different about her, though, an enigmatic halo perhaps. However, he has no time to observe her carefully since she disappears into the crowd in the blink of an eye.

As he immerses himself in his daily routine, he doesn't think about her again in the next few days, the moment too short for his brain to hold it back.

Three days later he sees her again. His first impression is discarded when he allows himself to observe her more closely. He is an observer, after all. And a story creator. Although he no longer has anyone to tell his tales. Not anymore.

No, she definitely is not a tourist. He can assure it now, after finding her three days in a row.

She follows a kind of pattern. First, she wanders through the streets, merged with the crowd. It's strange that no one notices a person who takes pictures in the middle of the street. But sometimes people are too busy or too submerged in their own concerns that they hardly notice what they have in front of them. That happens even in small towns such as in Storybrooke where the pace of life is much quieter than in a big city. Or perhaps she is a kind of ghost or spirit and he alone has received the strange privilege of contemplating her.

She then heads to the docks, her camera pointing towards the ocean, he supposes taking some photos. Finally, she stays for a few minutes facing the horizon.

Three days of observation allow him to begin to create several stories, to imagine what lies behind that enigmatic woman. He is used to it, old habits die hard. She could be a reporter for a travel magazine, or a rookie spy who has not yet learned to camouflage herself. Or a millionaire bored of her tedious life who entertains herself immortalizing the lives of other people. For some reason, though, none of these stories seems to fit her.

On the fourth day, he does not see her through the streets of the town. He is busier that day, so he must put aside his observer work at least for a while. With the sunset, he walks back to his ship —to his house— when a vision leaves him paralyzed. She, the mysterious woman, is there, on the dock, her camera directed towards his own ship. Killian remains frozen a few feet away, doubting whether to approach or continue his observation without interrupting her. In the end, his curiosity is more powerful.

He walks a few steps towards her. When he is close enough, he rests his arms on the railing and directs his gaze toward his ship. For some reason, he is nervous, his heart beats faster, the desire to scratch behind his ear almost so hard that he finds it difficult to suppress it. After a quiet sigh, he speaks.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?"

The only hint that she has heard him is a slight tremor in the hand holding the camera, her shoulders shaking almost imperceptibly.

There is no other reaction on her part for the next few seconds. He begins to doubt even if she is aware of his presence. After what seems an eternity, she turns to him. And that's when his heart stops working. Her eyes, of an intense green color, searching his gaze with a certain hint of curiosity. There is something else there, but he can't discern it since his eyes drift to her lips, which have begun to move.

"So is that a she?" She tilts her head a little, waiting for his answer.

"Aye, The Jolly Roger." He affirms suppressing a chuckle, a hint of pride slips in his words. She is his house, after all.

"Yeah, I can see the name." She points to the hull where the name appears in black.

She doesn’t ask him if he owns the boat and he doesn’t question what she does there. She does not look upset, but her gaze now turns to the horizon, as if she were lost in thought. After a few seconds, she gives him a half smile and walks away. No more words between them.

Killian doesn't see her for the next two days. He begins to fear that somehow he scared the enigmatic woman when he caught her watching his ship. On the third day, however, she appears again at the docks. She is looking at the sea leaning on the railing, her blond mane and her red leather jacket are unmistakable. He regroups again the courage to approach her.

The look she gives him this time is far from resembling the first one. Where once there was an intense green with sparks of vitality now there are red-rimmed eyes, a dull look. He also detects that she does not carry her camera.

"Where's your camera?" The words come out of his mouth before he can do anything to stop them. It’s not the smartest question he can ask, he thinks as he checks her reaction, her features drawing a gesture of sadness.

She studies him for a moment, perhaps deciding whether to trust him or not. Finally, she mutters as she turns her gaze back to the horizon. "I was so stupid to leave the camera on one of the tables of that diner. I needed to go to the toilet. When I returned, the camera was gone." Her words come in a whisper so subtle that he almost confuses them with the murmur of the sea breeze.

"That device is important to you, isn’t it?" It’s a rhetorical question, he is aware. By all answer, she lets out a snort — that sounds more like a muffled sob�� and starts to walk away.

"Wait!" He is reluctant to let her go. Not yet. "Can I ask you something?"

She turns and stares at him for a few seconds. Her gaze is still sad, but he would swear he has detected a spark of vivacity again. "You can, but you may or may not receive an answer."

"Fair enough." He pauses for a moment, sensing that there will be a point of no return from this instant. "I wonder... what you're looking for through the lens of your camera."

She doesn't respond at first and his heart falls to his stomach when he thinks he has missed his chance to approach her. But suddenly the corners of her lips rise subtly. "Smiles... I'm looking for smiles. And the horizon." Without further ado, she walks away, leaving him with even more questions, but also with a purpose, to find the thief. He knows whom to address. He’s an observer after all.

He only needs a couple of days to find him. It's not a difficult task in a town as small as Storybrooke. Will, that's the name of the town thief. He doesn't steal out of necessity or greed. He does it simply because he can. He finds him in an alley, a camera in one hand and a phone near his ear in the other. Killian doesn't wait for the call to end. It's better to catch him off guard. So without more, he spits, “can I see the photos that the device contains inside?" He points at the camera with his right hand, while his gaze stays fixed on the thief.

Will's reaction is immediate, he runs off as he drops the camera on his escape. The device falls on a trash bag, avoiding the impact against the ground. In this simple way, Killian recovers the camera. It’s not his most skillful performance, but the goal is fulfilled. He doesn't expect her to think of him as a white knight who has come to her rescue. But the camera and its contents seem important to her. So he does what he should do.

Two days later, he finds her in the same place, this time sitting on a bench in the pier. He approaches and offers her the camera. Her reaction takes his breath away for a few seconds. Her face lights up in such a way and her eyes shine with such intensity that he is unable to look away. He shouldn't be proud, his only merit has been knowing where to look. But he cannot prevent a wave of pride washes over him. His action, however minimal, has caused a positive effect on her.

She does not ask how he got it, simply thanks him and gives him a warm smile, clearly indicating that his presence there is welcome, so he accepts her silent invitation and sits by her side.

"Can I ask you something?" Killian repeats the same question of two days ago. It seems like that's their only way to communicate for the moment, so he accepts it.

"You can, but you may or may not receive an answer." She obviously responds in the same way. He didn't expect anything else, but her smile lingers on her lips, so that encourages him to continue.

"What’s your name?"

"Is that your question?" She raises one of her eyebrows teasing him.

"Well, if we exchange our names we will never be strangers anymore."

"Maybe it's the best, keeping us as strangers."

He nods but doesn’t give up, his curiosity is too strong. He has an ace up his sleeve, something he doesn't feel particularly proud of, but he uses it nonetheless. "Perhaps gratitude is in order now."

She lets out a snort as she rolls her eyes. "So you want my name as a gratitude for returning my camera."

Although her words do not come in the form of a question but confirmation, he nods with a shrug. "It's fair enough, isn't it?"

She then gets up and starts walking. He holds his breath, thinking he may have pushed her too hard. A few seconds later she turns, the sea breeze playing with her curls, so she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. "It's Emma, Emma Swan."

The way her name slides between her lips, like a melody, and the light of the sunset giving her silhouette an ethereal halo makes him wonder if he really is not contemplating a gosht, or a vision. He blinks a couple times, and she's still there, her lips flatten out in an attempt of a smile. She is waiting, he finally realizes. She's waiting for his name.

"Swan, it suits you. Killian Jones is my name."

“See you around, Jones.” Before turning and walking away, she smiles at him again. She, Emma, doesn’t look back.

The next day they meet again on the same bench. Although he has gotten her name, Emma Swan is still a mystery to him, so he intends to know her a little more. His ability to create stories doesn’t work with her. Or maybe, he doesn’t want to create a fictional story with a happy ending for her. Maybe it's time to know a real tale. He begins the conversation in the same way as in previous days.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You can, but you may or may not receive an answer."

"You said the other day that you were looking for smiles. Why?"

Her face keeps a thoughtful expression for a few seconds. Then she tilts her head, her eyes searching for his, a spark of defiance in her gaze. "I've noticed that you observe people. Why?"

And there it is, a proof that she had also noticed him. Killian cannot suppress his lips forming a grin. He does not mind answering, not really. In fact, this can be a kind of catharsis. It's been a long time since he's expressed these thoughts out loud, so he takes a few seconds to respond.

"Well, the answer could be quite long."

She shrugs. "I don’t mind, it's not like I have anything better to do." She leans back against the back of the bench, resting her head against her palm, her gaze directed at him, a sign that she is ready to listen.

"Okay, I'll tell you my story if you tell me yours later."

“Deal.”

He can’t do other than trust her to fulfill her part of the bargain. After clearing his throat, he turns his gaze to the horizon, his mind, though, travels several years ago.

"It's just a habit. I learned it from my brother Liam." He pauses for a second, the mention of his brother always has the effect of drying his throat and moisten his eyes in the form of contained tears. "For a while, it was just him and me, no one else to take care of us. He began to develop an idea for the purpose of distracting his little brother in the endless summer afternoons. He asked me to choose a random person from among the many who passed down the street. Then, he used that person as the main character and created a story just for me. He invented a life for that person that started from the moment I chose it. It was a story with a happy ending, of course. That was their purpose, after all, to ensure that, for a moment, our lives were not so miserable, to get us to experience full happiness, even through other people's”

"And you have taken that habit back then? Do you observe and create stories?" She gives him an understanding look.

There is much more in his story, but a sudden melancholy seizes him, preventing him to continue. Maybe some other day he'll tell her the next chapter, though. Meanwhile, he just nods. "Aye. I like to think that some of those created stories do come true. Maybe the chosen person dies the next minute hit by a bus. But there are many other possibilities. To think that my story might be one of those possibilities is enough for me.”

After his confession, a quiet silence reigns over them. He thinks that Emma is not going to fulfill her part of the deal, but after letting out a sigh, she speaks.

"I... I like to capture the moment, to immortalize that instant when a genuine smile appears, a proof that, whatever happens before or after, that person was happy for a moment."

There is much more than that. He can say it when a cloud of sadness crosses her gaze. He does not push her, though. "And what about the horizon?"

"I like the sea. It has a calming effect on me." She simply responds.

"We make quite the team, Swan."

"We do?"

"Of course love." He replies in an exaggerated tone, as if the answer were obvious. "I offer a chance to happiness through these stories and you immortalize that happiness, capturing the moment and making it eternal. I tell you, Swan, quite the team.”

They continue with that routine over the next few days. Now, when they see each other in the distance, he observing and she taking photos, both wave or share glances and smiles of complicity. They even meet by chance in places like Granny's. On these occasions, they sit in the same booth. And they talk about everything and nothing, their respective coffees abandoned and cold on the table.

One day the pattern changes and it's Emma who asks first. "Can I ask you something?"

"You can, but you may or may not receive an answer." He emulates her previous answer because how not? Although he will answer any questions she asks. Killian earns a laugh on her part. He then realizes that he needs to hear that sound more often.

"When you first saw me, did you think of any story for me?"

"Aye, too many stories, indeed. But for some reason, none of them seemed to fit with you."

"Would you tell me any of them?" The way she addresses him, with a mixture of curiosity and hope and a special glow in her eyes makes it impossible for him to reject her request.

So he tells her not one but all the stories he created based on her. Her reactions vary from almost laughing to widening her eyes with surprise or shaking her head in disagreement, but without losing her smile. I would never do that, Jones. He cannot deny it, he likes the effect his stories cause in her. He could spend hours inventing stories just to keep that smile on her lips.

After a few seconds of silence, broken only by the sound of the sea and the echo of her previous laughter in his ears, Killian asks. "Do I appear in some of your photos?" There is a deeper meaning in that question and he is not sure he wants to know the answer but he asks nevertheless.

Her gaze is full of understanding when she responds. "Yeah, in several, mostly on your boat, other times while talking to the librarian or when you come across that couple, the short-haired woman and the blond-haired man."

"The Nolan." He offers.

Emma nods. "They look pretty nice."

Yes, they're nice, like Belle, the librarian. He is surprised by the answer, though. Not because he thinks he doesn't smile, but because he would never have considered them as genuine smiles of happiness. He didn't come to this town in search of happiness, in fact, he thought he would never get it again, his heart broken and his soul empty. But maybe his feelings are starting to change.

"See that man, the one with a red hat? Tell me his story, Killian." She asks him one day, after having had an intense conversation in which both have shared memories of their past, not the most painful parts, he suspects. Not on his part, at least. Sometimes it's better if the old demons stay buried.

He looks in the direction Emma is pointing at and finds a man leaning on the railing, looking out to the sea. He narrows his eyes and studies his posture and his expression intently. Little by little, a story begins to form in his head.

"This man is a sailor, a seaman, and he has spent most of his life on the high seas. It seems, though, that bad luck hangs over him and he hasn't been able to get on board for a while. He looks at the horizon, remembering the countless adventures he has experienced in the ocean and dreaming that someday, he will be able to sail again. Two days later, his bad luck is over. A sailboat arrives at the port, at his command, an adventurer captain with a lot of free time and too much money. He is looking for a small crew to accompany him on his next adventure, a trip around the world sailing on his ship. And that's how our man with the red hat gets back to his beloved sea.”

"Whoa, you have quite the story there. I like it, it suits him." At that moment, Emma raises her camera and points directly at the man. "Got it."

It seems to be a day of confessions because, after a brief silence, Emma begins to speak. "I... I was looking for a particular smile. When I came here I was just looking for someone." Killian senses a slight shake in her voice, but she continues, a nostalgic expression on her face and a gleam of sadness in her gaze. "As I told you before, I grew up in the system... I... got pregnant very young, while I was in prison for a crime I hadn't committed... I couldn't keep that baby. I had no future to offer him so I gave him up for a closed adoption trying to give him his best chance."

He knows that the story is not over, so he simply nods and silently encourages her to continue.

"It was easy for a while. After leaving prison, my main concern was to find a way of life that would allow me to move on. The first few years I managed to bury my regret with work, but as time passed, every time I saw a child on the street, the memory of my son came to torment me. I began to feel guilty and I kept asking myself if I really had done the right thing, if I really had given my son his best chance. So, after a few investigations, I got something, just a name, Storybrooke. That's how I got here."

She is looking for her son. More specifically, she is looking for the genuine smile of her son, to make sure that she made the right decision. It's a bittersweet story, he thinks uneasily. But there is something that doesn't fit into all this. Killian is aware that Emma takes pictures not only of children but of other people. Before he can express his doubt out loud, she continues.

"I don't even know what I was looking for in the beginning. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack, I don't even know what my son looks like. Maybe that's why, while trying to locate him among the crowd, I began to observe people and I was surprised by the reasons why some people smiled, so I started looking for smiles. Since I didn't find my son's at least I could immortalize the happiness of other people."

Killian's heart tightens after hearing her story, while a wave of affection washes over him. She is waiting for his reaction, if her hesitant gaze is an indicative. Little by little, a goal begins to draw in his mind, he's going to help her find her son.

"You can still find him, you know. It looks like a small town, but there are several children around your child's age." He trusts that the smile he offers her will be reassuring enough. "I offer my observation skills to help you in your purpose. I'm going to help you find your boy, love."

Her lips draw a tentative smile as a pleading shadow crosses her gaze. "Would you do it?" When he nods firmly, her shoulders fall slightly, as if discharging part of the burden she had been carrying. That encourages him in a certain way, maybe if he also talks about his past he may feel lighter.

So on this day of confessions, he also shares his. The words escape from his lips in a fluid way, demonstrating how easy it's to talk to Emma. They have known each other for barely a month, but there's a connection between them that makes it possible for him to feel closer to her than he has been with any other person in a long time.

Killian tells her that his brother died when he was still too young, leaving him alone in the world, with no one else to tell him stories. It was then that he began to acquire that practice of observing people and building their happy endings. He also tells her how he met his first love, and a future full of promises opened before them. That future did not last long, though. A car accident took his love and his left hand. And again, he was left alone in the world, heartbroken and with no one to share his stories with.

"We make quite the team." She repeats the same words that he used a few weeks before, getting his lips to lift slightly despite the pain of bringing his old demons to the surface. To his relief, her soft voice and warm smile have not a shred of pity, only understanding.

After their confessions, they continue with their routine, but little by little, something is changing between them. He feels more and more close to her, his heart beats faster every time he sees her, while his stomach flutters violently. She seems to feel the same effect, always looking for his gaze, always looking for a casual contact from their hands. He does not want to give a name to this feeling that is still blooming, but it's getting harder to be separated from her, if only for a few hours.

A week later, they are sitting on the bench they have already made theirs, looking at the horizon. There are no words shared among them, sometimes all they need is to feel the presence of the other at their side as a perpetual support.

Suddenly, he feels Emma's hand squeezing his leg slightly. Confused, he looks for her eyes, but she is no longer looking at the horizon but at something different. He follows the direction of her gaze and meets two people, a boy, and a woman. They're having an ice cream while walking by the docks. The realization of what they are contemplating washes over him. He doesn't need confirmation to know that Emma has finally found her son.

"Tell me his story, Killian." She pleads in a strangled whisper, without looking away from her son, while holding her camera ready to capture that unique moment. That bittersweet instant.

He closes his eyes for a moment and lets his mind wander for a few seconds, while a story begins to form. He knows the woman, after more than four months in Storybrooke it would be impossible not to know who is the mayor of the town. But she is a reserved and a bit haughty person, reluctant to share her life, so he hardly knows anything about her. Maybe it's better that way because he can offer a genuine story to Emma.

"She is the mayor of the town." It's the only thing he can affirm with certainty. "She... she decided to adopt for the wrong reasons. It was a selfish act with the aim of filling her wounded heart, to find someone who loved her without reservation. In spite of this, at the moment in which the little boy came into her life, she started to change. Where there was darkness before, now there is light. Her son has become the center of her life."

Although Emma doesn't look away from her son, he knows that she is listening to him, or at least that is what he senses while seeing a silent tear running down her cheek. Suddenly, he feels how she stiffens and raises her camera, ready to capture the moment she has been waiting for so long. And there it is, that smile. He doesn't need Emma's skills to be certain that the smile that appears on the child's lips is a genuine one. And it's addressed to his adoptive mother.

He feels the need to do something for Emma, to brush away her tears, to hold her in his arms... Instead, he offers her something she can cling to, hope. That is his function, after all, to generate a ray of hope through his stories, creating a happy ending within the infinite world of possibilities. Maybe it will come true, maybe not. But his instinct is strong and silently shouts that this time his story and reality will run parallel paths until they converge on a point. He just hopes that he can witness it.

"He's a happy lad, he has everything he could wish for. He also knows his history and his origins. For that reason, some days, he looks out the window and observes the town with longing. He likes to think that maybe, somewhere in the world, there's someone who also looks with yearning towards the streets full of people. That maybe there's a person who is looking for him. He is a patient boy and is confident that, when the right time comes, that person, his biological mother, will find him."

Silence falls over them while he holds his breath, waiting for her reaction. "Thank you." She mumbles while wiping away her tears. The moment has passed, the boy and his mother are no longer in sight and it seems that this is the moment for Emma to leave as well. "I have to go." She whispers, as she gets up and walks away without looking back.

He doesn't try to stop her. But he begins to feel an uneasiness that tightens his heart while a terrible thought takes hold of him. He feels helpless but cannot do anything but wait the next day and trust that, even though she has already fulfilled her mission of capturing the genuine smile she was looking for, there is something else that makes her stay.

When Killian approaches their bench the next day, there is someone else there. Emma. She is still there. He represses the impulse to jump for joy and instead approaches with slow steps. The moment he arrives at her side, Emma looks up, the corners of her lips rising slightly. She carries a folder in her hands. He pulls his lips into a soft smile as accepts the folder she hands him while sitting next to her.

"I've thought to bring this to you as gratitude for your story from yesterday." He opens the folder and is surprised to see its contents. There're photos where he himself appears, and most importantly, he is smiling. Killian seems happy while talking to Belle, the librarian, or the Nolan. He also sports a placid smile as he contemplates the sea in another of the photos. He swallows the growing knot in his dry throat, as emotion seizes him.

"I wanted to show you that you are not alone anymore. I think you have already found your place in this town." Emma is smiling, a soft smile that goes straight to his heart. His gaze then drifts to her lips, wondering, not for the first time, what it would be like to kiss her. There is an almost irrepressible impulse that begins to take hold of him. Instead, he decides a path perhaps more subtle.

"Can I ask you something?"

Emma is grinning now, instantly recognizing their little game. She doesn't disappoint, of course, responding as expected. "You can, but you may or may not receive an answer."

"I've been thinking. Since your mission to find a genuine smile has been successfully solved, you could start a new mission. What do you think about looking for kisses that mean something?"

Her eyes widen in surprise, but, fortunately, she seems to have caught the hint. Her gaze also goes to his lips getting his heart to race with anticipation. "Uhm, it's not a bad idea. Maybe you can help me with the first attempt." Emma suggests with a tone of voice that would make it impossible to reject it.

She doesn't wait for an answer though. Instead, she approaches until she is within inches of him. And before he is aware of it, her lips are on his causing an electric shock to travel throughout his whole body. He's lost in the softness of her lips, in her sweet taste, in the number of sensations that the kiss brings with it, sensations that he already thought forgotten but that now return making him want much more. The kiss ends too soon, though.

"I forgot something." Emma's voice caresses his lips, while their foreheads remain in contact. "I'm afraid we're going to have to repeat since I forgot to take the picture."

He happily obliges, of course. And while their lips come into contact again as Emma raises her hand holding the phone and pointing towards them, he sets a new goal, to get a genuine smile from Emma every day and to make their kisses, because he is sure that from now on there will be lots of them, always mean something.

Thanks for reading :)

[word-bug]

A Cookie Disaster

Hey Kit ( @gingerchangeling ). So I am Vaish. I was your CSSS. I enjoyed getting to know you so much. I hope you like this little gift of mine.

Thank you @spartanguard for going over it. You’re a gem love.

Also available on: AO3

Cheers for the festival!

(A lil bit of imageset that I could do. Hopefully it’s not that bad! )

Killian prided himself as a patient man. He would never honk uselessly when stuck in a traffic. He never got riled up by petty taunts, much to Will Scarlet’s chagrin. And he would only get mildly irritated when Liam pulled his leg. In hindsight, he feels he should have fought a little bit more so that his elder brother would have been less insufferable. He always had been a precocious child in that regard, his mother used to say. But he didn’t feel bad about it. It was because of this patience that he had been able to break through Emma Swan’s walls. Given a chance, he’d do it all over again if it meant having Emma in his life.

Killian prided himself as a patient man but he was one incident away from tearing his hair out and reducing to a ball of tears. It was almost afternoon and nothing was right, and his sweet, amazing girlfriend was almost tipsy from the spiked eggnog he had kept for the evening. He could imagine the look of disappointment on Ruth’s - Emma’s adoptive mother’s - face when she would come in that evening and find nothing right. That brought in another wave of anxiety. He started to look for Emma, hoping to find some comfort in her arms, only to find her fiddling with the controls of the oven.

“Swan...” he shouted as he hastily made his way towards her, hoping to prevent the damage that may occur. But the beep of the machine and the burning smell that had started spreading in his apartment informed him otherwise. Emma was about to open the door when he caught her hand, not trusting that she wouldn’t get hurt.

“I am sorry, Killian,” she spoke as her lips formed a pout. She brought her hands to hold her ears but Killian stopped her. Drunk Emma was absolutely adorable and he didn’t want her to feel bad for him. Knowing her drunken self, he knew that her self loathing was just about to come.

“It’s okay, love,” Killian spoke, tucking away the wayward strands of hair from her face. She sighed as she closed her eyes, snuggling against his hand. He gently rubbed her cheek with his thumb as she brought her face closer to his hand. Killian smiled, seeing the calm that had descended on her face. She looked beautiful. He was absolutely besotted by her, whipped as Will called him, but he couldn’t care less. Killian Jones would destroy a thousand batch of cookies if this was the result. Thankfully, he was just on his second batch.

Leaning against the kitchen counter with Emma by his side, he assessed the damage that had been done. Under the oven’s orange light, the cookies looked absolutely charred and he knew they’d be far worse when he took them out. The bowl of spiked eggnog was almost half empty. The chicken was still sitting in its place, untouched and he thanked his stars for the small miracles. Some of the boiled potatoes were painfully mashed but some were still intact. Small victories, he thought.

His girlfriend, on the other hand, was finally out. She was playing with his shirt’s button, as she continuously dozed off against his chest. He smiled. Bending down, he picked her up bridal style as she broke into laughter swinging her legs like a kid and snuggling against his chest. Killian smiled, seeing her carefree like this. Emma Swan was a tough woman, shaped by her past. She didn’t open up easily. They had been going out for almost a year, yet there would be times when she’d close him off completely. She had a hard exterior, so it was quite a rare sight to see her like this.

Placing her gently on his bed, he moved around to place the comforter. She was dressed in his sweats, coming directly from a stakeout to his place. Her mother was coming in the evening and they were hosting her. Killian was grateful to Emma for coming to his place to support him. Ever since she had told him that her mother was coming to meet them on Christmas Eve, Killian had been extremely nervous. This was a huge step in their relationship. They hadn’t even said those three words. He knew how he felt, his feelings were on the tip of his tongue, but he was aware that Emma would run away in an instant if he said it out loud. He knew that she felt the same but she still wasn’t secure about her feelings for him and he was happy to wait. He was a patient man.

She curled herself, tugging the comforter close to her as she sought warmth. Her hair fanned across the pillow and Killian couldn’t help but marvel over his luck that this woman came to his life. Sitting near her, he tucked a strand behind her ear when she sleepily spoke.

“Killian… I am so happy that you’re in my life.”

He smiled seeing her like. He knew she couldn’t register whatever she was saying but he decided to indulge her.

“I am too love… I am too.”

“Killian...”

“Yes love?”

“Your raisin cookies are amazing. Too bad mom can’t eat it as she is allergic to it.”

And there went his third batch of cookies. He groaned thinking about the batter he had set aside to make his speciality. Killian loved cooking, especially baking. On their second date, when Emma had fallen sick, he had brought her food and Emma often joked that she had continued going out with him because he could cook. Whenever he visited Liam during the holidays, he’d inadvertently end up in the kitchen shooing Elsa away. It was like a stress buster for him. But today, cooking seemed to be giving him a headache. He started planning again when Emma spoke again.

“Hopefully next Christmas I’ll get to meet Liam.”

Killian let out a dopey smile seeing her like that. Emma had always talked in her sleep. He loved listening to her babble nonsense. But today it seemed she was in an affectionate mood. It warmed his heart to see her thinking about next year, especially together.

“He’s gonna love you, Emma,” he murmured, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. It was already two and he had to plan the dessert from the scratch. He started moving, when she turned holding his hand.

“My mum’s gonna love him… like me… I wish he’d stop worrying.”

He almost froze hearing her confession. He was sure that she wouldn’t remember when she’d wake up. But the fact that she could say it in her sleep made him ecstatic. It meant that she had started believing in him - in them - and that was the best gift he could ask for Christmas. Slowly, he extracted his hand out of her hold and got up. She had turned again and was holding his pillow, her breath completely even indicating she had completely fallen asleep. He watched her sleep from the door for a few more minutes before he went out to get started on the evening food. Sure, she was in love with him, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t kill him if he didn’t cook.

**

Emma groaned as she woke up, her head hurting like it could burst into a million pieces. She didn’t know what time it was or where she was, only having faint remembrance of standing with Killian near his over. Massaging her head, she looked around and found herself looking at Killian’s belongings. She sighed; so it wasn’t a dream. As she took the medicine put on the bedside table, she tried to remember why she had come there. The digital clock buzzed to alert her it was six in the evening. She turned around wanting to stop the shrill noise when she saw the date, it was 23rd December. Her mother was supposed to come meet them and she was late to pick her up. As she stumbled out of the bed, managing to get herself hurt from the table, she heard laughter and stopped short. It couldn’t be. For weeks Killian had been stressing about her mother’s arrival and he had gone and brought her to his place without her help? Surely she was dreaming. Stealthily she made her way to the door and saw her mom and her boyfriend sitting on the couch discussing something. She smiled seeing them like this. Not wanting to disturb the moment, she went back to make herself presentable.

If someone had told Emma a year back that she’d have almost one-third of her wardrobe at a guy’s house so that she could choose, she’d have called that someone nuts. But here she was. Somehow Killian had wormed his way into her heart. They had met by chance when she accidentally pushed him while chasing her perp, but he had helped her in taking the same perp down. After that, they had gone to a diner where they talked for hours. He had asked her out on another date and she ended up saying yes. When she fell sick and was unable to meet him, he had come bearing food for her and it had surprised her. That is what he did: he surprised her pleasantly. He had held her hand when she had told her about Neal and his abandonment due to a false pregnancy scare. He had waited for her when she felt that they were moving too fast and she had left. He had taken care of her when she got gravely injured after a chase gone wrong. Never once he had left her and she loved him for that.

Love - that was another surprise for her. The butterflies in her stomach whenever she saw him. Emma was waiting to gather enough courage to say the same to him because she knew without a doubt that he loved her too but was waiting for her.

She took the out the blush pink dress that she had saved specifically for this occasion. It was soft, feminine, and it made her feel safe. She knew she didn’t need to dress for the occasion as it was just a dinner with her boyfriend and her mom, but Killian had gone the extra mile and she felt he deserved the same. Opting to leave her hair loose, she made her way out when she heard her mom cajoling Killian to try to give one of his recipes.

“Sorry, Ruth… it’s the family secret,” he smiled as he took out the chicken from the oven.

“It’s vanilla, right? That’s the secret ingredient?” Emma found her mother pouting and she couldn’t help the laugh that broke out of her.

“The sleeping beauty awakes,” Killian smiled as Ruth made her way towards her. Engulfing her in a hug, she appraised her.

“Darling…. You look so beautiful. But you should have told me about it.”

“About what?” Emma looked confusedly at her. She thought she’d get an earful for not being able to pick her up.

“About the stakeout, Emmy,” Ruth spoke as she continued making a fuss over Emma. “Killian told me how you had an overnight stakeout and came late and just crashed. You shouldn’t work too hard.”

As Ruth started running her hands around Emma’s face, the latter chanced a look at her boyfriend who was trying hard to hide his grin. He even had the gall to tip the glass of eggnog towards her and Emma, being a mature adult, instead of being grateful to him for saving her ass, poked her tongue out.

“Dinner’s ready!” Killian called out as both the women made their way towards the table.

**

The dinner was a lively affair as Ruth regaled Killian with Emma’s childhood stories after she was adopted. With every passing moment, a sense of comfort settled within him. He was grateful to his girlfriend whose hand found his every now and then, and if Ruth saw the exchange, she never made a comment. After the dinner was over, Killian brought out the eggnog.

“You know darling, your boyfriend is an excellent cook,” Ruth spoke taking a sip, “Rum?” she asked Killian and he nodded.

“It’s one of the main reasons I am dating him, mum,” Emma giggled as Ruth joined her while Killian let out a dramatic sigh.

“I thought it was for my charming personality and devilishly handsome looks, eh, Swan?”

“Well… that certainly helps… but babe, I never hid that from you, did I? I am afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“There’s no other place I’d rather be, Swan,” Killian said, placing a gentle kiss on Emma’s forehead.

The dinner had gone amazingly well and he was sad that Ruth had to leave. He had never thought that the evening would go like this; the anticipation of this day had him up for so many nights, but here they were helping Ruth with her luggage.

“Cinnamon?” Ruth asked as they waited for the cab to arrive making him laugh.

“Close enough. It’s a family secret.”

“I know...” Ruth laughed. “I just hope that you share it with my daughter someday,” she winked at him as the driver helped them with her luggage.

“I hope for the same, Ruth. Safe travels.”

The elder woman gave him a hug that Killian returned with the same amount of affection. She made her way towards the daughter who stood there hiding her tears.

“Emmy… you know… if it wasn’t your aunt’s surgery, I’d have stayed.”

“I know, Mom… it’s just the dust that got into my eye. Nothing else.”

“If you say so, sweety,” Ruth smiled taking her daughter into a hug. “Don’t let him go. He loves you,” she whispered.

“And I him, Mom,” Emma spoke softly as she kissed her mother goodbye.

“Merry Christmas, Emma!”

“Merry Christmas.”

**

It was almost midnight when Killian and Emma cleared up the mess. They hadn’t spoken since they had returned after seeing off Ruth, working in comfortable silence. Emma appreciated it. It always became a bit emotional for her whenever she had to part from her mother. Ruth had taken her in when no one had and it had strengthened their bond. Emma loved her mother and it meant so much to her that she had ended up liking Killian too. She remembered how Ruth had barely accepted Neal once upon a time for Emma’s sake, and had refrained from saying ‘I told you so’ when the latter had returned with a heartbreak. So her acceptance of Killian carried a whole lot of weight.

As Emma made her way to the kitchen, she saw the cookies lying on the counter. She loved Killian’s cookies. It was artistic, the way he cooked, if someone could say that about cooking, and his raisin cookies were divine. She was completely full but she couldn’t resist taking a bite. As she took a bite, she was completely expecting the chocolate to attack her senses but found herself pleasantly surprised by the the flavor of honey and oatmeal.

“Babe… where are your raisin cookies? I thought I saw the batter when I came in the morning.”

“Huh?” Killian called out as he made his was out of the washroom.

“Where are your raisin cookies?”

“I threw them. Your mum is allergic to raisins, remember?” Killian called out as he started stacking the gifts Ruth had bought for them under the tree.

“You threw them? Are you insane? Wait… how do you know my mum has an allergy?” Emma asked confused, taking out another cookie. The cookies were amazing and she couldn’t stop eating them. But she couldn’t figure out how he knew that her mom had an allergy.

“You told me, love. So another Star Wars marathon or a Christmas movie?”

“Christmas. And no I didn’t tell you. I’d remember if I had.” Emma spoke hurriedly, trying to remember when she had told him. She’d remember, won’t she? Had she hit her head? Was  she dreaming? She was sick, wasn’t she? She was gonna die. Her brain started listing out numerous scenarios before she pinched herself to stop thinking. She had to cut out her time spent in watching soap operas. She looked towards Killian, who was busy looking for the movies - too busy, if the rigid set of his shoulders was any indication.

“Killian… I didn’t tell you to your face, did I?” Emma asked carefully, waiting for her lie detector to buzz.

“Well, technically you did,” Killian murmured, and if she wasn’t concentrating hard she’d have missed it totally. Taking the bowl of cookies she came to sit beside him.

“But...” Emma trailed waiting for him to complete it. The silence stood still when he let out a sigh and she knew she had won the battle.

“You weren’t exactly cognizant when you gave me that piece of information. I am glad though, else I wouldn’t have let myself live that down.”

“Killian… stop changing the subject.”

“Kay… When you had graciously helped yourself to eggnog and dozing off, you started talking in your sleep.”

Emma groaned, hiding her face. She didn’t want to know what else she had said. She had a tendency to blabber in her sleep. Killian found it endearing, but she found it infuriating even if she couldn’t hear herself. Ruth had always teased her that she’d spill secrets in her sleep.

“What did I say Killian?” Emma demanded, making Killian laugh as he brought her closer to him.

“Nothing much. You gave me some information about your mother. Though I never knew you wanted to visit my brother. I am not exactly thrilled about it though. He’d have a blast out of regaling you with the exaggerated childhood stories of mine. You said your mother would love me as...” he stopped not sure how to continue further. He knew what she felt but he didn’t want to corner her like that.

Emma almost stopped breathing as he trailed off towards the end of the conversation. She knew how that line ended, having recited the same countless times to appease her mind. She appreciated his gesture, but whether it was the eggnog or the fact that her mother approved, she didn’t want to hold it any longer.

“As I love you,” she whispered softly against his chest and she could swear she felt his heart skip a beat.

“I love you, too,” he spoke softly, placing a kiss on her forehead.

“I know,” Emma said as she moved away from his embrace so that she could kiss him properly.

Emma could swear Christmas had never felt merrier than this.

Merry Christmas to everyone! Best wishes for everyone.

[eala-captian]

A Christmas At Home

Whew! I apologise for this being late. My family always goes to our cabin on Christmas which is way out in the middle of nowhere so here’s to being the worst CSSS ever. That being said I’m back!

@ladyciaramiggles hope you had a wonderful Christmas! It was so cool getting to talk to you over the last month! I hope you enjoy this AU angsty, fluffy, crazy fic. I’m working on a companion fic to this which will be a few chapters long!

“Killian?”

“Down here love.” His studio at their home was always where she could find him when something was on his mind. Having a creative outlet for his emotions was the only thing that kept him sane some days. Especially before her.

“What are you doing down here?” She asked with a sad smile. She knew it had been a rough year for him. Too much time on the road, too many things he needed to be home for. He missed a lot this year, and yeah he was brooding alone sitting in front of a microphone holding a guitar.

“Just thinking love. It’s been three years since I was home on a Christmas Eve. I’m kinda out of my element here.” He strummed a few notes, not making eye contact with her.

She walked further into the room, slowly reaching out and taking the guitar from his hands and sat it on the stand in the corner of the dark room. He was sitting with his back to her on the stool, his hands now a tangled mess in front of him. Kneeling down before him she tucked her hand under his chin to raise his gaze to hers.

Emma Jones looked him straight in the eyes. The understanding he saw there was almost too much to handle. He almost looked away again, but he couldn’t. Something about her emerald green eyes drew him in. He was forever lost to their depths.

“I know what you’re thinking Killian. No one blames you for the past few years. Being on tour, playing for your fans, that’s what you love. That’s what makes you happy…”

“You make me happy my love. You have to know that. You..”

“I do. Killian, I do. I love you so much for who you are. I love that you love changing people’s lives through music. This next year is going to be amazing. So let’s end this year on a happy note.” She smiled at him and his whole being felt as if it was on fire.

“Come back up to the party. David and M’s have been asking about you. They will be so happy to see you again. I also know a little boy who has been missing his father half the night.” She raised her eyebrow and grinned in a way he knew was from spending to much time in present company.

He stood up with a smile on his face once again.

“Aye love. Wouldn’t want to leave the spawn waiting.” She smacked him on the ass as he ran back up the stairs.

He quickly turned around with an affronted look on his face only to find her pointing her finger right back at him. “I better never hear you call him that to his face.” She smiled as she said it.

“Aye, Aye.” He walked back down a stair or two and came level with her again. “ I love you, Swan.” He slowly leaned in to place a slow kiss to her lips. Pulling back slightly to keep their foreheads touching.

“I’m a Jones now, Jones. Swan was before. Swan was broken. Swan didn’t want love.”

“You may be a Jones now, but broken, high walled, no love Swan was who I fell in love with.”

……..

The party was still in full swing when they entered the living room hand in hand. A red and green mass slammed into his legs almost immediately.

“Papa!” His little lad yelled “Where did you go? I want to sit out the cookies for Santa with you before I go to sleep!”

“I needed a minute little man.” He lifted him to his hip as his oldest friend walked up and clapped him on the back.

“Glad to see you back in town. When did you get in?” David asked with a smile on his face.

David was the friend Killian needed when it seemed no one else could stand to be near him. Years of touring, drugs, and depression made him a weight a lot of his old friends couldn’t carry any longer. Not David. He was the one who pulled him through the craziness of his life and wasn’t afraid to put him in his place. He owed his life to David.

“Got in earlier today mate. It’s a relief to be home for sure. I get to see this guys face in the morning when he sees what Santa brought him.” He tickled his sons feet, only to have him squirm to try to get out of his arms.

“Papa! That’s tickles. Stop, STOP!” He yelled as he laughed out loud.

“We are glad you are home Killian. It will be nice to have the whole family together for lunch tomorrow.” That was Mary Margaret, always accepting of him. Always involving him when he felt he didn’t deserve it. Feeding him when he had nothing, and making him a part of the family when his family was taken from him.

“I’ll be there M’s, and thank you for having us.”

“You know you are welcome anytime Killian.”

“Aye, I know. You’ve been feeding me since I was 15 years old. Why stop now?” Seeing Mary Margaret smile was almost as good as seeing his wife smile. Something about the two of them brought a light back into his life.

Speaking of his wife she suddenly appeared at his side, glancing at their son.

“Alright, Liam time to wash up for bed.” She reached out for him only for him to bury himself further into his father’s arms.

“Papa and I have to set cookies out for Santa first.”

“Well what are we waiting for let’s go!” He followed his son into the kitchen to get the cookies they baked a few hours before.

……..

“He seems happy Emma.” Mary Margaret commented watching him walk away.

“He’s trying to write a new album at the moment, you know how he gets. Happy on the outside and brooding on the inside. I am glad he his home for Christmas this year though.” She said crossing her arms and watching him interact with their son from the other room.

“I know he is always in his head during the writing process, but before he wasn’t happy. He is now.”

Emma smiled to herself. She remembered the man he was all those years ago only to well. Meeting him as a patient,half lost to himself, compared to the man standing before her now, was a complete 180. She was proud of him. Her husband. Her light.

“Yeah, He is pretty amazing isn’t he?”

……..

Later that night after Liam was asleep and everyone had left the house, Killian and Emma laid together on their bed. He had light a fire in the fireplace hours before. lt had burnt almost to embers leaving a warm glow through the room.

He laid there staring at his amazing wife, his saviour. He slowly reached out to stroke her cheek.

“Killian?” She asked half asleep.

“Go back to sleep love. I didn’t mean to wake you.” He whispered back.

“I’m good. I’m awake. Are you ok?”

“I’m more than ok love. I’m home on Christmas with my family. I have an amazing wife, and adorable son who loves me. I may get lost in my music sometimes, but damn, I am blessed to have a family like this.”

He rolled onto his back and pulled her into his arms. Her head resting in the crook of his neck while her hands landed on his chest over his beating heart. “ I am so, so, happy my love.”

“Me too. Merry Christmas Killian.”

“Merry Christmas Swan”

[allons-y-to-hogwarts-713]

Captain Swan Secret Santa 2017 (3/3) - for @captainoftherollyjoger (CS Christmas)

So merry Christmas one and all There’s no place I’d rather be Than asking you if you’d oblige Stepping into Christmas with me (x)

[emmakillianfan]

Christmas Wedding Date Part 4

Here is part 4 of the Christmas Wedding Date for @piratesails. It is rated M for this part.  https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12770729/4/Christmas-Wedding-Date

[gingerchangeling]

A Lifetime Of Almosts Made Up In An Instant Of Always Ch 3

so @thejacketandthehook​ I was going to do this weekly, but someone left a comment and I got super salty about it, so I had to write the next chapter so people know where the story is going. So sorry for the double update!! 

@bluegraywilde​ thanks to my awesome beta! And to all people who read my other fics, A Secret of Inis Oiche, A Darkness for the Light, Crimson Shadow, and the Disasters Series, I’ll will be attempting to update all of them in the coming week or so. I have not abandoned any of them, they just decided to take the scenic route to their conclusions....

Ao3 and FF and Tumblr

Ch 3

     “We need to sue her, Killian.”

     “Regina, I already told you, no!”

     “But Killian, the woman punched you in the face. Twice!” his manager huffed, her red painted lips pulled down in a scowl. “We even have the video evidence off the security cameras. She assaulted you Killian!”

     Killian heaved out a long suffering sigh, rubbing his temples, trying to ignore the ache that was throbbing across his face. They had been through this conversation three times already, but his answer was still the same. He would not go after Emma Swan.

           Killian slid out from the stage door, into the empty hallway, trying to breathe deeply. He had forgotten how quickly his anxiety attacks could sneak up on him, even with the self medicating he had taken part in throughout the course of the morning. His life had slowly been falling apart the last few years, with Milah and Liam and his hand. A lot had been hidden from his fans.

           And seeing the convention room filling up with excited fans all waiting to be inspired by him and use him to find hope, it felt like he was drowning. As he stood by the door, hastily taking a swig of his ever present flask, his eye was caught by a blonde turning the corner. And it was as if lightning struck his soul as he was able to make out her profile, framed by her golden locks and highlighted by the red leather jacket he remembered so well.

           It was in the months after Milah had died that he first found his small modicum of peace in the local pubs he was frequenting. Robin, his head of security and close friend, had made an offhand comment that had taken root and offered him a way out of the hell he’d found himself swimming in.

           “Mate, if you’re going to be in these trashy bars getting pissed every night anyway, why not just perform and get paid to be here? And you’re more likely to get free drinks anyway.”

           And it was with that throw away comment that Killian began to rebuild his sanity. It took a few weeks to put into practice, but soon enough he was giving small performances at small pubs in the area. And it was through the pure kind of joy that came from a crowd enjoying music that his soul began to heal. He found a light in his darkness, and slowly he heart began to mend.

           But some days just proved too much, and one night, he could not find his way out of the black abyss of his mind. He drank far more than he usually did, since he had started performing. And during one of his songs, the lyrics, which had never meant anything to him before, suddenly struck too deeply, and he broke down right there on the stage.

           Robin stepped up and managed to make some decent excuses, but the crowd was not pleased. The bar tender, however, seemed to have some sympathy, because he just handed over the full night’s fee and a double shot of rum.

           “We’ve all been there, kid. It’s alright.”

           Killian couldn’t help the snort that left him at the sixty something year old calling him “kid.” But he appreciate the sentiment, and aluted the grizzled barkeep before tossing back his double, savoring the warmth that blossomed within him. He felt his eyes slowly disconnecting from his perception, a delayed understanding that Robin had once described to his son Roland as “when you are playing a video game and there is a lag time between when you press a button and what happens on screen.”

           So when two frat aged guys approached him, he was a little slow on the uptake. But once the taller of the two took his shot glass and shattered it on the floor, quieting the bar, he figured out what they wanted fairly quickly.

           “The fuck was that performance, man? You some faggot? Can’t keep your shit together? What sort of trash are you? God you are fucking useless!”

           Their insults were clumsy, born of a drunken mind, as their staggering steps attested. But they were loud enough to draw the attention of a blonde woman who had just walked in the door. He couldn’t see her face, because idiot # 2 was locking his line of sight, but he heard a woman say “Emma, just leave it alone.”

           And for a moment the whole bar was still. But idiot # 2 had decided to turn towards the newcomers and make the comment, “Yeah bitch, just leave it alone.”

           The second of silence seemed to last forever, and then he heard a calm and collected voice say sweetly, “No, I don’t think so.”

           And then something happened and idiot # 2 staggered backward. Idiot # 1, who had approached him first, turned to take in the new point of interest. What followed was so jumbled in his mind that he wasn’t sure exactly what happened, but after a flurry of movement, idiot one was having his face intimately acquainted with the bar while his avenging angel put idiot # 1 in a headlock.

           He glanced around, surprised that most of the patrons didn’t seem fazed, until he heard thebarman say, “Christ Emma, any harder and you’ll put a dent in my bar.”

           The woman, who he could now see clearly, was looking at the bar man, paying him and idiot # 2, who was now rolling on the ground groaning, absolutely no mind. She gave a smile to the bar man, “Sorry Rodge, I’d hate to ruin the decor. I’ll just get this jackass out of your hair.”

           And just like that, the whirlwind of a woman who had marched into his life and heart like an avenging angel, turned and marched right back out into the darkness, idiot # 1 in tow like a disciplined school boy.

           His avenging angel was here. He couldn’t believe it, and hurried after her in the hopes of catching her- Emma. It had been almost two years, and he could still recall her face and name, unblemished by the uncounted bottles of rum and women he had consumed over that time period.

           The alcohol in his system had dulled his sense and so, without announcing himself, he went to grab her, not considering how she might react to such an action. So his shock of getting a face full of fist was profound.

           And when he suddenly found himself being straddled by her, his chest pressed into the hallway carpet, her voice hissing his mistake in his ear, he couldn’t help but admire her profoundly. Then he heard Robin’s voice as his security detail found him, and her weight instantly disappeared off his back.

           He was helped to standing, watching from the corner of his eye as she easily dissuaded Will, Robin’s second-in-command, from trying to frisk her. He turned, his cheeks red with embarrassment at having gotten off on the wrong foot with her so thoroughly. But as he made eye contact with her, there was no recognition in her eyes. He realized, very quickly, that she didn’t remember him at all. And so in his inebriation, he threw up the one wall he could, falling into his one liner with ease.

           But her immediate response told him that she was having none of it. She tried to explain away the situation, and as his troupe of bodyguards relaxed, he felt a flare of irritation. How dare she send his life completely off its axis, and not remember him. And so his defense mechanism kicked in yet again, the words slipping from his lips before he could reconsider them.

                  “Yeah, right, I won’t be making that mistake again.” She scoffed. “Disgustingly lecherous and drunk off your ass at a convention for children.”            And suddenly he saw himself through her eyes, and he felt a stab of deep remorse and guilt pierce his insides. That was how he came across, wasn’t it?

           But the disgust in her eyes was enough to push him, and his mouth continued to move without permission.

           “Oh it’s for children is it lass?? The pray tell what brings you here?” The moment th words left his mouth, he regretted them. But it was too late, and all he could do was watch the anger flare in her eyes.

“I am here because it has been my son’s only wish for the last three years, to meet you. And Lord knows, I couldn’t help but want that too, because of how much your character has helped him, I figured that meeting you would give him an even better role model than your character. But I should have known that the only decent men are fictional ones.”

           God he could feel every word she spoke as if it were a knife. He could feel the eyes of his security detail, the multitude of emotions ranging from Robin’s pity to Merida’s indignation. But it was the deep disappointment in Emma’s eyes that hurt most.

           And he had no idea how to answer, so when Robin spoke up, stating that she had to leave the convention, he tried to raise protest, clearing his throat to tell Robin to just forget about it. But she spoke over him, shockingly agreeing with Robin without protest, simply asking to speak with her son before she left.

          After Robin had left he tried to get her attention again, but she quickly dismissed him, pulling out her phone to call someone. She waited for them to pick up, before she began speaking.

          “Yeah, hey Graham. I suddenly found my schedule freed up for the day so I’ll take the date.”

          It felt as if another knife had been stabbed into his heart. Of course she had a significant other. She had a son, and though he noticed she wasn’t wearing a ring, the boy needed a father. Obviously there was a man in her life. And he wasn’t sure why that fact had struck him so deeply.

          “No, no, it’s ok. I have a perfect dress for it.”

          Of course she did. She seemed like the person who would have the perfect outfit for every occasion.

          She snorted, “Yeah, see you tonight then.”

          He wondered what sort of lame line her boyfriend had said over the line that had given her amusement, but that thought was cut short as her heard a tentative voice call from the just opened door, “Mom?”

          He couldn’t see the boy, but he could hear his youth, the lad standing just out of his line of sight. But he could hear every word of the quiet and tender conversation that was being held on the other side of the open door.

          “Hey kid. I just got a call from Graham, and wanted to let you know you’ll be on your own. You text me every hour, and always stay in sight of one of the security guards ok? They are going to watch you while I’m gone, alright. Behave yourself. Ok kid?”

          “Yeah sure Mom! I’m always a gentleman. It’s bad form not to be.” The young boys words had him closing his eyes against a sudden wave of dizziness. For some reason, hearing his character’s signature line out of the mouth of Emma’s young boy drove home more potently than anything else ever had, just how many people looked up to him.

          And how was he treating their trust and admiration? By drinking and fucking any willing woman who would keep her mouth shut about it afterward. He had never felt more ashamed of himself than in that moment.

           “I’ll keep you posted!” came the boys final chirp before the door began to swing shut again. He noticed the look of guilt in her eyes as she watched the door close, and he again felt a need to try and fix the situation.

           “Listen, lass,” it sounded slurred to his own ears and he internally cursed himself for the drinking earlier. But she didn’t give him a moment to recover.

           “No, YOU listen, lad. My son has been dreaming about this day for over a year. SO if you ruin this day for him, if you break his heart, I swear to God, I will find you and make sure that the bruise on your face is the least of your problems. Do you understand me?”

           He was in absolute shock as his mind processed the multitude of revelations her impassioned words revealed to him. He knew she was expecting an answer, but he could not summon the words as he tried to process her unintentional confessions. And then she whirled around and was gone.

           Her words ran around and around in his head as he pulled himself together to go onto stage. Despite her harshness, they seemed to have dispelled the anxiety and unease he had been feeling. Now he had a goal. To be the best role model he could be.

           And throughout the entire time he was onstage, for every question he thought was ridiculous or repetitive, he remembered her words, how long her son had been waiting for this and how her son looked up to him and in the moments when it seemed like it was getting to be too much, he used the words like a talisman, urging himself to be worthy of the lad’s admiration.

           Once the convention ended, and he was finally released from meet-and-greets, photo ops and autograph sessions, his team  team led him toward the back of the building, he noticed that Robin was not among them.

           “Hey Will, where’s Robin?”

           The man looked at him with an odd glimmer in his eye. “He’s watching the kid. Apparently, his mam got herself in a spot of trouble, had to go to the ER.”

           “What?” Killian whirled around, panic gripping his chest.

           Will just shrugged. “That’s what I heard, anyway. The kid seemed a bit worried so Rob took ‘im outside to get some air.”

           Killian nodded, and without really thinking it through, turned and marched out the rear exit into the chilly air, immediately scanning the sidewalk for his mate and the lad. He found them sitting at the shuttle stop and made his way over.

           Robin noticed him first, and his eyebrows jumped in surprise, and Henry, the lad immediately took notice, turning quickly to look over his shoulder. Then his mouth fell open and his face went slack in shock, before he shot to his feet.

           “You- you- you’re Killian Jones.”

           He couldn’t help the smile on his face at the boy’ starstruck expression. “Aye, lad. That I am. Do you mind if I join you?”

           The boy looked like he might faint or start flying, so Killian urged him to sit down before he hurt himself trying to decide.

           “So tell me about yourself, lad.” He wanted to get to know the boy that had inspired such passion in his mother, and what ha started out as simple information gathering soon turned into an extremely engaging conversation. He barely noticed Robin taking his leave. Henry was a smart lad, and his opinions on the show and its various character were well formed and thought out.

           But as time passed, the conversation strayed from the show to other matters, and to his surprise and delight, Henry began to confide in him. The boy expressed his concern for his mother and her job, which he informed Killian was bail bonds. (And if he felt an immense relief that the date she had mentioned was for work, no one need know by him.)

            He told Killian of his own personal fears and aspirations, his desire to be an author and his self-doubts. And Killian couldn’t help but feel for the boy, and following a compulsion that welled up within him, he offered Henry his phone number.

           “If you ever need to talk to someone lad, and your mum isn’t the right choice, I’ll be happy to offer you what assistance I can.”

           The look of gratitude on Henry’s face was one he didn’t think he would ever forget, but even more surprising was when the boy practically threw himself at Killian in a tight hug.

           “Thank you so much,” Henry murmured as he pulled away. “You have no idea how much this means to me. “

           Killian beamed at the boys heartfelt gratitude, a warmth sparking to life inside him, filling the empty void in his soul in a way the alcohol never had been able to.

           But all too quickly, their bubble was broken as his hurricane of a mother blew in. As he took in her limping stride as she approached, he felt bile rise up in his throat at the sight of her wounds. But it was clear she was ready for war, so he fell back into his persona, arming himself for the battle ahead.

           But she seemed to not even want to bother, because the next moment pain exploded through his nose.

           “You absolutely disgust me. Not only do you drunkenly assault and hit on women at a fucking convention, but then when said women make it clear that they aren’t interested, you try to get to them through their son? How fucking pathetic are you?”

           But this time he had his wits about him, and the cold anger at her judgement had his spine tightening. He studied her face, and considered all he knew of her. And he decided that that the best way to get through to her was the direct route.

           “You listen here, lass. I don’t know what happened to you that made you so bitter. But I can assure you that whatever opinion you have of me, you are wrong. Have a nice evening.”

           He turned away, not giving either of them an opportunity to say something in anger that might be regretted later.

           But then he heard her call, “Oh yeah? Then why are you the one running away?”

           He couldn’t help but smile even as he wiped his lip of blood, turning to watch her march back to her car, a small yellow beetle. Henry was watching him with fear in his eyes, so he raised his hand and smiled in farewell to the boy.

           As he made his way back inside, his crew taking in his new appearance with shock, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Taking it out, he saw a text message from an unknown number.

           Unknown: Sorry my mom punched you in the face. She normally isn’t like that, she just had a bad day, and you were in the wrong place at the right time. Anyway, thank you again for talking with me. It meant a lot.

           He smiled at the boy’s apology. Then another notification came in.

           Unknown: This is Henry Swan, btw.

           Swan. Henry and Emma Swan.

           “Regina, for the last time, no. I do not want to sue, press charges, or seek any other legal action against Swan. The doc said my nose wasn’t broken and the bruises should heal before filming starts up again.”

           His manager huffed, but after a moment longer regarding him, she just nodded. “Fine, if you don’t want to talk about that, let’s discuss your rehab situation. We have a problem.”

           He looked up, concerned, “What is it?”

           “Contractually, we have to have to give your team the filming breaks off, so we won’t have any security for you, and I don’t feel comfortable with that.”

           “Regina, really, I honestly don’t need a team, I’ve told you th-” he cut off mid-sentence when his phone vibrated in his hand. He had it on Do Not Disturb, so that could only mean it was one of three people: Else, Liam, and most recently, Henry Swan.

           HS: Killian, I’m not sure what to do. I’m freaking out. Mom’s been shot. It’s not lethal, and her condition is steady, according to the nurse over the phone, but Mary Margaret and David are not answering their phones and I know you are still in the city and I can’t get a ride, I don’t have any money and I am so sorry but can you send someone to give me a lift?

           KJ: Of course lad, just stay calm. I’m on my way now. Can you give me some more information?

           HS: They said she’ll be hospitalized until next week and then she’ll have to take leave for at least a month and a half to recover. No hard work or strenuous exercise.

           KJ: Good to know, but I meant about your location lad.

           HS: Oh! Sorry, I’m right here (location pinned on map)

           KJ: Ok I’m headed over now lad. Just sit tight, stay calm, and we’ll get this sorted.

           HS: Thank you so much.

           He looked up from his phone to see Regina scowling at him, and despite the deep worry he felt in his gut, he couldn’t help the smile that came to his face as an idea popped into his head.

           “I think I may have just found a solution to that problem Regina. That and you’ll have an opportunity to satisfy your need for payback with the lovely and violent Miss Swan.”

           “What the hell are you talking about, Jones?”

           “I need to get the car. I’ll tell you on the way.”

[kmomof4]

PRICELESS!!! Excellent!!!!! LOVE it!!!! Merry Christmas to all of us in the fandom!!!

CS AU: Decking the Halls and Slippery Falls - CSSS 2017

Captain Swan Secret Santa 2017 gift for @totheendoftheworldortime

Merry Christmas! YO-HO-HO!! ‘Tis I, your Secret Santa! Thanks for chatting with me the past couple of weeks. I hope you enjoy your gift. I was an absolute pleasure to write it for you!!

Based on the prompt: I just wanted to put Christmas lights up but I ended up falling off the ladder and crashing into you while you were delivering a package to my door but oh god you’re hot, AND your expressed love for the snowed in trope. Enjoy!

Rated: M - for sexy times / ~7600 words / Also available on ao3 and ff.net

beta’d by the amazing @ilovemesomekillianjones, who also came up with its brilliant title. Thank you!

Emma finished securing the ladder to the side of her house and began the perilous ascent to the rooftop. These probably weren’t ideal conditions for hanging outdoor Christmas lights, but this was her only day off for the next several days, and with a snow storm set to blow in later that afternoon it was her one chance to get lights up before Christmas actually came.

And she was gonna get these lights up.

And get the rest of her house decorated.

Before her Christmas tree was delivered.

So she could spend a cozy evening decorating her first ever Christmas tree, in her first ever house, with the first snowfall of the season swirling outside the windows that were all her own.

All hers.

Emma Swan had never had much that she could actually call her own, which made this Christmas in her first house all the more special. She planned to go all out. Garlands, and wreaths, and fake candles in the window sills, lights on the outside of the house, and even a real live Christmas tree.

Yup. It was going to be the best Christmas ever.

If she didn’t kill herself getting the house lights up first.

In typical Maine fashion they’d had several days of wet, dreary yuck leading up to the first potential snowfall, so everything had a coating of moisture that would surely turn icy as the temperature began to drop throughout the day. Emma meticulously worked to hang the outdoor lights with as much haste as she could, without sacrificing precision. She’d just gotten to the last stretch along the front of the house when she heard the telltale sound of tires on gravel, indicating that someone was pulling up to her secluded home on the outskirts of town.

As deputy of the small, coastal town of Storybrooke, Emma got her fill of the citizenry day in and day out, through her profession; so when the opportunity came to buy a home several miles out of the way of the hustle and bustle of town, she’d jumped at it. Sure it was a little inconvenient, but the privacy was exactly what she’d wanted, and the forest views that surrounded most of her property weren’t too shabby either.

The distance, and slightly sketchy bridge that spanned the little brook just off the main road, did sometimes make her feel bad for those who had to trek out to her neck of the woods. Those like the person currently making their way up her drive with a full and lovely Christmas tree loaded in the back of a truck that had Jones Tree Farm displayed along its side.

The same person who, ever since he’d arrived in town five months prior, turned Emma into a ridiculous swooning cliche of a woman.

Killian Jones.

The little… er, younger brother of resident park services manager, Liam Jones.

The hot, seductively sinful, but slightly nerdy, and totally sweet, (and single) brother of Liam Jones.

Keep reading

[lifeincolorblog]

Hi there, CSS Santa here! So I was struck with an idea and wanted to see if it is something that you'd be interested in! I was thinking of doing snapshots of their domestic life that we didn't get to see post season 6. Also no worries about not loving Season 7, I wasn't thrilled with it and I only watched Jen's last episode. I hope you are having a lovely holiday season (whichever holiday you celebrate this time of year) :)

Hey!

That would be really cool! I’d love to see some domestic CS. Apparently, “many years” have passed since we’ve last seen them. Truly, I didn’t realize until I wrote my last reply how important it was to me that, whatever story you wrote, I really wanted to see them be married, see their post season 6 life. It’s hard to look back once the show has progressed the characters—despite whether I liked the progression or not. 

Sorry to hear you didn’t get anything out of Season 7, either :( I stopped all my ONCE activities in the hiatus before S7 in hopes that I could stop this show from emotionally ruining me when I did finally start watching again. Boy, did that not work out like I had planned! The minute I watch S7E1, I’m sucked right back in and, then, S7E2 happens…and I still havent had nerve enough to watch the last 10 mins of it. And it is kind of annoying because, though CS is what got me through a lot of bad writing/ plot holes/ unresolved plot threads, I still liked other facets of & other characters in the show. Idk, if all of that is enough to get me past the resentment, though.

Any other shows you’ve been enjoying since ONCE ended? Or any other fandoms you’ve been apart of before/ during ONCE? Like I said, I tried to get invested in another show (I binged NBC’s Community—which has one of the best pilot episodes ever imo), but it didn’t completely cure my ONCE problem :) 

With regards to holidays, one side of my family is Jewish, the other side is Christian. We used to go all out for Hanukkah, but as my family grew apart Christmas has become the main focus this time of year. (We finally got our tree up, today, one week before Christmas!?! Plus, I’ve still got ALL of my shopping to do 😬)

Hope you are having a nice holiday season, as well! May you be more prepared than I am! :) 

[noahreids]

Hello! It is I, your Santa! ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ It was really great getting to know you! You can find your gifts on my cssecretsanta tag! Have a lovely day

Yay! It’s wonderful to finally meet you! I had a blast getting to know you (and hope to continue!). I adore my gifts, I’m just going to stare at them for awhile if you don’t mind. ;) Thank you and hope you are having the loveliest of days! xoxo

[snowbellewells]

Saturday csss drabble part 2/2: “And we’re doing this because?” “Because dad asked. It’s a Christmas surprise for mom.” “Can’t you just magic it together, love?”Her eyes lit up at the idea, and with a wave of her hand, the table was complete.

How sweet- both that Dave enlisted their help with a gift for Snow, and his hopeful ‘can’t you just magic it together love?’

I like that she is comfortable enough with her magic now, and his complete acceptance of it, so just whip it complete. Problem solved! ;)

[ilovemesomekillianjones]

Thank you for the kind review 😊 I am so happy that you like it.

No More Running

To my CSSS giftee @word-bug, it has been a pleasure chit chatting with you over this holiday season! Here is your present, a little angst, a little mutual pining, a little smut, and a ton of fluff. I hope you enjoy it! HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

This is a fic based on the prompt, “you’re in the hospital for the holidays so i came in while you were sleeping to decorate your room i love you merry christmas” - from this post: http://nadiahilker.tumblr.com/post/133627477715/im-always-a-slut-for-a-christmas-au-i-know-we

Beta’d by the ever lovely @like-waves-on-the-beach Thanks for the time you gave me, on Christmas Eve morning no less, to beta for me.

8.2k   ao3   ffnet

“Merry Christmas, Swan! What’s up?” Killian answered his phone with a silly smile; the same silly smile that always came across his face when his best friend was on his mind.

“Still ever the jolly little elf, aren’t ya,” Emma deadpanned.

“Nothing little about me, Swan, but yes, I am quite jolly.”

“Alright, alright, enough of that. I’ll be off around five, are we still on for tonight?”

If possible, his smile grew wider at the hopeful tone in her voice. “Of course, what do you have in mind?”

“You could come over to my place, we could get chinese and watch a movie?”

“It’s Christmas Eve, eve, Swan-”

“That’s not even a thing, Killian.”

Killian could practically hear the eye roll through the phone. “It is so, and there is much to do on this Christmas Eve, eve; it’s a Saturday evening. The town Christmas parade is tonight, the Irish Rose is having an all night Christmas party, drinks are half price. The Nightmare Before Christmas is playing at the cinema-”

“What are you, the local entertainment section of the paper? I’m so burnt out after this week, I really want to keep it lowkey.”

“Well if you insist on staying in, it’s going to be at my place. You don’t even decorate, Scrooge.”

“I am not a scrooge! I just don’t like- I mean I don’t have time to- ugh, whatever. Not everyone likes it when Christmas throws up all over their house.”

“You’re right, not everyone enjoys it, you and Scrooge for example,” he laughed into the phone.

“Your place it is,” she acquiesced, knowing she really was a bit of a scrooge. But it wasn’t a totally unfounded reason for her lack of Christmas spirit. “I’ll pick up food on the way, pick your pleasure.”

“Well if it’s pleasure we’re talking about, I’ve a wholly different menu than anything you can pick up from restaurant, love,” he flirted.

“Oh my god, Killian. You are so shameless,” she chastised, silently praising the fact that blushing couldn’t be seen through the phone.

“You love it,” he taunted her. “Are you blushing yet?”

“What do you want for dinner,” Emma dodged his question.

“I’ll cook,” he answered, “see you tonight, Swan.”

“See ya,” she replied before disconnecting.

♥E&K♥

Keep reading

[mayquita]

Hello hello dear! It’s your Secret Santa, very sorry for not visiting you in a while but the Elves have gotten themselves in kind of a mess and I’ve been busy sorting them out haha ;) I would first like to ask how are you doing? And second, what are your top 10 CS moments? And also what adventure would you like CS to have in a second CS movie? I hope you have a wonderful rest of your week, sending some cheer your way!

I’m very happy to hear from you. I’m fine, starting to get nervous since I haven’t finished (I haven’t really started) Christmas shopping. What about you?

Top 10 of CS moments? This is quite difficult! But I’m going to try, in no particular order.

About a second CS movie…. they could travel back in time to the future and see a glimpse of their already grown children. Or maybe a more realistic adventure, they could travel to all the places where Emma grew up, places she keeps bad memories of, with the goal of replacing them with new and good memories. Or maybe they could travel back to the Enchanted Forest and visit the places where Killian grew up, or they could go on a mission to Arandelle to help Elsa …Actually, any story that CS is involved in will be like a movie, quite the adventure :)

Have a great day!

[word-bug]

Apologies! I’ve been busy, lots of last minute holiday prepping - shopping, baking, wrapping gifts, editing some CS stories, and of course working on yours. We do make gingerbread houses sometimes, but we use graham crackers, instead of gingerbread. I must be off now as the deadline draws near for all things Christmas!! I hope you are well, and good luck narrowing down the urls. I am curious if you sherlocking skills will uncover my identity 🕵🏻‍♀️

I think I have some names. But I am not very sure. Christmas is fast approaching. I’ll have to hone my skills. *Bunching up my sleeves to get ready for the battle*

I hope that you’ve a good day and an amazing holidays.

I am working to learn Python and working on CS stories. So for CSLB I was searching some places. Have you ever went overseas? 

Sadly I haven’t gone. If given a chance I’d love to visit Rome, Paris and London amidst others in Europe. I really wanna visit Canada once and NY.

For some reason I’d love to visit Italy. There’s something magical associated to that place in my mind.

Happy holidays. :D

[allons-y-to-hogwarts-713]

Captain Swan Secret Santa 2017 (2/3) - for @captainoftherollyjoger (Inspired by Ed Sheeran - “How Would You Feel (Paean)”)

How would you feel, if I told you I loved you? It’s just something that I want to do I’ll be taking my time, spending my life Falling deeper in love with you So tell me that you love me too (x)