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lucyintheskywithxanax · 3 years ago

Text

Light Shall Smite Her

Pairing: Mildred Ratched x Reader

A/N: hello @serawalkerwrites, this is my humble gift to you as your SP secret gifter 😌😘 I’m so nervous to post this, I hope you’ll like it. If you don’t, in the words of Puck, “This weak and idle theme, / no more yielding but a dream, / gentles do not reprehend. / If you pardon, we will mend.” x

(please bear in mind English isn’t my first language, so my apologies for weird sentences)

Word count: ≃ 5 600

“I heard the new head nurse is very beautiful.”

Rosie waited expectantly for an answer. You hummed.

“I said,” Rosie repeated, in a louder, slightly annoyed voice, for she was excited and couldn’t bear your ignoring her right now, “I heard she’s very beautiful.”

You gave her a sideways glance by way of an acknowledgment, not bothering to stop your quick scribbling.

Rosie rested her elbows on the table and leaned towards you. “Don’t you care?”

“I’m writing,” you mumbled.

“Aren’t you interested, though?”

“Listen, Rose,” you started, setting your pen down and finally meeting your co-worker’s eyes, ”my break is over in five minutes, and I want – no, I need – to finish this, so would you be so kind as to postpone this conversation until later?”

Rosie straightened up with an irritated click of her tongue. “Fine,” she hissed. “I was just trying to be nice. Knowing you’re single, and all.” She turned, made to leave, but suddenly stopped to mock over her shoulder, “And by ‘and all’, I’m referring to the pathetic rant I had to suffer through last night about how ‘lonely’ you feel and how ‘unfair’ the universe is. I’m just trying to help.”

“Thank you, Emma Woodhouse,” you called after her as she angrily stomped out of the room.

With a sigh you resumed your writing. You hadn’t meant to be so harsh with Rosie, but you really needed to get rid of your thoughts and ideas by writing them down before your break was over. If you didn’t, the words would howl reproachfully in your head for the rest of the day, make a racket and fog your brain till you were finally able to spit them out on paper.

Just a few minutes more, you begged the clock on the wall. Your wrist was aching. Two more lines, and then you finally sat back in your chair with a huff like a warrior who has won their hardest battle.

You glanced up at the clock. Break over.

The clinic was unusually quiet today. A few patients looked up at you as you passed them on your way down the corridor. You offered them smiles, blinked at the sun when you glanced outside.

The lobby was deserted. You worked at the front desk, and were in charge of most administrative tasks – a rather boring job, but it paid well and left you enough time to write.

You were sorting out schedules when Rosie crossed the lobby, pushing an old man in a wheelchair. She shot you a moody look and mouthed something you didn’t understand. Five minutes later she was back; and, planting her elbows on the front desk, mouth tight and eyes studying your face, she started, “So, as I was saying, the new –” but before she had time to finish there was the sound of a door opening, heels, a voice speaking quickly, and then two people walked briskly into the lobby.

And one of them was a male nurse you knew called James, a boring, conceited person you couldn’t care about; and the other – but someone had drugged your coffee. There was no other explanation.

James came to a halt before your desk. With a contemptuous look to Rosie, he pushed her to the side, and ignoring her angry hiss announced proudly, “Y/N, this is Mildred Ratched, our new head nurse.”

You stared at her. The world around you vanished. It was as if someone had shone a spotlight on her, the rest of the room going dark as the audience held their breath. You were suddenly too hot, the air in your lungs was burning gas and it hurt – but Mildred’s face stayed perfectly composed.

She gave you a polite smile and extended one hand to you as if nothing terrible was happening, as if you and her were meeting for the very first time and the only thought crossing your mind, as it had two years ago, simply was, What a beautiful woman.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” Mildred said, red lips curling up into a smile.

You knew that smile. It was the smile that reached her eyes but was fake and cold and meant to signify, I know what I’m doing. I’ve got this. There’s nothing you can do but submit.

You shook her hand. Mildred saw the way your arm trembled when you drew it back and pressed it against your chest.

“I’m giving Miss Ratched a tour of the clinic,” James was saying, with a note of pride in his voice. “She’s been very impressed by our equipments.”

“Yes,” Mildred answered, gaze boring into you. “The place where I used to work certainly didn’t enjoy such modern facilities.”

Your brain took over. It really was the only way you could survive this moment. You swallowed and locked up your heart and let coolness and calm seep through you.

“The place where you used to work?” you asked. You congratulated yourself on how neutral your voice sounded.

Mildred’s brow pushed up slightly, for she knew exactly what you were doing. She knew you. And despite your best efforts, you felt heat creep up your cheeks, heat creep up your ears, heat everywhere it was too damn hot.

But you would be damned, you told yourself, you would be damned before you averted your gaze from hers.

“Oh, it was a small place,” Mildred answered – and was her smile turning a little cruel? “You wouldn’t know it,” she added, and just like that, with her smile lingering on her lips, she turned from you and gestured for James to lead the way.

You stared at her back as she walked off, gait as decisive as you remembered it to be, but with that nervousness to it, as if she were constantly running from something. Do you only know where you’re headed?, you had asked her once – and she had gazed at you thoughtfully as she’d blown out cigarette smoke, and hadn’t answered.

“What was that all about?”

A door slammed shut, making you jump. Only know did you realize that your fists were tightly clenched, and your lungs were burning from lack of oxygen. You forced yourself to take a deep breath.

“What was that all about?” Rosie asked.

You glanced at her. “Don’t you have something to do?” you snapped.

Mildred and you. The story was a simple one.

She had been a nurse at the local state hospital, you had been a professional writer; you had met at a coffee shop, where you would both spend your Saturday afternoons. You had talked. You had laughed.

The sparkles in her eyes when she would talk about things she loved, things that made her happy, had caught your attention. So had her smiles, and her laughs, and every little thing she had said and pointed out.

You had ached. And then one day you had been bold enough, and leaned in to kiss her. And she, with a half-disgusted, half-shocked laugh, had pressed one hand to your chest to push you away – and in a voice that was only slightly shaking, had demanded what the hell you thought you were doing.

Turned out she had been hunting. For a young, happy woman, who would “fill the needs” of her brother, just recently got out of prison. You had gawped at her as she had explained the whole scheme to you, talking for all the world as if she were having a perfectly casual, perfectly normal conversation –

And then –

The anger and the disgust and the pain and the betrayal. You had stormed out of the coffee shop with the need to scream and to destroy something. To make someone bleed. To make someone pay for what you were feeling.

And the hatred – how you hated her. And yet, there had been signs, you had seen them – how she would bite her lower lip sometimes when she listened to you talk, how she would glance up at you, eyes a little darker and a little stormier and a little shy, how when she would reach out to cup your face in her hands, to comfort, to reassure, her touch would linger and her fingers would hold as if you were made of the most precious star matter in the universe – you couldn’t have been wrong. She had wanted you. You knew it. But she had been on a mission, and nothing could distract that kind of a woman from her goal.

To know you had been used, to know you had been seen as nothing more than a piece of meat to be fed to a hungry animal, made you feel dirty and disgusted with yourself. You couldn’t get rid of the feeling. So, with a desperate need to get rid of yourself, of the way you had been seen, you moved and got a new, different job – tried not to think of the reasons why you applied to a clinic of all places. You made yourself new, in a way.

And now – now your old self slammed back into you with a vengeance. It wouldn’t have been a problem, not really, had it come alone; but it was accompanied. It stood hand in hand with hope. And hope – hope was the worst.

The rest of the day passed quickly. You focused on your work, let your brain hold the wheel and did your best to ignore the thing, the thing that was warm and insistent and that you could feel growing in your chest, from making too much noise. It was adamant it would make itself known, though, and you were well aware it would only take a spark to set the fire roaring – and sure enough, at 5:30pm, as you were gathering your things and about to leave, the warmth started to burn – for Mildred, in her nurse uniform, walked up decidedly to your desk and, lips curled up, said, “Doesn’t your shift end at six?”

You clenched your teeth as you slowly looked up at her. “You’re not the boss of me,” you retorted, low and mean.

Mildred’s mouth twitched. “I would not be so sure of that.”

“I arrive earlier in the morning so I can leave earlier in the afternoon,” you snapped, louder this time.

She hadn’t changed a bit. She still looked exactly the same. You stared at her impeccable hairdo, at her collar, trying not to pay too much attention to the pale column of her neck; up, past her lips – a shudder, at the reminder of how they had felt against yours – to meet her eyes again, and catch a glint of amusement in them.

You cleared your throat, pretended the heat that flooded your face was fueled by anger, not embarrassment.

“So how’s your brother?” you taunted.

Mildred blinked. Her smile faded. She glanced over her shoulder, then leaned towards you and said, “Can we talk somewhere private?”

“Why?”

“I have things to say to you.”

“Things to say to me?” You snorted. Crossed your arms against your chest. “I don’t care what you have to say. I’m going home. Move.”

She didn’t move. She stood resolutely planted in front of your desk, eyes boring into yours, so you picked up your bag and walked around her, bumping her shoulder to make a point.

She flinched, as she always did when you would touch her without warning. You felt her gaze burning the nape of your neck as you hurried off. It was all you could do not to run when you reached the door.

“This woman isn’t trustworthy,” you told your boss the next morning.

He barely looked up from his paperwork. “Which woman?”

“Miss Ratched.” You pretended you felt nothing, pretended it was not like music, when you uttered her name. “You made a mistake hiring her.”

“Did I?”

“She doesn’t have the credentials for the post of head nurse.”

A glance at you, annoyed and distracted.

“Her credentials are excellent.”

“They’re fake,” you insisted, shaking your head. “Everything about this woman is fake. Believe me, you cannot trust –“

“Miss Y/L/N,” he interrupted with a sigh, “if you do not have proof for these allegations then you’re only making me lose my time.”

You sat at the front desk in a bad mood. Patients glared at you when you answered their questions too shortly, and you glared right back at them until they lowered their gaze. Every time you heard footsteps, every time you heard a voice, your heart would speed up and your head buzz and you would look up, half in fear, half in (but that was hard to admit and, at first, you denied it) hope, expecting to see Mildred. You didn’t, though. The hours passed by and the nervousness in you increased, but Mildred never once crossed the lobby. She wasn’t in the break room at lunch; a nurse told you she had gone out to a restaurant with a friend.

At 5:30pm you left in an even worse mood. You told yourself it was because you hadn’t had the opportunity to be mean to Mildred, to take out on her some of your resentment and anger. There was no other possible reason, and if there was, it certainly was not that you were disappointed you hadn’t had the opportunity to at least steal a glance at her.

At home that evening you tried to write, but the words had disappeared from your brain. You sat at your desk, eyes glazed, fingers unmoving. There was something in your chest that was made of emptiness and yet weighted heavy near your heart.

As you lay in bed you tried to summon bright images in the dark, the brightest you could create, red sunsets and turquoise oceans, anything to outshine the image of Mildred. You tossed and groaned and got too hot. In the corner of your room it seemed to you something was crouching, and looking up at you, and hoping.

In the morning you opened your window and stuck your head outside. The air still carried the chill of winter and made you shiver. But your blood was boiling. It was boiling still when you got into your car, boiling when you settled at the front desk and turned on your computer.

You decided it was boiling out of anger.

And yet – did anger make one’s heart beat so very fast at the mere sound of heels on tiles?

You told yourself it did.

It wasn’t until your lunch break that you saw Mildred. As usual, you gulped down your lunch to have time to write; and you were just starting when the door opened, and without so much as an introduction Mildred walked in and stopped right in front of you.

You looked up from your work.

“What do you want?” you growled.

Mildred gave you a pacifying smile.

“Good afternoon,” she started, lacing her fingers together in front of her. “As I said the other day, I merely want to talk.”

You snorted, and pretended to focus on your writing. But just as last night, words fled from your brain. Mildred’s presence was taking all the room inside your head, filling it with her scent and her colours, her voice, the shapes of her body. Your heart was beating too fast, your pen was frozen on the piece of paper, and out of the corner of your eye the blue from Mildred’s uniform was too bright, it was too flashy, it drew all of your attention.

After a few, long seconds of tense silence, you dropped your pen on the table and almost barked, “Fine, go ahead, talk.” You met Mildred’s eyes and tried to scowl, tried to convey to her the vehemence of your anger. “Say what you have to say and then get out and don’t talk to me ever again.”

“You’re quite overreacting, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’ve got some nerves, wouldn’t you say?”

More silence, as you both stared at each other. Mildred’s gaze wasn’t cruel or angry, you noticed; if anything, she looked nervous.

“Since you want us so badly to speak,” you said before she had time to, “answer this question: what would have happened, if I hadn’t tried to kiss you?” You waited, but since she didn’t answer, merely kept on looking at you with one hand sliding up her other arm to hug herself, you went on, “What would have happened, uh? You would’ve dropped a sleeping pill in my drink, kidnapped me, locked me up somewhere for your brother to do to me whatever he wanted?”

Mildred let out a short, offended laugh. “Don’t be so crude.”

There was yet another pause, during which she looked at you, nervously, and you looked at her, angrily; and then, entirely of its own, your gaze flicked to her mouth, and she noticed it, and her eyes widened a little.

You looked away and cleared your throat, praying – praying! – that the heat you could feel everywhere didn’t show in your face.

“I would merely have introduced you to Edmund,” Mildred answered eventually.

You met her eyes again. “I don’t believe you,” you growled. A pause. “Why did you wait so long?”

“I needed to make sure you were the right one for him.”

“And how many women,” you went on, slowly standing up and slamming your fist on the table,” did you try out before me?”

Mildred’s eyes darted to your hand as it hit the table. She jumped slightly, fear widening her eyes, and for a moment regret washed part of your anger away. You took a step towards her with the intention to reassure, no longer to fight.

You caught yourself, though. You stopped, and folded your arms on your chest.

“Answer me,” you growled.

“You were the first,” Mildred said, voice a bit tight. She hesitated, stroked her arm with her thumb. “I had no idea you were the kind of woman who doesn’t like the company of men.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “And you think that excuses everything?”

“It must have made it more unpleasant.”

“Any woman would know how fucked up it was,” you growled. “Except you, clearly.”

Silence settled between you two. Mildred’s thumb was still stroking her arm nervously, and you found yourself staring at it, as if drawn by the repetitive movement.

“I apologize for what I did,” Mildred said after a few moments.

Your eyes flicked back to her face. “Do you really? Do you really mean it? Or is it another lie, meant to coax me?”

“I do mean it,” Mildred replied.

“Then prove it.”

Something like annoyance flicked across Mildred’s features; but then, as quickly as it had come, it faded, and the nervousness settled back.

“How?” she asked.

You took another step towards her, meaning to invade her space, just a little, just to show her you had the upper hand. An idea flashed in your brain, but you couldn’t quite see its contours through the mist of boiling anger, so when you voiced it, it was without fully knowing what the words would be.

“Let me make sure you’re the right one for me.”

You paused. You decided you rather liked these words.

Mildred’s mouth opened, closed again. She titled her head, eyes narrowing.

You took another step forward.

“Let me,” you breathed, extending one hand to brush invisible dust from her sleeve, “try you out and decide whether I want you for myself.”

Mildred held your gaze with a stubborn, challenging – amused? – kind of fierceness, and you noticed how she had started breathing through her mouth, how her cheeks were coloring, not with embarrassment, but with excitement it seemed; like a champion in the starting blocks, adrenaline racing through her veins.

Something was drumming in your ears. Certainly it was your heart, but maybe it was something else - and this time you couldn’t fool yourself into thinking it was anger. Anger never drummed, anger thundered. Desire – longing – had its own particular kind of music.

You wondered, vaguely, if Mildred could hear it too.

She blinked. The fierceness in her gaze faded. She looked away, the black in her eyes turning sad and shy, then looked up again, hopeful this time, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the mirror that was her gaze, always reflecting, always revealing.

“Alright,” she said.

Your lips twitched into a smirk.

And then, just when you thought you had won, she smiled that victorious smile of hers that reached her eyes but was always cold, except this time it was warm, and there was mischief shining under it like a child up to no good.

“You have 24 hours, not a minute more,” she said, playful, almost singing. “Make the best of them.”

And then, and then - she lifted one hand, brushed the back of her fingers down your cheek, to mock your previous touch and remind you who was in control. Her cold skin made you shiver and instantly ache for more; and you would have leaned in and crashed your mouth against hers had you not regained control of yourself at the last second.

She left you with a glance over her shoulder as if to dare you to follow her. She left you standing burning and aching, trying to process what had happened.

You collapsed on your chair, because this all meant, dear you this all meant – that you had been right? That she was interested in you?

You raised a hand to your chest as if that could help slow down your heart. You did not know what you should be feeling. There were too many emotions, and which one was supposed to be right? You needed someone, a guide, to point out and say, This. This is the proper emotion to feel.

You spent the rest of the day in a state of overwhelming nervousness. Every minute you expected Mildred to appear with a cup of coffee or a bouquet of flowers for you. Nothing happened. The afternoon went by as usual. Rosie stopped at your desk for a chat. An old man threw up in the lobby and the cleaning lady cursed.

When the clock reached 4pm, you almost got up and stormed into Mildred’s office to demand what she was doing. Why the hell wasn’t she trying to win your heart? Why wasn’t she being excessively nice, voice dripping with honey, wide eyes begging?

You couldn’t believe the nerves of this woman, and you were fuming, until you saw her crossing the lobby with a young nurse in tow, and she glanced your way, and smiled. And her eyes weren’t wide, they weren’t begging, but they were nice, and they reflected the genuine good intention of her smile.

This is when you realized. There would be no excessive attentions or sweet little lies to flatter. She was aiming for the exact opposite of what you had run away from. Honesty. Being herself.

A little while later she walked up to your desk with a bunch of reproaches because you had messed up with a few patients’ schedules. Her tone was firm, her gaze hard. Brief apologies dropped from your mouth before you had time to think them. You eyed her curiously as she walked away, and kept on gazing at her long after she had disappeared. Then you cleared your throat, and willed yourself to focus on your work again.

When you saw her again, you were making ready to leave. She had changed into a long, forest green pleated skirt and a creamy white blouse with cuffed sleeves. You eyed her up and down as she came close to you, which made a small smug smile tug at the corner of her lips. You prayed all the gods the heat in your cheeks didn’t paint itself pink, and pretended you were busy with your handbag.

“Dinner?” Mildred asked simply. “I know a place.”

The place in question was a small, cozy and fashionable restaurant with a menu of fancy dishes that made your eyes widen. Mildred asked for a table on the terrace, in the setting sun; the waiter pulled out a chair for her with a respectful bow of his head, and for you with merely a nod.

You said something about the sunset, about how glad you were the weather was getting warmer, how dearly you loved the spring; you pointed out flowers. Mildred lit up a cigarette and listened to you speak, her gaze kind and attentive, and it struck you how easily you two were falling back into your old routine. How peaceful it was, how natural it felt to just sit there with her as the sun yawned and stretched, as cigarette smoke and laughter curled lazily up towards the sky.

Mildred folded her napkin and set it neatly on her lap. You glanced at her as you pretended to muse over the menu; and when Mildred’s gaze met yours, an awkward laugh burst out of your mouth and danced in Mildred’s eyes.

“I honestly do not know…” you started.

“Try this,” she smiled, tapping a finger on the menu.

“I do not trust anything with asparaguses in it.”

“Trust me, then,” Mildred retorted with a laugh.

The laugh died prematurely as your face hardened. Mildred swallowed, glanced down at the menu, looked up again to meet your eyes.

“I’ll have it myself,” she said in a slightly subdued voice. “So you’ll know what you’re missing out.”

You hummed, and took a sip of your drink to swallow the lump in your throat.

Dinner passed in easy, casual conversation. Sometimes, after you had said some random thing, Mildred would smile a shy, fond smile at an object on the table or at something around her, like sharing a secret with herself. You didn’t notice the waiter when he came back. Mildred let you steal a forkful of her meal, and laughed victoriously when your eyes widened at the rich taste that filled your mouth.

For dessert you both ordered rose and lemon Turkish delights, and fell in a comfortable silence. You watched Mildred and she watched you. At one point she ran the tip of her tongue over her lower lip to lick off powdered sugar. You felt yourself blush. Mildred noticed, smiled a little smugly; when your eyes met again, hers flicked down to her glass, and her smile turned shy.

“You never answered my question,” you said.

“Which question?” Mildred smiled at her glass.

“How is your brother doing?”

There was cruelty in your words, but you thought you were entitled to some of it. The sun had set by now, the moon and the stars were not out yet: there was no witness.

Mildred’s smile faded. She looked up at you, a little reproachfully.

“He’s doing fine,” she said after a short while, in the voice she used at work with the other nurses. “Better than I thought he would. He found a job taking care of animals at the local shelter. It makes him happy.” A pause. A soft, dreamy smile to the tree on your left. “The animals help ease his mind. They give him purpose. He says he likes caring for innocent souls, that they would never hurt anybody, not because they can help themselves, but because the very idea would never even cross their minds.”

“That’s nice, but I was referring to his love life.”

She searched your eyes. “Nothing much to say about that.”

“So you didn’t find him the perfect spouse?” you asked with a mirthless laugh. “What happened? Set the bar too high?”

A gust of wind tangled in your hair, like a reproach from the universe, but you chose to ignore it. You brushed the strands of hair from your face and scowled at Mildred, awaiting – demanding – an answer.

Someone turned on the overhead lights, which threw a sudden bright, yellow glare on Mildred’s face and chased all the shadows.

“I stopped searching after you,” Mildred replied.

You snorted. There was a need to be cruel that was growing inside you and that was too loud, too outraged to be ignored. It was a military leader, and it had at its command an army led by Resentment, Pain, Anger and Revenge.

“What happened?” you mocked. “Got tired so quickly? Got so disappointed in me you thought it wouldn’t be worth your time?”

Mildred refused to take the bait. She stayed completely calm, face impassible and gaze bold, but soft. Her behavior made Anger give a low war cry and charge.

“The truth is,” Mildred said, and she leaned over the table towards you, and smiled and with her smile was swept away the impassiveness on her face to let a loving intensity shine, “just before you left I had made up my mind to keep you for myself.”

You clenched your fist. “Then why the fuck,” you hissed, “did you push me away?”

“I didn’t! All I did was inform you what my plans had been, for the sake of honesty –”

“For the sake of honesty?” you repeated. “Are you kidding me?”

“But then you ran away,” Mildred finished. Had there been the slightest note of reproach in her voice, you would’ve jumped to your feet and broken something.

“As if you cared,” you growled.

“I tried looking for you,” Mildred said.

She paused. There was a nervous twitch to her mouth that, in the absence of shadows, you saw.

“I don’t believe you,” you growled.

“But you disappeared. You moved, didn’t you? You changed your job, you disappeared so completely and I –”

“Bullshit.”

“– and I tried to find you, but there was my job, and there was Edmund, and I couldn’t give up on him when he –“

“So you gave up on me instead.”

Mildred cut herself short. Silence hung heavy as she struggled, weighed up ugly truth against beautiful lies, until she said in a breath, “Yes.”

A sense of victory washed over you, but it felt sick, unsatisfying, and you wondered whether defeat wouldn’t have been better.

For a long moment none of you spoke. Then you realized in your anger you had leaned towards her, too, and your faces were only a few inches apart.

Mildred’s eyes flicked to your lips. You stopped breathing. You were so mad, you swore if she tried to kiss you right now you would flip the table, rip off the lights, break your chair. She had no right to ask to come back in your life, not after what she had done, and you were so mad, and definitely not leaning in and your lips were not parting as if to taste the air she exhaled –

Mildred raised her hands to cup your face. Her touch was like thunder, except you were not a tree but the sky; you had not been hit and burnt, but sublimated and illuminated.

You flinched, and sat back in your chair.

“So?” you asked, folding your arms on your chest. You couldn’t quite meet Mildred’s eyes. Your face was burning.

Mildred raised her eyebrows questioningly.

“So what happens now? What’s your plan now that you’ve found me?”

Mildred smiled. “That,” she answered, “is entirely up to you.”

Was this a blatant lie? You stared at her, forcing yourself to silence the fresh burst of anger her words triggered in you. For if there was one thing you were quite sure of, it was that Mildred Ratched never relented. When she sank her fangs into a prey, she never let go. She would forever be just a few inches behind you, the shadow gliding on your walls day and night, the fingers brushing your shoulders and making you jump.

“So tell me,” Mildred asked after a short while, “do you like what you see?”

You almost said no. Just to tempt her, just because you could and being cruel was so easy and felt so good. You almost said you would disappear again and change your name so she could never find you. Because deep down you knew that if you really, really tried, you would forget her. Only be reminded of her face once in a while in the middle of a crowd or in a poem.

But did you want that?

You pursed your lips to hold back the word “no”. Mildred would have looked confident enough had it not been for the flicker of nervousness in her eyes. They were so dark, her eyes, they sometimes reminded you of a big cat, crouching in tall grass, silent, body taut, ready to jump on its prey.

She had jumped. And you had run away. But now she was jumping again, and this time, you had seen her coming. And you let her claws sink into your flesh.

You shifted on your seat with a low noise of anger at yourself, glanced up at her and blurted out moodily, “Yes.”

Victory shone in Mildred’s eyes. A smile danced across her lips. She leaned towards you, hands coming up to rest on the table with her nails digging into the wood, her gaze so intense, so wild, and when her lips parted to say something you slipped one hand around her right wrist, pushed back your chair so you could lean across the table, and kissed her.

It was a quick, angry kiss, pulling away before it really had time to start. Mildred blinked in surprise. You scowled at her, your mouth a tight, angry line. Your hand clutched her wrist to prevent her from moving.

“Yes,” you repeated.

A smile. Soft, nervous, hopeful.

“Am I forgiven?” she asked.

“No,” you growled, eyes riveted to her lips. “You’ll have to make it up to me, times and times again.”

Mildred’s lips curled up.

“Oh,” she breathed, “I can live with that.”

#spgiftexchange #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #mildred ratched x reader #mildred ratched #fics

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braindeadbaddie · 3 years ago

Text

A Study on Love: Relearning What It Means to Be Human

Takemichi doesn’t really remember what it’s like to love. He doesn’t really remember what it’s like to live either.

So he is forced to relearn.

In his first life, he blocked all his emotions out, buried his fiery personality away, and kept his head down always apologizing apologizing apologizing. He never wanted to live through the hell his arrogance cost him ever again.

One mistake was all it took to fuck up his life for good.

And yet one push was all it took to make it right.

Takemichi loves Hinata.

Or he did.

When your life’s peak is in the second year of middle school, where emotions and hormones are always high, and everything is so intense, love is as simple as ice cream on a hot summer day.

His first life was simple. The days bled together, full of sorry sorry sorry. Because he was so sorry sorry sorry. Nothing was good, everything was trash, so of course he loved the only person who ever thought highly of him. Of course, that was the highlight of love.

But here he is, in his second life, with a future he crafted, that he took initiative in, that is so much more colorful than his previous one.

And so less lonely.

He doesn’t remember much, his memories of the current timeline lagging a little to catch up, but he does know that even the him that was left to live his life up to this point, started to feel it too:

The dull gray that comes with thinking that as cute as the idea of middle-school sweethearts to lifetime partners is, maybe it isn’t for him. Maybe he doesn’t love Hina the way he once did.

He loved her so much, and he still does. But not like he did before. Her kisses don’t make him feel strong the way they used to. Her embrace lacks a certain warmth. Her love doesn’t make him feel alive the way it used to.

He doesn’t regret saving her. No. He never could. Because he loves Hinata. And maybe it isn’t the blazing love it once was, but it is still a fire that keeps him warm. It makes him feel so good knowing that he saved her, that she’s alive, she’s safe. She’s happy. But she deserves to be happier. She deserves a love that will fulfill her, a love that Takemichi cannot provide for her.

And so Takemichi comes to his first conclusion about love.

That maybe we can love differently at 26 than we did at 14, but that doesn’t make the love any less real.

Just because something is no longer true, doesn’t mean that it once wasn’t, and that doesn’t make it any less valid. People grow, people learn. People become different people.

And isn’t that the most beautiful thing about human nature?

That we can change. That our lives are in our tiny, helpless but ever-changing hands.

So he breaks up with Hina, tells her as gently as possible, cushioning the blows with “I love you, just not the way I used to” and “it’s not you, it’s me,” and “I’m so sor—“

He doesn’t say it. He doesn’t apologize.

He takes a deep breath.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you like this…”

Yes. That is true. That he feels.

Hina cries and Takemichi hugs her. He offers to stay at a friend’s until she is ready to leave. She agrees because she is too much of a mess to do otherwise.

As he packs a bag to stay at Akkun’s or Mikey’s or one of the other guys’ place for a week or so, he is certain that they’ll both be okay.

He’s sure of it.

So Takemichi makes his way out, planting a final kiss to Hina’s head, whispering a soft affirmation that love will find her.

And then he’s out the door and out of her life for good.

Oddly enough, his first instinct is to call Mikey…so he does and not even 20 minutes later, a beautiful CB205T is driving up to the convenience store he is at.

Mikey gives him a reassuring smile, still unaware of why he’s been called out here and why Takemichi needs a place to crash for a while. He just heard Takemichi needed him, and he was already on his way.

Takemichi settles onto the bike, wrapping his arms around Mikey and sighs, inhaling Mikey’s fresh cologne and body wash and fabric softener.

And as he rides through the city with his cheek pressed against Mikey’s warm back, he comes to his first hypothesis about love.

That love must be warm, and smells like vanilla, cinnamon, and sweet sweet ocean breeze.

~~~~

Mikey is helpless.

That is Takemichi’s first impression of staying with him in the first week.

No wonder Draken lives with him, he giggles to himself one morning.

But Takemichi is helpless too, and he realizes that maybe he wants to stop being so. Because he did want a second chance at life. The least he could do was learn household chores.

So he cooks with Draken over his shoulder, instructing him on what to do in a surprising calm voice. The drastic improvement between each meal is always shocking.

He helps Draken with dishes, laundry, and even a bit of spring cleaning.

Takemichi thinks that this is what love must be like. Because what better way to love than to take care of someone in every way you know how.

Mikey is helpless but he takes the skills he does learn and applies it to the small room he has put together in dedication of his missing family. Shin’s room made from a garage stays the same, a time capsule of love. In the memorial are the ashes of Shin, Emma, and his grandfather. The room is adorned with memories, and a picture of Baji nestled between his siblings.

He has the bunny Draken gave Emma on her birthday, three tattered kid uniforms with Sano Dojo embroidered on them hanging on the wall, a picture of the abandoned building with the collapsed ceiling in the Philippines. He has pictures of old bikes, childhood photos, a first generation Black Dragons jacket and a copy of the photo of the founders of Toman. There is a photo of Izana towards the back of the room, hidden away in the corner, a Teijiku jacket hung above and a pair of earrings lay in front.

Takemichi goes into the room sometimes, talks in a soft voice and apologizes for all that he couldn’t do to save the people closest to Mikey. But he promises them that he will dedicate himself to make sure life is a bit easier for him, because now he can share Mikey’s burden with him, instead of making him feel like he must do it alone.

Takemichi looks at all the photos, radiating love, of all of Mikey’s loss, and finally realizes why Kisaki was able to manipulate him into going dark in so many future. Why he still lost his way, even without Kisaki.

And so Takemichi, belatedly, comes to his second conclusion on love.

That love is what makes us human.

It is what fills our lives with color. It connects us to one another, makes life worth living. The two are connected, needing one another so that life does not become bleak and gray. Love hurts, but the hurt is only possible because of love.

Love is our first language.

And Takemichi so desperately wants to use his second life to become more human.

So he makes dorayaki on days that Mikey’s eyes look far away. They’re awful at first; Mikey makes a very disgusted face and a dramatic show of spitting them out. But it still doesn’t fail to bring his eyes back to the present. And Takemichi is determined and stubborn, and if he could fix the future, he can make the perfect dorayaki for his best friend.

So he consults with Draken and the internet and slowly but surely, manages to make a dorayaki so perfect that Mikey’s eyes shine and shimmer and look at him with so much emotion he feels paralyzed in place.

Ah, Takemichi thinks helplessly. That is what love must look like.

~~~

Takemichi moves in with Mikey and Draken.

It’s something brought up by Mikey, co-signed by Draken, and so it instantly becomes a course of action, no matter how badly Takemichi wants to protest.

But he doesn’t.

Because Takemichi thinks that home feels a lot more like a traditional Japanese house, right next to a dojo, with a garage time-capsule than a shitty apartment with paper-thin walls and shitty neighbors.

Home is mornings with Draken wrapped up in a blue-gray apron with a small dragon stitched into the corner pocket, made with love by Mitsuya, making a traditional Japanese breakfast, cursing out Mikey for always waking up so late.

Home is Mikey stumbling into the kitchen, looking more like an adorable 12 year old than a full grown man who could kill you with one kick.

Home is running his hair through black locks on the porch that overlooks a small garden, because Mikey is clingy and says Takemichi is so warm and insisting that he must nap in his lap every Sunday afternoon.

Home is growing fresh vegetables with Draken in the garden to make meals filled with love. It’s the perfect balance of a noisy kitchen while making dinner and a cup of calming tea in the dead quiet before bed.

And so Takemichi comes to his third conclusion about love.

That love is what makes a home.

~~~

Chifuyuu runs a pet shop with Kazutora because he still loves Baji.

Hakkai is a model because he spent so much time around Mitsuya because he loves him.

Smiley and Angry run a ramen shop together, balancing one another, because they love each other.

Mitsuya is a fashion designer because he started sewing for his two baby sisters who he loves so much.

Pey-yan is Pah-chin’s assistant because he loves him.

Draken lives with and takes care of Mikey because he loves him.

Mikey made and disbanded Toman because he loves his friends.

And so Takemichi comes to his fourth conclusion on love.

That love is a lot less like fire, and a lot more like water.

That love is not in burning the world for someone, but building a world for them instead. It is nurturing, it is life, and it refreshes. It makes up so much of who we are.

Sometimes it is soft like a drizzling rain. Sometimes it is sweet like a cool, crisp glass of water. Sometimes it is harsh like a thunderstorm. Sometimes it can be damaging like a brutal tsunami.

But it always always always nourishes the Earth. Even if the pits of it are dark and scary, unknown trenches of deep deep ocean.

Love is so integral to our being.

~~~

Takemichi is slowly but surely learning what it means to be human. He is slowly but surely learning to live each day as if it were precious.

He takes morning runs with Draken. He fosters an environment of forgiveness at work between his employees. He eats ramen at the twin’s shop. He gets bi-weekly haircuts from Akkun. He wears his special Mitsuya-made apron as he cooks dinner. He buys the magazines Hakkai is featured in. He hangs out with Chifuyuu every Friday night. He still talks to Hina and Naoto, loving the way that the light in Hina’s eyes shine brighter than they ever did with him.

And every morning, and every night, in a small futon, he kisses Mikey, sweet and lovingly.

He holds Mikey close to his chest, guarding him from drifting far away into a sea of sorrow ever again. He whispers sweet nothings into his ear, calling him Manjirou on days he sees dark clouds rolling in his eyes. He kisses him like he is trying to pour all the love he feels into Mikey’s heart.

He lets Mikey cry out about how hard life has been, and how much he has suffered. He kisses away his tears, shares his burdens, and wraps him in warm warm love.

Because he has come to a fifth conclusion about love.

That love, to him, is a fierce desire to save someone.

And hasn’t his whole second life been dedicated to saving Mikey?

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earnestly-endlessly · 3 years ago

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Hi! Please, I need help. I am desperate for Fanfiction with Erik and Charles arguing/fighting

Something a little angsty where maybe Erik exaggerates with his powers and risks to hurt Charles without meaning to

It could be also long, like over 70.000 words ... the longer the better ;)

I'd prefer it not to be an AU, but canonverse/fix it/canon divergent

Please help me🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Thank you @shonen-tiger for the ask. I'm terribly sorry how long this took me but I have really been thinking of fics that would fit your description best. It's a bit of a challenge when you have a request this specific, but there are a few I think you might enjoy with these elements.

Dark Flowers - Niphrehdil

Summary: When Charles is captured by a secret organization and used as a weapon for searching and destroying other mutants, Erik has to go after and save him. Erik keeps telling himself he does it only for the mutant kind. At least until he finds Charles.

Wake Up and Smell the Pancakes - Ayra Sei Ethari

Summary: In one universe, Wrik left Charles. In another, he stayed. So what happens when the two Eriks get switches? “At first, Erik thinks he’s dreaming. Then he realizes that this is Charles. Who is not paralyzed. And kissing him.

Count to Three – Harleydoll

Summary: Charles is psychologically damaged after experiencing Shaw's death in his own mind.

Seeing Sense – Ook

Summary: Emma didn't want to work with Erik, so Erik decided kidnapping his boyfriend Charles Xavier and holding him using a power suppressing collar would give hinm time to persaude Charles- gently, of course!- to Erik's school of thought re human-mutant relations. Because every group of mutants needs a telepath.

What he didn't know, and neither did anyone else, (apart from Charles) is that Charles' telepathy is intricately connected with his other senses; suppress his telepathy and he is deaf and blind...This is going to go so well, isn't it?

Unfinished Business – pocky_slash

Summary: It's March of 1963 and Charles Xavier's life seems to be falling into place. Sebastian Shaw is dead and he, Erik, Moira, and their team and young pupils are well on their way to opening their mutant school for fall enrollment.

Everything would be perfect if it wasn't for the childhood nightmares that Charles keeps accidentally projecting to the house, the odd dreams that leave him sleepwalking through corridors that haven't been used in decades, and the children's insistence that the house is haunted by a ghost that roams the halls at night. Erik thinks Charles is seeing things, Moira is afraid that the strange occurrences have something to do with the mysterious man trying to woo her, and Charles just wants proof that it's not all in his head.

The Succession of Events – alphera

Summary: Written for this prompt: "Bit of a spoiler, the movie makes it pretty obvious that Charles feels it as Erik kills Shaw. Even if they hadn't gone their separate ways, that's the sort of thing that would put a strain on the relationship. I want one of them breaking down in the other's arms, weeping. Obvious choice would be Charles, both from the shock of the pain itself, and from his overwhelming pity for the history that would drive a good man to do something like that. But I would be just as happy to see Erik slowly realize exactly what he's done to the man he loves, and have the horror absolutely wreck him.

What can we do without you? – swoopswoop

Summary: Charles and the boys were holding onto a secret more dear to them than their own lives when Charles disappears into the night; Erik is betrayed and finds himself returning to Westchester in the hopes that the government was just trying to trick him. All the while the boys are stuck in the middle, left guarding the secret from the man they are most afraid of finding out who is weaselling his way back into their lives alarmingly easily.

Lay down beside me (so still and so soft) – C_Gracewood

Summary: A different take on the events of the film.

Of Needles – Skull_Bearer

Summary: AU where everyone's born Dominant or Submissive

Once a Dominant and Submissive pair is born, they are linked to each other, no matter how far apart they are. This link doesn't actually tell the Dom or the Sub each other's thoughts, but it does allow them to know how the other's doing and serves as a reassurance that there's someone meant for them out there.

Another one of the reasons that Erik hates Shaw so badly is because Shaw managed to break Erik's link to his Sub. Now Erik doesn't even know if his Sub's alive because breaking a link like that can kill a Submissive.

Meanwhile, Charles hates himself for not yet having telepathy strong enough to contact and help his Dom, especially after feeling the pain his Dom was forced to go through. He truly believes that his Dominant is dead. Hopes it, some nights when he remembers how his Dom was forced to suffer. It's better than to think of his Dom still being forced to bear that pain.

And then Charles pulls Erik from the water

Rumor Has It – blueink3

Summary: "Did I hear the doorbell earlier?"

"Yeah, but I'd steer clear if I were you. It seemed a little tense. I don't know what's going on, but there's a kid out there who looks freakily like the prof."

Nearly six months after Cuba, Charles' life is turned upside down for the second time. Though he's slowly learning to adapt to the first, he's not sure he can handle the second. Luckily for him, there are a few people out there more than willing to help.

A Dangerous Game - pangea, ikeracity

Summary: When a familiar enemy of Erik's returns to the city for some old-fashioned revenge, Charles is sucked deeper into the world of the mob than ever before.

Note: I know you specifically stated that you didn’t want AUs but this fic does actually fit the bill quite nicely in many ways, so I decided to add this one as well.

#fic recs #asks #cherik #cherik fic recs #earnestly answers #fic search

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folerdetdufoler · 3 years ago

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What are Magic 8ball Evak doing today? I miss them.

hey, sorry, you sent this a few weeks ago i think and i really got hung up on it.

usually this kind of thing would be fun to think about but because of the way time works i didn’t know how to write around it! like, when you sent it it was late august, and technically that had like, just happened in the story. we’d just had a late august, so i couldn’t figure out if i should write another “late august day” almost a year after the story finished, even though i only finished the story back in april. that felt like too much of a time jump though, and i hadn’t given isak and even enough time to grow after the story ended. someone else had asked for an update in the comments on ao3 and i couldn’t give them one, not the same way i have been doing for mondays. but i do want to do something, so…

even’s birthday fell on a sunday. it was the first one isak would be celebrating with him, so isak wanted it to be special. but so did sigrid, and she worked faster than him. she invited them to their house for dinner months in advance, which annoyed even. the saturday before, when they were all hanging out at elias’s apartment, even spent most of the time grumbling about it.

“i thought things were getting better with you guys?” elias asked from his throne.

even sighed. “yeah, i mean, we’re fine. this guy is her new bff.” even patted the head of curls sitting against the couch between his legs. “but i just know it’s going to be this over-the-top thing that i don’t want to have to deal with on my birthday of all days. i don’t want that attention.”

isak paused the race he was playing against mikael and whipped around. “you love the attention.”

“yours, not hers.” even gave that same head a correcting tap and isak returned to the game. “if she actually wanted to celebrate my birthday with me then she would ask me what i would like to do, and then maybe it would be something i would enjoy.”

isak scoffed but didn’t pause the game this time. “if she did that you would just tell her to leave you alone.”

“happy birthday to me!”

“then you should just tell her no, you don’t want to spend your birthday with her.” elias doled out the reasonable and obvious advice.

“i would have, but she invited both of us and isak accepted immediately. besides, it’s kind of a regular thing now, sunday dinners.”

“that’s cute,” mutta noted as he walked in from the kitchen with a bag of pretzels and jar of peanut butter. mikael pointed to the coffee table, a silent command to place the snack within his reach.

isak felt a little guilty then, but he kept it to himself. they kept playing their game until it was mutta’s turn, and then isak pushed himself to his feet. he gestured to even to follow him to the kitchen.

even had a big smile on his face as they stepped away, because he was probably thinking isak wanted to kiss him in the privacy of another room. isak did pull him in close by the waist, but it wasn’t for kisses. “we can skip tomorrow,” he offered instead.

even froze for a second, but then shook his head. “no, no, we can go. i would only make it worse by skipping.”

“i would be happy to tell her we’re skipping but take her out to dinner on her own another night, smooth things over.”

even chuckled. “i absolutely love that you feel comfortable having one-on-one dates with my mother but it’s really not necessary. I’m just…complaining. and i’ll complain a little bit more in therapy, and then i’ll work through why i’m complaining and then i’ll be in a better mood for tomorrow. okay?” he reached up and rubbed isak’s shoulders in reassurance.

“will you tell me about it when you get home?” sometimes even shared what they’d talked about and sometimes he didn’t. isak was getting better about asking permission to cross the ever-changing border.

even’s eyes shifted to the side. “it depends on what we dig up.”

isak accepted this. “okay.” he leaned in to kiss even’s cheek, physically changing the subject. “my next question is…how angry do you think elias will be if i steal the big pillows?”

―――

isak had moved into even’s apartment right before christmas, hauling bags and suitcases back and forth over a few days until most of his belongings were at even’s. he fit a desk and his nice chair in the bedroom, and somehow all of his clothes fit in even’s closet. the giant pillows he’d bought had stayed at elias’s apartment, mostly because they would get more use there; the boys still gathered on saturdays and needed the extra seating. but after even left for therapy this was isak’s chance to make the steal without ruining his surprise.

mikael helped him carry them to even’s apartment, since he was ready to leave around the same time as isak. they didn’t talk much on the walk over, but isak knew that that was mikael’s preferred level of communication, and they were both comfortable with it. isak would much prefer a mikael at peace than a mikael ready to launch an attack.

they deposited the pillows in the living room and mikael turned to leave. “we should be here at six?” he asked over his shoulder.

“yeah. i don’t know how late we’ll be but if we leave early then that would be a good time.”

“okay. and elias still has his key?”

“yup.” isak followed mikael down the stairs to their shoes.

“aight. we’ll see you tomorrow then.” mikael offered his hand for a casual slap-shake goodbye, the most physical intimacy isak had ever experienced with him.

“thanks for the help!”

mikael disappeared. isak went back upstairs to find his phone and finalize plans with kari anne in the group chat.

―――

isak dressed nicely for dinners at sigrid & jan’s house. this time he had a red fair isle sweater and dark wash jeans, and some chunky socks keeping his feet warm in his leather boots. even wore something very similar, but his sweater was cream with a different pattern. “do you think she’ll want to take pictures of us again?” even wondered while he combed back his hair, then gently mussed it into a style.

“of course. it’s your birthday. and we look handsome.” isak was applying a dot of concealer just because he could, though he would have to ask emma for more if he wanted to keep up this routine. even put his comb bak in the drawer then leaned in to kiss isak on his opposite cheek. he added a smack to his ass on the way out.

isak liked to dress up a bit because it felt like sigrid and jan dressed up too. it was the polite thing to do, but also isak knew that conversation would flow better if they were all on the same page, even with their appearance. they were all putting the same level of effort into the gathering, and then no one would feel out of place. and it wasn’t too much extra effort, because they would just save the same outfits for work the next day…as long as they didn’t get any stains on them.

they gathered their outerwear as they walked down the stairs, pulling hats and scarves and heavy coats from the hooks along the walls. isak checked in with even right before they left. “are you sure?”

even nodded and smiled and isak didn’t doubt the honesty of his response. he’d shared that his session yesterday had gone well, and they’d talked about certain behaviors from sigrid and himself that he wanted to avoid. “like i’ve been remembering things she’s said and reacting to those instead of what she’s actually doing now. when i feel ready to discuss those past…transgressions, then i need to have a conversation specifically about those moments, versus whatever might be triggering those memories now, whether they’re related or not. otherwise it’s kind of like these mixed messages. she won’t understand what’s actually upsetting me.”

on the way over isak suggested a dinner with just his parents, where isak stayed home. “would it be easier, or give you more of an opportunity to discuss those things without me there?”

“maybe another time. sundays are nice with you.” he gave isak’s hand a squeeze.

they held hands in public now, while they were commuting to work or grocery shopping or walking over to elias’s or meeting emma for dinner. if isak happened to catch a stranger’s curious look, he might tense up a bit, but he didn’t let go anymore.

sigrid & jan’s house was a tiny thing that they’d moved into after even went to university. its yard was bigger than the actual house, but it was completely filled with jan’s garden. another nice thing about going to visit was that they always came home with plenty of seasonal crops. and in the winter it was usually canned fruits, jams, or pickled veggies. sigrid greeted them with big hugs and jan immediately presented two very small jars of “blackberry jam! i got just enough off of that bush at the back.”

“i thought it had died!” even exclaimed, the genuine shock and delight at the gift lifting his voice.

“it’s definitely on its last legs…uh, roots.”

“he was out there every day scouring the brambles.” sigrid shook her head but she was clearly proud of his efforts. then she took isak’s hand and pulled him to the kitchen. even and jan went to the tall closet at the back of the living room where jan stored his jars. “you both look so cozy today. remind me to take a picture later.” she brought him to the stove where she had two large pots simmering. she pointed to one. “i need you to blend that while i get this bread finished.”

“what is it?”

“that’s butternut squash, and this…is a ministrone. kind of. i’ve taken some liberties.”

isak picked up the immersion blender that was sitting next to the stove. sigrid had gotten it started but it was still chunky in spots. while he stood there and mixed the soup she sliced a loaf of bread and laid it out on a baking tray. each slice got a thick spread of butter. isak stepped to the side so she could open the oven and slide the tray in for a quick broil.

she flicked her eyes toward the living room and then leaned toward isak’s chest. “how has he been?”

sigrid asked this question every time they were together. isak had thought it was just general curiosity about the new relationship, but once isak revealed that to even he had rolled his eyes. she was asking isak because it was the nervous curiosity that even had tried to distance himself from years ago. eventually he told his mother to stop using isak to get answers about her own son. that turned into an argument where sigrid nearly started crying about how even wouldn't answer her so she had no choice. she excused herself from the table and jan was left to host the boys through the rest of a very quiet dinner.

at this point isak was comfortable pushing back to defend even’s boundary. “sigrid, you know i’m not going to speak for him. how’s this, is it smooth enough?”

she glanced into the pot. “yes, that looks good.” isak’s deflection seemed to work. “now grab some bowls from the shelf for me please. thank goodness he found a tall one to bring home,” she muttered to herself. isak blushed but easily picked four bowls from up high.

even and jan came to the kitchen shortly after, with jan still talking as they headed to the table. isak passed them the silverware and glasses to set out at each seat. then he helped sigrid carry the pots to the table. before she sat down she dropped a kiss on the crown of even’s head. “how are you doing?” she asked as casually as she could as she moved to her chair. isak sat on the other side of the table, so the couples could look at each other directly. isak studied even as he answered.

“i’m fine, mamma. a little nervous about pappa’s grand scheme over here, but everything else is okay.” isak couldn’t hear any tension in his voice so he relaxed a little bit.

“oh, is he trying to get you on his side about buying a van?”

“how else will i transport my vegetables, sigrid?” jan sounded exasperated by her skepticism.

“dearest, you don’t even have the stall permit yet. don’t put the cart—excuse me, the van—before the horse.”

“catch me up?” isak requested of the table in general. jan gleefully started from the beginning with his grand plan to join the farmer’s market that summer, with the full list of his crops and ideas for clever names for his backyard farm.

most of dinner was spent discussing this great undertaking, with even contributing creative enthusiasm and sigrid sprinkling it all with caution and logic. then they pivoted to jan’s work at the office, and how he found his attention shifting so easily in the warmer months. jan and sigrid lived comfortably and were starting to entertain plans for retirement. that led to talking about the cabin, which turned into the perfect segue by the time they were clearing the table for dessert.

Isak fetched smaller plates from an even higher shelf, and even clapped when sigrid revealed his cake. it was a tall layer cake draped in swirls of light blue icing. there were six candles on top and even’s name written in a shaky, dark blue script. “do you remember that picture you put in the folder for me? the close-up of his face?” sigrid asked isak. he nodded. every few weeks he picked a photo (with even’s approval) from his phone and uploaded it as a wordless update for his parents. that one had been from early december, when they went out for lunch on a random tuesday, just to get some sunlight. “i zoomed in on his eyes and picked the blue color from there.” sigrid twisted to even and cupped his cheeks with her small hands. even leaned into the adoring gesture and those blue eyes crinkled up with a smile. they shared a silent moment of connection and then she released him to stand in front of her chair. isak stood up too. jan struck a match to light the candles.

even laughed and gamely clapped while they sang the birthday song. he watched isak spin around with a little flare, and isak genuinely enjoyed performing something he used to roll his eyes at. then even paused to make a wish and blew out the candles. isak knew he would ask him what he wished for later.

the cake was delicious, and they each had two slices. even tried to flick icing across the table at isak but sigrid threatened him with a spoon. “if you get icing on my wall you are cleaning it up, birthday boy.” even agreed to those terms and kept trying. then jan left the table for the bedroom, and returned by sliding a tall, skinny cardboard box through the kitchen. it had a blue bow stuck on top, which was enough, since it would’ve taken an obscene amount of wrapping paper to cover the whole thing.

“eh?” even stood to look at the box.

“happy birthday, dearest.” sigrid looked very proud of the gift and was enjoying even’s puzzlement. jan stepped back and let even walk around it. they had to hold it at the top so it wouldn’t fall over.

“it’s heavy….” even’s eyes scanned each side. “is…did you get me a bed?” he gripped the box to turn it around, showing sigrid and isak the diagram on the other side. it was, in fact, a bed. “thank you,” even whispered, without much conviction.

“it looks like a nice bed,” isak added, coming around the table to look at the dimensions. “we can get the guys to help us carry it upstairs.”

“oh no! no!” sigrid nearly yelled. “it’s not for—it’s for the cabin. you don’t have to carry it anywhere. pappa and i will take it up on our next trip and build it in your room, so now you’ll have a proper bed for when you and isak visit. i didn’t want those flimsy beds from when you were a kid stopping you from staying in ålesund.”

even’s face relaxed as his mother explained and the bed made more sense. he leaned the box against the nearest counter edge and moved around it to give sigrid a hug. “thank you,” he said again, with actual gratitude. “that’s such a lovely gesture for the both of us.” he pressed a heavy kiss on sigrid’s cheek and isak saw her squeeze her eyes closed. she was going to cry. she let out a tiny gasp when even pulled back. he went to jan to give him a hug as well, and sigrid turned away from them to hide her tears. but isak stepped in and opened his arms for a hug as well, and she fell into his chest and let loose against his sweater.

“thank you, sigrid. that means so much to us.” he rubbed her back to calm her down. “let us know when you’d like a family vacation and we’ll try to clear our schedules for it, okay?” her blonde hair scratched at his chin as she nodded. isak knew it was a big promise, committing to a vacation with his boyfriend’s parents, but that seemed to be the least they could do since they bought them a bed. aside from the literal comfort they were providing, it felt like a grander statement since the gift would serve both of them. isak felt like it was his birthday too.

when even and his father separated, jan peeled off the bow and stuck it to even’s chest. they shared a low chuckle, and then jan slid the box back to the bedroom where it had been hiding. “you know, if we have a van, it will be a lot easier to transport this up there!” he sang as he left. isak let go of sigrid and spun into even’s arms. she plucked a napkin off the table to wipe at her tears while isak was crushed into a hug with the bow.

“we’ll keep the little mattresses, of course. you never know when elias and mutta and mikael want to come for a visit too. but yes, this will be a nicer frame for you both.”

“it’s such a thoughtful gift, mamma. thank you so much.”

“you know…i thought of it as soon as you came back from your first trip, when you brought back the clean sheets and blanket. it might’ve been presumptuous but if…if isak was having a nice time then i thought he might want to come back, and then i wanted it to be ready, and you two could have your own space.”

isak laughed as he pulled out of even’s hug. he kept to his side though, and wrapped an arm around even’s waist. “you were very right to presume. though i suspect i would’ve had a wonderful time even if i had to sleep on the floor.”

sigrid looked horrified when he suggested such a crime, but that just made even laugh. jan reappeared. “oh i forgot to bring these out.” he was carrying a colorful quilt and coordinating linens, also with a blue bow on top. even let go of isak to accept them, and both boys admired the pattern.

“pappa helped me pick those out. they were on sale after christmas. oh, and if you bring them back to the city to wash, you could just use them on your regular bed too. everything fits.” sigrid returned to her pleased homemaker attitude, with any remaining tears in her eyes only there out of pride. she’d surprised her son with a useful and enjoyable gift, that doubled as a reason for him to visit her at the cabin. it was a very successful birthday dinner.

―――

they enjoyed a little bit of champagne in the living room before they left, relaxing on the couches and catching up on the skiing gossip from sigrid and jan’s most recent trip. isak disclosed that he hasn’t skied since he was very young, which sent even giggling, picturing his boyfriend flying down the slopes. “this might be even better than my skateboarding fantasy.” luckily neither sigrid nor jan inquired further into what that fantasy actually was.

when isak noticed the time was getting close to seven he made the gentle suggestion to head home. sigrid and jan were happy to let them go, having enjoyed the whole bottle together and noting their earlier bedtime now that they were getting older. but she also demanded photos once they were standing, so isak took a few pictures of even with his parents and then jan took a few of isak and even alone. they had to brainstorm a way to take a picture of all four of them together, but then sigrid cleared a small space on the fireplace mantle to rest a phone. Even set the timer, they lined up with the boys in the middle, and they wrapped their arms around each other. they smiled.

after another round of hugs and kisses they bundled up and went home. isak carried the new linens in an oversized shopping tote over his shoulder. “that went well, yes?” isak looked over to see even nodding into his scarf. he pressed the button for their stop.

“it was really lovely. i had to, like, constantly remind my brain to not interpret what she was saying negatively, but that’s…what i’m supposed to be doing.” they stepped off the bus carefully, navigating the packed snow on the sidewalk. “maybe after a few more visits it will be less of a conscious effort. but even as it was, i enjoyed myself. i liked seeing you with my parents.”

“speaking of me with your parents, i kind of promised sigrid we would go on a family vacation with her to ålesund.”

isak could barely hear the chuckle underneath the scarf but it was there. “i think that was a given. that was the whole point of the bed. it was quite clever on mamma’s part.”

“mm,” isak agreed. “so we’ll have to start looking at our schedules. and now we have the weekend farmer’s market to take into account.”

even’s laugh was louder and drew his mouth up above the warm wool. “he really has leaned into his gardening in the last year, jesus. if you had asked me five years ago what hobby i thought my dad would pick up next, i never would’ve thought ‘fruits and vegetables.’”

“forget hobbies; he’s halfway to his own business.”

they approached their building. isak had his own key now, and he unlocked the first door for them.

“what are you thinking about?”

isak was thinking about the surprise that was waiting for them upstairs, feeling nervous that he didn’t have any texts with updates, even though he didn’t ask for any. but he quickly thought up a work excuse that would explain his distance. “um, how maybe someone from jakob’s team might be interested in profiling jan. has there been a surge of home gardens lately? what’s the process for joining a farmer’s market? how profitable is it to bring produce into the city from a farm versus urban, hyperlocal crops? what resources are there for farmers when it comes to direct-to-consumer sales?” he felt ridiculous spitting out these ideas because they were rushing out without a filter yet they sounded somewhat legitimate. he really should be putting these questions in a voice memo, but even was climbing the stairs in front of him and that was…well that took priority.

the bag of linens landed with a light thump on top of isak’s pile of shoes. they removed their outerwear slowly as they climbed, hanging everything back up. isak listened for noises but didn’t hear anything over the shuffle of their own clothes. there wasn’t any light coming through under the door. and even—even was still undressing. isak reached up and tugged at his belt. “what are you doing?” he hissed. even threw his sweater and undershirt over his shoulder, and they skimmed isak’s head as they fluttered down the steps.

“getting naked. wanna help?” even was still climbing and his hands were at his belt buckle.

“even, no!” isak was torn between holding his boyfriend back and trying to reach for his shirt, while also not pulling them both down the stairs.

“what…what’s going on? you love when i get naked.”

isak blushed, praying whoever was on the other side of the door was far enough away to not hear them. maybe they were hanging out in the living room. even undid his belt but he did stop climbing to look at isak.

“do you want me to blow you down there?” he pointed down to the graffiti door and isak was going to melt from the flames burning his neck.

“shut up, no, just….” he stumbled down the steps to fetch the sweater and chucked it back up at even. “put this back on. we can’t be naked.”

“why not?” even was seriously confused but he did as isak asked. “we always get naked.”

isak pinched the bridge of his nose. “not tonight, okay babe?”

even dropped his sweater and his jaw. “is this…is this the first time you’re saying ‘no’ to a fuck?”

“even! i’m not—that’s not what this is. just please put your clothes back on until…until later or something.”

even reached into the pocket of his sagging pants and pulled out his phone. “i need to document this. for the record.” he snapped a photo of isak staring up at him with an annoyed look on his face. “this was the first time isak denied me.” even snorted. “it looks like you’re about to give me a very angry blowjob though.” he showed isak the photo.

if he weren’t so frustrated by the situation, isak would’ve laughed. that’s exactly what the photo looked like with that angle. unfortunately isak’s face just made even want to persuade him even more, so even tucked his phone under his chin and promptly shoved his pants down to his ankles. he was wearing bright red boxer briefs and he shook his ass in isak’s face. then, before isak could get a grip on his body, sexual or otherwise, even waddled up the few remaining steps and reached for the door. isak screamed, “NO!” at the same time as their kitchen, full of friends and coworkers, screamed “SURPRISE!” at a nearly naked even.

maja screamed, marius howled, and mikael took approximately 50 photos, the flash of his phone camera lighting up the kitchen like a red carpet. isak was so embarrassed he sank down behind even’s legs. even laughed and made no move to get dressed.

“pull up your motherfucking pants even! i came here for your birthday, not a peep show.” kari anne's booming voice had a hint of a laugh in it.

it did not occur to isak until just then that all of their friends were not just seeing even in his underwear—they were seeing even’s boner in his underwear. so despite isak’s desire to melt into a puddle right there on the steps, he now felt enough possessiveness to lunge forward and pull up even’s pants from behind. it was a challenge to dress someone blind, especially when that someone was a giggly, wriggly mess. isak got a flash of the kind of future where he was getting a toddler dressed, but he had no time for that future right then. he got even’s jeans up to his butt and then he had to forcibly turn his boyfriend around in order to navigate his bulge.

“looks like dinner with the parents went well, then!” elias shouted out, making everyone laugh again and isak’s cheeks turn an impossible red.

“oh, babe.” even finally noticed isak’s general struggle. he took over with his pants and hefted them up to his waist. “i’m sorry. i should have listened to you. but this was amazing and hilarious. are you okay?” he buttoned his jeans and cupped isak’s jaw.

isak was still too flustered to say anything. his eyes darted from even’s face to the gleeful faces behind him, checking to see who was still laughing. “come on, bedroom.” even started walking isak backward toward the privacy of their bedroom. “five minutes!” he announced to everyone else.

“i thought you only needed two!” someone else shouted back.

―――

the laughter and voices faded as soon as the door closed. isak spun around and flopped himself on the bed face first. “surprise,” he mumbled. even collapsed on top of him, blanketing him with rough denim and warm skin.

“this was the best surprise ever. i’m sorry i embarrassed you with my penis.” even added a little thrust as if that would convey sincerity. the heat that flushed isak’s cheeks now was a slightly different kind. even nuzzled his face against isak’s cheek and gave him a few kisses. “i’ll get dressed and we can hang out with my favorite people.”

even pushed up and went to the closet. he swapped out his jeans for grey sweatpants and put on a white t-shirt. isak kept his jeans but opted for a clean white t-shirt too. even swept isak into a hug before they went through the door. “i love you in general and i love you for this. thank you for such a nice gift, and the perfect way to relax after the family dinner.” he squeezed across isak’s back and then shifted his head in for a kiss. isak demanded tongue as part of even’s apology and he got it, a nice open, wet kiss that tasted like champagne. even grunted when they parted. “um, yes. friends first, but then we’re definitely revisiting the naked thing.”

isak agreed with an aggressive grip on even’s ass. even kissed his way out of it and wiggled toward the door.

the kitchen roared with another greeting when they appeared, birthday wishes thrown from every direction. even opened his arms and accepted all of them with a wide smile. “thank you all for coming. this is such a fun surprise, and i clearly had no idea.”

“it was a fun surprise for us as well,” kari anne smirked.

“since we’re all here and there is a grotesque amount of alcohol behind mutta, have we agreed to absolutely ruin our sunday night?” another cheer went up. isak moved around even to get to the counter by mutta.

as requested, everyone bought the alcohol isak had assigned them and paid for. he couldn’t bring much into the apartment on his own without raising suspicion, so he spread out the drinks, food, and decorations among their friends. maja and marius picked up a cake from a bakery on their side of town. mutta and kari anne brought most of the alcohol. sana and yousef brought food from mamma bakkoush, enough to last them at least a week. elias and mikael were on decorations & entertainment duty. their friends had started drinking, as was to be expected when you’re trapped in an apartment for a couple of hours. since everyone had helped themselves to the juice and ice in the fridge, isak didn’t bother with setting anything else up. he searched for sana in the small crowd, who was chatting with mikael by the entrance to the hallway. when he caught her eye he nodded a question and she held up a full glass in response. with her taken care of he mixed up a dark & stormy for even.

“here you go, babe.” he only interrupted even’s conversation with marius and maja to put the cup in his hand. then he went back to the counter to assess the food. yousef joined him to point out the options.

“all of even’s favorites. mamma didn’t leave the kitchen all morning. this…this tray is okay. these two should be reheated a bit.”

“okay, thanks.” isak reached over to start the oven.

“and this we actually eat cold sometimes, so it would be fine as is.”

they figured out the food and then isak moved on to the living room. everyone was still in the kitchen, so isak got to see the decoration efforts as intended. streamers looped colorfully from even’s shelves, carefully taped as to not disturb his toys. balloons hovered at the ceiling, their strings becoming vines that dusted isak’s shoulders. on the coffee table was a pile of markers and a large brown envelope. he went right to the envelope to see what was inside. “yesssss.” isak dumped out the contents and spread them out. he had found ten particularly embarrassing photos, a mix of recent shots from isak and childhood ones from sigrid, that he’d ordered temporary tattoos of. he had a good feeling that this group was going to get very creative with the placement. in the very least he knew exactly where he wanted a tattoo of even on his own body. he practically skipped back out to the kitchen to get water and a sponge.

everyone had started eating, so isak joined the queue for a little bit of the bakkoush cuisine. no matter how full they were, isak and even would always make room for mamma’s food. isak refreshed even’s drink and then led some people into the living room to eat, for more seating. even stayed in the kitchen at the table with sana, yousef, and kari anne.

maja screamed again when she saw the tattoos. she and marius abandoned their food immediately and took the sponge to the bathroom. three minutes later marius returned with at least four evens plastered across his face. then he dared mikael to do even more. after that, it was chaos.

elias tried to tie a balloon to the back of sana’s hijab. kari anne was the first one to get a tattoo of even on her ass cheek. mutta and mikael started doing shots, and marius and maja were caught making out in the stairwell when it was time to break open the markers on the door. their defense was that maja could stand on one step above marius and they would be a closer height for kissing.

“like my apartment is the only place with steps, get the fuck out.” isak shoved marius against the door. but that’s exactly where everyone stayed. they all shared the markers and wrote silly birthday messages to even on the door, reading old ones and laughing, and recording new jokes that they now all shared. the graffiti door was due for an update and everyone got a chance to leave their mark. isak made sure no one wrote over his original “shithead,” and he added a couple more questionable names wherever they fit.

unfortunately marius convinced maja to paint her lips with marker ink and kiss the door, but then she was stuck with deep purple lips. sana immediately dragged her up to the bathroom to start exfoliating. isak had to console maja from the doorway. “i’ll get emma to give me some lipsticks that would cover it up if it doesn’t come off.”

“matte,” sana instructed.

isak opened his recording app and noted that: “matte lipsticks from emma for maja.”

“anything from a maroon to a magenta should cover it up.” isak added that. “in the meantime, here, you can use this.” sana pulled a tube of lipstick out of her small crossbody bag and opened a drawer. she plucked an alcohol wipe from where even kept them next to the tweezers and cleaned off the tube and used lipstick. she handed it to maja and maja looked like she was about to cry from the gesture. sana nipped it in the bud with a glare and a single finger held up in maja’s face. “just be glad your friends are so clean.”

isak blushed, assuming sana knew that they had those wipes to clean their toys. but then marius burst into the bathroom, shoving isak aside. “baby, it looks like we just kissed too hard for a little bit. ‘cheer up! a hickey from kenickie is like a hallmark card,’” he quoted in his best american accent. this actually made maja cry so isak excused himself and went to get more alcohol.

eventually yousef was tasked with getting mutta and mikael home. marius gave maja a piggy back ride down four flights of stairs and across the city. they found kari anne had removed her pants and crawled into their bed, so they left her there. sana, even, and elias collapsed onto the couch and giggled their way through a nonsense conversation the way siblings do. isak put the food away, got water for them all, and then joined them on the floor with his giant pillows. even found grease on the tv and they watched and sang along with the few bits they knew. then isak fell asleep, his fingers wrapped lightly around even’s ankle and his head resting against even’s knee.

#magic eight ball #SO SORRY if the cut doesn't work #skam fic #kerrywrites #i swear to god i AM writing it's just taking me forever #and this could've been a lot longer but i'm not going to test tumblr's patience with that

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apiratewhopines · 3 years ago

Text

I’m going to alternate artwork so we get leather-clad Killian and fancy dress up Killian.

Midnight

Chapter 3 — The Godfather

Summary: In which our heroine accepts the finer things in life

Chapter 3 of 7 on AO3

“He gave her things that she was needin’

He gave her a home built of gold and steel

A diamond car with platinum wheels”

-Minnie The Moocher, Cab Calloway

The creeping pace her warden set was nerve-racking. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination or if every eye in the place was watching their slow procession through the ballroom. Finally exiting the room, they paused in the hallway and Emma said resignedly, “Let’s get this over with.”

“I’ve had my eye on you from the moment you walked in,” the other man commented, nodding to passersby with no hint of distress. “You should have known better than to think you could escape unnoticed.”

“Well, I thought if I left quietly, no one would be the wiser,” she replied, smiling at him with a hopeful kind of chagrin. “You can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“Don’t apologize, my dear. There are three of us in rebellion against this entertainment if you want to call it that. I think I may turn down all future invitations from Regina if this is the torture we will be subject to…” Grabbing her arm softly, he started steering them through the throng still attempting to find a place in the ballroom.

She was shocked they weren’t heading to the front entrance. The man, who had yet to introduce himself, was leading her down a back hallway. Moments later, he paused in front of a closed door. “You do play bridge, yes?”

Emma hadn’t played the game since she was a teenager staying with Granny, but as usual, the lessons the older woman taught her were going to save her from a terrible fate. “Yes, though I’m a bit rusty. But why me?”

“You’re charming, you’re bored, and you have the face of someone who wouldn’t trump your partner’s ace,” he explained with a breezy smile. Placing his finger to his lips to hush any further conversation, he pressed an ear to the door and then gave two quick raps against the frame. Taking one more second, he then opened it and ushered her in.

Upon entering, she saw two occupants huddled by the fireplace, which blazed happily with a roaring fire in opposition to the warm night. Immediately, his pause made sense as she noticed a faint smudge of lipstick on the smooth skin of the man’s face.

“Lancelot, Guinevere, allow me to introduce Madam—I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.”

Scrambling, she said the first thing that popped into her mind. “Jones.”

“Ah, Madam Jones, I’m Sidney Glass, your knight in shining armor for the evening. This is Guinevere Soberano and Lancelot du Lac, your fellow insurrectionists.” Her knight joked before adding, “Lance is the most dangerous man in the room, so watch yourself.”

Seeing how the tall, handsome man took his time sizing her up, she had a feeling she knew what made him dangerous. The fashionable lines of his tuxedo did little to hide his muscular build, and while he wasn’t the sexiest man she’d met that evening, she knew if they had met on any other night of her life, he would have been. She could tell by how his eyes continued to seek her out that he wasn’t immune to her charms either. It should have made her feel better considering she’d been in the same outfit for nearly two days and her hair was still wet from her dash through the thunderstorm. Instead, it made her feel tired.

Taking a seat with trepidation, she tried to hide her feelings of discomfort. She was the one who ran when offered a cozy landing place, so now she needed to play the hand she was dealt. Literally. Watching as Sidney took over as dealer, she asked, “What are we playing for? Bragging rights?”

“How about our normal stakes? Five dollars a point?”

Eyes wide, she calculated if she remembered the game correctly, there would be thousands of dollars exchanging hands tonight. If only a fraction of that money came her way, she may be able to get out of this dress and fill up her tank so she could hit the road and resume her search. She refused to think about what she would do if she didn’t win. Granny had been a cutthroat player, so she had more than enough practice.

Lance settled in as her partner, his eyes never leaving her face as the group silently arranged their cards and planned their strategies. Her heart racing, Emma mumbled, “Two spades.”

And the game began.

Hours later, they were in the hole and she couldn’t help wishing Sidney or the other woman was her partner. Lance seemed much more interested in flirting with her than winning, and if she weren’t sure it would get her thrown out, she would have kicked him under the table for screwing up her chance to turn her luck around. Not to mention the fact that with every suggestive exchange, Guinevere’s eyes grew a little bit colder. She had a feeling the woman would make a formidable enemy.

The door to their hideaway opened to admit her former neighbor, his eyes as unnerving by firelight as they had been in the brighter gleam of the ballroom. The ever-present smirk was there in full force as he made his way to their table and planted himself between Lance and Guinevere. “Darling, why don’t you introduce me to your newest recruit?”

“Madam Jones, this is my husband Arthur Soberano, the only man on the planet who enjoys these little parties. Arthur, this is Madam Jones, a woman in need of a better bridge partner.”

“It’s so hard to concentrate on cards sometimes,” Lance murmured, his heated glance never leaving her face so no one had any doubts about what was distracting him.

Arthur observed the exchange, and the subsequent reactions, with the expression of a man who finally found his silver lining. She hoped it was catching. “Jones, eh? Would you be one of the Rhode Island Joneses?”

Pasting a bright smile on her face, she demurred. “No, but I’ve heard they’re lovely people.”

“You’re American, correct?”

“What gave it away? My abysmal accent?”

“Something like that,” Arthur responded with a smile. “So if not Rhode Island, what Jones clan do you hail from?”

“Oh, Jones is my married name. My husband is from Cambridge.”

“Of course! I should have known. I ran into Baron Jones a few years ago in Budapest, and he spoke of an American girl. How is he? Is he here tonight?”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, because of course there would be a Baron Jones and of course this enigmatic man would know him, she stared at her cards and hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt when she said, “No, no. He’s still in Budapest. He wasn’t feeling well enough for transatlantic travel. You know, the old trouble flaring up.”

Tsking with a hint of amusement, Arthur narrowed his eyes. “That’s too bad. Guinevere, we really must make a trip there soon. Beautiful city. Tell me, Madam Jones, did they ever finish the metro Line 1?”

For the love of all that was holy, would the man never stop with the questions? “You know how construction is…the roads are still a mess here and there.”

She knew by the way his body shifted that she had misstepped. She wasn’t sure what trap he laid, but she walked right into it. To add insult to injury, the final hand of the night went into their loss column.

Lance shook his head in defeat and pulled out his wallet. “I really must apologize, Madam Jones. I’m usually a much better player. You’ll have to let me make amends to you. Perhaps lunch tomorrow? What’s your favorite place?”

“That depends, Lance. How much money am I out tonight? I will exact revenge in corresponding measure.”

Sidney piped in with a gleeful laugh. “Four thousand dollars from each of you. Not a bad haul, if I do say so myself. But bypassing the awful concert makes the win priceless.”

Her head swam with the figure, trying to ignore the way Arthur was circling the room like a caged lion and wondering how plausible it was for a baroness not to carry cash. Surely, the nobility class had people to handle this kind of thing for them. “I’m not sure I have that much on me. I hope you’ll accept my IOU. Has anyone seen my bag?”

She saw the look Guinevere and Sidney exchanged and her stomach dropped. They wouldn’t let it go. Perhaps looking for her non-existent purse would allow her to sneak out.

“Is this it, Madam Jones?”

“Yes, thank you.” Turning around, she saw a beaded clutch she’d never laid eyes on before in Arthur’s extended hand. She hadn’t stolen a single thing in her life, and she wasn’t thrilled to start now, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Opening it, she found a wad of cash that looked like it could bankroll a small country for a year. Shocked, her gaze flew to meet Arthur’s and he winked before departing the room.

—

No matter how hard she tried to shake him, Lance would not leave her alone. Subsequently, everyone in the entourage hung on like they had nothing better to do than tag along while she flitted around the club trying to lose them. Finally, the evening started breaking up. Large groups of people gave each other air kisses and made plans to meet at various houses for brunch the next day. Freedom was within reach if she could only make it out the front door.

They bid goodbye to their hostess, who was high on finding the supposed party crasher, an older woman they dragged from the downstairs powder room and tossed out into the night, still swearing she didn’t know anyone named Neal and claiming she was the Duchess of Longbourn.

Emma thought a silent apology to the woman and hoped karma graded on a curve.

“Allow me to wait with you until your car pulls around,” Lance said, offering his arm to help her down the steps.

“I’d hate to trouble you,” Emma ground out, her voice deepened with the effort of holding in a groan of frustration. “My chauffeur is habitually late.”

“Then I should give you a ride,” Lance countered. He had yet to let go of her arm, and she was afraid she would have to cut it off to make a clean break. “Where are you staying?”

Having no clue of the lodging situation in Misthaven, she worried about another trap under Arthur’s expectant stare. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

“The Ritz,” he immediately countered.

“Right in one! But really, I’d rather wait for my car.” When the words left her mouth, the familiar lines of a black BMW cruised down the street slowly like the driver was looking for something. Or someone. Panicked, she flashed her new admirer a dazzling smile. “On second thought, let’s get out of here.”

As Lance handed her into his sports car, she heard Guinevere’s voice muttering to Sidney, “We don’t know anything about her. She came here all alone.”

“I notice she’s not leaving alone,” Arthur replied, smile widening as he caught her eye through the window and gave her a jaunty wave.

By jumping into a car with a virtual stranger for the second time that evening, she avoided one issue but created another. Her time was running out because this charade was doomed to fail when they arrived at the hotel and there wasn’t a room for Baroness Jones. She’d have to get rid of him in the parking lot.

Unsurprisingly, considering how her night was going, it was easier said than done. Lance appeared to be a gentleman if you overlooked his tendency to have affairs with other men’s wives and wouldn’t hear of dropping her off at the entrance. Throwing his keys toward the valet stand, he made his way to the concierge desk over her protests that she had some things to handle in the lobby before heading to her room.

She closed her eyes as she heard him say, “Checking into Baroness Jones’s room.”

Here it came. The boom.

“Of course, sir. Will that be all?”

Opening one eye, she watched as the employee handed over the room card. This couldn’t be right. She must be trapped in some nightmare where her pain and humiliation hung like a knife above her head, and the anticipation of the stabbing turned out to be worse than the violent act itself.

Laughing with fake merriment, she snatched the card from Lance before he could pocket it and said forcefully, “Thank you for a lovely evening. Good night.”

“My mother always said to see a woman to her door, or my job wasn’t done.”

Unable to hide her exasperation one second longer, she asked, “Don’t you know when to go home?”

“No.” With a broad smile, he held the elevator door open while she entered and wished for death. In hindsight, her original plan of sleeping on a park bench seemed like a real winner compared to this slow torture. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about the warm bed and warmer smile she had also turned down.

Tired, annoyed, and pining for her original driver of the evening, she didn’t even try to maintain a conversation with the man beside her, her head filled with dread at the idea she was about to open the door to a hotel room occupied by the real Baroness Jones. With the resigned stride of a prisoner walking the green mile, she reached the room slower than the situation called for and leaned against the door facing Lance. With a stony expression, she said pointedly, “Look, right to the door. You did your mother proud and can go home and sleep peacefully.”

“What? No nightcap?”

“No, absolutely not. I don’t need a mother to tell me inviting a man into my hotel room in the middle of the night is a bad idea. Go home.”

Laughing, he reached out and pushed her hair away from her face. “You’re magnificent.”

“I’m also married,” she bit out, barely resisting the urge to slap his hand away. There was something riveting about a man with an overabundance of confidence, but she refused to be charmed. If she were going to give in to any urges, she would have done it with the person behind Door Number One.

“So I’ve heard. At least make sure the card works. Those things are notoriously fickle, like most wives I’ve met.”

Chuckling despite herself, she swiped the card against the reader, grateful to hear the lock disengage in the quiet hallway. “There. Good night.”

Before he could say or do anything else, she slipped into the room and clicked the door firmly back in place. She tiptoed through the suite, not daring to turn on the lights while she looked for any trace someone else was in the room. Her search coming up empty, she reached over and flooded the bedroom with light.

The king-size bed looked heavenly. Giggling, she decided to make the most of this temporary reprieve. She dropped her clothes in a pile and ran to the bathroom, happy to find it as luxurious as the rest of the rooms in the suite. Turning the water all the way to hot, she allowed the steamy spray to wash away the hurt, the hopelessness, and the hysteria.

She stepped out of the shower an hour later, eyes red-rimmed and body weak with fatigue. Not even bothering to dry off, she collapsed in the bed and fell into a sleep plagued with blue eyes and black cars.

—

The sound of the antique telephone ringing penetrated the fog in her brain as the last strands of sleep broke. Startled, Emma glanced down at her nude form and immediately looked beside her to see if she was alone. Her dreams of the previous night didn’t fade quickly, and the vivid image of the Captain and his wonderful stubble made her ache.

Groaning as memory replaced fantasy, she plopped back against the mattress and grabbed one of the nearly two dozen pillows haphazardly strewn across the bed to cover her head in an attempt to drown out the noise.

It wasn’t really her hotel room, so she probably shouldn’t answer it anyway.

Unfortunately, the caller didn’t know she was an imposter and seemed determined to reach the room’s occupant. She picked up the receiver and pulled it under the pillow to join her. In a groggy voice she asked, “What?”

The chirpy voice of a hotel employee responded, “Good morning, Baroness Jones. Your luggage has arrived.”

“From Boston?” That didn’t make any sense. She’d pawned her last remaining possessions less than forty-eight hours ago, but unless she packed a boomerang in the pocket of her favorite jeans, she wasn’t sure what they were doing in Misthaven.

“I’m not sure, madam. The delivery driver only mentioned it was for the baroness. It should be arriving at your room momentarily.”

As if summoned by magic, there was a knock and she hung up the phone while trying to wrap herself in the thick comforter. Dragging the ends of the blanket like a train behind her, she threw open the door and felt her eyes widen at the sight greeting her. Lining the hallway was a parade of hotel employees carrying a few pieces of luggage each.

In mute shock, she moved out of the way and the group started piling the bags in the living room of the suite. When the final trunk was laid in the corner by the wall of windows overlooking the town, she stood staring unblinkingly at the head bellhop.

“Will there be anything else, Baroness?”

“No, I think this is quite enough.”

“Very well.”

The group seemed hesitant to depart, and she did a quick check to make sure her makeshift toga hadn’t slipped. Finding everything was as it should be, reason soaked through her dazed brain and she said, “Oh, the tip!”

“No, madam. Your chauffeur took care of it already. He wanted to know if you’d be needing the car today. It’s beautiful weather out.”

“My chauffeur took care of the tip and wants to know if I need the car…” she echoed back, trying to see if the words made more sense if she was the one saying them. No. No such luck. She was going mad. That was the only explanation. Or maybe the Captain wasn’t all he seemed to be and he had drugged her and this was simply a hallucination. Noticing the flock of bellhops was waiting patiently for her response, she smiled benignly and said, “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

A voice called out from the doorway, “And what about breakfast, Baroness?”

The hotel employees filed out, leaving her and her unexpected visitor alone. Pulling the comforter more tightly around herself, she hissed, “Arthur. It was you.”

“What was me, my dear?”

“The money, the room, the clothes, the chauffeur. Does Baron Jones even exist, or did you make him up?”

“I like to think of him as more of a group effort. You provided the inspiration; I provided the title. Seeing you in all your lost girl glory last night gave me an idea.”

“From the moment you looked at me, I had an idea you had an idea. I’m not interested.”

Chuckling, he tossed his hat and jacket across a nearby chair and sank into the couch. “I’m sure there is a robe or something a little less linen closet in one of these suitcases. I’ll close my eyes while you look if you’d like.”

“I think I’ll stay over here.” Where it’s safe.

“You have nothing to fear from me, dear. I’m here to make a proposal. One that will be mutually beneficial, I hope,” he drawled, picking a piece of fluff off his pants. He continued to avert his eyes, which she found strange since he stopped by to proposition her over breakfast apparently. “This is only the tip of the iceberg. I can guarantee you’ll never have to worry about money again.”

“Still not interested. You know the way out.”

“Come on, Baroness. Why don’t you slip into something more comfortable and hear me out? I promise it’s nothing like what you think.”

“Arthur, when Little Red Riding Hood spots long, gray whiskers, it’s ridiculous to keep insisting you’re the grandmother,” she retorted, moving carefully toward the nearest bag so she didn’t accidentally flash him. Pulling out a shirt at random, she riffled through the case until she found a pair of shorts as well. Scrambling to the bathroom, she called out over her shoulder. “Go huff and puff somewhere else.”

“I guess that means I’m the big bad wolf,” he said with a smile as he moved to trail after her. When she slammed the door in his face, he raised his voice and added, “I’ve certainly been called worse. Tell me, what was your impression of Lance?”

“I think neither of you takes no for an answer very well,” she mumbled as she pulled on the shirt and stared at herself in the mirror. What bizarre alternate universe had she stumbled into, and how in the world was she going to return to reality. Talking to her reflection, she said, “You’re Emma Swan. You’re not a baroness. Killian Jones is not your husband. You are not going to shack up with Lance or Arthur.”

“Nice pep talk, but if I may be so bold as to suggest a different path,” her visitor interrupted from the other side of the door. “You see, my old friend Lancelot and my wife think they are in love.”

“That’s very cozy but not my problem.”

“I’d like to pay you to make it your problem, Emma Swan. Nice name, by the way. Last night was the first time since their affair started that I thought there might be a ray of hope. The whole time Lance was flirting with you, my wife was fighting tears.”

Rolling her eyes, she snapped open the door and was satisfied to see him lose his balance. “Who won?”

“I plan to, and I’d like you to be on my team. I just need you to keep his attention long enough for Guin to come to her senses.”

Moving past him, she picked up her discarded dress from the prior evening and grabbed the laundry bag out of the nearby closet. “Why don’t you punch him and be done with it?”

“He’s the top man at our boxing club. And besides, the last thing I need is to drive her further into his arms by making him a martyr.” He reached over and placed his hand on her arm, stilling her frantic movements. “Please. At least hear me out.”

Meeting his gaze for the first time since he entered the room, she observed, “You really love her, don’t you?”

“Yes. She’s not the only one who made mistakes. I need your help to make this right. And it might work out well for you too, you know. Lance’s family makes a superior income from a very inferior champagne. He’s no baron, but he does have the bank account of one.”

“I think you need a lawyer, not another homewrecker.”

“I’ll never get a divorce. Come on, Emma. We’re having a party at my estate in the Enchanted Forest. Come out this weekend and give it a go. I’ll pay you fifty thousand to show up and another fifty if this harebrained scheme works.”

“I… I’m not sure…”

“Am I upsetting some other plans? Do you have another offer?”

Thinking of black leather jackets and pie, she smiled wistfully. Shaking herself, she tried to focus on the fact that a hundred grand would pay back what Neal had stolen from Granny and leave enough for her to put a down payment on a place in the city. “Yes, I think I do. But fine, I’ll play along through the end of the weekend. Then I’m out regardless of what happens.”

“Fair enough. I’ll let Guin know I ran into you and invited you to join the party,” he said with a grin. If he had a mustache, she was sure he’d be twirling it.

Before they could discuss any other details, there was another knock at the door. With an exasperated expression, Emma asked her companion, “What now?”

Putting his hands up in a placating gesture, Arthur assured her, “Hey, this one isn’t me.”

Yanking open the door, she saw an enormous bouquet of red roses. She took the flowers with both hands as Arthur cocked his eyebrow in silent question and pulled out the card. “‘If I had a single flower for every time I think about you, I could walk forever in my garden. -Lance.’ Huh. I rather resent that. The note to Guin just said, ‘So glad we met.’”

Notes:

For those who were wondering about Arthur’s trap, the Budapest subway is one of the oldest in the world and the line he mentioned was completed in 1896.

The quote on Lancelot’s card is from Claudia Adrienne Grandi.

@teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @stahlop @motherkatereloyshipper @xarandomdreamx @xsajx @klynn-stormz

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resident-of-storybrooke · 3 years ago

Text

Nothing Good Happens After 2AM (Ch 4)

Rating: M (finally earning that for this chapter)

Words: 2900

Read: ao3, ff.net CH 1 CH 2 CH 3

Summary: Emma took Killian home for the holidays as a fake date. Things seemed to be going well…until it didn’t. What happens when two fools in love didn’t confess their love over the holidays like they planned and have to go back home to reality? This. This is what happened…(A twist on fake dating during the holidays)

AN: Well....shit lol here we finally are! I wish I had a good reason for the year and a half delay. Honestly, I got one not so great review and it shook me a bit and I was already iffy about writing. But thank you to so many incredible souls being so encouraging and supporting me to get back into writing. Thank you to @kmomof4 who read all four chapters and edited them (make sure to check them out). I really hope you enjoy this last part as I’m so happy to finally have this out for you all. A very late and final contribution to @csjanuaryjoy

tagging some of the fam squad (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @kymbersmith-90 @let-it-raines @artistic-writer @hollyethecurious @hookedonapirate @carpedzem @nowforruin @kmomof4 @wellhellotragic @thesschesthair @teamhook @winterbaby89 @zaharadessert @stahlop @ultraluckycatnd @blowmiakisscolin @peggyswan @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @tiganasummertree @batana54 @pirateprincessofpizza

ALL THE LOVE

Ruby made her way back up to the party, excited to see how the rest of the night would play out after her phone call to Emma. As she made her way back into Killian’s apartment she saw the Nolans as they gestured rather animatedly. Then Ruby rounded the corner and looked in to see who they were yelling at.

Shit.

It was Killian.

And from the looks of it they were letting Killian have it. And he was just standing there taking it.

What the hell did he get into in the last five minutes to warrant this? Ruby was both concerned, but mostly entertained because the sweet sunshine Charmings never yelled. She strolled into the kitchen with a grin, figuring she would enjoy the show. That was until the furious couple saw her - apparently she was their new target.

“Ruby Elizabeth Lucas! You have a lot of explaining to do.”

Ruby was confused to say the least. How the hell was she involved in... whatever this was?

“Um...I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“Bullshit, Ruby!” She was completely taken back, Mary Margaret never swore. “You just told me that Emma thought Killian was dating Elsa. And last time I checked Killian and Emma have been together for the last three months. So please, explain yourself. Now.”

“I feel like it’s not really my place,” she said, darting her eyes toward Killian, but she could tell no one was buying it. “Listen, Snow White and Prince Charming, your poor sister felt pressured to bring a date home for the holidays. She and Killian decided to go to Ruth’s and tell y’all they were dating so you’d back the hell off. And it worked and everything was fine. Then Elsa showed up and spooked Emma because she thought she lost her chance with him. Because shocker,” she looked fiercely at Killian and had to restrain herself from smacking him upside the head, “they’re both in love with each other and are being absolutely idotic and not telling the other the truth.” She turned back toward the stunned silent Charmings, “And you two are not helping the cause!”

Killian looked up in complete shock, his eyebrows nearly reaching his hair. The Nolans stood gaping at her, obviously not expecting her brutal honesty.

“Listen,” Ruby took a deep breath. “Cut them some slack. You two were acting like Emma was going to turn into some crazy old spinster if she didn’t find a date soon. Also, you two act as though you are a literal fairytale couple.” She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s hard to live up to your kind of love.”

As David stood in shock, Mary Margaret finally spoke up. “We went too far, didn’t we?” That’s when she turned to Killian. “We’re sorry, Killian. We shouldn’t have ever put you in this situation. We love you, we love Emma, and that wasn’t fair...I hope you can forgive our behavior this evening.”

Just as Killian was about to speak up, the door opened revealing an out of breath Emma Swan.

Emma was confused by the odd looks she was receiving as her welcome. She should be used to their bizarre behavior at this point, but this felt different.

As she made her way over to the group her nerves set back in. She was here to tell Killian the truth. She was going to finally confess her love for her best friend. On his birthday. What could possibly go wrong?

“Right, well, this has been fun. Perhaps we should give these two some alone time.” Ruby elbowed the couple so Emma and Killian could have a moment.

As Emma walked towards Killian she finally took in her surroundings and realized how packed the apartment was. “I wish there were less people here…”

“Why, Swan? I love large parties, they’re so intimate. At small parties-”

“-there isn’t any privacy. I like it when you quote things to me.” Looking at him, she realized how close they were. She wasn’t even aware of her own movement toward him. Then she looked into his blue eyes. She missed them.

She missed him.

They stood there, taking each other in. It’d been weeks since they’d been together, really together. Neither one knew how to start.

“Emma, you came.”

She wished in that moment she had something poetic to respond with, but that wouldn’t be Emma. “That’s what she said.”

The two instantly burst into laughter, the tension dying with every laugh.

“I missed you, Swan.” Killian reached his hand out to tuck a loose strand behind her ear, Emma leaned into his touch.

“I missed you too. I’m so sorry I ran…I wish I had a good excuse, but I don’t. I wanted to tell you so many times how I felt. I was going to tell you. On New Year's Eve. I was finally going to tell you. I had this whole plan. It was a good plan. And then Ruby fucking decided to be Chef Julia Child and give me food posioning. And then...I saw how happy you looked with Elsa and I thought, I thought, I’d lost my chance with you.” Emma finally found the courage to look up when she finished.

Killian’s eyes were full of unshed tears. When Emma opened her mouth to try and say something to break the tension Killian wrapped his arms around her. Emma finally took a breath. A breath she had been holding for weeks. He didn’t hate her.

“Emma, my love, I promise nothing happened with Elsa. She was Liam’s fiance. She’s an old friend and nothing more. You though...you’re so much more than that. I’ve been a coward. I’ve hidden behind our friendship, behind the lie we told your family, and I will not do that any longer. I’ve had three words on the tip of my tongue since the night we met, I swear, and I will not waste another minute without you hearing them.”

Emma extracted herself from his grasp. “Before you do, I have something for you.”

Killian lets out a sigh, “Really? Right now?”

Without another word Emma pulled the small red box from her clutch and handed it to Killian. He looked at her with curious eyes. “It’s your birthday, open the damn thing, Jones.”

“So demanding. Now what do we have here? It's a-”

He stopped.

Mistletoe.

It was the most infuriating object that haunted his dreams - well, besides Emma. That trip to her home, the infernal garnish was everywhere.

There was that kiss.

God, that kiss. He relieved it daily, prayed that it wasn’t the last kiss he’d ever share with Emma. Up until this moment he was convinced that would be the case.

“Well, Swan, this is quite the gift. I don’t know exactly what to say.” He scratched behind his ear, a nervous tick they were both well aware of.

“I, um, do you wanna see if it works?” Killian’s eyes shot up to Emma.

“Well, love, seems only right I try it out with you since you were the one that gave me such a generous gift. Shall we...”

Emma cut him off with a bruising kiss, it caught him a little off guard, but it only took a moment for him to catch up. Killian didn’t give a damn that there was a party going on around them. He finally had Emma in his arms. Emma’s hands wandered to the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life. Killian’s hands roamed down her sides before anchoring on her hips, holding her tightly against him. He cursed the fact that Emma was wearing a dress, even if she did look bloody gorgeous in the tight red piece. He couldn’t wait to have that blasted thing on his floor.

They finally broke for air, still clinging to one another, foreheads touching. Killian was ready to dive back in when he looked up and remembered they weren’t alone. Mary Margaret was crying, Ruby was cheering, and David looked slightly annoyed but Killian saw the small smile he was trying but failing to hide.

“Come on, love. I think it’s time we faced the vultures. And I’d like you to meet Elsa, if that’s alright with you?”

“Yeah, I think that’s a pretty good idea, Captain.” Emma reached down and grabbed Killian’s hand before they walked over.

Maybe the trope board wasn't wrong after all.

CSCSCSCSCSCSCSCS

As the party went on, Killian and Emma were inseparable; the two constantly touching the other. At one point, while talking to Mary Margaret and David, Emma laid her head on Killian's shoulder, something she'd done a million times, but this time Killian placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

The two were in their own happy bubble. They pretended to be engaged with those around them, but they couldn't ignore but feel the sparks ignited with each touch.

"So, Emma? It's nice to finally meet you. I'm sorry for the miscommunication. I feel as though that was my fault." Emma was confused on how Elsa seemed to be privy to their issue, but then she saw Mary Margaret across the room and assumed her friend had filled her in.

"Please, don't be. I was...scared I lost my chance with Killian."

"Oh, honey. I don't think you could ever lose this one." Killian squeezed Emma closer to prove her point.

Turns out Elsa was hilarious and had wonderfully embarrassing stories about Killian. Emma had a feeling the two were going to be good friends after tonight.

The party eventually wound down a little after one, slowly the various couples left. That's when Emma realized she was alone with Killian.

Finally.

Suddenly, Emma felt her nerves grow. They'd declared their love and haven't left the others' side since, but she would be lying if she said she wasn't nervous. She absentmindedly threw out some empty cups as she tried to plan her next move.

"Love," Killian called for her from the living room, "can you come here?" Emma slowly made her way into the room as Killian stretched out his arms to embrace her.

"Emma, I...I know that tonight has been a lot. Our relationship has always been a lot. And I know the future is uncertain, but there's one thing I want you to be certain of - I will always be by your side. For as long as you'll let me, my love."

She didn't even know a tear had slipped until Killian pulled back to wipe it.

"I haven't always made things easy. I get spooked easily, but I'm tired of running. I want to be with you, Killian. I love you."

"And I you, my beautiful Swan."

The kiss started off slowly, different than the one earlier, but no less passionate. Emma brought her hands around Killian's neck, playing with the nape of his hair. As Killian kissed down her neck, Emma didn't recognize the noises that escaped her mouth.

As their kisses continued, Emma was surprised when Killian's legs hit the couch and he fell down. She hadn’t been aware that they moved. Emma said she was tired of running, and she was ready to show him. So she straddled his legs and hovered over him for just a moment.

They felt like teenagers again, making out on a couch like this. She could feel him harden beneath her, driving her wild. But, it wasn't enough, she needed more. Emma started unbuttoning his shirt, the bastard already had the top three undone. Without a second thought, she began to rake her fingers through the coarse black hair.

"I've been dying to do this since we first met. So soft," she murmured. Killian found a spot behind her ear that made her mewl. Emma brought her lips to his ear, "I've always wondered how it'd feel against my breasts."

With that, Killian pulled back. "My love, are you sure? We can wait. Because once I have you, I'm never going to let you go." Emma nodded slowly. As she looked into his eyes, she could barely see a trace of blue. His pupils were blown.

Before Emma could stand, Killian wrapped his arms around her to carry her to his bedroom. He only ran into the wall twice as Emma was no doubt leaving marks on his neck. Killian gently placed her in the middle of the bed.

"I always swore that if we got here, I would worship every inch of you."

"Killian, please, worship later. I need you now."

"Just a taste. Patience, darling." Killian was beyond thankful at that moment Emma had opted for a dress as he quickly removed her thong.

Before she could speak, he brought his mouth to her sex. "You're already drenched for me. You..fuck...you taste delicious."

Emma couldn't speak, he was overwhelming in every sense of the word. She grabbed a fistful of his hair, not that she needed to guide him; he knew exactly what he was doing.

Killian replaced his mouth with two fingers. "That's it, Emma. You look so beautiful like this. I want you to come for me, darling. Come and then I'll give you what you really want."

His voice was deeper, accent thicker. Emma had a feeling she could finish from his voice alone, but right now, it was his fingers and mouth that were going to do the trick.

Emma lost all control of her limbs as he sent her over the edge. He didn't let up though, he continued slowly licking as she came back down. As her breathing returned to normal, Killian kissed up her body.

"Worship later, Killian,” she moaned again. “Please. I need you. Now."

"So demanding, Swan,” he observed, taking his pants and boxer briefs off. “I think I like this side of you, all in a commanding voice, chills really."

He climbed back on top of her, but instead of responding, Emma hooked her legs around Killian and flipped him, so he laid on his back. He looked up in awe, he had never been so turned on than in this moment.

Emma decided she was tired of waiting, but before she could sink down Killian stopped her. "Give me a moment, let me grab something, I -"

"I'm clean, and I'm on the pill. I...I don't want anything between us."

"Gods, Emma. If you're sure? I'm good too, I haven't been with anyone since...since we met."

Emma dove down to meet his lips as she sank down onto him. Killian swallowed her gasp as she adjusted to his size. Of course, he lived up to every innuendo, and Emma couldn't be happier for that than in this moment.

For first times, they were both surprised with how easy it was to fall into rhythm with the other. There were only a few slightly awkward moments, but that didn't stop them from enjoying this moment. Emma's hips met Killian's with each thrust, quickly driving the other wild.

"So fucking glorious, Emma. You're so tight like this. Ride my cock, such a good girl. I want to feel you come around me this time. You're stunning when you come. That's...fuck... that's it Emma, take what you need, darling."

Before Emma could even respond, Killian decided it was her turn to be flipped on her back. "Now, if I remember correctly, you wanted to know how it feels with me on top."

"That's, ugh, that's not exactly what I said. But I'm not complaining."

Emma felt that familiar sensation growing in her stomach as Killian's pace intensified. "Killian, I'm close. Together, I wanna -"

"Aye, love, together."

Killian felt her tighten around him as she moaned out in ecstasy, pulling him right after her. He gave her a searing kiss as he spilled himself inside of her. Killian fell on top of her, too exhausted to worry about crushing her for a moment.

"Killian? As much as I love how, uh, close we are now, do you think you can move? I can't breathe, and I need to clean up."

"Oi, you're gonna give a man a complex!" Killian slowly rolled off her, in awe of the glow Emma radiated at the moment. Emma couldn't help but giggle as he was being an annoying ass, but mostly he was still...Killian.

They were still them. Except they just had mind-blowing sex.

She could get used to this new addition to their relationship.

"Stay here, love. Let me." Killian was back in a moment and helped clean Emma. When he finished, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, just like before.

"What is it, Swan?"

"Nothing, I'm just happy. It's just so surprising."

"Aye, love, me too. But this doesn't change anything. I've loved you for years now, and we'll go at whatever pace we both see fit, but I'm in this for the long haul."

"As am I, Captain."

The two laid in bed, cuddled close, and shared lazy kisses. When Emma looked at the clock, she saw it was nearly three in the morning. A few weeks ago, Emma had thought nothing good happened after two am; it turns out she was wrong.

"Swan? Can you tell me what the bloody hell a trope board is?"

#tori finally finishes a story #nothing good happens after 2am #(formerly) another name #so close and still so far #captain swan #emma swan #killian jones #ouat #once upon a time #cs fanfics #ruby lucas #david nolan #mary margaret blanchard #elsa #part four #IT'S FINALLY DONE #THANK YOU K

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sadachmesarthim · 3 years ago

Photo

yes this is a rewrite, feel free to fry my ass on anon about it.

content: starker being mean to each other, peter parker has Supportive Friends™, tony has daddy and mommy issues, quentin beck is a Mean Boss™, smoking, secondhand smoke.

word count: 3.0k

square filled: coffee shop au -> link to playlist here

part two is here!

a little vocab lesson before continuing: mobster = really high up in the chain of command for this group of coffee shops. they go around training new hirees, and often decide who gets to move up the line of command. they get to travel on company money, and are very well respected in the workplace. mobsters usually come in groups - siblings, hires from the same groups, etc.

Tony didn't like Richland.

Sure, okay, it was a serious step up from Federal Way. He was free from his parents, he could do whatever he wanted in a house all to himself, no one knew who he was - it was a refreshing change, one he definitely needed now that he was graduated, all grown up.

He'd moved back east about two months ago. He'd wanted to get as far away from home as possible, stretch his legs - he went under the guise of missing his grandma, wanting to go to school. He wasn't a terrible liar, either. Howard and Maria'd eaten it up, encouraging him to go as soon as he could.

"If you go now, you could get there in time for summer classes. Maybe even get a job before they stop hiring seasonally. You never know, but you might as well try!"

So here he was. Still jobless, still not yet enrolled in school. Enjoying his time in the (now autumn) sunshine, biding his time before he ran out of money. He'd planned well - he had enough cash to keep him covered for a while, as long as he didn't go blowing it.

He'd blown it.

He was a sucker for good coffee, though, and he missed Outback. He'd worked at one back home for almost a year before he left, and now... now, it was like an itch he couldn't scratch - he needed the interaction, needed to go make friends. He was too much of a social butterfly.

Yet again, he found himself in his truck, on the way to the nearest stand. He was pathetic, really. Here he was, wasting more money on coffee, when he could be out hiking or climbing or... literally doing anything else.

He knew it was worth it the second he pulled in. The cutest kid was running lines that day - shorts hugging his tight ass deliciously, in a way Tony knew his operator would get in trouble for if a Mobster or Coach saw. Christ, they lettin' just anyone work here now, that it?

He had to keep his thoughts to himself, though - the kid had just finished the cars in front of him, and was headed straight for Tony, iPad in hand. He took a breath, putting on his best poker face. He needed a fucking cigarette.

"Hey handsome! Welcome to Outback, what're we drinkin' today?" Shit, he's cute. All bright and cheery - it might be fake, sure, customer service voice and all - but boy, did he play the part well. All big eyes and wide smile. He looked up at Tony expectantly, right hand hovering over the screen of the runner iPad. Shit, he still has to order something.

"Hi, just a small iced white vanilla breve please." Tony watched as the kid pressed a few spaces on the tablet, shocked at how fluidly he moved. Tony'd never seen him at this location before, but he obviously knew what he was doing. Location transfer, maybe? Mobster? He wasn't sure.

"Perfect! I've got you in - anything else, love?" God, he was too much. There's no way this was just the sickly facade Outback enforced - no, this was all him. "Nah, I'm okay. I'm paying card today, too." He reached his hand out for the tablet, wanting to tip this kid specifically.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, this card reader's broken. The one up at the window's working though! My girl Maia'll be up there waiting for you!" He turned with a smile, skipping off to the next car.

Jesus, who was this kid? And what did Tony have to do to see him again?

•|||•

Return an application, apparently.

Maia, the girl at the window, had let him know that they were hiring. He didn't have to feign interest - he had relevant experience, could work his way up if he needed to - and he'd get to see the mystery boy again. She'd ran and grabbed a small stack of papers for him, which he dutifully filled out and brought back a couple of hours later.

The closing shift lead had briefly interviewed him, practically giving him the job on the spot. Apparently she'd met his sister on a Mob trip, before - it paid to have connections, but damn... someone in town already knew who he was. Oh well. Not a big deal. These were still new people, fresh faces - he could make a clean reputation for himself, a fresh start...

It was exactly what he needed. And if he needed to use a bit of his influence with his sister to get it... so be it.

•|||•

"Emma, please, just... don't be a dick when he calls you. I need this job, it'll be good for m-"

"Save it, Tony. I don't want your excuses. If I say I'll do it, will you leave me alone?" She was being unusually short with him. Fuck. She and Rhodey were fighting again.

"Yes, yes, anything. Thank you so much." He was met with a bored sigh.

"Whatever, dude. I'll put in a good word. Talk to you later." She hung up before he could say anything else. Whatever - it wasn't the worst conversation he'd had with his sister, but it left a lot to be desired.

They hadn't been doing well since she & Rhodey got together. It was on-again-off-again... and they were honestly both to blame. Neither one of them was good at commitment, and it showed.

It put strain on both of their relationships with Tony, and didn't do much to help keep him in Federal Way. He sought comfort in the isolation of a new town, but it didn't seem to be helping anything.

Leaving never did, but it was really all he knew how to do.

•|||•

Peter hadn’t been at Outback long, but he’d enjoyed every minute of it.

He’d gotten hired almost immediately after graduation, not wanting to waste a second of his summer not making money. It was a bit of a difficult transition - he wasn’t a big fan of Beck, his boss, and training was really overwhelming. But after he’d hit that twelve week mark... it’s like something just clicked.

He was a whiz on bar, he was making friends right and left. He and Maia’d even gone to get tattoos together a couple weeks ago during a flash sale. He was getting faster and faster at running cars, he knew almost all of his regular customers. He genuinely felt like part of the family.

That didn’t really change when Beck hired a new group, either. There weren’t too many of them, helping keep their group small. They’d been spending a bit of time in the stand here and there, going over the rules, the ins and outs of making coffee, taking their menu test.

The three he was introducing today seemed okay enough. He just barely caught the tail end of Beck's “congrats on becoming a full employee” monologue before the man set the fresh meat loose. Not that they could really go far - it was maybe a good spit's distance from corner to corner. But, if it helped them get their bearings...

He was pulled from his thoughts before they could take off too far. “Hey, Parker! Come say hi to the green beans!”

•|||•

The red haired girl was nice enough. They'd introduced themselves, exchanged snap usernames, gushed over Peter's tattoos, and bonded over the typical new job anxiety. He'd forged a sweet new friendship with Bri, and was hopeful she'd stick around. He'd seen people like her get chewed up and spit out in this industry, and he liked her.

The tall guy... was pretty boring, actually. He stayed on his phone for the majority of the introduction, opting to ignore Peter entirely. It was fine - he'd probably be gone by the end of the month. Not like they’d miss him - he barely passed his menu test, from what Peter’d overheard.

Then came Mr. Short, Dark, and Brooding - Tony, apparently - Peter remembered him from a few weeks ago. He’d given Peter a poorly concealed once-over, tried to take the runner iPad from right out of his hands... if he wasn’t so attractive, Peter’d pin him for a fuckboy.

Despite how much he looked like he’d wanted to back then, when given the opportunity, he didn’t really engage with Peter. He apparently wasn’t the type to keep eye contact, go in for a hug, make small talk. 0 for 2. Disappointing. Oh well. That’s fine - Peter was perfectly content as the only guy at this location (sans Beck, of couse). Too much testosterone didn’t foster a healthy working environment, and they all knew it.

The girls, especially. They all gushed over Peter - apparently being the token gay guy in the stand somehow made him exempt from the targetted harassment. Nearly every guy they’d hired had left within 9 months - coffee was definitely a female-dominated field.

Peter was excited to see how these two fared.

•|||•

The tall guy was gone within a week. Didn’t even leave notice, just up and stopped showing up to his shifts. Not that it was the end of the world - he was still in his probationary period, so he wasn’t even making tips. No sweat off Peter’s back.

Bri did really well, in comparison. Beck was unusually strict with her - lashing out during her initial first shifts, generally being a hardass. It was unnecessary, and everyone knew it - Peter often found himself having fridge or bathroom meetings with her to help calm her down. But she kept showing up, kept trying, and after a few weeks she was doing just as well as Peter and the rest of them.

Tony was even better. Peter’d heard through the grapevine that he’d worked at a different location when he was still in school. Why he had to go through training again was lost on Peter - Beck tended to be thorough when it came to these kinds of things, but Tony was arguably more experienced than some of Peter’s coworkers...

Apparently, it’s because he wasn’t one to play nice.

•|||•

It took them quite a while to work together. Peter’d found himself getting the shit end of the schedule, working 7-1s religiously. It was by far his least favorite shift - dealing with the morning and lunch rushes were nothing, if not exhausting. But he pushed through, and finally got a say in what he worked - a very comfortable 5 - close.

Tony seemed to fill the between-shift gap - 2-8 was his jam. He liked working later, but still getting home before dark. Apparently being a newbie meant drawing the short straw sometimes -

And the short straw just so happened to be barring with the twink from a few weeks ago.

He hadn’t been... avoiding him. Tony just... didn’t like the way he worked. Peter was flighty, always moving. It irked him... he was just so much, it made Tony’s head hurt. If he wasn’t so engaging he might actually piss Tony off - but he knew the kid had nothing but good intentions, and that made it bearable.

It didn’t translate to the bar, though.

It seemed nearly impossible for them to work well together. Tony’d been assigned the milk station for the last three hours of his shift - a long stretch, but nothing he hadn’t done before. Peter was on shots almost the entire time. Poor kid.

Tony’s sympathy ran dry when they actually began working. They were almost always on top of each other - Peter crowding his space and trying to do too much. It grated on Tony’s every nerve, made it difficult to function. Peter didn’t seem to notice at all - or if he did, he didn’t care.

It came to a head when Peter went for the fridge.

It was a pretty well-known rule that the person on shots doesn’t reach for the fridge. Not only was it too far away from their position on machine, it requires them to go behind their bar partner, which is dangerous in a shop this small. Hot liquids, ice, sugar... they can cause spills, burns, falls...

So of course this dumbass goes for the fridge. Opens the door. Grabs a can of cold brew with his bare hands before turning back around.

And running into Tony face first.

This would have been fine if it were literally anything other than a cold brew. This would have been fine if Tony wasn’t holding a fresh drink! But no - the universe lined things up just right, laid out the most well-planned disaster.

As they made contact, Peter’s hands flew up in shock, dropping the very pressurized can. It exploded as it hit the concrete, spraying nitrogen and foam-y coffee all over them. This caused Tony to let go of the drink in his hand, coating both of their lower halves in hot, sticky milk.

It was picturesque, the mess they made.

Tony looked up at Peter in absolute shock. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! Why were you in the fridge?!”

“I was just trying to help! You were busy, I figured I could-” Tony cut him off before he filled the stand with more hot air. Not in the mood for his bullshit excuses.

“I don’t care how busy you think I am - you ask before doing something outside of your station. Do you understand me?” The look in his eye was one Peter’d never seen before - it probably should have scared him, but frankly, it just made him angrier.

“Who do you think you are to be giving me orders?” He was huffy, he could feel his cheeks burning red. He was an angry crier, and knew he was struggling to control his face.

“My sister’s a Mobster. I think I know what I’m doing.” Oh. That explained it - his experience, his proficiency on bar... why he was such a dick. Peter’d never met a Mobster he liked, and if this guy was related to one... shit just made sense.

•|||•

He spent the remaining few hours of Tony’s shift hiding in the back. They were better off separated, and neither complained. Tony could handle himself up front, and Peter was productive enough. He had chores to do, dishes to finish, the closing list to start... Getting an early start benefitted everyone.

By the time 8 rolled around, the atmosphere in the stand had relaxed. They’d both had a chance to clean up, the girls on window had helped ease the tension with casual conversation. Bri had been running, and Peter spent plenty of time in the back with her, hushed enough to avoid the ears a few feet away.

“I don’t see why he gets to walk all over us. You’ve been here longer, and the attitude isn’t necessary.” She was sitting on the edge of the sink, goldfish making their way to her mouth between words. “You know I don’t like him. I don’t see why you keep trying to be nice.”

Peter sighed. He knew she was right. “I just... I don’t want anyone here to feel left out, or like I did at the beginning. Beck can be mean... I want all of you to feel welcome.” It wasn’t a lie, either - he’d made a point to make everyone feel at home, to make this stand a family. Until Tony showed up, he’d been doing a great job.

“I know buttercup. Just... don’t go bending over backward for someone that won’t even look you in the eye.” With that she hopped down, ready to clock out.

Tony shuffled past them both, excited to do the same. Maia’d taken over the bar for him, alleviating him just before the four minute window was up. He didn’t even excuse himself, just inserting himself in their personal space without concern.

Bri shot Peter a look before she left. Talk to him!

He opted for bravery. He deserved an apology for Tony’s harsh words earlier today, and he was going to get it.

He checked the cameras before walking back, making sure Maia wasn’t gonna wind up swamped if this took longer than necessary. Tony was collecting his things - he had to do this fast.

“Hey, listen.” Tony looked up, unamused. “I know we didn’t exactly have a good shift, and yeah I’m partly to blame for that... but Beck doesn’t really vibe with hostility, and the girls...”

Tony cut him off halfway through. “What, it makes them uncomfortable? They don’t like it when a man takes charge, has a little outburst? Sheesh, y’all really are a mess.” What the fuck?

“Okay, seriously. I tried to be nice. You owe me, and the rest of us, a serious apology for today, or I’m going to Quentin about it. It’s not that hard to say you’re sorry, Tony.” Good job Parker, firm boundaries.

“I’m sorry? Sorry for what, doing my job? Fuck that, man. I’m out of here.” He opened the door and left, skipping past an oncoming car and heading toward his own.

Peter followed him. It was stupid, sure - but he needed to assert himself here. This was his stand, his home - and he was damned if he was going to let some... some asshole trample all over his home like this.

He caught up to Tony quickly, stopping him before he could open the driver’s door. “Why are you such an asshole? The girls are obsessed with you, you clearly have a leg up against everyone else in your group. There’s no reason for you to be acting like this, dude. You’ve been here all of what, a month?”

Tony took a long drag from his cigarette before answering. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Now be a good little closer, and run inside. Finish your shift.” He exhaled the smoke into Peter’s face, getting into his car and driving away without another word.

What a douchebag.

#sorry i just flat out didn't like this #sfsummerbingo21 #starkerfestivalsevents #starker #peter parker/tony stark #peter parker x tony stark #coffee shop au #.mine #i'm so sorry mads #i know i'm a pain in the ass

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jlsadphoenix · 4 years ago

Text

a map and a shovel (to my achilles’ heel)

The evolution of Emma and Killian’s thoughts for each other, told through the early events of their lives together. | 2/2 | AO3

KILLIAN

EMMA

because how the hell had this man managed to see right past her walls in the few hours he spent in her company, when people who’ve known her months, years, had trouble doing the same?

for as long as she’s known him, even with his flowery language and pirate regalia and cluelessness to modern conveniences, he’s always felt the realest person around

Tagging: @teamhook @lillpon @ownedbycaptainswan @inwordsthatnobodyknows1121

“Hey,” Emma starts, noticing a hand reaching out from a pile of bodies. “Hey, there’s someone under there!”

The man they pull out is thanking them, but there are alarms going off in her head. Something’s wrong, this doesn’t make sense. Their eyes meet, his eyes are fearful, yes, grateful as well, but just a bit calculating, too, and her instincts say there’s something more to him.

He sits at the table looking exhausted as Emma asks Mulan (shit, how was this her life, fucking Mulan) more. The story Mulan tells her about the man seems perfectly plausible, but, “Why would Cora leave a survivor?” It’s too messy for someone like Cora. So she offers him some water.

He starts to explain how he hid under the bodies to survive, but there’s something wrong. He’s — not lying, not completely, but Emma’d be damned if he’s telling the full truth. So she leans her elbows down on the table, bringing her head level to his, I’m pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me, she keeps her voice even, calm, face sympathetic, until —

“I’m telling you the truth,”

Her lie detector goes off.

Got you.

He’s good, she has to admit as she plasters on a sympathetic smile for him, but not good enough. I can guide you —

Ha, not a chance.

So Emma grabs him by the hair, pulls out her knife, and puts it to his throat.

“You’re not gonna guide us anywhere until you tell us who you really are,” she really can’t help the bit of pride that swells up at the flash of surprise in the man’s eyes.

Just looking up at the beanstalk seems daunting. They had to climb that thing?

Whatever story you think you know, my dear, is most certainly wrong, has her scrounging her memory for what she remembered of Jack and the Beanstalk. Something with a cow, she remembered, and — was it a goose or a harp? Ah, she’s getting distracted, and Hook’s amused look and drawling voice really isn’t helping. Very bad form, he finishes his story.

“The treasure remains, and amongst it is the compass,” he says, focusing on her again, and really, why is he always speaking like she’s the only one in this group? “Once we get it, steal the ashes from her, then we’re on our way,” he finishes jovially.

“How do we know you’re not just using us to get the compass for Cora?” Mulan asks suspiciously, and really, Emma could become good friends with her, the way they easily agree.

Hook answers seriously, ‘cause you four are far safer company, clear of any deception. Good enough for now, she supposes, and suggests they start climbing. They’re wasting time sharing stories here.

Then Hook laughs a bit, says only he and one other can climb, and he is seriously getting on her last nerve, don’t be afraid to, y’know, really get into it, he grins, bouncing on his feet, looking completely delighted by this, and why did Captain Hook have to be gorgeous and not all perms and wax mustaches?

They move away from Hook, and she tilts her head back to peer up the beanstalk as the others argue. Damn, she can’t even see the top. How long would that take to climb? She absently hears them arguing over wars or something or another, and out of corner of her eye, she can see Hook trying to hide his impatience despite his earlier words.

The fact that she can relate to that irritation has her interrupting the others, because HenryHenryHenry; who cares about number of wars or who has more to lose when Henry is waiting for her? But she can’t trust Hook either, so she tells Mulan to cut the beanstalk down in ten hours if she’s not back down, makes her promise to bring Mary Margaret home.

Hook smiles cheekily at her, I was hoping it would be you, and she rolls her eyes as he puts the cuff around her wrist.

“I can’t climb one-handed, can I?” He protests, and begrudgingly, she gives him the hook, but, “Don’t think I’m taking my eyes off you for a second,” she warns.

He simply smiles, I would despair if you did, and up they climb.

He’s talking.

She’ll ignore him, she will ignore him, she will ignore him, she will — “I’m concentrating,” Emma finally snaps.

“No, you’re afraid,” he says, and what? The hell does she have to be afraid about? “Afraid to talk, to reveal yourself,” he slows his climb to let her catch up to his side. “To trust me.”

Trust? Really? From him, of all people? “You should be used to people not trusting you,”

Hook only rolls his eyes, ah, the pirate thing, as if it was just some afterthought. You’re something of an open book, he tells her then, and Emma can’t help but pause, can’t help the faint amusement and curiosity, because she’s been called many things in life, but open book was definitely not one of them.

“Let’s see,” he starts, voice deceptively mild, “you volunteered to come up here because you were the most motivated, you need to get back to a child,” and Emma nearly scoffs, because he’s an eavesdropper, big surprise.

“Ah, but you don’t want to abandon him the way you were abandoned,” and still, his voice is casual, as though they were just talking about the weather, but Emma stills, because how could he know —

He looks away from her briefly as he explains something about Neverland, and Lost Boys, but she’s still scrambling to cover up whatever hell hole in her walls he managed to see past. The look you get when you’ve been left alone, but she didn’t come from Neverland, she’s not from some fairytale world despite what Henry says, she was just —

“But an orphan’s an orphan,” he continues. There’s something in his voice, but she won’t focus on it before this gets into more dangerous territory, but he doesn’t seem to notice, pushing on, love has been all too rare in your life, hasn’t it, and, have you ever even been in love, and no —

— nope no no no, absolutely not, she will not go there, will not think of her stolen bug, of stolen convenience store food, of a stolen keychain, of stolen moments in stolen motel rooms, of stolen watches, of a stolen future in a cold, empty jail cell with a positive pregnancy test, of two stolen years in —

No, she answers him, because how the hell had this man managed to see right past her walls in the few hours he spent in her company, when people who’ve known her months, years, had trouble doing the same? So she pushes ahead of the climb, resolutely ignoring his too perceptive gaze burning into her, focusing on the climb to run away from the memories that were threatening to resurface.

She starts to turn away from the giant, to head back to the beanstalk, compass in hand, but then, try something new, darling, is ringing in her ears, and she hesitates, glancing back at the pile of rocks Hook is trapped under.

She can’t trust him, she can’t, she tries to convince herself as she asks the giant to keep Hook trapped but unharmed for ten hours. Every instinct she has tells her that he can be trusted, that he hasn’t once lied to her. Every instinct says that she can take a chance on him, that they could be allies, friends, maybe —

No.

No, no, he’ll turn on her the first chance he gets, she tries to think rationally. But he’s grinning at her, pure exhilaration on his face, and he calls her brilliant and amazing, without any lie or underlying motive, and he stares down at the compass in awe, and she can’t help but think of how human he looks when he’s like this, so far removed from any fairytale or cocky pirate captain persona or the man who would go to any lengths for his lost love.

Hook reaches for the compass and doesn’t even look all that bothered when she pulls away, simply smiling and offering up his hand, eyes bright, face open, and come, let’s go, and she takes his hand but she can’t.

If she’s wrong about him, she could lose Henry, could lose her way to Storybrooke, he could leave her cold and empty and lost in some dead realm, reminiscent of a cold and empty jail cell, lost for two years in Tallahassee.

She stares back at his bright and open face, watches as he gives her a tiny, encouraging nod.

She has no reason to be wrong about him.

She closes the shackles around his wrist.

His face goes slack with the shock, and it has her up and scrambling back out of his reach.

What are you doing, the way his voice trembles in his attempt to stay calm only serves to make her feel worse, eyes falling away from him. Her voice fails her as she tries to explain, explain that — that he — that she can’t—

“Emma, look at me,” he pleads, “have I told you a lie?”

He hasn’t. Not since she called him out on the blacksmith act, since she put a knife to his throat, since she tied him to a tree, and left him to ogres until she heard him call out to her, good for you, irritated and a little sulky and just a bit of grudging respect.

He didn’t lie when he smiled down at her, I was hoping it would be you, didn’t lie when he called her an open book, when he bandaged her hand with his scarf with a no, it’s not, or when she pressed him about the name on his wrist, despite the way he had shut down fast, faster than anything else she had seen from him yet.

His voice is still calm as he tries to reason with her, why do this to me now, gaze steady, as though it can still be easily brushed aside if she just lets him go, but —

“I can’t take the chance that I’m wrong about you,” because despite what her instincts say, she refuses to take that step (refuses to try something new), and “I’m sorry,” because she is. But he turned so quick on Cora, he could do just the same to them, turn back to Cora with the compass, and —

“You’re sorry? You’re sorry?” Hook pulls against the chain as he tries to move closer, voice furious. She’s shutting down, and fast. She can’t let him change her mind, she can’t take that chance, the chance she’s wrong, the chance of him betraying her, the chance of losing her way to Henry, the chance on him.

“And you’re not gonna die,” she refutes him, “I just need a head start, that’s all.”

And she’s turning away from him, walking back to the beanstalk, and he’s calling out to her, furious and desperate (betrayed, abandoned) but she won’t, she can’t look back, because —

She shuts her eyes against his shouts.

She leaves him behind.

(Because, despite her rationalizing, the more her instincts say he can be trusted, the more she wants to take that chance, to listen to her gut, to — to —

The more it terrified her. The more she needs to distance herself. What better way than to leave him in chains in some cold, empty room with a giant?)

The compass disappears from her hand, and appears in Cora’s as she stares gleefully at it.

No.

No, what — ?

Emma pushes uselessly at the cell gates as Cora thanks Aurora for her help.

Thanks Auro—?

What?

She turns on her, furious, how would you do this, but she registers belatedly that Aurora looks as bewildered as them, and Cora’s crooning voice only confirms this as she pulls out a red, pulsing, beating heart. “You took her heart?” She stares, horrified. This — this is what it means when Regina — when Graham — when —

“Actually, I did,” Hook corrected her, voice low. Emma turns to him then, having tried and failed to ignore him leaning casually against the wall, staring fixatedly down at his hook, “it was a gift.” He finally turns to face them. He doesn’t say anything more, face completely closed off in a way she hasn’t seen on him aside from when she had asked about Milah, doesn’t flinch as Cora clenches her fist, Aurora crumpling in pain, doesn’t move until Cora passes him, pushing off the wall to follow.

“Hook,” she tried, desperate. She can’t lose the compass, lose Henry. “Wait,”

He pauses.

She breathed shakily, a desperate, irrational swell of hope as he turns to face her. “Please don’t do this, my son is in Storybrooke, he needs me.”

He moved towards her then, slow, measured steps, and just from the look on his face she knows she fucked up. “Perhaps you should have considered that before you abandoned me on that beanstalk,” his tone low and dangerous.

She shakes her head because that — it’s not — because — you would’ve done the same, and she keeps her grip against the bars, keeps her voice cool and knowing.

“Actually no.”

It’s said flatly, just plain fact.

That — that can’t be right.

She left him behind before he could do it to her, before he could do what he’s doing now, except—

He’s pulling out a bean on some sort of necklace, and she reaches desperately for it, unsuccessful, and this is a symbol, dangling the bean just in front of her, “something that was once magical, and full of hope, possibility... Now look at it,” once again his voice is deceptive, mild and unassuming, and she follows his gaze. “Dried up, dead. Useless. Much like you,”

He’s walking away, Emma realizes with increasing panic. Is this how he felt?

Just as I’m done with you, is this revenge for the way she left him chained up on the beanstalk, helpless but to watch her retreating back? Fitting, she thinks dimly to herself, watching him walk away.

He did betray her, just as she thought (because she did it first), and she thinks of her way back to Henry, fading with each step Hook takes away from them, thinks dimly of trying to call out to him (just as he did to her), thinks dimly of what could’ve happened if she had trusted him, trusted herself, would she still have wound up here, thinks dimly of how flat Hook’s words were to her, how closed off, a complete turn from the start of their climb up the beanstalk, thinks I did this, I did that to him, I got us caught in this trap —

She thinks maybe she should have trusted him, but now she won’t get a chance to right that wrong, doesn’t even know if she would want to if she got the chance.

How could you not? You don’t believe in your parents. Or in magic. Or even yourself.

Goddamn Rumplestiltskin — Gold — whatever his name was now.

When have you ever taken a real leap of faith?

Because what they needed right now — when Henry was missing — was to separate.

You’re still just that bail-bonds person.

What the hell did he know, Emma thought bitterly, the burn in her muscles not doing anything to clear her mind. She paused a moment to catch her breath, pushing back the swell of frustration, the burning in her throat. Henry is missing. That’s the fact of the matter. This is no time to doubt herself, to —

“Aw, don’t stop on my account.”

Hook.

Of course. Because she needed more things on her mind, needed more questions she couldn’t find the answer to. “What are you doing?”

Getting ready for a fight, she manages to ground out, ignoring Hook’s quip, because like hell she would tell him that she was doing her own equivalent of a pep talk, of going through mindless, repetitive motions to try to clear her mind of Gold’s words, or tell him that she was starting to believe them, not because Gold had said it flat to her face, but because it was all already in her head.

And in what is starting to become a frustrating pattern, she doesn’t need to tell him anyway.

“Don’t let Rumplestiltskin get you down, love,” is said gently, free of any judgement, and dammit, how does he see through her so easily (open book), he had done it on the beanstalk, done it in Granny’s with a simple why are you really doing this, and the more time she spends in his presence, the more she understood the weight of her own words when Emma had told him you and I, we understand each other — God, was that just a couple hours ago?

“What do you want?” Because there was no chance she was going to go further with this. He pulls out a key as he starts to talk about Neal.

Yes, because an even better topic conversation with the man who can read her like no one else was her recently killed ex who she still has a shit ton of mixed and complicated feelings for.

Hook offers her a sword, then, a quiet this was his, has her looking up and taking a look at his face.

Emma might have a harder time understanding his particular motives right now, but she is not the only open book on this ship, she thinks, noting the way his eyes don’t meet hers, the way his head sways, the edge to his I’m not when she accuses him of being sentimental. What a terrible liar, she muses, trying to ignore the warm feeling starting to replacing the cold dread that Gold’s words had left.

“I just thought you could use it where we’re going, you know,” he hands her a shot glass, and Hook may be a terrible liar, but he’s certainly good at deflecting, she thinks, as he drawls out, “to fight.”

He pours her some rum, and somehow, the moment the glass was filled, she realizes that this was exactly what she needed. Not some pull ups to get ready for a fight, not to talk about her feelings with her parents, not pointless reassurances or empty promises and words. Just a moment to take a breath and process, free of outside influence. Thanks.

“To Neal,” Hook offers simply, and they toast and they drink and they sit in silence, and it is ridiculous how easy it is to be in his presence.

He comes with no expectations of who she should be, no underlying disappointment throughout every interaction when she is nothing expected, no pressure to be a lost daughter, or a mother who lost ten years with her son, or Neal’s ex, or some savior responsible for everyone’s happiness, or princess, or even a bail-bonds person.

With him, she simply is.

So she asks about Neal, because she can’t imagine him young and a teenager, playing pirate with Hook, because no matter how much he had broken her heart, how much just his name reminds her of the cold metal of a cuff around her ankle as she gave birth, or the cold metal of the watch on her wrist that night, being in Neal’s presence made her feel sixteen and recklessly in love again, and seeing him die made her wish for better closure, and being in Hook’s presence was easy and calming, and he was the only other person she knows who she could talk to about Neal.

(who she feels she could someday tell the whole story of her and Neal, without judgement or expectation or suggestions to forgive and forget)

Naturally, Hook sees right through her question, and true to form, as she is starting to learn, answers plainly and free of judgement or amusement or those stupid sympathetic looks that make her want to hit something. “Long enough to know I miss him, too.”

Their eyes meet. No more words are said, and it is quiet. The room is heavy. And it is easy.

“Hook,” David says as soon as he separates from Mary Margaret. “He saved my life.”

Emma’s heart skips a few beats, focusing sharply on David, trying to find any injuries.

“Are you sure you wanna tell them that, mate?” Hook asks him cautiously, but Emma is far too worried about the idea that those two were in any situation at all that called for someone’s life being saved. Are they alright, what happened?

“On our trek,” David starts, “we were ambushed by Lost Boys. Pinned down, outnumbered, but Hook — he risked his life to stop me from getting hit by a poisoned arrow.”

He what? Now she turns to look at Hook, but he shifts uncomfortably, looking away from them all, forcing up a short smile as David approaches. “If it wasn’t for Hook, I wouldn’t be alive. Your flask, please,” Hook seems to be able to meet only David’s eyes as he hands him the flask. I thought he deserved a little credit.

Only now does Emma’s heart slow down a bit, because just how close had she come to losing her friend — her father? Thank you, Hook manages, but still looks supremely uncertain and uncomfortable, even with the gratefulness softening it just a bit. They pass the rum about, but Emma can’t help but stare.

Once again he surprises her, and once again, she sees that honorable gentleman peeking out from underneath that cocky pirate captain persona. She saw it when he took her hand, insisting on bandaging it, when he had smiled at her, so bright and open, her heart had skipped a beat, saw it when he had put himself to pains to reach for Aurora’s heart, when he had so blatantly thrown their fight at Lake Nostos (No way did she beat a pirate in a sword fight when she had only held a sword for a week), saw it when he turned his ship around, gave her the bean with a simple, maybe I just needed reminding that I could, saw it below the decks of his ship when he offered her Neal’s sword and they drank a toast to his memory.

To Hook, she murmurs, taking a swig of the rum, before turning back to him as the others return back to their camp.

He is turned away from her completely, staring fixatedly on a tree, and the words come out before she can stop herself, “D’you really save his life?”

“Does that surprise you?” he asks, and he barely glances at her before turning back to the tree. She gives back the rum.

“Well, you and David aren’t exactly... how do you say it? Mates,” she mimics his accent, expecting a smirk or a small laugh.

Instead, he finally turns to face her, serious and honest, “Doesn’t mean I’d leave your father to perish on this island.”

Thank you, is all she can say to the sincerity in his eyes and voice.

A slow, teasing grin spreads across his face, and she knows he’s putting up an act, directing their conversation to something much lighter, but regardless, Emma feels the mood lighten almost immediately, feels herself start to feel just a bit giddy, giddy from speaking to Henry, from David and Hook making it back safe, despite the sextant, from the rum, from this man standing across her, who constantly keeps her and her expectations on its toes, who she’s felt connected to since they climbed the damn beanstalk and he revealed just a bit of himself when he tied that damn scarf with his damn mouth, and turned his ship around and offered his assistance in helping Henry when there was nothing in it for him.

Perhaps gratitude is in order now, he muses, tapping his lips with his finger, and she can’t help but return his teasing smile, because “Yeah, that’s what the thank you was for,” but he just makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat as he takes just another step forward.

“Is that all your father’s life is worth to you?” Hook asks, and that giddiness seems to swell just a bit more, because, he saved David’s life. He turned his ship around, gave her Neal’s sword, gives advice freely, directed them to Tinkerbell, showed them what plants are safe to eat and which to avoid, even with all the doubts the others throw his way, and all the while, he simply turns to her, smiles, calls her excellent, backs all her ideas, and never once does he seem to doubt her.

“Please, you couldn’t handle it,”

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it,”

He pops the t, the corner of his lips tugging up, and he stares at her with bright, open blue eyes, so so reminiscent of the look he had given her when she pulled him out of the rubble, calling her brilliant and amazing, and asking to see the compass, and offering his hand up to her.

She should leave.

She should walk away now, head back to David and Mary Margaret and Regina.

Oh, fuck it.

Her hands close around the collar of his coat, dragging him in for a kiss even before she could finish the thought. She keeps a death grip on his collar as the other winds up in his ridiculously soft hair, and his lips taste of rum and Neverland fruits, and he doesn’t move for a moment, far too surprised, before his hand comes up her own hair and he breathes in harshly through his nose and he responds, and oh.

Hook kisses the same way he does just about anything else; with everything he has. It has her burning, because he kisses like he’s challenging her, kisses like a drowning man taking a breath for the first time, kisses like she’s the sun and he hasn’t seen daylight in years, kisses like he’ll never kiss anyone again.

They separate, but their foreheads are pressed together, and she still has a death grip on his coat, and they are breathing harshly, and all she can think is, oh.

That was —

“That was...” and he sounds wrecked, stunned, as if he hasn’t just given her the best kiss of her life, and oh, oh, oh, oh no, but even with the growing panic, she feels good, and he feels good, and they feel good together, and —

A one-time thing, she forces herself to step away, to turn and head back into camp, and she makes the mistake of looking at his face, as stunned and wrecked as he sounds, brow furrowing at her words, and the words taste a bit wrong in her mouth, tastes like a lie, but it can’t be a lie, because there’s no chance she’s letting herself —

“Don’t follow me,” she instructs him, not letting herself look at him again, “Wait five minutes, go get some firewood or something.”

“As you wish,” he calls at her back, and the smile that spreads on her face is completely involuntary.

Her heart is still pounding, lips still burning, and she still feels so so good, for the first time since Henry was taken, she was in some semblance of a good mood, and he was the one to put it there, with his stupid easy faith, stupid smiles and compliments and suggestions, urging her to find a way to speak to Henry, and saving David’s life, and the stupid way he doesn’t even expect anything back, not even acknowledgement, and the stupid, goddamn way he kisses like his life depends on it, why the hell does he kiss like that.

What the hell made her think kissing him would be a good idea? She can panic about this later.

(She can still taste the rum and fruits.)

(She thinks maybe she really couldn’t handle it.)

The whole Neal thing isn’t enough to distract from the burn on her lips, the memory of those bright, open blue eyes, or the teasing voice, or that damn kiss, like Hook was breathing air for the first time.

“I kissed him,” Emma blurts out the moment she and Mary Margaret are out of earshot from David and Hook.

“What?” she asks, “Who?” As if there’s an abundance of options she has of people to kiss.

“Hook, I kissed Hook,” and the memory of his lips on hers are still so fresh, the taste of rum and fruits, that bright, giddy feeling he had managed to bring out of her still echoing in her chest, even as the thought of finding Neal makes her heart ache.

“Oh,” says Mary Margaret, voice high, with surprise or suspended judgement or maybe both, maybe neither, Emma doesn’t know, “Wh-why?”

Because he sees her and has no expectations for her, because he doesn’t lie to her, because of the way he had smiled at her, the teasing lilt to his voice, the easy faith he puts on her, because he came back and offered to help save Henry, saved David, and because they shared a drink, shared moments on the ship, on the beanstalk, in this damn island, because try as he might, he just can’t hide that gentleman underneath the selfish pirate persona.

I don’t know, she says instead, “I-I was — it’s been a while, I was feeling good —“

“Did it mean anything?”

Yes, she thinks instinctively, except she doesn’t know what it means, doesn’t even know why she brought it up, because it was a one-time thing, and, it was just a kiss, because it should have just been a kiss, but her voice is starting to pitch defensively, completely involuntary, and she can still feel the pull of his lips on hers, the taste of fruit and rum, and the way he had kissed like —

“I’m sure Neal will understand,” completely falters her thoughts, because the hell does Neal have anything to do wi—

Oh, right, they’re on their way now to rescue her apparently not-so-dead-ex, the father of her son, who she said I love you to right before he fell into the portal, and she had just told her mother she kissed another man. It must seem like Emma was worried about what Neal might think, which — No. “If he’s still alive,”

“Emma, I get what you’re doing, you know,” says Mary Margaret carefully, “you don’t wanna open yourself up the the hope that he’s alive, but you should,” completely stops her in her tracks.

Why, She stares at Mary Margaret, heart sinking.

She had wanted some closure from Neal, yes, she deserved that closure after all that he’s done to her, the memory of that damn alleyway, cuffs closing around her wrists, and months in a cell with nothing but a keychain, car keys, and a positive pregnancy test, the way she couldn’t even bear to look at her son after she gave birth because then she’d never be able to let him go, to give him a life he deserves, the two years in Tallahassee waiting, just waiting, had her building up her walls higher and thicker than when she had left the system.

But with Neal gone, Emma had thought she could finally let it go, move past that part of her life, could live without the constant worry she had lived with for years that she would see him again someday, except she did, in possibly the worst way, slamming into him in some New York alleyway, with him getting mad at her for bringing Gold to him, scoffing and dismissing her like she was still sixteen and he hadn’t set her up to take the fall fo his crime. No, then he followed he back to Storybrooke with a fiancée who wound up kidnapping Henry for Peter Pan, even as he and her parents had dismissed all her suspicions as some petty jealousy.

No, she wanted to get closure and move on. She wasn’t sixteen and in love with the cool, older guy who had understood her anymore. She didn't want to feel sixteen anymore. She wanted to feel at ease, like she feels around Henry and his endless faith and belief in everything, around Mary Margaret before things became so much more complicated, around Hook, of all people, when he offers her a drink, when compliments and praise slip freely from his lips but seems to expects nothing in return, when he is always so open and easy to read when they are alone, when he reads her unnervingly well, not needing her to speak her doubts before he replaces it with that easy faith and a small smile.

“Because you deserve a happy ending, Emma,” Mary Margaret turns to face her, earnest, “and happy endings always start with hope,”

But what did it mean if the only hope she feels regarding Neal is the dark, grim hope that this was just a trick?

“I thought Emma would wish to have something to remember you by,” Hook’s voice is terse.

“Oh, thanks, but she’s got me now,” and what? The hell is this about?

She holds out an arm to stop Hook from following Neal, woah, what was that about, but Hook is standoffish, can’t meet her eyes right, and dammit, he’s been having difficulty doing that since the Echo Caves. His words are halting, tense and just a bit uncomfortable, “I assumed he heard my secret, I also assumed you told him of our shared moment,”

“Why would you assume that,” she asks sharply. This time, he has no trouble holding her gaze, because I was hoping it meant something, but that is not the point, that is not what meant something, because it occurs to her that the only time Pan could’ve told him about Neal was immediately after their kiss, and still — “What meant something was that you told us Neal was still alive. Thank you,” she seems to be saying that to him a lot, and each time, she means it more and more. “Otherwise you could’ve kept Pan’s information to yourself.”

“Why would I have done that?” he asks genuinely, as though it never once occurred to him, as though he didn’t have everything to gain and nothing to lose if he kept the information to himself.

“Maybe Pan offered you a deal, why else would he tell you?”

“It was a test,” he says simply, unbothered, “he wanted to see if I’d leave an old friend to die, even if that old friend happens to be vying for the same woman I am,”

She stares, and thinks of how refreshing it is to speak with him, the way he doesn’t beat around the bush, the way he states his intentions plainly, never bothering with a lie, thinks of that gentleman he mentioned once, so long ago, shining through again, always there, underlying most of his actions, “And you chose your friend,” she doesn’t mean to sound so surprised.

He only shrugs, “Does that surprise you?”

She thinks she’s more surprised by how unsurprised she is.

Emma has learned so much more about Hook in their short time together, thinks of how easy it always is to be with him, to speak with him, to understand him, because he never says the words, but she knows the reason she is an open book to him is the same reason he is an open book to her.

You are a pirate, she says instead, smiling at him, wanting him to smile back, to laugh, but when he does, it is tinged with an uncharacteristic self-deprecation, yeah, that I am, and he looks down, looks away from her, and Emma thinks he shouldn’t sound like that (thinks she doesn’t want him to sound like that).

He takes a step closer, and somehow, she doesn’t feel even slightly uncomfortable by his closeness, by his openness, his sincerity, “But I also believe in good form. So when I win your heart, Emma — and I will win it. It will not be because of any trickery. It will be because you want me.”

She’s already known this, deep down. He never mentioned saving David voluntarily, even cautioned against David’s acknowledgement, he decided to be the first to speak his secret, to bear his heart to save Neal, never once bringing it up as a point of praise, and he’s so so honest, expecting nothing in return, simply happy to lay his heart down in her hands. She has to turn this conversation away from the direction it’s going, she has no time to examine her own feelings and desires, not while Henry is still in danger, she isn’t nearly as brave enough to examine herself, too scared to find out what that answer may be, where it may lead her to, and she’s nowhere near as brave as Hook to simply put herself out there like he is. “This is not a contest, Hook,”

“Isn’t it?” he questions mildly, “You’re gonna have to choose, Emma. You realize that, don’t you? Because neither one of us is gonna give up,” he gestures towards Neal’s general direction, but —

“The only thing I have to choose is the best way to get my son back,” she corrects him, because Henry will always be her priority, now, on Neverland when he’s in constant danger, back in Storybrooke where he is happy and surrounded by family, even regardless of whatever danger Storybrooke winds up in, and even when there’s no danger to be had.

“And you will,” says Hook simply, as though there isn’t even a single shred of doubt in his mind, and once again, Emma is struck by his simple faith. The answer is plain on his face, in his voice, in the silence of her lie detector, but somehow, the quiet doubt constantly on the back of her mind is calling out to her, and she can’t help but ask, can’t help the creeping vulnerability, you think so, because she has the feeling he wouldn’t laugh, wouldn’t brush it away, or mock or whatever else.

I’ve yet to see you fail, and there’s a shadow of a smile on his face as he stares back at her, but Emma knows it’s not a smile of mocking, “and when you do succeed,” he continues, uses when because in his mind, her victory is already guaranteed, no matter if they have no concrete plan to get to Henry, to defeat Pan, to leave Neverland, “well, that’s when the fun begins,” and he’s smiling properly now.

“Guys!” Neal calls out then, and Hook’s eyes dart to somewhere behind her, his face smooths out into his usual vaguely disinterested expression, hiding away the heart he so easily opens when they’re alone, but Emma is slow to tear her eyes away from him, because she still shaken, moved by his confidence and belief in her, the same that she’s only ever seen on Henry, with his unfaltering faith in the goodness of people, even ones he’s called evil, with his but I believe in you, before he collapsed and leaving her in panic and believing in magic, for him.

(She thinks she could be in serious trouble with this man.)

(She thinks she might already be in serious trouble with this man.)

10.

Emma doesn’t want to leave. Not when she had finally found her parents, found her son, found a place she could belong (a place she could call home). She’s barely holding back her tears, can see Henry doing the same, and they’re at the town line, her Bug already at the edge, but she doesn’t want to go.

Hook approaches her as soon as she moves away from the crowd, and she starts to feel even worse.

She doesn’t know what to say to him, what she wants him to know, and judging by his uncertain expression, he feels the same.

“That’s quite the vessel you captain there, Swan,” he attempts lightly, and it brings out a smile from her, however shaky, because he always seems to be able to do that to her.

She doesn’t know what she wants to say to him, but she knows she could very possibly regret not saying anything at all more than anything else.

If she has to leave, if she can never see him again, Emma knows she has to say goodbye, knows she owes it to him, owes it to herself, owes it to them.

But the smile fades from his face, and he looks about the same as she feels, and “There’s not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you,” and she knows he is not lying, does not need to use her superpower with him because he wears his damn heart on his sleeve when it comes to her, because if there’s one thing she can count on, it’s Captain Hook — Killian Jones’ honor and dedication and honesty, knows that when he makes a promise, he keeps it, and she doesn’t even have to look much further than how they met, him dedicating himself to centuries avenging an old love.

There was something building between them, she knows. It’s why she ran from him in the first place so long ago on the beanstalk. She doesn’t need his open honesty about his feelings, doesn’t need the Echo Caves to know. She was in trouble with him from the start, since he read her like an open book, and she ran from it, and she knew the moment she kissed him that whatever it was, it wasn’t something she could keep running from forever.

Until now.

(Until she felt that she might not really want to run anymore.)

But even now, when they’ll never see each other again, when there’s no consequence to keeping his heart hidden from her, he tells her the truth, tells her he won’t stop thinking of her, and she thinks, for once, he deserves some honesty in return, because she may not know what she feels for him, may not return whatever it is he feels for her, but dammit she cares about him, and she’s going to miss him. So she says good, because that’s all she can manage to say, but he still manages to understand her meaning, and he smiles, and steps back.

(She thinks her heart might just break a bit more.)

They may never know what it was that was building, but she has never met another person she could understand so well, who could understand her so well, who she feels she could someday let her walls down for, who she felt truly connected with.

She never knew what kindred spirits meant until she met him.

But then Regina says she and Henry will lose their memories, lose the years they spent in Storybrooke, lose the knowledge that she had found her family, the knowledge that she was wanted, and that Henry has more family than he could possibly know to do with, but could still easily love enough to fill his big heart, and her own heart breaks, breaks for her son, for herself, for her parents and Regina, who can’t even have the comfort that they would be thinking about them, and for Hook, who had promised her everyday but she can’t even return the favor for one more day.

(somehow, she knows, even without her memories, she would have regretted not saying goodby to Hook.)

But they are out of time, and she and Henry get into the Bug, and she starts driving.

She can feel her parents gaze, can feel Hook’s eyes, can feel her memories fading, being replaced, but she holds on as long as she can, until there’s nothing left to hold on to.

(She wonders, later, at the incredible sense of loss she feels, wonders at her acquired taste for rum, wonders at the melancholy she feels when she stares out at the ocean, or when she watches Disney movies with Henry, wonders why everything just feels wrong, feels like there’s something missing.)

11.

Emma had started to wonder who was more insane; the madman dressed head-to-toe in leather rambling about curses and family — or her for thinking, for feeling, that some part of what he’s saying actually made sense.

The moment he had turned up, nothing felt right anymore (nothing had felt right all year), felt strangely like she had known the man who showed up at her door, felt very much insane for actually leaning into the kiss for a split second, felt like she wanted to trust him, felt so much like she was missing something, something so, so, important.

Except nothing the man had said made any sort of logical sense, and she can’t get him out of her thoughts, her head, and Walsh’s proposal wasn’t helping her keep her head straight, and even when she’s throwing him in jail, she can’t help but seek him out again. But she needs answers, and he’s just pleading with her to take a baseless leap of faith, to trust him, trust herself, and he hasn’t lied once to her, no matter how insane the words spilling from his lips are.

(Everything in her is telling her to do it, to try something new.)

“As much as you deny it, deep down, you know something’s wrong, deep down, you know I’m right,” he insists, but it’s not possible, and how could she forget all of this?

He pulls out that tiny blue vial again, offers it out to her again, and again, Emma is struck by the strange familiarity of the action struck by the feeling that she knows what it feels for him to offer a drink, (for her to take it). “If you drink this it will,” he says quietly, and it’s all insane, he is insane, and she must be insane for wanting to take it, because —

“If — if what you’re saying is true... I’d have to give up my life here,”

“It’s all based on lies,” he insists.

“It’s real,” she protests, “and it’s pretty good! I have Henry, a job — a guy I love!”

His face falls, and he looks down at the grown as though he can’t meet her eyes, as though it will give him something to say, give him courage, and “Perhaps there’s a man that you love in the life that you’ve lost,” and Emma —

Stares. He’s talking about himself, she realizes. Knows it in herself, knows it like she knows anything else, although, perhaps that’s the wrong analogy now that he’s turned her life upside down in the span of a day.

“Regardless,” he plows on, as though he hadn’t really meant to reveal so much, like he’s trying to cover up his vulnerabilities, cover up the heart he hadn’t meant to open up to her, “if you wanna find the truth, drink up. Do you really want to live a life of lies? You know this isn’t right, trust your gut, Swan, it will tell you what to do,”

“Henry always says that,” she says quietly, staring at him, and he stares back, open, honest, earnest, and she thinks that maybe her resolve has crumbled.

“Then if you won’t listen to me, listen to your boy,”

Emma has no reasons left, not when he clearly means well, not when all her instincts are saying he can be trusted, that she can take a leap of faith with him, not when he’s looking at her like that, not when both he and Henry trust her to trust herself, when he had — intentionally or not — revealed himself to her with a man that you love in the life that you’ve lost.

So she takes the vial and drinks and —

She remembers, remembers lighting a candle on a cupcake, remembers Henry smiling at her on her doorstep, remembers Storybrooke, the clocktower moving, the dragon she fought when she finally believed, remembers Henry, cold and pale and lifeless until he woke with a kiss, remembers her parents, Neal, shot, falling through the portal, remembers Hook, the way he had looked at her at Echo Caves, remembers saying goodbye, remembers leaving —

She hadn’t even realized she had closed her eyes until she opens them, sees Hook watching her, anxious, worried, and oh, “Hook,” she breathes out, and he lights up at her, smiles like everything is okay, alright.

“Did you miss me?” he grins, and Emma wonders if it’s possible to have missed something she never even knew she had lost, but she remembers now, remembers the drinks they shared, the moments they had alone, the words and promises given, remembers the times she had wondered why she suddenly had a taste for rum, had a strange sense of melancholy whenever she took Henry to the seaside, knows now that yes some part of her had missed him even when she didn’t know she had lost h—

(He is not hers to lose, she reminds herself.)

(But she also remembers ‘until I met you’, remembers ‘when I win your heart’, remembers ‘not a day will go by’, and she simply knows, knows from the way he looks at her now that he had kept that promise, and she thinks, somewhere deep, deep down, that he just might disagree with that.

She wonders at how she is more scared at the fact she isn’t as scared at that as she should be.)

Later they are sat at her apartment, and she sets down two glasses and a bottle of rum as he recounts what happened after their return to the Enchanted Forest, recounts his return to piracy, and “Glad to see you haven’t changed,” she quips, because her mind is still reeling, the sudden simplicity and comfort of her life the past year twisted upside down, the sinking feeling that her memories of holding Henry as a baby, of changing her mind, of taking care of him and raising him are just stories, and nothing feels real anymore, nothing feels right, and if just one thing, just one person could still be the same, that would be very much appreciated.

But Hook only picks up his glass, “There wasn’t anything for me in the Enchanted Forest,” he says simply, “Why would I stay?”

And Emma has nothing she can think of saying, but she wants to say something, because again, he’s talking about her, knows he is, even if he never says the words, thinks (hopes) he hadn’t just disappeared off all on his own, thinks maybe he doesn’t do all that well on his own, thinks of the centuries he had spent on revenge for his first love, thinks of the promise he had made her in Neverland and at the town line, and thinks just maybe —

She opens her mouth, but before she can scrounge up something to say, he tilts his glass for a toast, and she falters, tapping her own glass to his. “And all was well,” he continues, leaning back in his seat, “until I got a message, a message saying there was a new curse, and everyone had been returned to Storybrooke, the message told me that the only hope — was you,”

“You came all the way back here to save my family?” she doesn’t mean for it to sound so doubting, but once again, there was absolutely nothing in it for him, he clearly hadn’t even been caught up in the curse, hadn’t even been with any of them for a year, yet he had gone to pains to track her down in New York, gone to pains to keep trying to convince her to trust him, no matter how long it had taken, how many times she called him crazy, or had slammed the door in his face, or left him to prison.

I came back to save you, is said plainly, so matter of factly that it nearly sounded flat, and Emma doesn’t know what to say to that, because again, he isn’t expecting praise or gratitude, isn’t saying it for anything other than to keep honest with her, because he had again, come back for her, because even back in Neverland he never kept his feelings a secret from her and she can’t even bring herself to return the favor, because he isn’t even expecting her to return the favor, and just how had he managed to find her, get to her?

So instead, she asks him who could’ve done this, but he knows just about as much as she does, alas, you’re the Savior, not me, and he downs the rest of his rum, but Emma can’t help but laugh, because, “You know what I was yesterday? A mother. Until you showed up and started poking holes into everything I thought was real. Drinking that potion was like waking up from a dream — a really good dream,”

She wonders at how easy it is to confide this to him.

“Well you have what matters most — your son,”

“Now I have to figure out how to explain this to him,”

Hook looks apologetic, “Alas, I could only scavenge together enough for one dose of memory potion,”

“I’d better start figuring out what I’m gonna tell him,” she replied quietly, and dammit how the hell had her life just gotten so much harder, so much more complicated in a single day? She has no idea what to even say to Henry, how to make this not sound absolutely insane, and —

The door buzzes, and Hook asks who it is, but oh shit how had she forgotten about Walsh? Henry invited him, she explains, and Hook turns, offers to get rid of him, but her life may not have been real, her memories all jumbled up and twisted and messy right now, but whatever lives she and Henry had made this past year was real, the eight months she spent with Walsh was real, and I owe him an explanation, even if she doesn’t know what that explanation is, or even where to begin.

“What are you going to say to him?” Hook asks, and Emma just feels very tired, just wants to take a damn moment to process everything, take a moment without having to figure out how to explain this insanity to Walsh or Henry, but Hook has been honest to her, and the least she can do is return that honesty.

“I don’t know. But I care about him too much to drag him into all this. Wait here,” she requests.

But turns out she hadn’t needed to think of something to say to Walsh, because Walsh is a fucking flying monkey and Walsh had just tried to kill her, because of course. Why had she even thought that having some semblance of a normal life would be possible for her?

Hook comes bursting through the door to the rooftop, calling out to her in worry, because of course he did, what the blazes was that, but Emma just feels the betrayal, the grief, rage, bitterness swelling up, and maybe the stress of the whole day is getting to her, because again, she just answers him honestly, “A reminder. That I was never safe, that what I wanted — what I thought I could have was not in the cards for the Savior,”

The way he looks at her just makes her feel a bit worse, like he knows exactly what she’s referring to, like he wants to disagree but wouldn’t know if he would be overstepping, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know what, but she’s exhausted, drained from the day, from finding out her life is a lie, from Walsh, so she pushes past him, “We leave in the morning.”

(The next morning Hook pounds on the door, she lets him saunter in and he greets her with a wide grin, looks amused at Henry asking if he skipped bail, looks offended at the slight against his clothes, and she calls him Killian for the first time, it’s strange how right it feels to use his name, no matter how wrong it feels lying to Henry, and she reaches for her red leather jacket, reaches for her armor, because she needs it after Walsh, after how her life turned out to be wrong, after how easy it was to confide in Hook.)

(Somehow, she feels that not even her armor can help her much when it comes to Hook.)

12.

“You’ll look for any excuse to use that thing, won’t you?” Emma doesn’t bother hiding her amusement as Hook shakes at the berries with his — well, hook.

“At least we know we’re in the right place, what now?”

“Now we start searching.”

“You know something, Swan,” he starts lightly, “whenever you’re around, I inevitably find myself trekking through some manner of woods or forest courting danger,” he drawls.

“And here I thought you weren’t afraid of anything, always looking for the next adventure,”

“Oh, is that what this is?” he questions her.

“Isn’t it? The hell were you doing for the last year alone on that ship? I’m guessing it was one swashbuckling tale after another. Until you decided to come back and save me,”

She isn’t being fair to him, she knows. But something happened to him in the past year, something has that melancholy constantly in his eyes shining even stronger, something he’s hiding from her, and Walsh is still fresh in her mind, just one more person she had opened her heart to, only to have been hiding something, only to have been lying, just one more person she hadn’t expected the worst from, only to turn around and betray her, and the bitterness at the memory is just rising, frustration from everything going on building, and she still doesn’t know why he came for her.

She isn’t being fair to him, Emma smiles bitterly, because Hook may not be lying, but he’s certainly hiding something from her, and she’s incredibly tired of people not being who they say they are, and fuck she’s stressed and frustrated, frustrated from Walsh, from the lack of answers, from the new curse, her false memories, lying to Henry, and Killian is right there.

“Exactly,” he answers her shortly, and Emma thinks this is the first time he’s really lied to her since they met, and her frustration grows. She isn’t being fair to him but she’s too frustrated to care right now, you’re lying, she turns, confronts him, and Hook’s eyes go flat. “Excuse me?”

“What happened back there, what aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing,” he says cooly, “It’s my tale and I’m sticking to it,” but I still don’t believe you, and she’s only half aware of why she’s still pushing it, still desperately wants answers, wants to know what was so bad that he’s lying to her, wants to know what he’s been doing, how far he had to go to find her, why he went through all that trouble to return her memories, return her to Storybrooke, why he came for her at all, because as much as she wants to trust him, as much as she already trusts him, experience has taught her there has to be more.

But he’s not budging, he’s standing tense, he sounds frustrated as well, “Let’s just leave it at that and you can just say thank you,”

“For my memories? I already did,” and then he mentions Walsh, calls it a would-be loveless marriage, and that — that wasn’t — is that — “Is that what you think you’re doing?” because as good at Hook is at making her feel good, feel at ease, he’s equally good at pushing, getting her on the defensive (just as she knows she is equally good at doing the same to him).

“He was a flying monkey,”

“I didn’t know that,”

“Were you considering it? His proposal?” he asks quietly, and why is he — does it matter, because she really doesn’t want to get into this with anyone, with him, “Humor me,” and Emma kind of wants to laugh at the situation, two people who can read each other ridiculously well, keeping their secrets close to their chest, pushing for answers, but neither willing to budge. But as frustratingly as ever, as much as she wants to shove him away, wants to keep her own feelings, own thoughts in check, he is frustratingly good at pushing her, pushing her buttons, frustratingly easy to speak to.

“Yes, okay,” she snaps, “I was in love, so of course I was considering it. But as usual, he wasn’t who he said he was, and I got my heart broken, that enough humor for you?”

Because the lies, the betrayal is still raw, because she had lived a damn good life in New York, with her son and a guy she had loved, because Hook had shown up on her doorstep and woke her up from that life, because now, once again, she’s been burned by love, betrayed by someone she trusted, because Hook is frustratingly good at bringing out all sorts of feelings she’d much rather keep locked away, because she had started pushing him for answers and in the end, she was the one spilling her secrets, and now she’s even more upset and frustrated than when they had started speaking.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m glad to hear that,” he says instead, and what? Is there any right way to take that? But because it’s Killian, she knows he means what he says, and she has already let him see past her walls, showed him a piece of her heart, so she gives him the benefit of the doubt, you’re glad to hear I had my heart broken, because she wants to know —

And he’s taking a step closer to her, “If it can be broken,” and her sharp intake of breath was completely involuntary, because he’s so close, he hasn’t been this close since their kiss, and the way he looks at her — “It means it still works,”

She had wanted answers from him, but he’s answering the wrong questions. She doesn’t need her superpower to tell he’s sincere, not with the way he’s looking at her, like he’s speaking from experience, like it’s a lesson he had recently learned (like it’s a lesson she had been the one to teach him), but she has nothing she can say, nothing she wants to say, not when he’s still hiding something, not with Walsh still fresh in her memory, in her heart, not with this damn new curse, and goddamn everything, not now.

Not when, as much as she trusts him already, trusts him to have her back, to be around Henry, she can’t trust him with her heart.

So she does what she does best and runs. (She can hear it takes him several moments to follow, wonders what he was thinking, wonders why she cares about what he thinks.)

13.

Her magic swells, and she can feel the hot cocoa in front of her disappear, shift, reappear over to the booth Killian sits in, on top of the book he’s reading, and the success has her slamming her hand down the counter in delight, “Boom! Granny’s to-go. I should open a franchise,” she sings out, because she feels great, and it’s always so easy to be with Hook, and even just thinking about him makes her think of what he did for her, for Henry, for Ariel, and she feels good, dammit.

“It’s impressive,” he offers, and what, that’s it? She settles into her seat across from him, and she wants him to look impressed, sound more impressed, but he’s been looking drawn and exhausted since he helped Ariel, and she wants him to smile at her, laugh with her, tease her, wants him lighten up, to open up about whatever is bothering him.

“Wanna see something really impressive?” she asks him, pleased smile spreading as she looks at him, and he only sighs, looking back, and nope, that isn’t lightening up, so she waves her hand, feels the surge of magic, and hears the clink of his hook falling onto the coat rack. The continued success has her giggling (god, giggling, what the hell does being in his presence do to her?).

She wants him to laugh, to smile, to make some snarky comment or casual praise, or tease her, wants to help remove whatever cloud has been settling on his shoulders, whatever it was that had him distant, closed off.

Instead, he scowls, getting up to retrieve his hook, that’s bad form, Swan, tampering with a man’s hook, and if she hadn’t already been worried for him before, she certainly would be now. “Okay, seriously, what is up with you?” she keeps her tone light, because maybe she’s reading too much into it, but she’s still curious, worried for him.

“I apologize for my rudeness,” he sighs, getting back to his seat, “It’s a long story, too long for now,” and he takes a swig from his flask, and clearly she wasn’t reading too much into it, but now she is properly worried for her best friend.

Oh god.

Emma had to stop and take a moment as it occurred to her. Because somehow, somewhere along the way, between Neverland and New York and the Wicked Witch of the West, Killian Jones, Captain Hook, had become her best friend — her confidant.

Because in this completely fucked up town filled with fairy tales, where her parents are Snow White and Prince Charming, and she’s after the Wicked Witch with her friends Belle, and the Evil Queen, and — yes, Captain Hook — for as long as she’s known him, even with his flowery language and pirate regalia and cluelessness to modern conveniences, he’s always felt the realest person around, both of them equally cynical and sarcastic, both burned by the world, both had to learn to fend for themselves early on.

How was this her life.

But regardless, something serious is bothering him, and she has confided in him many times before, back in Neverland, in New York, about Neal, about Walsh, about her doubts, her frustrations, and for once she wants to be able to return the favor, “Okay,” she starts slowly, “obviously, something’s —“

But then Belle slams the door to the Diner open, stumbling in with a great, old, massive book, calling out to her and dropping the book on the table hastily. “Zelena’s plan,” and she must’ve been running to them because she’s still panting, “I figured out what she’s doing,” and suddenly Emma has more to worry about than how Killian had managed to secure his spot as her best friend, has to take a rain check on figuring out what was wrong with him, has to push her worries aside for now.

(They may not be in the forefront of her mind, but it certainly resurfaces every time her eyes fall on him, sees the shadows in his eyes, sees the way he looks like he’s holding the weight of the world on his shoulders, sees the way he has no patience for just about anything, the way his quips are born more often from frustration than attempts at humor, and the way she doesn’t know how to help.)

14.

“I never should have brought Henry back to Storybrooke,” Emma tells Hook, because no matter how pissed of she is with him at the moment, he’s still the easiest person to talk to.

“You did what you felt was right,”

“I did what you manipulated me into,” and yeah, she isn’t being all that fair to him, knows she’s not being rational, knows it was very much her own choice, but she’s still so angry, still lashing out at him, because he lied to her, put Henry in danger, and she cursed me, and had broken her trust, and he’s talking about her parents and the town needing her, but “Henry, also needed me. We were happy in New York, and when I’m done melting this witch, I’d like us to be happy again.”

“You know, as content as you were in that city, it wasn’t real,”

“It was real for me,” she denies, “For him, everything that happened, happened,” but, as always, Hook isn’t afraid to keep pushing her, even when she’s already furious with him, when he knows she’s angry, and like it or not, a big part of you and Henry belongs in this town, but Henry had nearly died today, Neal had died in her arms, Zelena’s after her unborn sibling, Killian himself had been cursed, been turned into a weapon against her, turned into an attempt at taking her magic.

“What does the boy think?”

“He’s a kid! He wants chocolate milk in his cereal, I’m his mother, I know what’s best for him.”

“What’s best for him?” he asks, slowing his walk to face her properly, to urge her to a stop as well, and he looks rather unimpressed by any of her arguments, “or for you?”

“Excuse me?” she scoffs, pushing past him.

“You’ve taken care of the boy quite well here,” he points out, catching up to her “you talk about danger all you like, but it isn’t that. So tell me, what is it? Why are you so scared of staying? I think it’s because you can see a future here — a happy one,”

She does not want to get into this with him, doesn’t want to consider just how right he might be, doesn’t want to look any deeper for why she wants to run back to New York, so she reaches for the nearest thing she can to push him away, “Let me guess — with you?”

It hits the mark, and before Emma can even start to feel guilty at the look on his face, the look she put there, Zelena interrupts, drawling sarcastically, and Emma has no patience for her, the weeks of frustration that had been building in her, the fear for Henry, for her parents, for her sibling, the anger for Neal and Hook —

“Next time you try taking my power, why don’t yo try enchanting the lips of someone I’ll actually kiss,” she snaps at her.

“See, Emma, you’ve got a decision to make,” and Emma’s just getting more annoyed by the tone of her voice, “You can keep your magic, which makes you oh-so-sad, or you can save the man that you can’t wait to run away from,”

She barely even has time to register Zelena’s words, to question her, before Gold sends Hook flying and into a water-filled well, holding him in place, and —

Her heart leaps into her throat, any anger she had been holding on for him rapidly fading in the face of him being in danger, and she’s running for him, grasping at his shoulders, pulling and pulling, but he doesn’t budge, he’s trapped and drowning and he’s struggling, struggling, and Killian is the one drowning but Emma can’t breathe, because his fight is fading, he’s falling limp and —

“Try all you like,” Zelena calls out to her, and Emma snaps out of it, turning to her, “you can’t free him,” and Emma thinks the coldness of her voice might just be worse than the mocking, because she’s staring down at them impassively, only the faintest smirk on her face, but Killian is still underwater, and she disappears in a cloud of green, and only then does she finally, finally, pull him free.

The relief is short-lived.

She’s calling out his name, but he’s just lying there, and he’s not responding, not breathing, she’s calling his name but he still won’t wake up and he can’t die, she couldn’t handle it, Hook, wake up, she thinks of Graham, thinks of Neal, and she couldn’t bear to lose one more person she cares for, and Killian, come back to me, she doesn’t even care if she’s begging, because he’s too still, he shouldn’t be this still —

Not this man who’s always so animated, who speaks thousands of words with just a look, who wears his heart on his sleeve, who feels and shows his emotions with all his whole being, who’s constantly emphasizing his words with hand gestures or his stupidly animated eyebrows, or his deep blue eyes, who’s smile and humor always manages to brighten her own mood, who had come back for her, who keeps coming back for her.

She can’t lose him.

She has nothing to help him with, but he’s still lying in front of her, Hook, she tries again, but there’s nothing around, and she’s out of options, but they still need her magic to stop Zelena, but Killian is dying, and she thinks the last time she felt this all-consuming fear was when Henry had been cold and limp and breathless, under the sleeping curse, and when he had given his heart to Pan.

She can’t lose him.

But without her magic, they’ll be out of options, out of weapons.

See, Emma, you’ve got a decision to make.

She can’t lose him, magic be damned.

Son of a bitch, she mutters, before pinching Killian’s nose shut to give him CPR.

(As if there’s any decision to be made.)

She feels her magic drain, feels the wrongness of it, but Emma pulls back, and he’s still not breathing, and she’s starting to get desperate and she’s cradling his face, and, Hook, come back to me, she whispers, she pleads —

And then he’s twisting, coughing out water, and Emma thinks maybe she could cry from the relief, she certainly feels herself slump over a bit, and her hand comes up to cradle the back of his head just before it slams back on the ground, and he’s saying her name, and it’s shaky, it’s weak, still just a bit waterlogged, but Emma can’t remember the last time she felt so relieved, so happy to hear someone just say her name, but Hook’s hand comes up to his lips and —

“What did you do?” he asks roughly, “What did you do?” because of course he cares more about her magic than his own life, because he’s so ridiculously selfless despite what he pretends, because she had been furious at him just minutes before, had told him she couldn’t trust him anymore, didn’t give him the benefit of the doubt, because she keeps pushing him away, keeps running from him even when he’s the easiest person to talk to, confide in — maybe because he’s the easiest person to talk to.

But she won’t take this from him, not now, not when she had nearly lost him, not when she can’t bear to lose anyone else she cares for, not when all she could think of when he lay limp and lifeless was how much he means to her, his smiles and jokes and sarcasm and cynicism and even his damn broodiness, how much she couldn’t stomach the idea of losing him, losing what he is to her, even if she doesn’t know what that is yet.

Right now, right this moment, all that matters to her is that Killian is still alive, that Killian is breathing, and she’ll bask in this for now.

15.

David’s calling her.

She should answer, but she can’t think of anything to say to him, doesn’t particularly want to talk to him about this, doesn’t want to try to get him to understand. You’re making a mistake, Hook calls out, because of course he’d be the one to come after her, to follow her, and if she didn’t to speak to David about this, she definitely doesn’t want to speak to Hook, who’s far too good at knowing how to push her.

“Don’t listen to me, listen to your son,” he says, undeterred, slowing only once he’s reached her, “he thought this,” and he pulls out the stupid, goddamn storybook out of his satchel, holding it out to her, “might remind you of what you’re leaving behind — your family.”

“Henry is my family, and I am taking him where he is safe.”

“No, Swan, safety first nonsense is just that. You defeated the bloody Wicked Witch, you defeated Pan, you broke the curse — but you keep running. What are you looking for?”

Because he always seems to know that there’s more, always manages to read her fears, and really, there isn’t much point in lying to him, either, so she answers quietly, home, hopes he’ll leave it at that. Except he never does. “And that’s in New York?” he questions doubtfully. “That wasn’t real,”

Except the last year, the last year when she had some semblance of a normal life, with her son and a job (a guy she loves), and yeah, they were fake memories, but she and Henry can go back and make new memories, make it real, make it feel like home, but Hook shakes his head, “Why can’t you do that here, with your entire family?”

And her eyes fall to the storybook he’s still holding out to her, and she’s reminded, again, of the story her parents were telling her new brother, some ridiculous first meeting with a robbery, and ogres, and knights, of magic and True Love, and Emma?

Emma is no fairytale story, no outlandish adventures, no balls and gowns and crowns and ruling kingdoms — just foster home after foster home, either unwanted by the family or she herself making the decision to leave, to run. She was just a bailbonds person with a criminal record and a son from a teenage pregnancy, and she may have magic, may be from True Love, or whatever else fairytale story she hears, but that’s all they are — stories — and she snatches the book from his hands impulsively, “Because of this! I don’t see my family here, I see... fairytales, I see stories of princes and princesses and — that’s not me. I was never a part of any of this,”

Because Emma feels that if anyone can understand her, it is Hook. “Then what are you a part of, Swan?” he asks gently, because her instincts about him are rarely wrong, and she realizes, suddenly just how swapped their positions are now from the year before, when she told him he could become a part of something rather than going off and being alone.

He had done it, had helped them rescue Henry from Neverland, had found her and returned her memories, brought her to her parents, stood and helped and fought at her side, and is now — one of the heroes. And now he sits with her, asks if she is a part of something, if she would rather try and be a part of something or go off and do what she does best. “Besides being with Henry, I don’t think I’ve ever been a part of anything,” she answers him honestly.

“But you could be,” Killian finally moves to sit beside her.

Emma sighs, shutting the book, turning to face him properly. “Look, when I was a kid, I ran away, it’s just what I did,” she would get no judgement from him, she knows this, “The first time I did it, I had the same exact thought. I wondered, what if I’m making a mistake, what if I miss this place?”

“And did you?”

“Not the first time. Not any time.”

“So you just keep running,” and Emma can’t quite figure out what’s in his voice, but she has never found a home, never found a place she missed when leaving, and home is the place, when you leave, you just miss it, and she couldn’t miss what she never even remembered she had, couldn’t miss her parents or Storybrooke or Hook, not the past year, couldn’t remember if she ever, truly regretted running from some place, something, someone, and really, she doesn’t even miss New York, only the vague idea of a normal life, and until she feels that? She’ll just keep moving, keep running, keep her walls high up, keep doing what she does best, keeps being alone.

“So you’re just going to leave your parents then? Don’t you even care about them? Or anyone in this town?”

He’s not talking about the town. Emma knows this as well as she knows he had been talking about himself in New York, perhaps there’s a man that you love, but does he really not know? She still remembers him cold and lifeless, not waking up no matter how hard she shakes him, how loud she calls his name, still remembers the cold terror that she might lose him, remembers all the drinks they shared, the times he was her first thought when looking for someone to take care of Henry, remembers him sitting across from her in an empty diner, the weight of his curse leaving him distant, snappish, and all she had wanted was to hear him tease her again.

She thinks sometimes he is the only one she wants to talk to, thinks he might be the only one she feels comfortable telling all of this to, thinks she’s —

She’s leaving, but she doesn’t want him to doubt, “Of course I care. I just have to do what’s right for me, and Henry, and —”

There’s a great, glowing beacon reaching up to the sky, and she’s up and heading towards it before she even registers getting up from the bench, and, again, Hook is up and calling after her, chasing her.

16.

“You might not be able to move, Swan,” Hook starts, sounding mildly amused, “but you cut quite the figure in that dress.”

Emma can’t stop the pleased grin spreading on her face. You’re not so bad yourself, pirate, she thinks delightedly, but before she can speak, Midas approaches and greets them, who do I have the honor to welcome into my home, and oh shit, they hadn’t discussed aliases, and Hook is being absolutely no help, “Charles, Prince Charles,” she interrupts his stammering, “And I am Princess... Leia.”

Henry would be so proud, she thinks as she curtsies. They move in, and she’s been told so many stories, but now she’s living it, thinks of all the time Mary Margaret and David mention this or that ball and, “What’s the big deal about these things?” she asks Killian, but he doesn’t answer.

He doesn’t have to, after all, and Emma stares at the people mulling about in lavish clothes and sharing food and socializing, and stares at the center of it all, where people have paired up, dancing smoothly to the music, and it really is as fairytale as it sounded.

“You were saying?” he whispers teasingly, and only then does Emma realize she’s gaping, and all these princes and princesses, dancing with one another in unfamiliar movements — what am I supposed to do?

But Hook is taking her hand gently, slowly tugging her into the crowd, and he’s got a look on his face that Emma doesn’t want to name, smiling at her delightedly, blend in, and for a pirate, he doesn’t look remotely out of place, looks completely at ease with the situation, and hang on, wait, so many things could go wrong, she doesn’t know how to dance, and, “Wait, are you saying you know how to do — whatever this is?”

“It’s called a waltz,” he says cooly, settling one of her hands on her shoulder, moving the other to his false hand, and “There’s only one rule,” he continued, gently resting his hand on her waist, and he’s so close to her, their eyes meet, and and he’s completely open to her, another one of those moments when he’s completely dropping his pirate persona, the flirtatious bravado, letting her see that gentleman beneath, and he’s staring at her like he’s —

“Pick a partner who knows what he’s doing,” he grins and starts to move, and it isn’t difficult at all to follow his lead, because they make a great team, they always have, and that partnership had always carried over, whether it was knocking out giants, or getting around Neverland, or fighting Zelena, or even in quieter moments, when they are alone, when they have a conversation with a single look, or their easy banter, or, apparently — dancing the waltz.

He’s grinning at her like he just can’t help himself, and she’s smiling back because she just can’t help herself, and with Hook it’s so easy, and once again, she is so unspeakably glad that he is here with her, that she wasn’t alone falling through the portal, that he is the one who somehow managed to be by her side through this. She still doesn’t know if he had fallen in like she had, or if had simply followed her, because he always follows her, and she can’t think of anyone else she’d rather have by her side right now.

(she thinks she’s falling in —)

“Watch the mocking, I’m actually getting the hang of this,” she whispers to him, because there can’t be any other reason for why he’s looking at her like she’s the greatest thing he has ever seen.

“I’m not mocking you, Swan, I was just thinking about what you said in Storybrooke, about not being a princess,”

“Really,” she nearly laughs, “You get my first dance at my first royal ball, and all you can say is ‘I told you so?’”

“I believe what I’m trying to say, your Highness,” he corrects her, “is that you appear to be a natural,” she spies her father across the room before she can respond, and they quickly look away before anyone can notice them staring, and it isn’t all that hard to pretend to focus on Killian’s face, because she doesn’t have to pretend at all.

They dance, and Emma is helpless to grin back when Killian is looking at her like that, and Emma thinks the feeling of his hand on her waist feels right, and he feels good standing this close, and they are good together, they always have been, and Emma thinks that right this moment, the world consists only of the two of them, because she thinks she’s already halfway in —

17.

“But you can,” Killian insist, “All he said we need is magic, you’re the Savior, Swan, you can do it,”

“Not anymore, I lost it,” she reminds him, because she still can’t really feel it, can’t reach her magic, no matter how much she tries.

“When Zelena dies, all of her spells were undone, your powers should’ve been restored,”

“Believe me,” she snaps, “If I could make it work, I would, you think I’m faking it?”

And clearly he isn’t interested in holding back his opinions much longer, “I think not having magic makes it a hell of a lot easier for you to run back to New York and pretend to be somebody else,” and Emma thinks this is the first time he really gave her his own opinions on her leaving, gave her his true thoughts, told flatly and matter of factly, rather than just a vague disapproval and gentle persuasions to change her mind.

“But listen to me, Swan. You’re not. It’s time to stop running.”

Except Emma already knows this, has finally accepted it after one to many blank expressions, her parents looking at her, but not seeing her, of Ruby giving nothing more than polite conversations, of Blue’s knowing looks, and even the way Killian’s past self had looked right through her, missing all of their shared moments and connection, just another warm body to take to bed for the night.

“Yes, I run away, that’s how I’ve always survived, but believe me, I want this to work, I wanna go back. I wanna stop running.”

Almost immediately, Killian softens, “What’s changed your mind?”

And she remembers the way they were all helpless to watch her mom get executed, the way she had panicked, so scared of losing another loved one, remembers the way Killian had pulled her into him, remembers the way all she could do after was replay that single moment over and over until Killian mentioned his brother, until they realized Snow was still alive. She thought of the way she leapt forward to hug her mother but she had simply smiled politely before moving on, thinks of how her father had helped with her escape from Regina’s dungeon but barely gave her more than a curious look, remembers the way Killian had wiped her tears, the way she had watched her father fall in love with her mother, thought of what Mary Margaret had said to her so long ago, back when she had just been her roommate, thought about how she had been so busy trying to keep out pain with her walls, she hadn’t been able to let love through, either.

Not her parents’ love for her, not her own love for them, for her new baby brother, had constantly kept Killian at a distance because of how he made her feel, regardless of how little reason she has to not trust him, regardless of how much she feels she could someday return his feelings (especially because she feels she’s already on her way to returning them).

“I had saved and lost her, too. And that’s what I’ve been doing to her since I met her. It’s gotta stop,” Killian is only watching her patiently, encouragingly, and it just makes the words tumble out of her mouth, “When Henry brought me to Storybrooke, he told me I was the Savior. I didn’t see what he was really doing. He was not bringing me back to break a curse, he was bringing me home.”

And she misses it. Misses the loft, misses the diner, the clocktower and library, misses the docks and the forests, and her parents and her brother, and Henry, misses the grilled cheese and onion rings, misses the cocoa with cinnamon, the coffee at the sheriff’s station, misses the feel of magic and Leroy’s screaming about danger, misses it all, and Neal was right, because she feels at home in Storybrooke, at home with Henry and her parents and her brother and she wants to go home, because “Being with my parents these last few days but not really being with them — I’ve never missed them more.”

She’s ready to accept it now. “Storybrooke — it’s my home,”

But Killian is smiling down at her, knowing and proud, and she doesn't know why he’s smiling, but it’s Killian and she can’t help but return his smile. “What?”

“Look down,” is all he says, still looking entirely to proud and pleased and smug, and the wand is working, and she’s just staring, looking back at him to see if it really is, if she really does — “I’d say you’ve got your magic back,” he says simply. “Now, shall we go?”

18.

Emma’s home. Emma’s home, and she’s called her parents mom and dad and Henry is delighted by the fact that they're staying now, and she is too, except —

Except something isn’t right, something is missing, someone is missing, and she has told the story of her fairytale adventure, has shared her success to he mom and her dad and Henry, and even her baby brother but —

But Killian, who had been by her side throughout it all, who was the only piece of home she had left as they were trapped in the past, Killian who had taken her to Rumplestiltskin, helped plan Snow stealing the ring, who had taken her hand and led her to the dance floor, who had opened himself to her as they danced her first dance at her first royal ball — Killian who had pulled her close when she thought her mother was about to die, who comforted her and wiped her tears, who she is halfway —

He is not at her side now. She misses him.

He isn’t even in the diner. She finds him alone outside, and her heart aches at the lonely picture he paints, playing with his flask.

She does not want him to be alone.

“So,” she starts lightly, taking the seat closest to him, “do you think Rumplestiltskin is right? I’m in the Book now. He said everything besides our little adventure would go back to normal. Do you think that it is?” She does not even know why she’s asking this, just knows she doesn't want him to sit alone.

“He’s right,” he says, “Otherwise I’d remember that damn bar wench I kissed.” he eyes her slightly, and Emma has to laugh, how would that prove anything, because Hook had looked right through her as well, does not look at her like Killian does, like he’s in —

But Killian just smirks at her, looking unfairly attractive as he reminds her, “I know how you kiss. I’d have gone after her. But I didn’t, my life went on exactly the same as before.”

“Must’ve been the rum,” she murmurs, because he isn’t lying.

“Everything’s back to normal. You’re a bloody hero, Swan,”

“So are you,” she reminds him, because sometimes it seems he needs the reminding, and he only chuckles, only looks away, but Emma won’t let him dismiss it that easy, not when he has done so much for her and for her family, not when he had brought her back from New York, “I wanted to thank you, Killian.”

He looks up, meets her eyes, and he looks so confused, as if she has no reason to thank him, and it just makes her want to push this further, regardless of the more dangerous territories the conversation might head towards. “For going back for me in the first place in New York. If you hadn’t —“

“It was the right thing to do,” is all he says, and Emma — Emma has wondered, for so long how, how he found her, how he tracked her down, for he crossed realms to find her, to save her, to bring her home. She’s been dancing around the question for so long. “How did you do it? How did you get to me?”

(Emma doesn't even know if she’s talking about New York or her heart.)

“Well, the curse was coming. I ditched my crew and took the Jolly Roger as fast and as far as I possibly could to outrun it.” he says it like it’s nothing, you outran a curse, but she should really stop being so surprised by him, “I’m a hell of a captain,” he laughs, and continues, “And once I was outside the curse’s purview, I knew that the walls were down, transport between worlds was possible again... all I needed was a magic bean,”

“Those are not easy to come by,” he shifts, then, looks away from her, looks uncertain and melancholic and suddenly, Emma feels that she is missing something major, and Killian looks like he doesn’t want her to press anymore, but —

“They are if you’ve got something of... value to trade.”

“And what was that?” she asks lightly. How many doubloons or jewels or gold and treasure —

“Why the Jolly Roger, of course.” he says as if it’s obvious, as if it’s something anyone would do, as if it was just another object, another piece of jewelry, like it wasn’t possibly one of the biggest sacrifices he could make, and Emma —

Stares.

Stunned.

Because he’s plastered on a forced smile, kept his tone light, because he’s trying to shrug it off like it’s nothing, trying to keep his bravado up, as if it’s —

Maybe she heard wrong, you traded your ship for me, but he only drops the act, and he’s staring at her, honest, “Aye.” and she knows, knows what this means to him, to her, knows he’s giving her his heart to keep or break, knows he likely wouldn’t care either way, because he came back for her, took her to Neverland, helped save her father’s life, helped save Henry’s life, and he bore his heart to her for the first time on the beanstalk, and again under the decks of his ship, in Neverland, at the town line, in New York, in the forests of Storybrooke, in the past, knows she has had his heart for so long now, and she knows he wouldn’t break her heart because he is who he says he is.

Because he’s saying it not to gain favor but simply because she had asked and he didn't want to lie. Because she thinks she might already be halfway in love with Killian Jones. Because she’s tired of denying that she couldn't bear to lose him in her life.

So she kisses him, and he doesn’t even move until her lips are pressed to his, letting her take the lead and they are kissing for the first real time, because Neverland was passion and attraction and heat of the moment, but now, now doesn't kiss him for his ship, or as thanks or for some diversion tactic, she kisses him because she can’t bear not to, because as much as she had buried away her weaknesses, as much as she put up mile high walls around her heart, he sees right through them, and waits patiently for the ones he can’t get past, and she wants to let him in.

They stop for a breath and she smiles at him, because it’s perfect, and he smiles in return, and this time he is the one leaning in, and Emma’s letting down her walls to love her family, to love her home, to someday, maybe, love Killian, and she’s letting down her walls to be loved in return, and she has never felt more safe, has never felt more at peace.

She thinks she’s finally ready to take that chance and let him in.

#ouat #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #cs ff #my fanfic #j’s stuffs #a map and a shovel (to my achilles’ heel)#title from Sleeping At Last’s ‘Eight’#this is basically analysis headcanons and metas disguised as fic #introspective as hell #vaguely anti neal sentiments expressed in this chapter #but I was writing it as critically as I can #which also means addressing the trauma neal put her through #and her own canon thoughts and feelings regarding neal #regardless of whether or not you think he did it intentionally or not #an irresponsible amount of italics #once again it’s my first time I’d love to know what anyone thinks good or bad hit me #seriously so much italics someone take these away from me

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mionemymind · 4 years ago

Text

Death of the Foolish

Summary: (Hermione x Female Reader) This was the life of Y/n after she was forced to break up with Hermione for reasons out of her control. But there really was no life after it.

Warning: Angst, Death, Blood

Words: 2172

A/N: This is for Emma (@idont-knowrn)and her 300 writing challenge! I’m really sorry that it’s late, I was quite slow on what I was signing up for. But I hope you love it and also congrats on 500, you deserve it!!

When it comes to the foolish, they tend to sacrifice everything in order to save the ones they love. The decisions often multiply in recklessness and impulsiveness, but it was all for the sake of their love ones. At least, that’s what Y/n tells herself as she sat in deep thought in the Great Hall. She didn’t hear the loud chatter about the upcoming Quidditch match beside her or the latest teen drama, what was louder was the Dark Lord’s task for her and Draco. It echoed so loudly and the only person she could even confide in was the same person she hated so much.

Across the Great Hall, sitting at the Slytherin table, was Draco. In the same position as Y/n, all he could think about was the deadly task placed upon him, to kill the greatest wizard known to wizard kind. What made it worse was the guilt of adding Y/n into the mix of his drama. She was the only person to have found out about the mark of the Dark Lord, all because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. To risk being exposed, he quickly spoke to his parents. It was Lucius’s idea to tell the Dark Lord. This quickly grew messy and complicated. Now with the threat of her parents’ life, Y/n was forced to become a death eater.

Both students had sunken faces, eyes lifeless of color, and with the weight of the world on their shoulders. Seeing as her next class was canceled, Y/n got up from her spot at the table and walked out the Great Hall. This only caught the attention of one person, Hermione.

She had excused herself from the table and walked in a hurried pace to catch up to Y/n. There were many questions replaying in the bright witch’s mind, and all can only be answered by Y/n. You see, Y/n and Hermione had recently broken up. It was strange as well as harsh. It certainly was unexpected on Hermione’s end since they were coming close to their third-year anniversary. One minute, the two were fine, next minute, Hermione had tears in her eyes as Y/n had broken up with her. Hermione was not given a single explanation for their separation and she was certain as hell to get it.

Turning right, Hermione saw you standing at the end of the hall. Not even caring how desperate she looked, Hermione ran up to you until you were a foot away. With a defeated voice Hermione called out, “Y/n.” At the sound of her voice, Y/n had tensed up, but was quick to reply with, “What do you want?” Y/n didn’t mean to be as harsh, but it needed to be done. Hermione was hurt to see Y/n not even bothering to turn around, but with still a lot of determination, she walked in front of her. “Why are you being like this?” Rolling her eyes, Y/n childishly turned around to avoid looking at Hermione. Rather than feeling hurt, Hermione grew frustrated and walked right back in front of Y/n.

“Stop acting like a child and talk to me.” Y/n’s eyes remained everywhere besides Hermione. “You know,” Hermione took a deep breath and shook her head, as if she was contemplating something. “You’re so bloody stubborn. It’s excruciating talking to you.”

Y/n was quick to fire back with, “Then stop talking to me.” Y/n started to walk away from Hermione, in the general direction of the Great Hall, but Hermione was just as stubborn as Y/n. She needed answers and she needed them now. Without much thought, Hermione grabbed Y/n by the shoulders and shoved her up against the wall. For the first time in while, Hermione locked eyes with Y/n and saw how empty they looked. It was like the color was drained and there was no soul behind those beautify eyes. It was obvious as night and day. Hermione’s thoughts only faltered for a little bit before saying, “Would you stop being such a bloody prick and tell me why we broke up? You gave me nothing and after everything we been through, I at least deserve that.” Hermione’s blood was boiling as her breathing sped up. “Did this relationship even mean anything to you?”

Y/n just stood there and took a good look at Hermione. She noticed the small eye bags appearing as well as the slight loss of color on her skin. She was a bit smaller, but not a lot of people would notice, but Y/n noticed. She noticed all the changes that happened to the girl she was very much in love with you. And all she wanted was to tell her the truth, but the less she knew, the better. Y/n grabbed Hermione’s hands and had ripped them off from her robes. She glanced towards her left and saw Draco leaving the Great Hall. It was time. Without any words, Y/n left Hermione standing there. And before she could walk out of ear shot, Hermione said, “No matter how many times you hurt me, I still somehow come back to you. But remember this, one day I will leave and will never come back. So, don’t bother chasing…I won’t ever let you back in.”

Y/n didn’t have time to focus on her heart breaking even more or the tears forcing their way into her eyes. She had to focus on other matters and had met Draco at the astronomy tower to deal with their task.

-Time Skip-

It was dark, night was falling in Malfoy Manor. As cold it was outside, it was nothing compared to the inside. There were fireplaces in amongst every room, but it didn’t matter. The manor felt icy cold, lifeless, and dark as those who lived in it. This was also the place Y/n happened to stay after the fall of Dumbledore. It wasn’t like she had many options to choose. Lucius had wanted to keep a close eye on the girl to make sure she didn’t ruin any of the Dark Lord’s plans. The Malfoy’s were already punished for Lucius actions and any good news he could bring to the Dark Lord, he would tremendously try.

Y/n was in of the many rooms, trying her best to distract her mind from the many thoughts it occupies when she heard new voices in the common room. She peaked around the corner and the sight made her blood turn cold. There she was, Hermione Granger in a place where she was never supposed to be. Hiding back in the hallway, Y/n murmured disagreements and lies as if this whole thing was fake, but when she looked again, there she was in the flesh.

Wracking up her brain, this was not part of the escape plan she had in mind. Everything was quickly going south and there was no time to think. She looked back again and saw that Peter was dragging the boys downstairs, leaving Hermione with Bellatrix. “That gives me time.”

Working her way around, Y/n called on the only person that was prepared to help. “Dobby, I need you now. Apparate to the cellar and help everybody escape. Leave Ron and Harry to me.” Y/n knew it was only seconds before Dobby could get the message. She made her way downstairs and saw Peter opening the gate. With a quick spell, Peter fell forward with no mobility at all. Before going down, she heard the terrifying screams that emerged from Hermione. And as much as she wanted to save her, she needed to be logical first.

Making her way downstairs, she was meant with two pairs of eyes that were filled with rage. With her wand up, Y/n said, “Upstairs. We don’t have much time.”

“Why should we listen to you?” Y/n hesitated and didn’t know quite what to say. The duo was given too many reasons now to doubt her, but she needed all of them to be safe. “You have no choice. Just do as I say.”

Slowly, they walked upstairs and made sure to stay out of view. Y/n saw Hermione laying on the floor, and it killed everything inside of her to know she was tortured. Her screams were already echoing in her mind. “I’ve had enough of this.” Ron walked out of cover and yelled, “Expelliarmus!” Harry reached in the air and caught Bellatrix’s wand.

“Stupefy!” Lucius flew back as Ron and Harry quickly fought against Draco and Narcissa. But it quickly ended at the sight of Hermione having a knife against her throat. “Drop your wands!” Ron and Harry looked at each other with desperation to get out.

“I said drop it!” The boys followed the command and dropped their wands. “Draco, pick up their wands.” Draco quickly followed orders and stood back. Y/n was still at the stairs and had yet to be seen. “It’s time to call the Dark Lord.” Bellatrix said with a heinous laugh following after it.

Lucius pulled up his sleeve revealing the mark of Dark Lord. Before he could call, Y/n whispered a spell, dropping the chandelier. The distraction had made Bellatrix jump out into safety as Hermione ran forward to Ron. Harry grabbed their wands from Draco’s hand without much of a fight from Draco. “Stupefy!” Once again, Lucius was sent back as the trio and Y/n stood next to each other.

“Stupid girl! You’ve could’ve hurt me.” The next thing they knew, Dobby was right behind them, ready to apparate the group out the manor. With one last cold look, Y/n said, “I wish I did.” Dobby then proceed to apparate the group to the designated location. But what they had failed to see was the knife that flew in with them.

Arriving at the beach, Y/n laid flatly on the sand. She could feel an aching feeling in her stomach and had tried to glance down, but that was proven to be difficult for the witch. A couple feet away was the trio and Dobby. They were having a small celebration, to finally be out the manor, when Dobby noticed Y/n.

Pulling on Harry’s clothes, the elf pointed at the injured girl that was quickly losing blood. Harry was about to run to her when Hermione was the first to break out of shock. She kneeled before the girl with tears already prickling her eyes. “Y/n?”

Y/n slightly moved her head in the direction of Hermione. Things were getting blurry, but she knew it was her. “You’re g-g-gonna be okay.” Hermione placed Y/n’s head on her lap as she yelled at Harry and Ron for her bag, but it was all faint mumbles to Y/n. The world around her was growing cold again when she was so close to being back with Hermione.

Knowing this was her end, Y/n reached out for Hermione’s hand. The small movement caught Hermione’s attention and she immediately locked hands with Y/n. The tears were already falling down as her lip quivered at the sight in front of her. Y/n was losing blood badly, something that needed professional help, which was nowhere for miles.

“I’m sorry Hermione.” While wiping her tears with her free hand, Hermione replied, “Please save your energy, we need to get you help.” No matter how smart Hermione was, there was no possible solution for this problem. “I-” Y/n was cut off with a severe cough, blood was trickling out her mouth. “You do mean everything…to me.”

“What?” Hermione looked at Y/n with a ridiculous look. “Stop talking non-sense, we need to find help.” Hermione gave a pleading look to Harry and Ron, but they knew much as well that Y/n’s life was coming to an end. Dobby stood beside Harry with tears falling.

“Please Hermione…please save my parents.” Still, Hermione was clueless to Y/n’s words. She didn’t even know that Y/n’s parents were in danger. “And Hermione…I still-” Y/n coughed up more blood and whispered her last words, “…love…you.”

In within a heartbeat, Y/n was gone from this world with Hermione clutching on to her body in hopes of getting her back. It took several tries from Ron and Harry before they agreed to bury her body close by. It was when Hermione took one last look at Y/n did she notice the large mark on her left forearm. And suddenly, everything clicked. All her questions, pleas, and mysteries were solved with just that mark. Hermione broke down again as Harry and Ron placed the sand on to Y/n’s body.

Hermione was the last one to leave when she said these final words, “I love you too.” And with no time to grieve, the trio were back to fighting the war. Y/n would always be on Hermione’s mind. And when they would win, Hermione would find ways to honor her first love’s name. And whenever she had those sad days, she would sometimes wish Y/n would try to come back in her life. For this time, she promised, she would let her back in.

#hermione granger imagine #hermione granger x reader #hermione x reader #hermione x you #hermione granger x you

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shireness-says · 4 years ago

Text

Seeking Shelter, Seeking Solace [1/3]

Summary: 1895. Emma Swan answers an ad in the paper from a man looking for a wife in order to flee Boston - only to arrive in rural Storybrooke, Minnesota and discover that her intended husband is dead. Left with no other options, Emma takes a position at the local tavern alongside the sullen, dark-haired barkeep with demons of his own. But what will she do when the forces she’s worked so hard to escape reappear in the new life she’s building, forcing her to turn to this unlikely savior for aid? ~8.6k. Rated M for suggestive content. Also on Ao3.

~~~~~

A/N: Every year, my mother insists we watch “Sarah, Plain and Tall” because she thinks it’s a great tradition and doesn’t quite understand that she’s the only one that loves it. So last time, I plotted this in my head instead of watching: CS fic inspired by that story.

Thanks, as always, go to my wonderful beta, @snidgetsafan.

Tagging the interested parties (and let me know if you’re one of those!): @welllpthisishappening, @thisonesatellite, @let-it-raines, @kmomof4, @scientificapricot, @ohmightydevviepuu, @profdanglaisstuff, @thejollyroger-writer, @superchocovian, @teamhook, @optomisticgirl, @winterbaby89, @searchingwardrobes, @katie-dub, @snowbellewells, @spartanguard, @phiralovesloki, @initiala, @revanmeetra87, @quirkykayleetam, @captain-emmajones, @hollyethecurious, @officerrogers, @lfh1226-linda, @jrob64, @therooksshiningknight.

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Emma can’t help but fidget in her seat as her train tears across the Midwestern landscape. Though this was her choice, she still can’t help but be nervous; after all, this is a very different world from Boston, the only home she’s ever known. She’s used to bustling streets and the lap of the waves against the docks at the harbor, not these miles after miles of plains and crop fields. It’s almost enough to make her second guess this whole thing.

It’s not a mistake though, she knows. She’d needed to get out of Boston, as quickly as possible, and this had been the best of a variety of bad options. Emma has never been particularly romantic, even as a little girl, but in the few imaginings she’d allowed herself of her future, answering a newspaper ad for a wife had never factored in. Then again, her fantasies had never anticipated the particular situation she’s trying to escape: a man who wouldn’t hear no, who was willing to pursue her relentlessly, from city to city, always a threat on her tail. The security of marriage, and of distance, had only made sense. And then again, she’s never been sentimental ; true love isn’t something she anticipated in a union, or even particularly believed in, for that matter.

The man she’s travelling to meet seems kind, she consoles herself with knowing. Emma hadn’t been particularly picky in selecting a man from the handful of querants in the paper, but Graham Humbert seems to be a good one. He’s the sheriff of a small town in Minnesota, who found himself lonely and wanting companionship.

I can darn my own socks and cook my own dinner, though neither with any exemplary skill, he had written. I’m not looking for someone to look after me in that way, regardless of what my friends’ wives think; I’d hire a lady to do the cleaning if that was the issue. I’m searching for someone to speak with at the end of a long day, someone to listen and to laugh with. I don’t believe myself to be a sweeping romantic, but I will be happy to give and receive a kind of gentle affection. Maybe we can come to love each other in time; I would be happy with that too, though I am not counting on it.

She’d liked that about him, that amiable practicality so evident even in his letters. It’s what had made her agree to travel to Minnesota with the intent to marry him, really - the feeling that they viewed a union in the same way. There will be a trial period, of course, a month during which to decide whether the two of them will suit each other before anything is formalized - but Emma is determined to make it work. What other choice does she have?

The train will be pulling into Storybrooke soon - a tiny dot on the map, where Emma doubts anyone else will be alighting. All of her belongings have been tightly packed into two measly carpetbags in order to, hopefully, start a new life. Maybe it’s foolish, but Emma had splurged on a new, sleek jacket before she’d left the city, a cheery blue to pair with her navy skirt and white blouse in an attempt to impress. Mostly, she wants to look neat more than anything else: a capable woman, one who won’t be afraid to adapt to a new life with a minimum of fuss, one who won’t make Sheriff Humbert’s life more difficult. Pretty is of secondary concern.

She sees the town coming long before the train pulls into the tiny station, roofs and chimneys rising above the flat landscape and copious corn fields. Somewhere in this state, she knows, are hundreds and thousands of lakes; however, they’re nowhere to be seen here. Storybrooke itself is a bare cluster of buildings seeming to group around a single main street, with homesteads and farm plots doubtlessly stretching out to the surrounding area. It’s a whole different world from what she’s used to, but that’s the entire point, really; no one will think to look for her here, in the rural midwest as the wife of a sheriff.

When the train finally pulls into what passes for a station, a single cramped building with barely enough room for a ticket office and a luggage closet, a man is waiting on the platform, sheltered from the late-spring sun by an awning off the station roof. The star-shaped badge on his coat and the way he shifts nervously from foot to foot make Emma think this must be the anticipated Sheriff Humbert. His hair is rather more golden than the sandy blonde-brown color Mr. Humbert had tried to describe in his letters, but Emma supposes that’s to be expected. She likely didn’t give a perfect description of her appearance either.

Quickly, she gathers her bags and alights to the station platform with the assistance of a young porter. The man waiting quickly doffs his hat, playing with the brim in another nervous gesture. “Miss Swan?”

Carefully, Emma arranges her face into something she hopes passes as an amiable smile. “Yes, that’s me. And you’ll be Sheriff Humbert, I presume?”

“I - well, no,” the man who isn’t Graham Humbert stutters out. “I’m David Nolan, actually. One of the deputies here.”

Unexpected - but there are countless excellent reasons that Deputy Nolan might be sent instead. Trouble can happen even in a small town, dozens of minor disputes that can somehow only be settled by the sheriff himself. “In that case, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Nolan. I must admit, I was expecting Mr. Humbert. Pardon my mistake.”

“About that —” Deputy Nolan cuts himself off, looking curiously uncomfortable. It sets Emma a bit on edge, but there’s no way to dance around it - not when she doesn’t have all the information.

“Yes?”

Deputy Nolan swallows heavily, visibly, his fingers tightening around the brim of his hat again before he drags his eyes to meet hers. “I’m sorry to tell you, Miss Swan, but Graham - Sheriff Humbert - died two days ago.”

Of all the things she thought he might say, all the ways she imagined this might go, that certainly wasn’t one of them.

———

“It wasn’t anything violent, or related to his job,” Deputy - well, now Sheriff Nolan tells Emma once he’s led her to a seat in Storybrooke’s one and only bar, the Sherwood Tavern. Emma finds herself grateful for the glass of dark liquor the man behind the bar slides to her without asking; after this shock, she could certainly use it. “He just collapsed. Graham had been bothered by periodic chest pains for… as long as I can remember, really. We figure it just finally caught up to him.”

Emma nods at the words, not sure what to say. It’s all jarring, really, sad for the loss of who she believes had been a good man, but it’s hard to muster much emotion. She had only known him through letters, carefully crafted missives in which they had doubtlessly both tried to show the best sides of themselves; she doesn’t have the same attachment to the man as Nolan, and everyone else in town, understandably did. Her grief is for plans and possibilities never realized, for the idea of a man instead of the genuine article.

“We know you came out here specifically with the intent of marrying Graham. There’s not much other reason to come to Storybrooke,” Sheriff Nolan comments with a laugh. “Graham’s savings and property are set to go to the town, but we’d be happy to buy you a ticket back to Boston. It’s the least we can do, when you turn out to have come all this way for nothing but disappointment.”

It’s a kind offer, really. There’s no reason for Emma to stay, after all, and Storybrooke doesn’t have much to offer. But even if Emma hadn’t needed to escape Boston… there’s nothing there to pull her back. No family, and only a single friend. She isn’t even attached to the city, though it’s all she’s ever known. Returning to Boston would be returning to a sparse boarding house room and a life spent looking over her shoulder. Here - well, there’s no promises, but Emma would be willing to bet it’s not any worse.

“If you don’t mind,” she responds carefully, “I’d prefer to stay. There’s nothing for me back in Boston either, believe it or not. This may not be permanent, but… for the time being, I’d prefer to stay.”

“Then we’ll be happy to welcome you.”

———

And they are. Sheriff Nolan takes her down the street to the boarding house run by a Mrs. Lucas and her granddaughter over their family’s pharmacy, where both women welcome her with open arms. Ruby Lucas, the granddaughter, is tall and willowy, every inch of her full of personality, and her grandmother is a gruff old lady poorly hiding an enormous affection for her loud-spoken granddaughter. Emma can practically see the moment Mrs. Lucas - “That’s Granny to you, girl, only strangers and enemies call me Mrs. Lucas” - absorbs her into their little fold. The room they provide is small, but clean and bright; Emma is more than agreeable to the small fee she’ll owe to rent the room each month, especially knowing that breakfast and dinner are included in the rent.

Storybrooke is exactly the quiet little town it appeared to be from the train. Besides the bar and the pharmacy and the sheriff’s station, there’s a general store and a post office, a bank and a rudimentary library. There are a handful of other buildings too - Emma’s been told that one houses the doctor’s office - but she hasn’t had cause or need to learn them. Perhaps in time, she’ll learn all the ins and outs of who belongs where in this little place. It seems inevitable; after all, that’s small town life, even when so many of the so-called residents live further out on isolated farmsteads.

As much as Granny seems to immediately see Emma as her ward, Ruby Lucas seems to view it as her duty to introduce Emma to Storybrooke’s small social scene, and attacks the task with gusto. Even if it’s just a small circle - Mary Margaret Nolan, Sheriff Nolan’s wife; Belle Gold, the town librarian; and Elsa Jones, whose husband operates the general store - Emma finds herself somewhat overwhelmed by the attention. She’s never had this before, not really; there hadn’t been much of a chance to make friends, growing up in an orphanage. There’d only really been August, who she’s come to view more as a brother than anything else. It will take some getting used to, having this number of people eager for her company and opinion.

(There’s an argument to be made, Emma supposes, that Neal had been a friend, too - but he’d been a lover, more than that, and then he’d been gone. It’s hard to justify counting him, even in her pathetically brief list.)

“It’s so nice to have a new face about town,” Mrs. Nolan - Mary Margaret gushes as she leads Emma arm-in-arm down the street to the library. “Not that there’s anything wrong with the familiar faces of course - oh no, of course not! But it is so nice to hear new perspectives and meet new personalities, you know? Oh, I’m just so thrilled you’re here!”

It is exhausting and touching, all at once - and just another thing Emma will learn to expect in this little town, she’s sure. She’s determined.

———

When Emma decides to stay, Sheriff Nolan offers to put some of Sheriff Humbert’s assets towards paying her room and board, but Emma refuses. It’s not that she doesn’t appreciate the offer; it’s a nice change to have someone else trying to look out for her, even if she gets the sense that David does this for everyone. However, she never even met Graham. They’d exchanged letters, had come to a rudimentary understanding, and that was all. She has no right to lay claim to any of his money on such a flimsy connection, no matter how obligated Sheriff Nolan feels to look out for her.

Emma resolves to get a job instead, to pay her own way, and only accept the help if she’s forced to. It’s not a particularly big deal; Emma has been working in one way or another since she was a teenager. She’s worked in factories, and shops, and more recently as a secretary in a bank and then a law office. Her favorite had been the stint as a companion to a wealthy invalid. Ms. Ingrid had had a sharp tongue and had loved to turn her quiet, yet cutting comments on passersby outside her townhome’s windows, often leaving Emma in fits of laughter and the older woman with a satisfied look on her face. She’d had a fondness for Emma, too; privately, one of Ms. Ingrid’s nieces had once told Emma she had lasted longer than any of the previous companions, a small compliment she couldn’t help but treasure. She’d ultimately left, shortly before the old lady died; one of Ms. Ingrid’s sister’s husbands had been making ever-more-insistent passes Emma had been struggling to dodge, and she hadn’t been needed much as Ingrid had slowly slipped away.

(She thinks about Ms. Ingrid often, still, and the year she’d spent in that house; sometimes, Emma thinks it was one of the only times she’s ever been purely happy.)

Her opportunities for employment are limited. The general store doesn’t need additional help, and the library is barely big enough to justify one employee, let alone two. She’d played with the idea of helping out at the Sheriff’s station; with the way Sheriff Nolan seems desperate to be of assistance, for Graham’s memory if not her own sake, she’s certain he wouldn’t mind. But the fact of the matter is that this is a tiny town, with a tiny sheriff’s office to match. What would there be to do? It’s not like Boston, where there’s enough crime to produce enough paperwork to keep her busy. Sheriff Nolan himself had said that they didn’t deal with much more than petty disagreements and the occasional barfight. Even the local pickpocket had reformed and was working at the post office, running the telegraph machine.

Instead, she turns to the Sherwood Tavern - the one place in town she’s certain gets enough business to need help. Making inquiries, she discovers that it’s owned and operated by a pair of friends: Robin Locksley, who spends most of his time just outside of town at the horse stables he runs with his wife, and Killian Jones, the sullen, dark haired man who’d been behind the bar that first afternoon when Emma had arrived. They’re an interesting pair; Mr. Locksley is all smiles and sunshine, even with that slightly roguish grin, and happy to talk about anything, while Mr. Jones barely talks at all and smiles even less. Still, it’s obvious that the two men are friends, watching the way they work around each other in the space behind the bar. Maybe that speaks well of Mr. Jones, or poorly of Mr. Locksley; Emma thinks it’s likely the former, just based on Sheriff Nolan’s own reaction to the two men. Somehow, she doesn’t think he’d allow her to take a position at an establishment run by men he didn’t trust.

Mr. Locksley is immediately amenable to giving Emma a position as barmaid. It’s Mr. Jones who has more questions, and evidently more hesitance. Emma isn’t sure what to make of him; he’s an attractive man, objectively, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, but his silence and moroseness are jarring, even if he seems to be a beloved member of this little town. There’s a story there, somewhere, maybe related to the scars that dominate the skin of his left hand.

“This isn’t a glamorous job, you know. It’s messy, sometimes even rowdy,” he says, studying Emma carefully where she stands in her neat skirt and shirtwaist.

It only makes her draw up taller. “I know. I wasn’t expecting it to be. You run a bar, not a tea room.”

That gets her a faintly approving nod, at least. “Pay won’t be anything to write home about either.”

“Will it be enough to cover my room over at Granny’s?”

“Aye, it ought to be.”

“Then that’s good enough for me.”

When Jones finally gives his nod of approval, Locksley beams across at her. “Well, Ms. Swan, it looks like you have a job, and we have a barmaid. Welcome aboard.”

———

It is not remotely the life that Emma expected to find herself living, but it’s nice in its own way. There’s a pleasant routine to it all, of Granny fussing over her at mealtimes and Ruby dragging her out to socialize and keeping busy at the bar in the afternoons and evenings. It’s almost… cozy, she supposes the word is. The citizens of Storybrooke seem determined to absorb her into the fold and make her feel at home, and Emma even finds herself becoming fond of the regulars at the bar. There’s something constant and reassuring about Leroy’s complaints and the way Mr. Marco comes in for exactly one beer each night, no more than 30 minutes after sundown. Will Scarlet might be her favorite; he’s a mouthy bastard, a former thief who now inexplicably runs the post office and operates the telegraph line, but his particular brand of attitude amuses Emma and keeps her on her toes.

(It takes her approximately a week and one passing observation in the street for Emma to realize that he’s head over heels for Belle Gold, wife of the man who owns half the town, and most likely reformed his life for her. A brave man, too, then - or maybe just a fool. From what Emma understands, it’s a bad idea to get on the wrong side of Mr. Gold; he’s a manipulative man who always needs to be in control of everything and does not tolerate people standing up to him or encroaching upon his perceived territory. Emma imagines that Gold’s wife is very much included in that inventory.)

It’s usually just her and Jones and the other barkeep, Mr. Smee, working at the bar every day. Emma thinks Mr. Locksley - “Robin, please, I’m not the formal type” - might have been involved just as a favor to the other man; he’ll put in appearances every so often, especially when his business partner requests it, but he mostly seems happy to stay out at the horse farm he operates with his wife. There’s a story there, Emma’s sure - but she’s certain that she doesn’t yet have the right to ask.

She doesn’t know what to make of Jones, really. He’s a meticulous man, and she thinks even a good one, based on the way he takes care of his establishment and is willing to patiently listen to various gripes from patrons at the bar as they work their problems out themselves. The sullen, quiet demeanor doesn’t seem like his natural state; sometimes, she catches his eyebrows twitching or the sides of his mouth trying to quirk up when one of the regulars says something suggestive, like it once would have been instinct to reach for innuendo or even jokes in the same way. She almost wonders if this is something of an emotional shield, an affectation he’s worn for so long that it’s become comfortable. Regardless, there must have been something in his past that led him here - something that’s emphasized by the careful way that Robin and Sheriff Nolan - David, now - treat him.

Jones’ brother, Liam - who operates the general store and is Elsa’s husband - seems to be the only one that doesn’t indulge Killian’s reserved state. It intrigues Emma, and really reinforces her feeling that the younger man must not have always been like this. It’s somewhere between a matter of the elder Jones not having a tolerance of it, and trying to purposefully provoke the younger.

“Is everything alright?” she dares to ask one afternoon after Liam Jones storms away from a discussion carried on in angry, hissed tones.

“Fine. Liam’s just trying to control everything again.”

It’s probably a wonder she managed to get that much out of him.

It’s hard, though, to be expected to spend so much time with a person and barely trading ten words in any given day. It makes the day longer, and the work harder. On a particularly slow day, when there’s barely a soul in the place and no longer even any cleaning left to do, Emma finds herself scrambling to break the silence, just to cut the boredom.

It is a mistake.

There’s a tattoo on his right forearm, usually covered by his shirt sleeve and just barely allowing hints of dark, swirling ink to peek through. Emma usually only sees the edges in flashes, when the sleeve of his shirt shifts just right as he reaches for something, but his sleeves are rolled nearly to his elbows tonight, revealing the whole work. It’s a detailed piece, one he must have gotten in Chicago or Minneapolis or some other city big enough to have an artist of talent. There’s certainly not a tattoo shop in Storybrooke, of all places. The swirls of black she’s caught glimpses of frame a heart with a jagged dagger through it, with a single word on a tattered scroll at the forefront.

“Who’s Milah?” she asks, instead of wiping down the tables for the twentieth time this evening. “On the tattoo.”

It’s like his whole body seizes - spine straightening, eyes shutting down, every inch of him infused with tension. It’s obvious she’s struck a nerve, one that affects his entire being.

“Someone from long ago,” he finally mutters, before stalking off to scrub imaginary grime off already-spotless tables.

It would be stupid to wonder what she did; that’s obvious to anyone with eyes. What she’s more confused about is why that particular question set him off. It’s obvious there’s a story there, one she doesn’t know but that must be central to the man he is.

Robin is there that day, taking care of something in the small office at the back; without Emma even asking, he slides up next to Emma with an explanation.

“Milah was his fiancée,” he explains quietly. “She died, several years back, in a freak accident. He was driving her to town and the horse startled, flipping the whole wagon. It’s how he injured his hand, too.” Another question answered, then; Emma can see the way the scarred limb still pains him, seizing and spasming in ways that make him scowl deeper with irritation.

“He wasn’t always like this,” Robin continues. “He used to be the most charming man you’d ever meet, always with a smile and some saucy comment. You’d have barely recognized him back then. It’s funny, and awful, what grief does to a man.”

And that explains a lot too - the way she sometimes sees his eyes flash or mouth pull like some half-forgotten instinct. That’s the look of a man who was broken, and who forced his pieces back together with the weakest glue, where things no longer fit together in the same way as they did before, even if all the fragments are there.

It is just another piece of the puzzle that is her silent coworker, but maybe the bit that makes it all make sense.

(Emma has never been much for guilt - but she can’t help but feel some small guilt for this.)

———

The thing about living in a small town, for better or worse, is that there are expectations. Despite its small size, there seem to be a million and five social functions in Storybrooke - church picnics and sewing circles and, tonight, a social and dance in Mr. Clark’s new barn. Emma could decline to attend, technically; it’s not as if she’s contractually obligated to make a showing. But Storybrooke is a tiny town, and Emma is the new face, and she’ll be thought of as unfriendly, even odd, if she doesn’t at least put in an appearance. Besides, everyone is going - and Ruby would never let her hear the end of it if she didn’t at least make an appearance.

So she goes. She stands with Mary Margaret and David and lets Ruby pull her along and compliments Granny on her contributions to the potluck spread. She even takes a turn around the dance floor when asked, even dares to enjoy herself a little bit.

That doesn’t mean that it doesn’t get to be too much, however. The residents of Storybrooke are all so welcoming and well-meaning, but Emma’s spent so much of her life alone, and suddenly being inundated with all this good cheer is a particular variety of overwhelming. It’s not their fault - it’s entirely hers - but Emma can’t resist slipping out the barn doors to creep around the side, seeking a quiet and solitary moment.

It’s not to be found, however; as Emma rounds the corner, it is easy to see Jones in the light of the nearly-full moon, leaning against the wall with his head tipped back and clearly avoiding the festivities in the same way. There’s half a thought of just retreating, creeping around the other side instead, but he turns his head to meet her eyes before she has the chance.

“I’m so sorry,” she tries to apologize. “I’ll just leave you be —”

A brief smile without much feeling twitches across Jones’ face. “Hiding from the party?”

“Yes, but I can find somewhere else —”

“There’s no need. Stay.”

Emma stays. What other choice does she have? She isn’t exactly eager to spend this time with Jones, but it would be blatantly rude to insist on leaving after he had made such a generous offer. Carefully, she props herself against the wooden wall, ignoring the way that stray splinters try to poke through her dress.

She assumes they’ll just stand there in silence - they aren’t exactly friends, for all the time they spend together, and after the other day she’s sure he isn’t much fond of her - but Jones surprises her by breaking that silence after only a few minutes.

“I owe you an apology, Miss Swan,” he says softly, but clearly. “I’ve been less than welcoming these past weeks. I am sorry for that.”

It’s the last thing she expected him to say, and Emma has no idea how to respond. “Thank you,” she finally settles on. “I appreciate it.”

She thinks that’ll be it; that he’ll have said his piece, and they’ll go back to a more-or-less easy civility. It isn’t. “I suppose Robin, or one of the others, told you about… about Milah?” Emma nods. It’s clear this is difficult for him to speak about; she wonders a little why he’s bothering to tell her, of all people. “After she was - after she passed, I rather fell to pieces. She was gone, and the accident all but mangled my hand so it seemed like I couldn’t do much of anything with my life, and it was easier to fall into a bottle than to face my grief. Robin helped a lot, giving me something to do at the bar and eventually letting me buy into the place, but some days I still feel like all those pieces are still barely held together.”

“I understand,” Emma tells him softly, almost too softly to hear. And she does; she’d felt something of that despair when Neal had left, like she’d never find anyone or anything to compare again and there were a whole host of feelings and experiences she’d never reclaim, never experience without him. She can only imagine how much deeper that pain must run for him, when his fiancée had died and not just run away.

“Thank you,” he says, but she can tell he doesn’t fully believe her. That’s alright; she hasn’t given him any reason to. “Anyhow. It’s been five years now, and I’m… acceptant, I suppose. I don’t anticipate being that same man I was ever again, or being able to truly move on and find someone else, but I’m not actively trying to drown all my feelings anymore, which most agree is a significant improvement.”

“Most?”

“Most,” he repeats. “I believe you’re acquainted with Mary Margaret Nolan?”

“Ah. Yes.”

“Exactly. Ah. Mrs. Nolan is a very kind woman, of course. She truly does mean well, and she and David are wonderful for each other. But she is… unbearably optimistic, if I’m being blunt. Mary Margaret is of the opinion that now that I have reached an acceptance of everything that happened with Milah - everything that I lost with Milah - that it’s time I move on, and find a new ‘happy ending.’ So when you came to town - a new face, lonely, needing help…”

Emma sees exactly where this is going. “You assumed she would immediately start trying to play matchmaker.”

“Precisely. Well, not quite assumed; I’ve known Mary Margaret long enough that it was more like knew.”

“And you decided to head it off before it even started.”

“Aye. Again, I do apologize for how it means I treated you. You didn’t deserve that kind of hostility. But I didn’t want her getting any ideas about fixing us up together.”

“Then I forgive you.”

Killian stares blankly at her for a moment, clearly not quite processing her words. “Just like that?”

“You forget - I’ve met Mary Margaret too.”

His lips twitch in that almost-smile again, and Emma could swear she hears him huff out the hint of a laugh. “She is nothing if not persistent. A second chance, then?”

And Emma finds herself surprisingly happy to agree.

———

They’re still not friends, exactly. Jones isn’t exuberant, and that doesn’t change just because they had a chance to reset things behind the barn. But they’re… friendly. Amiable. Companionable. A whole host of other almost-type words. She no longer feels like he resents her very presence in his place of business, and even makes sure to make her life better in little ways, like helping her wipe down glasses and handle more belligerent patrons. She appreciates it, truly; it makes her life easier, knowing he’ll back her up, and that’s more than enough. Despite the small town-big family feel of Storybrooke, she’s still a city girl at heart who’s fine not to make best friends with everyone. She’s more than satisfied to be his employee, and nothing more; in fact, it’s a welcome change after some of the jobs she’s had.

(That’s what landed her here in the first place, after all: a man who doesn’t much care about her many, many denials.)

Even if they’re not friends, she spends enough time around the man to recognize some of his reactions, the slight variations of “sullen” that still play across his face if you’re watching closely. And as soon as Belle Gold walks in with an older man Emma can only assume is her husband, Emma sees the way that Jones’ entire body tenses up. The tension in the air is palpable between the two; even Belle shifts uncomfortably as they approach the bar.

“Could I have a small glass of beer, please?” she asks Emma softly. It’s a relief to reach for the glass instead of just waiting for whatever this is to explode. “It’s so terribly warm out there today, I found myself needing a little something to cool down.”

Beside her, her husband hasn’t broken eye contact with Jones. Emma doubts he’s fully aware of what she and Belle are doing right next to him. “You’re still here then, Jones?” he asks in an icy, sinister voice.

“Aye.” Jones’ face is just as stony when he responds. Emma can practically see the way he vibrates with suppressed rage.

“I suppose you don’t have anywhere else to go, do you, or anyone else to chase after. No one really wants to take on a man with only one functional hand.”

“Let’s go, Robert,” Belle urges. Her beer is barely touched, but her refreshment seems forgotten as the encounter turns increasingly hostile.

Carefully, Jones sets the glass he had been holding back on the bar as the rest of the room holds its breath. Emma can see the way he flexes his scarred left hand, though she doesn’t think anyone else is playing close enough attention. “That’s true,” he says in that deadly quiet voice, “but you’re stuck here too, Gold. And we both know you’re the one who trapped me in this town.”

“Strong words from a weak man —” Mr. Gold starts to say, but his target has already stalked away towards the door Emma knows hides a staircase. Jones keeps an apartment above the premises; doubtless he’s gone there to lick his wounds.

Belle quickly ushers her husband out after that, leaving the barely touched glass on the counter. Emma takes a long drag, not one to waste the beverage; she can’t help but hold some bitterness towards Belle for this altercation, even though she knows the woman is otherwise lovely and kind and even something like a friend to Jones. She must have known this might happen, bringing her husband in here. The man has a reputation, one that makes it hard to believe that his wife is so kind - and married to him. Besides, the whole exchange reeked of an unknown history between the two men, of so many words and actions leading to today’s explosion.

Behind the bar, Mr. Smee - a timid man by nature, a predilection not remotely helped by these dramatics - looks anxiously between the room half-full of patrons and the door through which Jones had disappeared. It only takes a moment to realize what needs to be done - and that Emma will have to be the one to do it.

With a nod toward the bar floor for Smee, Emma quickly climbs the stairs, a glass of rum in hand. She’s noticed Jones taking a shot of the stuff when some customer is drunk enough to buy a round for everyone. If there’s ever been a time when a drink of something biting would help - well, this is probably it.

It isn’t hard to find Jones. He hasn’t even made it into his apartment proper, instead sitting propped against the wall in the hallway with his head hung between his upright knees. He looks up at the sound of her boot heels clicking on the stairs, happy to accept the proffered spirits, only to hunch back over the glass once it’s in his hands. Emma waits patiently for the explanation she knows is coming; she’s long since grown used to silence sitting between the two of them.

“He killed her,” Jones finally says, draining the remains of his rum in one swallow. “Milah. My Milah. He wanted her, but she wanted nothing to do with him, and she chose me.” He smiles softly in remembrance, a foreign look on his face from what Emma has come to know. “I could never prove it, of course. But he hated that she chose me, hated me for supposedly stealing what was his by pursuing the woman who pursued me first. And that wagon… it never should have tipped. It was sturdy, not even a year old, and the road was even. But there was a shot, fired someplace close that I could never pinpoint, and the horse startled, and the axle was apparently so weak or damaged that it broke, and by the time it was all over…”

“She was gone,” Emma supplies softly. Somehow, in the middle of all this, she’s found herself on the floor next to him. It seems like what he needs right now.

“It was quick, at least. She broke her neck and died instantly. I just… I could never prove it, but I always knew it was Gold. The sabotage of the wagon and the shot to set everything in motion.”

It makes horrifying sense; maybe Jones is wrong, but from everything Emma has heard and seen of Mr. Gold, she wouldn’t put it past him. “And now you’re forced to see him all the time.”

“We had plans, you know,” he tells her, staring into his glass like he can make it refill by will alone. “We were going to pack up, move to Duluth or Chicago - somewhere along the Great Lakes, where I could get a job on one of the ships. But she was - she was dead, and my hand was barely functional, and when Robin offered to let me buy into the bar instead of just doing my damndest to drink myself to death… I took it.”

“And you lived.”

He snorts. “Or close enough to it.” His head falls back against the wall heavily as he sighs. “He’s gone, I imagine. I’ll come back down in a moment, I just…”

“Take all the time you need.”

(Emma knows she didn’t do anything more than listen, but there’s still a satisfaction in seeing the way he has started to pull himself back together as she traipses back down to the bar.)

———

They’re still not friends, but knowing those bits of another’s soul bonds two people together in a way that’s hard to describe. Jones is still sullen and quiet, but it’s less off-putting when Emma knows it comes from a place of pain. What matters is that Emma feels comfortable and safe here in Storybrooke and at the tavern, in the midst of these kind - and yes, in some cases morose - people.

That all changes when a telegram arrives unexpectedly, marked urgent and portending dangers Emma had hoped she had finally escaped.

She opens it right away, of course; there’s only one person outside of this town who knows how to reach her, and August is too busy for needless correspondence. He hadn’t even responded when she’d wired him back in Boston that first day in Storybrooke just to let him know what had happened, and that she was still staying. Him sending a message can mean nothing good.

Emma sinks onto a barstool as she reads the stark letters. Even without a mirror, she can feel the blood draining from her face as her nightmares resurface.

Be aware Oz sniffing around STOP Hired private detective STOP Be on alert and do what you must STOP Will keep apprised STOP

Emma doesn’t know how long she sits there, staring at the little slip of paper. Somewhere, the yellow envelope it was delivered in has dropped away; she hadn’t noticed. She only comes back to herself when a firm hand shakes her shoulder.

“Swan!” Jones all but barks, jerking her back to attention and to meet his eyes. It’s evident he’s been trying to get her attention for a while; thank god there are only a scant handful of people in the bar at this early hour, though she’d rather Will Scarlet hadn’t had to see this either. “What’s the matter?” he presses ahead. “Are you alright?”

What an absolutely absurd question to ask as she sits here, white as a sheet. As much as Emma would like to deny it, claim everything is fine, she can’t. “No,” she barely manages to gasp out.

It’s like everything around her has become a blur, like her mind can’t focus on anything but impending doom. Jones and Will Scarlett must have corralled her into the little back office; she has no memory of how she came to be sitting in the padded chair. Jones crouches by her side, his shoes lost beneath the edge of her skirt, wearing a surprisingly tender look on his face.

“This is about what you’re running from, isn’t it?” he asks in as gentle a voice as Emma’s ever heard from him. It snaps her to alertness, eyes blown wide; it’s not remotely what she expected him to say.

“How did you know that?” she demands. Emma hasn’t told anyone in town the underlying reason why she came to this little nowhere town, and yet here Jones is talking like it’s obvious to see.

“I recognize the look of someone with demons to hide, and to hide from,” he says softly. “You’ve met mine, Swan.”

Faced with that kind of understanding, it’s like all the pride, the reticence, the fight seeps right out of her. What’s the point? He seems to see right through her front anyways, for some reason she can’t pinpoint.

“Yes,” she says, carefully making sure that neither her voice nor her hands tremble at the admittance. “It’s about the things I ran from in Boston.”

“Tell us.”

And she does. As Will Scarlet stands by the door and Jones moves to lean against the desk, Emma lets the whole tale unravel: about the law office in New York she’d been a secretary in, about the junior partner, Walsh Oz, who’d taken a sudden interest in her, about the way she’d left that job when he wouldn’t stop pressing his attentions on her. About how he’d found out where she lived, and forced her to move three times. About how she’d finally packed up and moved to Boston, only for him to track her there as well, showing up in the department store she worked in. How she’d gotten more and more desperate, finally seizing upon the idea of answering one of the marriage ads in the paper.

“It seemed like the perfect solution,” Emma explains. Against her will, tears have begun pooling in her eyes, and she blinks furiously to dispel them. “It’d take me so far away from Boston and New York that Walsh Oz would never track me down - and besides, I’d have a husband. It didn’t matter that I probably wouldn’t love him, I’d be safe. He wouldn’t be able to bother me anymore if I was already tied to another man.”

As Emma has told the whole sorry story, Will Scarlet has become visibly more upset in his stance by the door, bordering on fury, but Jones has remained implacably, unshakably calm. Emma appreciates it, in an odd way; it’s something stable to focus on, to keep the panic from overcoming her again. “And then you got here, and there wasn’t a husband to marry,” he says softly.

Emma nods. “I thought it would still be enough - rural Minnesota is so far from New York or Boston, you know? But now…”

“But now.” There’s something horribly ominous about his agreement.

“At least I have August to watch out for me - my friend, almost a brother. He works for a private detective agency.” Jones probably doesn’t much care about that, but talking and explaining keeps her in the moment. It only works for so long though, as the reality of the situation sets in. “If Oz comes here… where else can I go? What am I supposed to do?”

The silence sits for a moment, Emma trying not to cry, Scarlet and Jones looking at one another as if coming up with something. The question hovers in the room, threatening to suffocate them all.

“You came here because you thought a husband could protect you?” Jones finally asks.

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll marry you instead. If you like.”

It’s an absurd proposition, not least of all because Emma knows Jones may never get over his late fiancée. Beyond that… they barely know each other. They’ve worked together for two and a half months, and Emma has shared little bits of herself along the way and learned pieces of his own character, but that’s not enough to base a marriage on. But wasn’t that exactly what she was trying to do with Graham Humbert? To marry him, even though she barely knew him?

The difference, of course, is that Emma has worked alongside Jones for months, and knows this is not remotely what he’d ever planned for himself. It is much harder to go through with this when she knows that it isn’t something that both parties actively want.

“You don’t have to. I would never ask that of you,” she hurries to protest - but he’s already shaking his head.

“I know I don’t,” he tells her. “And if you don’t want to, that’s fine, and we’ll try to figure something else out. But I think it might be your best option.” Jones pauses, and his face softens. “Graham was a good man, and a good friend of mine,” he tells her quietly. “He waited a long time for me to be a better man, and do something with my life. Let me do this for him.”

And Emma agrees.

———

It is a small wedding - not that the occasion warranted anything different. They’re two people who barely aren’t strangers anymore, who hadn’t planned for this remotely or had even imagined such a possibility two days ago.

(Technically, it’s the second time since Emma arrived in Storybrooke that two days have abruptly changed the course of her life. Maybe it’s an omen, of some sort; Emma doesn’t have the energy, or the opportunity, to pay heed to such a thought.)

They make as much of the occasion as they can when Mary Margaret and Ruby only have two days to fuss. Emma wears her nicest dress - a summery, pale blue confection that makes her look a lot more girlish and innocent than she actually is - and there are fresh flowers along the pews of the little church that match the small bouquet in her hands. Only a small number of people attend to witness - the Nolans, Jones’ brother and his wife, Robin and his wife, and Granny with Ruby - but that’s alright. Emma may not know what her soon-to-be husband’s favorite color is, or his favorite meal, or even his middle name, but she does know that they’re both somewhat solitary creatures. Neither needs a crowd, or would be comfortable with one.

There’s something oddly comforting about his presence at the end of the aisle, waiting for her in front of the reverend. He isn’t dressed particularly elaborately, but he’s taken the effort to put on a tie and coat and comb back his hair a bit, even if pieces keep popping up again. Most of all, Emma appreciates that his hands don’t tremble when they take hers. She’s terrified out of her wits about the foolishness they’ve both agreed to, but he manages to be so calm; so certain. It’s like he’s found an odd kind of purpose in doing her this favor beyond thanks, beyond reason. He’s calm when she meets him at the altar, and calm all through the short ceremony, and still calm when he slides the thin gold ring on her finger. It feels like some kind of blessing.

Before she knows it, the words are all said, and they’re moving to sign the paperwork and make this legally official. And that’s it: some of the most momentous minutes of her life are over and done, and Jones - Killian? - is leading her back down the aisle of the little church with her hand tucked into his arm, still that pillar of stability and reassurance.

She’s married.

———

Eventually, they find themselves back in the little apartment above the bar. Emma’s pretty flowers have been set aside, her hat carefully extricated from the pins holding it to her hair, and Killian has worked off his jacket and tie. Silence stretches between them as they sit, she in the armchair by the fire and him at the kitchen table, but it’s not yet comfortable. They don’t quite know each other enough for that. It’s like they’re in a holding pattern, both just waiting for something to give, for the other to break or break through.

“I never expected to get married,” he finally says. Emma jerks her head to face him, but he carefully looks anywhere else, staring towards the opposite wall, fiddling with his fingers. “After Milah died… I expected I never would. That that would be it for me.”

It is not a good way to start a marriage - hearing that her new husband never wanted to get married in the first place. “I’m sorry, then. For trapping you in a marriage you never wanted.”

But he shakes his head at the words, finally meeting her eyes. “No, no, that’s not what I mean, Emma. I’m not trying to - I don’t want you to think I regret this. It is its own kind of honor, doing this for you and for Graham. Makes me feel like a better man than I’ve been in a long, long time. What I’m trying to say, I suppose, is…” He pauses, as if collecting his words. “I suppose I don’t have… expectations, so to speak, of our marriage. We get along. I think you’re a good woman, and I’ve appreciated the help in the bar. And that can be it. I’m not expecting anything more. I’m perfectly happy to have a paper marriage, companionship and nothing more, because that’s already more than I ever expected for the rest of my life.”

Ah. He’s alluding to sex. It’s kind of him to dance around this, but entirely unnecessary; delicacy has been out of the question for 8 years now, since she still thought Neal was her forever. It never really mattered for an orphan from the worst of Boston anyways. As kind as it may be, it’s unnecessary, and frankly too chivalrous for her purposes. In return, Emma chooses her words just as carefully as he did; at the beginning here, setting the stage for what may become the rest of their marriage, it seems important to do so. “Thank you, Mr. Jones —”

“Killian.”

“Killian.” He’s right; they’ve already traded vows, such as they were, after all. “Thank you, Killian - but the fact of the matter is that I need this to be a real marriage. If our marriage is to protect me the way I need it to… then I need there to be no reason for anyone to claim otherwise.”

———

They consummate their marriage that night.

It is not making love by any means, and it is not even particularly good - it’s been too long for either of them to be in practice, and too little feeling between the two of them - but there is no denying that it is a real marriage now. Emma can smell the shot of rum he drank for courage as Killian determinedly avoids her lips. His body is warm and firm above her, inside her, but there’s no feeling to it, except in the apology he mumbles against her ear when he finishes before she’s even close to satisfaction.

It is fine. It is no more than she expected.

But at least it is a union, in almost every sense of the word.

———

(She had been anxious about this - the idea of giving her body to a man she barely knows, no matter how much she knows it to be necessary - but as mediocre as the act itself is, Emma can’t help but feel… connected, afterwards. Despite everything, he had been gentle with her, considerate. She doesn’t quite feel an affection for him - not yet, though she hopes she might one day, if this is to be the start of years to come - but it’s the first link in a bond that they’ll strengthen with time. Consummation had been a fraught decision for both of them, an emotional minefield in many ways, but they’re truly in this together now.

All things considered - she’s glad she’s in it with him.)

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfiction #captain swan ff #marriage of convenience #my writing #Seeking Shelter Seeking Solace #independent!Emma #grumpy!Killian #and a bar

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bookaddict24-7 · 3 years ago

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I said at the beginning of the year that I would share my reviews more on my blog instead of just on Instagram and Goodreads. I’ve been reading a lot so far this year, so my reviews will be delayed on here.

Friend me on Goodreads here to read my reviews in real-time!

___

107. Amari and the Night Brothers by B.B. Alston--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Wow, this book had more of a punch than I anticipated! I think books like this one are super important--not just because of the content, but because of the audience it's geared towards. Young readers now are learning more and more about society than a lot of us did at their age, so I think it's perfectly fitting that a book like this one is out there for kids to devour. One of the things I liked the most about this book was the allegory of racism in a magical community. Usually in fantastical novels for kids (older ones, anyway), there's this belief that no matter what you look like, the moment you go to another magical place all of your worries about racism goes away because MAGIC. But in this one, not only did our MC have to contend with the racism in her normal life, she had to face more racism in her new life, just with a new title. So many of the actions taken against her by those around her, and the comments (like putting her brother on a pedestal because he was the star of the school and calling him the exception to the rule, or one girl actively telling her that "You can take the girl out of the ghetto, but not the ghetto out of the girl) really made me think that this poor kid went from one ignorant situation to another. Not only is she trying to find her brother and solve the mystery of his disappearance, but she also has to deal with racist and ignorant people around her. Imagine calling a child evil because of something they can't control. Imagine going out of your way to ensure that they fail. Imagine you or your child hearing the things this child heard while trying to just do her best in a system that's always been made to be against her, both in the human world and in the magic world. Imagine, imagine, imagine. Another thing I loved about this book was her resilience. She is brave, and smart, and has such a big future in this new world of hers. I'm so excited to read the rest of this series as it comes out. This book was POWERFUL and I highly recommend it. Not just for the young readers in your life, but I think parents and other readers would highly benefit from reading Amari's story.

___

108. Mindy Kim & the Yummy Seaweed Business by Lyla Lee--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Okay, this book was ADORABLE. I haven’t read a 6-8 book in a long time and I’m thankful to my friend on Instagram who recommended these books! Mindy has to deal with not only her grief about losing her mom and her dad’s busy schedule (as well as his own grief), but she’s also at a new school in a new State where she is the only Asian student. I’ve mentioned this in some of my most recent reviews, but I love that these important topics are being discussed in children’s books. We see moments of racism in this book where Mindy is left upset, even if she doesn’t fully understand just why certain comments and actions are so hurtful. And even if she doesn’t dwell on it, a parent reading this with their little one would notice and hopefully learn if they see their own behaviours mirrored in the actions of some of these adults. But we also see moments of kindness and love as a young girl tries her best to find ways to make her dad happy. Despite the heavier undertones in this book, there was an overall feel of sweetness and childhood innocence. The ability to apologize when you know you’re in the wrong, the innocence of emotions getting away from you, and the sweetness of a daughter loving her father. This was a great read and I highly recommend it for everyone, but especially the little ones in your life who will be entering situations where books like these and their lessons are really important.

___

109. The Dead Zone by Stephen King--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

This one, I felt, held more of an emotional punch rather than a creepy feeling. I really enjoyed it! I loved the psychic angle and the MC proving the people who didn’t believe him or mocked wrong. Also, this was a King book that actually made me want to cry at the end. I didn’t give it a 5 because of some really slow moments. While I love that his stories always have a way of coming together at the end, certain scenes sometimes feel long, boring, or confusing. I’d recommend this for anyone who wants to read a King book that isn’t scary and if you’re a fan of 11/22/63!

___

110. Takane & Hana Vol. 1 by Yuki Shiwasu--⭐️⭐️⭐️

This one took me a while to read. I found that I wasn’t really in the mood to read it every time I picked it up—which is so different from when I pick up a manga I really want to read. The story had some funny bits and the artwork was gorgeous, but it really bugged me how every new chapter re-introduced the love interest. Over and over and over again. I get it: he’s rich, arrogant, and an asshole. Can’t you trust us to remember these key personality traits? But it wasn’t even just that. We were constantly re-introduced to the premise of the story. I don’t know how common this is WITHIN the same volume, but I haven’t encountered it yet—and if I have, it wasn’t as annoying as this one. I’ll keep reading the story because I’m curious, but this first volume was a bit of a rougher read for me.

___

111. You Have A Match by Emma Lord--⭐️⭐️⭐️.5

I think the thing with this book is that the cover tells a different story than what really matters in this book. Yes, there’s a friends to more relationship in this, but the main storyline is about two girls who find out they’re sisters and are trying to solve that mystery. This isn’t a romcom—the romance is a super side story to the main storyline. And to be honest, I really enjoyed it. I wanted to see why these two sisters lived their whole life separated. I enjoyed the process and the friendships created along the way. I felt for the parents, but at the same time, I felt more for the girls. There were instances where I wanted to yell at the parents because they kept putting the reveal off. This was enjoyable overall—a great summer read. Not particularly memorable, but it does what it sets out to do: makes you question the strength of friendships and what they can overcome. Also, Instagram.

___

112. Patron Saints of Nothing by Randy Ribay--⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

When my friend raved about this book I was both excited and intimidated. I usually try to avoid hypes surrounding books because I go in with too-high expectations and a lot of the time, the expectations crush me while I’m reading. Thankfully, the hype is very well-deserved with this one. For me, the most important aspect of this book that stuck with me wasn’t the mystery surrounding the MC’s cousin’s death, but the character growth the MC himself experiences during the time of his investigation. Identity sounds like a pretty clear cut thing sometimes, but it’s a lot harder to know your own when you’re the child of an immigrant family. You live in a new country, get accustomed to new expectations and customs, and inevitably feel a culture shock when you’re re-introduced to the culture your parents grew up in. I saw myself so much in this MC. From my childhood to my current adult years, people have thought that they could define me and who I am simply because I say I’m this or this. But while others make a quick judgment, they don’t see the internal struggle. They don’t see you questioning yourself on whether you’re enough of this, or whether you’re enough of that. I think teenage me would have loved this book even more. The MC is constantly faced with criticism about his father choosing to move them to the States from the Philippines. The judgments and the preconceived notions of him and his family make him not only weary because he recalls how his uncle treated his father the first time he visited, but also wary because it sets him down this road of self-reflection. I haven’t read many (if any, unfortunately) books where a character goes to the Philippines. I’m so thankful to this book. I learned so much about the culture, the foods, and the struggles faced not just financially, but politically as well. I remember reading about some of the topics brought up in this book and it was extremely eye-opening. It’s so easy for us to look away because we have that privilege, but this book says, “No, look at me. I exist.” The MC, in his journey, also learns to speak up and use his voice. Not just against ignorant friends, but an annoyingly smug and verbally abusive uncle (who I hated to all hell). He also learns to listen. He learns that though not every story is perfect, they still have power. I think this is a great read for those who have one foot in two different worlds (hands and arms can be in other worlds, too). Especially if you’re trying to understand this part of you that wasn’t developed as you grew up. I’d also recommend it to readers who want to learn more about this struggle, learn more about a different culture that is more than its stereotypes, and/or want to read about a young teenager trying to come to terms with his grief and guilt.

___ Have you read any of these books? Would you recommend them?

___

Happy reading!

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lstories · 3 years ago

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Emma and Gaudi(um)

(Safe, Soft, Unwilling, Vore, accidental fearplay.)

Original idea by @mangotangovoredango. I just put my own spin on it and used my own oc's

"Owww." Emma woke up, her back was killing her. "Every God damn night." She muttered to herself still half asleep, she tried to grab one of the blankets to cover herself and fall back asleep as the morning sun crept in. She flailed her arms to no avail, looking down to the foot of her bed Emma realized she had kicked off all her blankets trying to get comfortable in her sleep... again. Every night was the same, waking up in weird positions and her muscles aching from working and resting. She didn't have to work, she didn't have to do anything. She was the CEO of a nationwide electronics/shopping chain and didn't have to work in store but, she wanted to help more than shoot ads and work as a telephone line between the board of directors. She still had to work as the CEO while also working in store and it was starting to catch up to her.

She didn't want to fall into the category of not having to work a day in her life so she worked retail in her own company. After laying in bed for almost an hour, waiting for the alarm to get her out of bed she was not expecting a knock at the door to be the thing to fully wake her up. "Why is anyone out here, and why right before work." She thought starting to sit up. Putting her slippers on. Emma lazily walked over to the front doors. She wasn't expecting anyone and she lived a few miles out of town so nobody should be here. "Hey! I told you this was her house." Emma could recognize the voice immediately without needing to see their face. A few of her work friends stopped by with a car parked out front. That would be great if she didn't have to take a shift in an hour. "Hi, work starts in an hour, what are you doing here?" Emma said trying to sound as awake as she could. "You signed up for the carpool, remember? It was a four person pool and you signed up as the third person in ours. Also why aren't you ready for work yet." Hope said, a bit confused and concerned.

Emma started to remember, she just thought it was another paper for her to sign and now the pictures started to make more since. She didn't want to let her friends down so maybe a week would be ok before she stopped to not hurt their feelings. "I... guess it just slipped my mind, I'll get dressed really quick." Emma said closing the door and walking back to her room. "MAKE IT QUICK, WE GOTTA BE THERE SOON!" Paige yelled threw the closed door. Emma started to get dressed as quickly as she could. Stoping only to grab a small tied bundle of physical cash she put into a side pocket in her purse. She was still so tired, she couldn't keep going to work with how she's been sleeping, mostly less than an hour or two a night. She also refused to drink coffee, it was too bitter and it only made her feel even worse after a while. She walked out the door, just barely remembering to lock it as Paige basically dragged her to the car. "WE GOTA GO NOW!" She yelled as Hope started to drive off before Emma could put her seatbelt on.

"What is your rush, we have over an hour and a half before work starts." Emma said finally getting her seatbelt on. "No, it starts in half an hour and we're 10 miles away AND we have to pick someone else up!" Paige said as she frantically looked threw map and clock apps. Emma couldn't help but peek over the seat and look at her phone, and then she realized something. "You remembered daylight savings, right?" Emma said tiredly, showing her phone to Paige. She looked at the time on her phone, then the time on Emma's phone, back and forth until editing her time. "My time was off." She quietly said. Hope started to laugh her ass off. "Looks like we'll be able to stop and get coffee too." Hope said as her laughter started to die down. "Oh... cool." Emma said, a little annoyed that she couldn't go back to sleep for this. She tried to drift off, her head resting into the soft cushion. She almost fell asleep until the car stopped and another person got in the car. The briefcase they were carrying hit Emma in the legs and she winced in pain. "What the, why's there a forth person. Who... Faith?" Emma exclaimed rubbing the side of her leg that was hit by the briefcase.

"Oh, sorry Emma. Were running late and looks bad when the manager shows up last." Emma slightly glanced at her, annoyed that she couldn't sleep. "Did you-" Emma tried to talk before she was interrupted by Paige. "Daylight savings was last week and we were late but Emma showed me that my clock was fast and now were heading to the coffee shop because were early, is your clock fast?" Paige said. She didn't seem to need to breath when she talked. "Oh, I guess it is. That's embarrassing. Where are we going for coffee?" Faith asked as she started to settle down. Emma couldn't believe it, this was the first day of the car pool she didn't remember signing up for. They were uncoordinated and didn't plan for time, and she wouldn't expect anything less from her friends. "Theres a coffee shop on the corner and the new guy there makes amazing drinks. Should we go there?" Hope said, turning the corner before anyone could answer. "Guess that's a yes." Emma said under her breath. They all talked and waited in line and Emma just tried not to fall over. "Hi, what can I get ya." Gaudi exclaimed. "Hey your the new barista that Hope has been talking about, didn't you just move here because the old coffee shop you worked for closed and you were transferred here because you were so good and did you know Amy she was a regular there." Paige said, a giddy smile on her face and no falter in her breath. "Like a walking plot machine." Emma said under her breath. Gaudi slightly laughed at it, but no one else heard it. No one was supposed to hear it, she knew she said it quietly enough so nobody could hear it, let alone someone on the other side of a glass pain while she was in the back of a crowd.

"Ya, I knew Amy. She always got a hot chocolate instead of something caffeinated." Gaudi said, his face going from concerned back to chipper in an instant. "Anyway, what can I get you all?" He said. Everyone ordered their cups and last was Emma to order. She had never ordered coffee before and she didn't want to start now. "I heard something about hot chocolate, could I just get that." Emma said, her eyes were too heavy to hold open for very long. "Its not my specialty but I can load it with sugar if that's going to help you threw the day." Gaudi said, slightly laughing. "If can get me threw the day I might come back tomorrow." Emma said, placing 100$ on the counter. "You can keep the change." She said walking back to her friends. Gaudi was shocked, he looked at it and back at her. He wanted to make her drink perfectly, would it be so selfish to use a bit of magic to help her and himself. She seemed nice and she was cute so why not have her around sometimes, and maybe she might give him another big tip someday. He started to work on all their drinks, once he got to Emma's drink he made it as normal before lightly scratching something into the side of the cup. Emma couldn't stop looking back at him, there was something about him that she couldn't shake. It wasn't bad but she didn't trust it.

"Here you go everyone, and we hope you come back soon." Gaudi said while handing everyone their cups. Emma took one sip and immediately her entire body seemed to wake up. It was super sweet and she took another sip. Once she finished she felt like she had slept an entire day. When Gaudi wasn't making anything or helping anyone Emma came up to talk to him.

"What did you put in my drink? I haven't felt this awake in months."

"Magic."

"You put magic in my drink?"

"Ya, a small awakening spell."

"Come on, what did you put in it. I need to put it in my own drinks at home."

"If you won't accept magic then it's my personal secret."

"So you want me to come here every day to get your drink."

"I'd be able to see you every day and that would be nice."

"You want to see me? Can't tell if that's flirty or stalkerish."

"Well you said you would come back if the drink woke you up."

Emma started to talk once again before getting cut off. "We gotta go now, work actually starts soon." Hope said walking out the door with the others. Emma walked away without saying anything, trying to catch up to her friends. "Guess I'll see you tomarow then." Gaudi said with his head on his hand and a big grin on his face. Emma spun around, her cheeks were slightly red. She was about to say something before turning around and following her friends out. They all got into the car, everyone was eerily quiet. Emma had one last glance at Gaudi threw the window, he was helping a customer and was able to slightly glance back at Emma for just a second before Hope drove away. "So... You like him, don't you?" Faith said looking over at Emma. "No. Quiet, I'll fire you if you dont be quiet." Emma said, her cheeks brightening. "You do, you think we didn't notice." "Of course you do, and I think he likes you." They kept talking about how cute it would be if they were together, Emma just buried her head in her hands until they got to work.

Timeskip: Next Day

"Ugh" Emma's back was killing her... again. This time she had to get up even earlier for the car pool. She got up, got dressed, and waited outside for her friends. Her mind started to wander, she thought about what would happen at work, what the board of directors would be arguing about and all that. Then she started to remember what happened yesterday, Gaudi, the drinks, her friends, and how they would probably bring her back there. Oh and speak of the devil's, her friends pulled up at that moment. She lazily got into the back seat and they drove off, Hope and Paige were talking about her. "You were more productive yesterday and you seemed happier." "Maybe its because of the new barista." They kept pestering her about it. Soon they picked up Faith and she joined in, joking about her and the new barista. Not even five minutes later and they were at the coffee shop. They all gave their orders, leaving Emma to talk to Gaudi at the other counter.

"So, your back."

"I said I would be."

"Well, what can I get you today."

"Another hot chocolate."

"Will do."

Gaudi got to work making her drink, once she sat down he put another scratch into the side of her cup, covering it with the sleeve. Emma took a sip, her body started to wake again. If it kept waking her back up she was going to come here every day without complaint, other than her friends annoying her. They all talked, Emma actually able to commit to the conversation now. Before they left Emma put 200$ in the tip jar, smiling at Gaudi on her way out.

Timeskip + Brief Summary: 4 months later

Emma continued to go nearly every day. She stopped going in the car pool after a while but still met up with her friends there. She gave a sizable tip to Gaudi almost every day, but his coworkers were starting to get annoyed. She experimented with the drink, staying up for almost two full weeks with no sleep and no repercussions. She kept wondering and pestering Gaudi what he put in her drink but she never got an answer more than "magic". They started to get to know each other more, eventually Gaudi got her number and they watched a movie at her house. He was amazed at how big her house was, he didn't believe it when he saw it. Eventually, Emma had to go on a business trip and couldn't take Gaudi with her.;

Gaudi was glad the day was over. His shift was getting long and he just wanted to get home, well, as much of a home as it was. Working at a coffee shop didn't pay much, Emma's tips did help but it wasn't enough to buy a house. He walked down his normal route to home, letting his mind wander on the day. He was sad that Emma had to leave today but she told him what it was for and it made enough sense. He only had to wait 2 more weeks before she would be back and they could watch another movie or something. He walked threw a back alleyway, and into the nearby forest. It didn't take more than 30 minutes to walk to the small clearing in the forest. He could feel his wings and tail getting restless, whenever he turned into a human all of his draconic features turned into a shadow of what they were. He could still feel his tail, wings, the horns on his back, etc. They weren't invisible, but they weren't not there. Either way they needed to move, every night he turned back to a dragon to sleep and he never needed to worry about someone seeing him because they believed that there was a monster in the forest. He was a little bit sad though, his friends were getting mad that he was getting huge tips from a single customer. They all split the tips so he didn't understand why they were mad. He didn't really think on it too long before falling asleep, surrounded by his collected "treasures".

Timeskip: next day (again)

Emma couldn't belive how boring this was. She thought this work trip would be a little more fun but it was just signing more papers and agreeing with the board of directors and signing off with the marketing department. She wanted to leave and go back home, even being with her family would be more entertaining than this. She did read that 2 people went missing on the same day in her home town and that would be fun to look into. If she did have to go threw this, she wasn't going to do it tired. She called Gaudi, his phone rang for a few seconds before he picked up.

"Hey Gaudi"

"Hi, how are you"

"I was wondering if you could tell me how to make the drink, everything is so boring and I'm to tired to deal with anything."

"You know I can't tell you how to make it, it's my secret."

"Come on, how long have we known each other."

"Long enough to say that I will tell you someday, but i can't today."

His voice sounded broken and sad, she couldn't see him but she knew that he wasn't happy. He was always happy about something so this was different.

"Are you ok, you dont sound too good."

"Oh... ya, dont worry. Everything's fine."

"Well, ok. See you when I get home."

Emma couldn't stop thinking about what might have happened to Gaudi. He was never sad, he always seemed to be happy about something so hearing him like that worried her. This was going to be a long trip if she couldn't stop thinking about it.

(Before the call) Gaudi walked back to his work, he was always the first there to open shop. He never had any trouble before and he always did everything right, if he got fired he wouldn't know where to go other than back home. Once he got inside he unlocked the doors and started to turn on the heaters for the drinks. Soon enough his colleagues started to come in. They were all staring at him and watching the windows, eventually the boss came in and called Gaudi into his office. He started to get worried, the boss only ever called someone into his office if something was wrong. He sat down on the other side of the boss' desk, his leg shaking. "Gaudi, your track record and work ethics are astounding, but we've been getting complaints about you." The manager said, his face still as uncaring as when Gaudi first saw him. "Who put in the complaints?" Gaudi chocked out, his throat felt swollen. He feared the worst from what his boss would say, he didn't know why but he knew that something bad was about to happen. "Your coworkers have all been complaining about you, that you haven't been working as hard and that you have been fraternizing with a customer. We are sorry to say this but were letting you go. By signing this form you will be given a full year's pay as compensation if you leave today." He said. Gaudi's mind raced at this, where he would go, what he would do, how he would explain why he had to leave to the only friend he had here. His mind went darker and he wanted to turn into his dragon self and bat the manager around, like a cat and a ball of yarn. It wouldn't be hard and the manager did resemble a ball.

"Yes, I'm sorry sir and have a good day." Gaudi said sadly, signing the papers while holding back tears. He walked out a few of his former colleagues were smiling at him as he walked outside while the others didn't seem to care. He walked home finally laying down defeated, on the verge of tears when his phone rang. It was Emma, he didn't want to talk to her despite her probably being the only thing able cheer him up right now. He answered after letting his voice return to normal and calming down a bit. He didn't want to worry her so he wouldn't say anything about his job right now. He reassured her that everything was fine but still couldn't explain how her drink worked yet, especially over the phone.

Timeskip + brief summary: 3 weeks

Emma got threw the excruciating 2 weeks of mindless board meeting and peptalks to a camera. Once that was over, she reunited with her family for a week. Her youngest brother had finally made a friend and she believed she saw a dragon at the edge of the forest her brother was running to. She tried to stop him and ran after him only to find his new friend with cutout of a dragon and a flashlight. He did seem a bit confused while he was holding them tho. Gaudi was miserable, still sad over losing his job. Sitting in the parks most days to feed off the joy of people walking in the park. He started to use it more as a drug than a food source at this point. He couldn't stop himself, until he got a call from Emma.;

Emma got up from her seat, tiredly stumbling off the plane. A limo pulled in next to the private jet and the 2 other people on the plane started carrying bags from the plane to the limo. Emma got in, trying to go back to sleep. Eventually the limo started moving, jolting Emma back to consciousness and the man driving it started to talk. "Where should I take you mam." Emma tiredly mumbled to him before showing him the address of the coffee shop Gaudi worked at. After a few minutes of driving they arrived, Emma got out of the limo and stumbled into the coffee shop looking for Gaudi. After a bit of waiting she walked over to one of the counters, the persons face was ecstatic that she was walking over.

"Hi, how can I help you."

"Is Gaudi here today?"

Their face slumped a little in disappoint when they heard that the rich CEO that gave out hundreds of dollars in tips was asking for a specific barista.

"Gaudi? He was fired almost 3 weeks ago."

"What! He didn't tell me he was fired."

"Ya, he was fired a few days after you stopped coming in. Is there anything I can get you?"

"No, I'm leaving."

Emma walked out, getting back into the limo and driving off. She called Gaudi to ask where he was. It took a while for him to pick up. He told her he was at the park and she immediately started to head down there. It didn't take long for Emma to find him but his usual smile was replaced by a cold frown. For the first time ever she saw Gaudi sad. It started to break her heart and she walked over, sitting next to him on the grass.

"So you were fired?"

"Yep."

"And you didn't tell me? I talked to one of your colleagues and he said it was the same day I called awsking for your drink recipe."

"Auctly, it was after I was fired. I just didn't want you to worry."

A tear started well in Emma's eyes, rushing in for a hug. She was able to force herself from crying, and she saw the smile return to Gaudi's face. He couldn't hold back his tears as he returned the hug, he felt a wave of emotions wash over him.

"I... I have to leave soon, I just wanted to stay and say goodbye to you."

"What! No, you can't leave. Why are you leaving?"

"I wanted to get away from my family, to live my own life and now that I'm out of a job I need to go back."

"Wait, because you dont have a job you have to go back home? What if I hire you."

"For what? I was fired from the only thing I'm good at."

"That's it. You could be a personal at home barista. It would pay your what your monthly salary of your last job daily, you would have a new place to stay, and you wouldn't have to go home. You could stay with me, here."

"You would do that?"

"I could print the documents in the limo and we could hire a moving team to get everything from your home."

"I don't own a house."

"Your appartment?"

"Nope."

"Where have you been living?"

"In the forest neer the lake."

"You've been... what did you have, is there anything you need to pick up?"

"Nothing important."

"Do you just want to go home?"

"I could make you your drink."

"Or we could finish watching the movie series we started."

"That would be nice."

After a few silent minutes they eventually got up from where they were sitting, Emma had forgotten how tired she was. The adrenaline she had from needing to help her friend was enough to forget she hadn't slept for the past few days. Gaudi sat down next to her, some tears still pooling in the bottom of his eyes. She typed away on the computer she had in the car until they got to her house, Gaudi silently watching the entire time. When they got home she printed out the papers and Gaudi signed them. Emma showed him his new room, it was massive, deffenetly big enough for him to sleep in his dragon form. She showed him where the supplies he would be using were until she could get a full side bar set up somewhere. Gaudi immediately began to work on a quick drink for Emma, the soothing taste and the quick energy fix was needed. Soon the day came to an end, he had unpacked the one bag he was going to use to bring his minor belongings home. Emma had put on a movie in the private theater in her house. Soon a scene came on, a monster showing it's true form to their friend with them immediately accepting the monster as they had known each other. Gaudi couldn't help but want to tell Emma. Gaudi stood up from his seat and motioned Emma to follow him. She followed Gaudi into the front yard of her house. She didn't know what was going on but she thought it was going to be fun.

"So the monster scene that was just on in there, this is kinda that. I'm... I know its weard but I'm... I've wanted to say this for a while that... I know what im trying to say here."

Gaudi kept getting caught up in his words, wanting to just show her. Emma was confused but more happy than anything, it was cute.

"Ok, I'm just going to show you, but I want you to know that I really like you and that I would never do anything to hurt you and I will only ever try to protect you."

She didn't know what he was talking about but it didn't really matter, but her calm face soon went from calm and happy to horrified in just a few seconds. Gaudi's skin started to shift and ridges soon formed, and those into scales. His limbs started to extend as his clothes started to undergo the same process as his skin. Wings and a tail started to form from nothing and grow with him. And in a matter of seconds, a full dragon stood in front of Emma, the dragon of Joy. His pink scales glistened in the moon light. Gaudi fell onto all fours, accidentally shaking the ground with his weight. Emma instinctively took a step back, her face only held one emotion, fear. She was to afraid to move, her muscles were frozen and her heart was racing. Gaudi, tried to keep his smile, but his face was burning with worrie and confusion. Emma took a step back towards the house and Gaudi's instincts started to kick in. He lowered his back closer to the ground as if to pounce on Emma while his face stayed the same. They stood in silence studying each other for a few seconds. Emma made the first move, running toward the front door to get to the safety of her home.

Gaudi jumped, missing the door and jumping past her, trying to reach out his claws to stop her from entering the house. He tried to tell her to wait but she ran threw the door without listening. Emma grabbed her phone and started to unlock it as Gaudi reached threw the open doors and grabbed her. She screamed as a claw came up and flicked the phone out of her hands. He gently pulled her out of the house, holding her in front of him so they could talk. She was punching at his claws, screaming and begging to be let go, trying everything to get away. Gaudi knew she was making to much noise, trying to calm her down. "Please, I'm not going to hurt you. You wanted to know how I make the drink and I told you, magic, It's ok, your safe just please be a little quieter for just a minute so I can explain. " Emma kept screaming for help, her voice barely able to travel to the nearest house. Gaudi kept trying to reassure her that everything was fine when something caught his eye. The neighbors light a ways down the road turned on as a silhouette walked near the blinds. Gaudi ducked between the house and the lake as Emma kept screaming. There was a scene in a older movie that had a monster eating something whole and making it completely silent. He had swallowed a few squirrels and birds when he was younger and put them in his storage stomach to transport them so his mother who could heal them but nothing as big as a human. With a sorry look on his face he shoved Emma into his open maw, making sure not to hit his teeth. He gulped again and again, the sound of Emma's pleas getting quieter and quieter. The taste of chocolate was so strong and he couldn't help but let out a sigh, his eyes widened as he did. He forced himself to gulp faster to stop it from happening again. Eventually her head reached his stomach, a thin shallow liquid pooling at the bottom, covering her already drool covered face. Gaudi closed his mouth, one final powerful gulp and he let gravity do the rest of the work. Gaudi held his throat high, he let out a sigh as his stomach started to expand, a tear started to well in his eyes as he thought about what he had done. His ate his only friend who helped him stay away from his family, and it felt amazing. He knew it was safe but he didn't know if Emma knew, he wanted to help her but he didn't know how. Emma slowly slid into his stomach, the mussels of his throat and stomach started to crush her and she had to pull herself into a ball. After a few seconds of contemplation she started kicking the walls of his stomach and stretching as far as she could when she was fully in. She begged him to let her out, offering money and whatever else, she was fully crying and hearing her cry started to make Gaudi cry.

She couldn't believe it, her friend, the only person she felt she could auctly confide in betrayed her. Gaudi didnt know what to do, his mind raced as his stomach started to hurt. Maby he could make it all seem like a dream, marking a sleep spell into the dirt and raising his hands to his stomach. The clear liquid pooling around her started to glow, more of the liquid started to seep from the muscles of Gaudi's stomach even faster. A blue dust was mixed into the new stomach fluid. She touched a bit, her mind started to swirl and the tips of her fingers went numb. She tried to stay away from the new stomach fluids but it was no use, she begged gaudy not to digest her. A small amount of the liquid driped onto her head, her legs and mid torso were already numb and she couldn't think anymore, she kept awake for as long as she could, but her mind was falling and she couldn't help but drift off.

Gaudi started to calm down, he could feel Emma slowly drifting off to sleep, she stopped fighting his stomach walls and her begging turned into quiet mumbling and sobs. He started to think of how he could spin this so she wouldn't remember what had happened. He could clean up and stay in his human form, putting her back in bed and pretend it was a dream when she wakes up. His mind started to drift and his eyelids were heavy, he laid down on the grass between the house and the lake. He started to think about how he could help her, and if she found out would she let him stay. The grass was so soft, Gaudi's mind started to swirl as he unknowingly let the sleeping spell take him.

Timeskip: Morning

Gaudi woke up to the sound of birds chirping, he looked over to his side and saw a house, the morning sun bounced off his scales and onto the white walls of the house. His gut felt amazing, he hadn't felt this full ever but he didn't remember eating anything. He rolled onto his back, the weight of whatever was in his stomach pressing onto his back was nice but he wanted to know what happened. He rubbed his distended gut for a while, it was so sensitive he almost passed out from the feeling and went back to sleep. As he massaged his stomach he thought he could feel it moving. He sat up, his claws lightly dug into the ground as he watched his stomach. He held his breath for a second watching his stomach slowly, ever so slightly expanding and contracting. If his stomach was moving while he was holding his breath then what did he eat. He laid back down and extended his neck around the corner of the house, there was a limo in the driveway and the doorway looked familiar. He realized he was at Emma's house, had it worked, did he tell her that he was a dragon, but if he was out here than were was..... EMMA!

He rolled over, immediately grabbing his stomach and pushing it forward and forcing himself to get her out. His stomach started to hurt as he pushed Emma up his throat, he couldn't stop thinking about what he had done. If she was awake she would deffenetly call the cops and he would have to leave, and if she wasn't awake how would he fix this. Gaudi was finally able to push her out, he positioned his tounge over his teeth and she slid off of it like a slow sticky slide and onto the grass. She was still somehow asleep but covered in stomach fluids. Gaudi picked her up and hastily blew off all the fluids that were on her, he couldn't feel anything in his hands or claws when he set her back down on the grass. He quickly shifted back to his human form and cafully picked her up and carried her inside. He put her on the bed in the middle of her bedroom with her head resting carefully on her pillows and lazily threw the covers over her before he quickly walked out of the room. He started to make her drink, it was still his job and he would only be fired if she remembered. He worked as fast as he could and looked for a cup, eventually finding a water bottle and peeling one of the stickers down to scratch in the rune. He put the sticker back on and as he poured the drink into the cup he heard slight movement from Emma's room.

Emma woke up slightly moving her arms, somehow the blancket was still on her bed when she woke up. She was getting ready for the surge of pain whenever she wakes up but it never came. She opened her eyes expecting them to stay heavy and her not wanting to get out of bed, but she was fully awake, she sat up in her bed and looked over to her clock seeing that it's an hour until she has to be at work. She got out of bed already dressed, but her clothes were a bit wet for some reason, oh well. She walked out of her room seeing Gaudi pouring a drink into a water bottle. He was already smiling and it only grew as he saw her walking out of her room.

"Goodmorning, it's nice to see you awake"

"Morning Gaudi"

"I tried something new for you. A white hot chocolate, courtesy of your new personal barista Gaudium"

"Thanks, it's nice that... wait, Gaudium"

"Right, I've never told you my full name before"

"I thought your name was just Gaudi"

"Ya, well... I put my full name down for my last job and no one wanted to call me that so they called me Gaudi and I've just been using that ever since"

"After all this time I'm just now learning your name? Why didn't you tell me before"

"I guess it never came up"

"Huh. Well work starts soon so I should get going"

"Alright, when you get back we could finish that movie we started last night"

"Right... it was getting good to, why did we stop watching"

"Oh umm... I don't remember"

"Well I better get going, thank you for this and I will see you when I get back"

Emma walked out of the house, Gaudium was still smiling at her as she walked out. Whenever he smiled it made her happier. She walked down the intricate brick pavement to her car but, something to the right caught her eye. It looked like a liquid splatter, it was thick and was left in small clumps around her tree and on the lawn. She walked across the lawn and knelt down to get a better look at one of the bigger clumps. There was tiny blue specks in it and it looked like they were glowing. She stuck two of her fingers in it and brought a small amount of it closer to her eyes to get a better look. It was sentless and it was silky smooth but also sticky. The blue specks in it started to move closer to her fingers and once they touched her fingers it started to numb them. Her mind started to swirl as she couldn't keep a thought strait. She flicked the substance off her fingers and wiped the rest off on the grass.

Once she got into her car she took a sip of her drink, her mind started to straighten and she kept thinking about the substance. She had seen it before while she was terrified, she thought hard on it and eventually it clicked. The pink scales, the flesh surounding her, falling into his stomach... Gaudi's stomach. She rubbed the pocket of her pants leg, it was still slightly damp. Once she felt it her face slowly shifted to pure terror and she started to shake, he eyes quickly started to well with tears. She looked at the window to the kitchen in her house, Gaudium was silently sweeping away at the floor. He seemed focused and scared but once he looked out to Emma his smile reappeared. Emma couldn't help but smile back, it was involuntary but she still felt happier when she looked at him. She pulled out of the driveway and started to think about everything that happened, shaking all the way. She was eaten whole, how was she still alive, she should have been digested, why did the slime make her numb, how could he do this? She had so many questions she couldn't think strait, all she could think about was how her friend betrayed her. She instinctively parked not realizing where she was, her mind still raced as she looked up and, all at once, it stopped.

She instinctively parked outside the coffee shop and when she realized it her mind slowed to a stop. She sat in her car for a while just trying to process what she was doing and slowly her mind became more active. She started thinking about how he worked there, her friends forcing her to meet him, the happy times they had together in and out of this shop. He was a friend, he always looked out for her and he thought he could trust her enough to tell her something probably nobody else knew about him. He may have ate her but she was fine, and for the single second she remembered not struggling it was almost peaceful. Like the biggest hug he could give her, and somewhere deep down she felt protected, almost enough to stay there. She started to remember what he said before he was a dragon and as he was a dragon and like he said, she was safe. He fully trusted her and she trusted him. She started to drive to her work, she thought about what she would say to him when she got home, maybe he'd be willing enough to show her again... and possibly eat her again.

#safe vore #soft vore #unwilling prey #unwilling vore #fearplay

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