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let-it-raines · 4 years

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I Hope We Never See October (4/?)

When his personal life and football career go up in flames, Killian Jones escapes England for America, finding seclusion in Martha’s Vineyard in order to hide from his demons. It’s a fresh start, or at the very least a paused moment in his life, and all he needs is a few months alone to allow his heart to heal. He doesn’t count on meeting Emma Swan.

Emma’s life depends on tourists who come to the island every summer. It’s how she makes her money working in restaurants and clubs across the vineyard, but every year, she cannot wait until autumn comes and her life returns to normal. She especially cannot wait for Killian Jones to leave.

Rating: Mature

Found on Ao3: Beginning | Current

Found on Tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

-/-

Emma has this thing about the summer tourists in Martha’s Vineyard. There are several types, but they can be categorized into two main groups: the annuals versus the one-timers.

It’s pretty self-explanatory. The annuals come back every year. They usually have a family home on the island or in Cape Cod or Falmouth, and they come back year after year to do the same things – from taking out the same boats to eating at the same restaurants. Then there are the one-timers. They get an opportunity to come and spend a week or two taking pictures, eating food, spending time by the ocean, going on hikes, and then they never, ever come back. They’ve seen enough.

The annuals pay for Emma’s life. The one-timers, though, keep her entertained.

If she never has to see them again, there are no consequences, no attached strings. It’s the perfect distraction, especially in the past few years, and she will not be ashamed of the choices she makes.

Not at all.

Except, right now, she’s seriously questioning her choices because sometimes Emma can be pretty damn stupid.

But then Killian’s hand slips down the back of her thigh, fingertips pressing into her skin, kneading it in the places that bring her pleasure, and she forgets how stupid this is and remembers how good it feels. His voice is deep with his teasing, his mouth soft, and when he uses his knee to nudge hers to the side, Emma complies and arches her back as he slowly guides himself into her. Her heartbeat speeds up, sweat already forming at the nape of her neck that not even the breeze from the open window can fix, and she continues to adjust her hips as Killian finds his rhythm.

It’s a damn good rhythm, one that only takes a little instruction on her part, before he’s leaning over her, sucking the skin at her neck, and building her toward a higher and higher pleasure as he whispers filth into her skin.

And for the minutes that it takes, ones that seem to fly and drag on all at once, Emma forgets how monumentally stupid she’s being by sleeping with him. It was a moment of weakness, one where she was lonely and he was there with his stupidly handsome features and charming stories, and it seemed like the obvious thing to do.

Even though she really did simply intend to invite him in for coffee, but how many people truly believe that offer to be taken at face value?

Emma thinks he’s an obnoxious flirt, but at least it’s nice to know he can back his words up with actions.

Emma scratches her fingers down his back until she’s tightening them around the muscles in his arms. He’s fitter than she imagined, which is always a bonus, and his muscles twitch as he continues to move in her, over her, until his hand reaches between them and Emma finds the subtle bliss she doesn’t often find from arrangements like this.

So, she’s stupid, but at least she’s satisfied.

Killian hovers over her as his thrusts become more erratic, as he finds his own release, his forehead pressed into hers, and then he’s rolling over, taking a breather next to her, before getting up to dispose of the condom and put his briefs back on. Emma does the same, using the bathroom to pee and wash her face, before putting on a t-shirt and pair of underwear.

“So, that was,” Killian begins when she comes back from the bathroom. He’s sitting on the end of the bed, body still on near full display as he presses his hands back.

“You’re only staying here this summer, right?” Emma interrupts.

He raises one brow, then the next. “Aye. I don’t imagine I’ll return next year. My life should be…less complicated then.”

Okay, good. Maybe she’s not so stupid after all.

Because he may be friends with Ariel and Eric, which isn’t the clean break she’s looking for, but it’s clean enough.

She wonders how his life could be complicated. She doesn’t know much about him, but she knows enough. He’s rich, can take months off from work to vacation, and there’s little chance he actually knows what complicated is.

“Why do you ask?” he continues, scratching his neck.

Emma shrugs. “Because this wasn’t…this was casual. I’m not into having a relationship, especially with someone who has an expiration date.”

“Trust me, love,” he laughs, “neither am I. I do fancy you from time to time when you’re not yelling at me, but I know what this was. I’m not under any impressions otherwise.”

Emma nods and grabs a pair of sleep shorts from one of her drawers. “Well, good. That’s good.”

This is always the awkward part. Do they stay or do they go? Emma votes go, but she’s unsure how to ask without coming off as a total bitch.

Especially since this is a man who already knows her more than he should.

“Yeah,” he smiles, “it is good.” He leans down and picks up his jeans, standing to slide them on. Why the hell are his pants that tight. “But I have the feeling you’re waiting on me to leave, so I can do that for you.”

“Oh, I - ”

“Perceptive, Swan.” He points to his head. “I told you I’m actually quite perceptive, and I meant it. Have a good night, love. I’m sure I’ll see you around the island.”

He finishes getting dressed as Emma stands in the corner and crosses her arms, watching him. Not five minutes ago she was watching him move in a completely different way, and the memories nearly tempt her to ask him to stay.

She’s stupid, but she’s not that stupid.

“Yeah,” Emma sighs, “I’ll see you around.”

-/-

July

“Can you work Saturday, Ashley?” Emma asks as she pulls up next week’s schedule. “Heather apparently can’t, and I have to have someone cover her shift. You’ll get good tips.”

“I can work then, but I need next Thursday morning off. I have an appointment.”

Emma adds Ashely’s name into the chart and looks up as Ashley rubs her hand over her stomach. “I’ll cover you. Are you finding out the gender?”

“I am. I’m excited.”

“Good.” Emma closes her laptop and stands from behind her desk. “I’m glad you’re excited. How are things out there?”

“Busy. I’d expect nothing less from the holiday week.”

Emma inhales before breathing out a slow exhale. “I wouldn’t either. I’ll come and help out. Make sure you’re taking enough breaks and drinking enough water. I don’t want you exhausting yourself.”

“I’m not,” Ashley promises, but Emma knows how tired the girl is, “but I really appreciate you.”

They walk out of Emma’s office, and while Ashley goes back to her section, Emma starts doing her rounds, checking in with her servers and cooks, making sure everything stays up to the standards she needs. This is one of their busiest weeks of the year, and she can’t afford for anything to go wrong. They had a hiccup last week with the bread order, and with how many burgers they’re selling, she really can’t afford for that to happen again.

Once she’s done checking inside, she walks to their outside area. It’s such a pleasant day out with the sun shining directly over them. The boardwalks are full of people, the beaches the same, and she sees more boats out on the water than usual.

She also sees a familiar mop of black hair sitting alone at the end of their outdoor patio. She hasn’t seen him since he left her house a few days ago, headlights of his Jeep fading in the distance.

Go figure that he’s here again. He seems to be fond of the place.

“You really like the food here, huh?”

“That and the manager.”

Emma laughs and leans against the railing as a family boards a boat a few feet away, their voices carrying over to Emma. It’s four of them, mom, dad, brother, and sister. It’s the picture-perfect New England family, and she imagines all the brochures in the tourism office look just like this.

And not at all like her.

“Laying on the charm a little too thick,” Emma sighs, shaking her head. “But I have a feeling that’s your thing.”

“I like to think it’s just the right amount.” He spears a bit of his omelet and pops a bite in his mouth. “What are you doing out here?”

“My job.”

His brow arches and he reaches out his arm, moving it around to the railing. His skin has tanned since she first met him, and she must admit, at least to herself, that he looks good. “You check in on all your customers like this?”

“Just the ones who keep coming back.” “To be fair, I figured I could avoid you seeing me if I sat out here.”

Emma rolls her eyes as the family’s boat starts and begins to stutter away. “Look, you can come here all you want. I know I - I didn’t make it seem that way, but I don’t care what you do or don’t do as long as you don’t expect anything from me.”

“Not a thing, love.”

“Good.” Emma stands, tightening the knot on her Blue Dog Tavern t-shirt. “But, you know, if you did happen to be up late at night, and I happened to be up, I wouldn’t oppose you stopping by for some coffee.”

“You wouldn’t?”

“Well, some nights, of course. When I feel like it.”

Killian chuckles and leans back in the chair, the front legs coming off the ground. “When you feel like it. And how would I know that?”

Emma pulls her phone out of her back pocket and holds it out to him. Without a word, he types his number in and hands it back to her. “That’s how you’ll know. I hope you enjoy your meal, Jones.”

Emma taps him on the shoulder and walks away, shaking her head. She’s stupid. So damn stupid, but as she walks back into the main dining hall and sees how crazy it is, she thinks she deserves a bit of a break, a bit of fun. She’s an adult. She can make stupid decisions sometimes.

Especially hot, British stupid decisions who are here on a time limit.

Her life is messy already. What’s one more thing?

-/-

Emma pops open a beer bottle, throwing the top away and settles on David and Mary Margaret’s pool lounge chair, pulling her legs up to keep them out of the sun. Ruby, meanwhile, is on full display on a pool float, as is David. Mary Margaret is joining Emma in the no sun club.

“So, how are you lately?” Mary Margaret asks, sipping on her lemonade. “I feel like I haven’t talked to you in a week.”

“That’s because you haven’t.”

Mary Margaret laughs and puts her drink on the table between them. “Well, you have to tell me what you’ve been up to. I don’t know how you deal with months without - ”

“Oh my God,” Ruby screeches, nearly flopping into the pool before she paddles her way toward the two of them, “I totally forgot.”

“What’d you forget, hon?”

“That I saw Emma’s hot British friend running yesterday, and I nearly passed out.”

“Why?” Emma asks, sipping on her beer again. “Were you running too? I told you to stop doing that when you haven’t had water in ages. You’ll legitimately pass out.”

Ruby kicks and some of the water splashes onto the side of the pool. “Hey, careful!” David yells. “I just cleaned this grout.”

“Yes, Dad,” Ruby mocks, kicking more water before paddling to the edge of the pool. “Anyway, I meant to say that I saw him, was reminded of just how attractive he is, and Emma, my darling, I must say that there is no harm in having a little summer fun. In fact, I encourage it. It’s good for the soul. And the vagina for that matter.”

Emma spits out her beer, the alcohol spilling onto the tile, and she swear David gives her murder eyes even though he’s gone back to lounging with his eyes closed. “You need a filter, Rubes.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Emma laughs and stretches her legs out, letting her toes peep out of the shade and into the brightness of the sun. “I will have you know, though, that he doesn’t plan on returning next summer. He has an expiration date.”

“So you fucked him?” Ruby asks, a little too gleeful.

“You can fill in the blanks.” Emma pulls her feet back under the shade and closes her eyes.

She’s not shy with her friends, especially Ruby. they know enough about each other’s lives to fill books about, but some things, Emma keeps under wraps unless she absolutely has to share them. Or unless she’s in the mood. Right now, with David nearby and with Mary Margaret totally judging her.

The woman is kind and fun and supportive, but she also met David a decade ago and knew he was the one on the first date. Personally, Emma thinks that is bullshit, but she’d never tell anyone that. You can know someone for years without truly knowing them, so how could anyone be so sure on a first date?

David Nolan and Mary Margaret Blanchard somehow were.

“You know, Emma,” Mary Margaret begins, “that wall you keep up may keep out pain, but it may also keep out love.”

Emma laughs and presses the cold bottle to her lips. “Marg, I’m sleeping with a guy for fun. It’s not a love match. Let me have this. In September, I’ll go back to being the Emma Swan who doesn’t do stupid things like this.”

“I didn’t - ”

“It’s fine.” Emma finishes her drink and pulls her hair into a high bun before standing and walking toward the pool, quickly submerging herself in the water to get used to the chill. She swims over to David and pulls on his float. “Hey.”

He lifts his sunglasses. “Hey.”

“How goes the job? Still seeing a bunch of cats and dogs be cute?”

“Cute and gross. What’d Mary Margaret say to make you leave your cocoon of shade?”

“Nothing. Just thought I’d come say hi to you. I do like you from time to time.”

David chuckles and slides his glasses back on. “I only believe half of that, but it’s alright. I won’t push.”

“And that’s why I love you.”

Emma stays with the Nolans and Ruby for the rest of the afternoon, and no one bugs her about her dating life, thank God. They all mean well, truly, but sometimes the last thing Emma wants to do is listen to them. On the spectrum of how they approach love, Emma is somewhere in the middle. She’s not David and Mary Margaret with their love conquers all attitude, and she’s not Ruby with her casual, carefree approach to simply seeing where the wind takes her. She’s...well, she doesn’t know what she is. All Emma knows is that while she’s experienced the highs of what love can bring, she has also experienced the lowest of the lows.

It’s safer in the middle. If you don’t fall in love, you can’t get your heart broken. But you can have some fun when you need it.

Hence, Killian, even if he is not the someone she expected to be having her summer fun with.

God, when she thinks like that, it sounds like she’s narrating a beach movie where all the colors are too bright and no one ever sweats despite spending their entire lives outside.

Speak of the devil, a group of young girls ride down the street on bikes, laughing, their hair falling behind them, and then two minutes later, they’re back again. What the hell?

That’s when she realizes they have a friend with a camera standing on the sidewalk, taking pictures of them, and Emma rolls her eyes before turning to grab her purse and her keys. “I’m going to head home,” she yells out. “I want to beat all the drunk drivers and the illegal fireworks home.”

“Wait, don’t go,” Mary Margaret insists from her spot on the couch. “Let me get you some leftovers.”

“Marg, you don’t have to feed me.”

“I know, I know.” She stands from the couch and heads toward the kitchen. “But you so rarely cook, and it’s good for you to have real meals. And since you’re alone without - ”

“Oh my God,” Ruby squeals, king her leg out. She nearly knocks over the vases and books Mary Margaret keeps on her coffee table. “Holy fuck. Like, fuck.”

Emma drops her purse. “What?”

Ruby raises her hand and folds her fingers, beckoning Emma to come closer to her. Emma rolls her eyes, but she does it anyway, plopping down next to Ruby.

“Okay, so, I couldn’t stop thinking about your new boy toy,” she starts.

“Not a toy,” Emma corrects. “He’s fine with the arrangement too.”

“Whatever. Anyway, I wanted to know more about your little sex buddy, not that I think he’s little in any way, so I went to Ariel’s Instagram, searched through her followers, and found him. And, well…”

Ruby shoves her phone into Emma’s hands, and Emma looks down, scanning through the photos. It’s a lot of group shots of men in soccer uniforms, and she thinks that’s weird but okay. He’s a member of a little soccer club back home. That seems like something rich people in England would do. It’s probably more interesting than her extracurricular hobbies which consist of eating, going to the gym, and sitting in David and Mary Margaret’s living room. It’s not like she has any room to judge someone over what they do in their free time.

Still, she continues scrolling, careful not to like anything, and it’s not until she comes across a picture of him with his shirt off that she stops to really think.

Not because he has his shirt off. She’s seen that in person. She doesn’t need to see that in pictures.

But because of the number of likes on the picture.

And the number of followers he has.

And then the little blue checkmark next to his name.

Holy fuck indeed.

“So, that’s how he has money to rent one of the big houses over in Edgartown.” Emma closes out the app and hands Ruby back her phone. “Well, that’s interesting.”

“Interesting?” Ruby scoffs, getting loud enough that David finally looks up with his own phone. Mary Margaret remains clueless in the kitchen. “You’re sleeping with a literal professional athlete, and that’s your reaction?”

Emma shrugs and stands from the couch as David asks Ruby to see what she was showing Emma. “David obviously finds it more interesting than me. I don’t care who he is or what he does or doesn’t do. That’s none of my business.”

Ruby gapes, David does too, and while Emma does have a bit of a weird feeling in her gut, she truly does not care what Killian Jones does. She’s got a few questions, sure, but much like the other men she’s been with lately, all she needs to know is if they’re clean and if they have condoms.

A little crude, but it’s the truth.

“Holy shit, Emma,” David whispers, but Emma is already ready to go, making her way into the kitchen to get the tupperware from Mary Margaret before this becomes a thing and she gets home too late.

It’s not a thing.

And she wants to go home.

-/-

It’s definitely not a thing, but she does think about it the next time he comes over. Not for long, though. Just when she notices a noticeably defined muscle she’s a little jealous of, but then he does this particularly delicious thing with his tongue or his hips that makes her completely forget about it.

And it’s not a thing when she thinks about it when she sees him running along the sidewalk outside the Blue Dog. She can run. She’s fit. She hates doing it, but she can. He just seems...graceful or something that she isn’t always. It’s difficult for her to articulate in her mind.

It continues to not be a thing each time she sees him, even when he invites her to his place for a change of scenery. The house, surprisingly, isn’t overly big compared to some of the other houses in the neighborhood, but it’s definitely not a place she could ever afford.

Not if she worked her literal ass off for five lifetimes and never spent any of her money.

All of the finishes are new, the design that modern coastal feel Emma sees on all the HGTV shows, and she can’t say she minds it. Her taste has always been a little more eclectic, but it’s nice, clean. And maybe one day when she’s not living in someone else’s house, she’ll actually decorate where she lives to her taste.

One day.

“Nice place,” Emma says, craning her neck so he can run his lips in just the right spot. He’s a quick study, which she appreciates, and he always remembers whatever she tells him.

“I like it,” he mumbles, his voice vibrating against her skin.

“Is this your style? Do you live in a big coastal home back in England?”

She doesn’t know why she asks, but she does.

He pulls back and raises his brow, which is this thing he’s always doing. At first it was annoying, like he was always questioning her, but now she realizes his brow likely has a mind of its own.

“Why do you ask, love?”

And much like the brow, that word seems to slip off his tongue without much thought. It has also become less annoying.

“No reason. Just curious.”

“I thought we didn’t ask personal questions.”

“You,” she corrects, tapping his chest, “don’t ask personal questions. I never said I couldn't ask.”

“I don’t think those are rules I agreed to.”

Emma ducks from underneath his arms, making her way into the open space of the living room. She unbuttons her shirt until her bra is exposed, and Killian’s eyes immediately glance down. Men are so easy.

“Okay, fair,” Emma sighs, running her hand over the back of a very well-made couch. “If I ask you a personal question, you can ask me one in return. But I have the right to veto. It’s a tit for tat situation.” He opens his mouth, and she already knows what he’s going to say. Again, men are so easy, and this is one that never passes up the opportunity for an innuendo. “Don’t say it, Jones.”

“Wasn’t going to.” He strides toward her, his movements fluid, and he puts his pointer finger in the empty belt loops of her jean shorts to pull her closer to him. He’s ridiculously warm. Then again, that could just be the flush in her cheeks. “And to answer your question, no, my flat in England doesn’t look like this. The colors are darker, but I do have a lot of blue and a few nautical pieces.”

“So you like the ocean then?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he corrects, tugging on the loops again, “you’ve already asked your question.”

“Asking if you like the ocean is not a personal question.”

“Anything can be a personal question depending on the person.” There’s a flash of something in his eyes, but Emma can’t decipher it. She’s usually a little better at reading people than that. “That can be your question for tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” she asks as his hands sneak around to her ass.

“Yep. One personal question a day. Keeps things interesting while separate.”

“And we keep the veto rule?”

“Aye, we keep the veto rule, Swan,” he smiles, dipping his head down to kiss her. That’s the entire reason they’re here, after all.

“Good.”

Tomorrow, she’s totally going to ask a better question than if he likes the beach or not. He left England to hang out in Martha’s Vineyard for a few months. He obviously likes it.

“So,” Killian begins as he skillfully snaps the hook on her bra off. Emma lifts her back from the couch to give him easier access. “Tell me, darling, do you like seafood?”

His mouth grazes over her nipple, and Emma yanks on his hair, hard. “Is this your one personal question?”

“Aye.”

Emma rolls her eyes at the same time that she rolls her hips, and she thinks there must be some kind of metaphor for her life choices there.

“Love it.”

“Good,” he whispers as his warm hands run down her bare stomach and underneath the waistline of her shorts. “Then I insist you stay for dinner.”

And because Emma has been all into making stupid decisions over the past month, she does.

-/-

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#I hope we never see october #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan #queue poetic noble land mermaid

97 notes · View notes

just-like-playing-tag · 3 years

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I just finished chapter 181.4 and AHHHHH it's so wholesome I'm gonna cry. anna and gilda trying on clothes is so adorable and all the kids look so happy I'm just....GAH I love them....

I KNOW RIGHT IT'S JUST SO GOOD it's???? Everything I've ever wanted?????????? I was so happy when I first read it, it's just amazing, so pure and wholesome. Hadn't it been for Emma not having her memories it would have probably made it to my #1 favorite chapter, but even with that I think it wins a solid third place!!!!! It's just that... You know how passionate I am about the other, sidelined children that are not the trio, so having a chapter that gave a bit of spotlight to every single of them + trio awesomeness was truly delightful. Might as well go through all of it again while I'm here!!! Following random assorted thoughts in dots eheh. Some are directly taken from the comments I shared with friends after reading it for the first time!!!

Confirmation that all the kids live together in a big house thank you very much that's exactly what I needed

The implication that Emma kept living with grandpa, so cute!!!!! I love that he's not alone anymore.

OLIVER AND VIOLET IN FLIGHT ATTENDANT UNIFORMS AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAFNDOALDHOEBDKABALAABDKBSKAB

Just. You cannot understand how happy I was the first time I saw this spread. The kids finally getting to do what they've always wanted to do... Yeah it made me tear up a little. A little lot.

I like to think the GP group did the same thing on another day!!

THIS. THIS. THIS. I loved this panel so so much like... Cliché scenes of guys peaking over girls at sauna are dead, only "girls and boys wholesomely waving at each other from one side to the other of the bath" scenes from now on. It was just so beautiful and refreshing, it really makes me smile just to think about it. Thoma and Lani goofing with each other and Ray 💢ing at them!!!!!!! Ray / Thoma / Lani interactions are the best and these little things really warm my heart besides what's up with the monkey

THIS WAS SO FUNNY AND MADE ME LAUGH SO MUCH. THE MEMES THAT FOLLOWED THIS WERE EPIC. So Norman tho ahah. Norman be like:

Norman: OK PEOPLES WE NEED ALL THE MONEY WE CAN GET TO FIND EMMA. I WANT FOR ALL THE MOST ADVANTAGED TECHNOLOGY TO BE USED. THIS IS THE MOST IMPORTANT MATTER OF OUR LIVES. I DON'T WANT A SINGLE RESOURCE TO GO SPARE.

Some innocent, naïve little kid: Maybe we could ask the Ratris for a tip?

Norman:

Norman: Did I fucking stutter.

It's just so neat because you have Norman, pure, soft, won't hurt a fly... But then you also have Norman @Ratris "I would sell you to Satan for a corn chip"

Most men: I don't care about money when it comes to my girlfriend

Norman: *literally starts an entire, successful business in a year to find Emma * get on my level

I love Sonya getting a position in the company, she's so rarely mentioned but still so cool nonetheless!!!!!!!!! Ray is vice-ceo, but has probably only been assigned the role by Norman who wanted to have him around and near him, and probably doesn't do much more than mock Norman and eat chips ahah.

Just. This is so wholesome!!! This is literally the only chapter ever. Just look at them!!! I really like how the other, not-escapees children are occasionally portrayed. I love that, even tho we don't get to know what they wished for (except for Phil and Sherry), at least we know they took part of the trip and got to see their dreams come true as well!! (you can see Hans here, but featured in the chapter are also Marnya, Chamberlain, Naila, Carol...)

GILDA AND ANNA ANDKSNAJSKSNKSMA I CRIED I SCREMAED I SCRIED I literally died. They're just so pure and wonderful and that's what they deserve and their happiness is what fits them best and aaaaahhh. I'm just so happy for them (╥﹏╥)

I ADORED them tagging Emma along, it was so sweet and wholesome!!! Really love the outfit they put together for Emma: it's way more sportish than theirs - with shorts and baseball hat and no frills - which is just *so* nice? It's like them wanting to make Emma part of something they enjoy, but paying attention to keeping her comfortable- it's just so wholesome.

What I mean is: you know Gilda and Anna are good™ when not only they dress up Emma, but they dress up Emma with things she likes + she's comfortable in (Also fun fact, in a panel from that scene Emma has her left ear!!)

Gilda with low ponytails!!!!!!

I just. Don't have words for all the children's wishes. Every single panel is so wholesome and makes me cry. It's exactly what these kids deserve and it couldn't make me happier to see them finally being this happy, doing the things they've always wanted to do. It's just. I'm crying again. Thank you Kaiu Shirai and Posuka Demizu for the best manga chapter ever created

DO I EVEN NEED MORE WORDS I'VE BEEN QUITE LITERALLY SPAMMING ALL OF MY FRIENDS WITH THIS PICTURE FOR MONTHS. I just think it was very thoughtful of Posuka Demizu of giving us the best Ray panel ever even AFTER the manga had ended just. Wow.

I love how Norman is always... Kindly explaining things to Emma... He's so soft!!!!

NORMAN NORMAN NORMAN honestly I love him so freaking much. Like I was so so worried- reading this for the first time, I remember being literally terrified they would have pulled a NorEmma and make Norman's wish Emma-centered ("I want to spend time with Emma" "I want for Emma to be happy"). I was so glad that wasn't the case!!!! Sis his wish is so pure, and fits Norman so much... He just loves *both* of his friends more than anything, and I'm so happy they didn't take that away from him. I remember when I first saw it I was like "oh right, now I remember why he's my favorite character" 😂😂

HIS SOFT EYES IN THE PANEL ABOVE I swear I would die for these kids. Norman really is so precious!!!!

Demizu really outdid herself this time... All the characters look so gorgeous... That one Ray panel™ that deserves to be put in a museum... The Sagrada Familia... The giraffes...

I mean... Ok, I'm not the biggest fan of angst- but I think at least this was very well executed. I still despise how Emma gave up on her memories... But I think they handled it well in this chapter, and no memories!Emma felt very in character!!! The losing herself in sad thoughts for a moment, and then screaming the first thing that comes to your mind just to get a grip on herself is so, so Emma. And seeing how deep down she's still the same Emma is so nice.

Lastly, throwback to my final thoughts about the chapter:

L m a o

#tpn #the promised neverland #I didn't mean to make such a long ramble I just. Have a lot of feelings about this chapter.#tpn emma #tpn ray #tpn norman #full score trio #tpn gf children #Ok tbh one (1) thing I don't like about this chapter was #Too little Don 🤔#I need my boy content 😭😭😭#But on the other hand...#Maybe then the chapter would have been so perfect that common humans wouldn't have been allowed to read it without being blinded 🤔🤔🤔#tpn gp gang #tpn manga spoilers #tpn ch 181.4 #tpn analysis #mine #people asks me stuff #Like... It's good that the chapter came out during the winter break #because when it came out I literally spent the whole night talking about it with a friend #Like literally. It was 6am and I was like *sends the Ray frame for the tenth time* “LOOK AT HIM AGAIN”#Edit: I screwed up the posts order catch me having the third mental breakdown today #Me: *messes up the posts order* Great I guess time has come to delete this blog #It's been a long day.

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peeterparkr · 4 years

Text

perfidy;tom holland|21

chapter 21: the film.

enemies to lovers au/enemies with benefits

chapter summary: The puzzle, and not being able to pretend anymore

pairing: tom holland x y/n

warnings: angst, fluffy angst, angst and more angst.

word count: 10.2 k

playlist(1: with song names)

playlist 2 (Spotify link)

Playlist: perf1Dy (one direction+solo songs)

social media before you read : Behind the scenes.

previous chapter Perennial-Prologue series masterlist

Hi :) thanks to @peachybloomss for being my beta reader.

Yes, this is the last chapter. No worries, Perennial is coming soon. (Next Friday!) But Here we go, anyways. Thanks for everyone who read this and for all the support. I hope you are as excited as I am for perennial, and well. Yes, I’m emotional you’ll be too. Cry with me.

Tom has cried with movies before. Most of us have. That unexplainable feeling that comes when watching their emotions, while rooting for the main character and seeing how it all tumbled down right before their eyes. You know, that cramp on your chest when the last hope dies, or that feeling when you don’t get a happy ending. But you know you couldn’t get one, and the bittersweet ending is the best you can hope for.

Yes, he’s cried with movies, not with movies like Titanic. No, no. Sure, it was sad. But not really the feeling they’d understand. He and y/n had talked about it, once, how neither of them had cried with that one. Even if they were so different, when it came to their emotions, they were very much alike.

And with movies, even if y/n could sometimes be one of those pretentious film students, if she enjoyed a movie, no matter how cinematically wrong it could be, she didn’t mind, she would cry. But Tom knew y/n was brilliant with emotions, she perfectly knew how to crush hearts with one sentence, with one idea for a scene. He’d seen her do it.

And that’s what led him there. Built-up scenes made to hurt him.

Tom had never felt this wrong. Like a dagger going through his chest. Dry mouth. Swollen lips. He’d swallowed his words. As if saying anything would rip off his throat.

He guessed it was his fault. Life paying off for crushing and loving his brother’s crush. It was a very complicated situation which he had yet to address with Harry. Yes, he had apologized. To his parents, to Harry, to Emma, well he had tried to, she hadn’t listened to him, and Emma’s parents. To Sam. Apologies for some sober thoughts that had accidentally transformed into drunken words.

He felt selfish, and he felt conflicted. If he’d done this to help Harry out, then why the hell did he feel so wrong?

But at least he had apologized. He had meant that apology. He was sorry, and he had said it.

Not to y/n, though. Not to y/n.

Did he have to? He probably did. Because he felt guilty because he knew that her words hadn’t been written in vain. She meant them.

He was too proud to admit that he missed her. That he’d gotten so used to waking up to her that now waking up alone made his stomach tie up in a knot. He had wanted to kiss her so badly his lips ached. He was too proud to admit that the nights were too long and that they arrived earlier, that the sun wasn’t coming out. Because he’d shown her his weakness and strengths. But it was just another story for her. A scene.

A movie he was crying with.

That’s the worst thing about heartbreak, the aftermath. Having to deal with the fact that she wasn’t there. Having to deal with the fact that no matter how angry, he still loved her. That’s the hard thing about heartbreaks. They hurt, but it’s harder to accept the fact that it probably won’t come back to what it used to be. The worst thing about heartbreak is that not even the pain can be able to take away your feelings; to think that he had the world and it vanished right in front of him, and think he had arrived at war with no weapons and she still had shot fire.

But he missed her.

And he felt it. And he was amazed by how well she knew the feeling. The heartbreak. A chest pain. An intermittent pressure in his chest. As if he couldn’t breathe. A void.

And it made him think. How she had gone through this kind of pain. How had she gotten up? How did she manage to get back around? How can you mend a broken heart? It’s impossible.

Because he remembered seeing her coming back slowly, and maybe it did make sense why when she was back on their family lunches and dinners, she’d have to excuse herself and her nose would be red when she came back. Or how she’d zone out. How she’d stay quiet, very very quiet.

Because words didn’t want to come out of his mouth. Because it had been a heartbreak caused by her. And caused by him. Now he regretted it. The damn morality speaking after drinking too much. And he shouldn’t have. He really shouldn’t have.

He’d heal. Not right now.

He couldn’t. He would, eventually. But not now. Or maybe he would if he saw her again. There was still that hopeful thought roaming around his mind. That they’d be able to work this out.

He wanted to.

He wanted to heal this, heal his sorrow. He wanted to live again, not like this. Not with this pain. How the hell had she done it? Live with the rain.

And maybe he wanted to forgive her. Because after all, she’d forgiven him.

But had she? If she’d done that, had she really forgiven him?

He needed answers.

God, not that, not even that. He just needed to see her, at least from afar. Or maybe he’d look out for her, kiss her one last time. Kiss her goodbye. Wake up from this nightmare.

He wanted this film to end already, he didn’t like it. He had cried with this one, even if he didn’t want to admit it out loud. Loving hurts.

This story was not the love story he thought he’d have with her. He needed another chance, even if they’d run out of them. What would he do if he never saw her again? What if they never had the chance to give explanations. Did she have one?

It wouldn't matter, she was home. And even if she’d hurt him, and even if he was bleeding, he knew he loved her, and he didn’t want to let her go.

And it seemed like fate had listened to his thoughts. He saw her car. And that old vintage car gave him hope, and it gave him memories, too. From their first breakfast together to when he believed it could lead somewhere. Loving can heal.

Was she in the same park as him? Was he looking for him? Maybe she was feeling the same. Maybe she too wanted to pause this for a little bit. He knew he did.

He was sitting down on a bench, Tessa running around, and back to him. He barely had any emotions and he wasn’t as cheerful to play with her. He felt numb. Yes, that’s it. Numb.

But he’d seen her car. She probably was nearby. Was she alone?

And what would he even say to her? Because he needed to apologize too. What kind of apology, he didn’t know, but he needed to apologize.

But he needed to see her, one last time. Even if it would hurt him, his last memory of her couldn’t be a picture of her on his phone. That’s not what he needed.

With pain, excitement, confusion and barely any hope of finding her, he started to look out. And he was expecting the worst. But he knew that she could mend his broken heart, and maybe it wouldn’t stop raining, but he’d enjoy it.

And maybe if someone had told him he’d regret it, he … probably wouldn’t, no, he would’ve searched for her anyway. Because maybe that was the only explanation he needed. As if he’d walked directly into a hurricane as if he was hit with a train.

He’d seen her, arms crossed as Harry was anxiously tapping his foot, avoiding her gaze. And maybe he should’ve run out right there, but he kept watching, because Tom was, beyond many things, stupidly stubborn.

She looked terrible, and that wasn’t normal of her. She looked grey, broken, weak. But she’d looked out for Harry, not for Tom. For Harry, maybe that was the explanation Tom needed. She wouldn’t look for him. And it hurt, because how many times had he not tried to call her these days, how many nights had he not craved the taste of her lips.

And she hadn’t looked up for him.

He couldn’t hear the conversation. He wasn’t close enough.

Harry was holding something, a bunch of papers. What was it?

They were angry, Tom could tell. Probably yelling at each other, their hands going up in the air, finger-pointing, fists, hands to the face. Harry stood back up, crossing his arms, Tom could tell his brother was angry, that his brother was exasperated. Holding his head, as y/n watched him and seemed stressed.

They were arguing.

But it seemed like a weird argument as if Harry didn’t want to hear what she was saying. Harry sat on the bench again as y/n moved her hands quickly, she didn’t know how to explain it.

And eventually, they both went quiet as they were both on the bench, Harry staring at the bunch of papers he was holding.

And then Harry was about to leave, and Tom saw y/n still had a lot to say so she followed after Harry.

But then, he saw it.

His world shattered.

Have you ever felt like the world is sinking? Have you ever felt the world spinning? And suddenly, he could hear every single noise. As if the city had suddenly decided to be loud, he heard car horns, children playing, couples arguing, alarms going off, every single noise getting louder as if someone was setting the fire, shooting. Too loud. The weather around him was getting so warm but he was only getting colder. His chest was shrinking, not leaving any more space for his heart, as it was pressed into a knot.

Tom was pretty sure he was about to faint.

Harry had his hands on her face and his lips on her. Harry had kissed y/n.

Harry was kissing y/n.

Harry and y/n kissed.

And he didn’t know how long it had been, but Tom felt like time had stopped for them and Tom, while the whole world was going too quickly. As if everything around kept going except for them.

Tom was sure he was hearing his heartbeat, a loud thud, his ears were buzzing.

He didn’t even notice he’d let go off Tessa’s leash, and he hadn’t even seen how Tessa had run to Harry, to interrupt the kiss. Harry’s hands had moved to her arms.

Y/N was terrified, she hadn’t moved, she had only frozen, didn’t even notice Tessa. Had she kissed him back? Tom hadn’t seen it. He couldn’t see anything. It was blurry.

She hadn’t kissed him again. And he hadn’t kissed her again. She was in shock, even… Shaking a bit. She didn’t even turn to see Tess.

Harry did, he turned to see Tessa, begging to be pet.she jumped to them.

Y/N shook her head, and turned back into reality, Tom could see she was breathing again. Both Harry and Y/N were in shock seeing the pup. It was going all in slow motion as if y/n and Harry both got the hint as they saw Tess. Y/N slowly looked up, and her eyes found Tom instantly, standing there. Weakly, he had just been shot and his knees were getting weaker by the minute, almost about to fall to the ground.

Y/N with Harry’s hands still on her arms tried to back away as she stared at Tom. She couldn’t map her emotions, that was clear.

Tom urged to rush, to leave. He couldn’t—get in their way.

He saw y/n opening her mouth to say something but he couldn’t hear about it. Everything kept going fast, and slow. Tom was going too slow.

But y/n walked out of Harry’s grip. Tom thought she would rush to him, she didn’t. She walked away from both of them, Harry stayed with Tessa.

Tom didn’t know how he managed to get back home, he didn’t know how he got there, he didn’t remember crossing any streets.

He had lost control, his heart was beating so fast, so loudly, it was going to burst out. He was barely breathing. He had to leave it all behind, that was the only answer he needed to any of the questions he’d asked in the darkness throughout these days and nights.

He probably shouldn’t have to live with it tomorrow, not with all this sorrow. Because that’s how it was supposed to be, right? Harry and her.

Though it hurt, he had to deal with it.

But had y/n kissed Harry back? Did y/n love Harry? Because y/n was an impossible case, and she probably didn’t even know it herself. That’s the problem with y/n, she never knows what she feels. She was never certain, she never did anything for the sake of doing it. She did it because she had a million reasons behind everything she did, she wasn’t spontaneous, she always loved to be premeditated. She always thinks about what she does, so that’s probably why she’d searched for Harry. Because she probably wanted to be with him. It had been her choice.

Tom got to his room, still blurry, he’d ignored Harrison, not because he wanted to but because he really couldn’t hear anything, his buzzing ears were not letting him. A headache was growing and he was slowly catching back his breath as he sat down on his bed. and when all his senses were coming back he saw an envelope.

The story had come alive. That was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Hadn’t he wanted all that his whole life? For his brother to be happy.

Then why the hell did he not want this? How selfish of Tom to be brokenhearted when he had no rights to. This was the way it was meant to be.

It would take him a few days, or months, or years even. He really didn’t want to see it. He needed to get used to the idea that Harry had kissed y/n. And he needed to get used to the idea of that. He knew he needed to get used to the idea that this was how it was supposed to be, the way it led there.

He saw his tv, paused on something. Maybe he had learned the wrong lesson. To fall into the shallow. But it didn’t make any sense. Harrison had told him she had been there before, had she been there to tell Tom how she was choosing Harry?

He shouldn’t have tried anything. Because his brother still loved y/n, if Harry had kissed y/n it had to mean that he still had feelings for him.

Nothing mattered, not even his heartbreak now. Because it hadn’t been Tom, y/n wasn’t supposed to love Tom. That’s a tragedy.

It’s clear they deserved each other, they were perfect together. Not Tom and y/n, no. That’s why throughout these years, they hadn’t worked out. Because they had always been at war, and they weren’t meant to be.

They deserved each other.

He stared at the envelope, ‘Tom’. That’s all it read. Her handwriting. He didn’t want to read it. A box, with his name.

The same box he’d seen in her room, the one box that he had wanted to open. But now he only wanted to throw it away.

How long had it been since their last kiss? It should’ve lasted longer, at least he would’ve made it worth it. It had been 16 hours, and three weeks, that’s how long it had been. But now it didn’t matter. Now he could be free knowing that she’d chosen him. Now he could ignore her, and now he didn’t need all the information she had from her.

He could stop pretending that he loved The Rolling Stones, and he could have dates that didn’t involve ‘a movie moment’, he could go out and have fun. He didn’t have to carry that stupid polaroid everywhere. He could go back to fancy restaurants, and not have to pretend he loved street hot dogs. And he could go back to not try and over analyse props on films, and he could go back to have it all simple. He didn’t have to remember the perfect pancake recipe, and he didn’t have to buy any more 80’s like clothes.

He didn’t have to pretend he cared anymore.

But he had to pretend he didn’t. Because he cared, and he did love all that stuff.

He looked up to his nightstand, yellow flowers and lavenders. And he thought about the ashes in his drawer.

He turned the TV off and opened the box. The first thing he saw was a bunch of papers. The script, printed. He picked it up and then opened his window, would he throw it all away? He gave it a second thought and then slammed it to the floor.

He sighed, took the flowers and then the script, he headed to the kitchen. He searched for a lighter and stared at the flowers and the papers, this probably was an inefficient way of accepting an apology. Maybe he was being cynical but he really didn’t want to see the flowers, and he knew that her apology wasn’t even real. He didn’t want to know what they meant.

He hated this. Because he shouldn’t be feeling this way, and though he wanted to be happy for his brother, Tom really wished it had been him. And he had believed it, that it would be them. And all he had to treasure now was New York.

And Rome. Rome.

Stupid to think that.

He wouldn’t do that again, because Tom was well aware of why he’d gone to Rome. Maybe he had been jealous, and selfish, and stupid. Yes, stupid. Because he had gone to Rome with a stupid excuse, a photoshoot. It wasn’t true. He had gone to search for her because she had been right, he couldn’t stand it, because he was arrogant and selfish and envious, and he loved her too much.

Rome had been a fairytale, even prettier than New York. So intimate, that’s probably when it should’ve started, it could’ve been prettier. Because somehow he had known that New York would be their downfall. In New York, they had touched their bodies, but in Rome, they had touched their souls. And they hadn’t even kissed. That’s how pretty it had been.

And it had all started as a dream.

Rome and New York were so different. New York was them trying to make up for all the times they could’ve kissed, and Rome felt like a summer breeze. And he still remembered that it was the time he knew he’d love her his whole life. With that pretty dress as she was holding her wine glass up, the sun hitting her face perfectly, with those red lips of her. Her laugh still echoed in his mind now and then.

A picture-perfect day. He knew that a polaroid of that day probably was hanging around her bedroom. In that alley, walls covered with plants build up until the roof with the chairs that never. A little restaurant, best pasta he’d ever had. The prettiest laugh he’d ever heard. But it had never been his.

He had been so selfish. Taking her away from Harry. And he wouldn’t do it again. No. Not again.

He needed to set it all on fire, the flowers and the script. He ignored Harrison again as he walked outside, ready to burn them. To erase the story, this was Tom burning their story. He didn’t want to read it ever again.

And he knew that it would leave a scar, and he knew that the ashes would stain, but they’d fade away with the wind. He’d had to wake up alone for a while. Did he have to do it now? Did he have to wait until he wasn’t as angry?

He sat in his garden, not ready to do it. He wasn’t ready to erase her. He didn’t want to.

But he picked up the first page, and he started to light it up in fire, seeing how it was dwindling.

“She didn’t kiss me back,” a voice said.

And Tom swore he had felt like a knife had been stabbed right on his back. He knew whose voice it was. He didn’t want to acknowledge he was there.

“Tom.”

Tom stayed quiet and then picked up the second page, but he didn’t light this one up. He saw Tess had approached him, she was back. And that only confirmed it.

“She loves you. You know?” Harry pushed again.

Tom pursed his lips, as he stared at the lighter. He kept quiet.

“Don’t burn it.”

Tom turned to his brother. How stupid it was they were fighting for a girl.

“And do you love her?” Tom asked.

Harry sat across him. “I don’t know.”

That was the answer he didn’t need to hear.

Tom looked up. He hadn’t really talked to Harry. They’ve said ‘sorry’, and then ignored each other. He knew his relationship with his brother was bruised forever. How would Harry forgive him? He probably wouldn’t. And could he forgive him for kissing y/n? But Harry didn’t have to apologize to him.

“I don’t know,” Harry repeated. “I thought….” He sighed. “All my life I thought it would feel different.”

Tom stayed quiet.

“Dunno why I did that,” Harry gulped her. “The worst thing that could happen to me was losing her and now I pushed her out.

Tom watched him.

“Now she’ll be a stranger, huh, we can’t fix this,” Harry gulped. “She gave this to me,” he said showing the same bunch of papers that Tom had received this morning. Harry took a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“What?”

“Kissing her. I guess I thought I would lose nothing. I knew I’d lost her already and I lost Emma.”

“You haven’t lost Emma.”

Harry smiled sadly. “She gave the ring back,” he shook his head. “I don’t blame her. I was still confused.” Harry scowled. “Well, I dunno. I guess Emma realized it, and I blame myself, I always did give it to Y/N. I know I always moved mountains for her, and I can’t blame Emma. And I can’t believe I made Emma feel less important, and I wouldn’t blame her. No, I can’t believe I let the love of my life go for something that I knew would never grow. And I didn’t… I didn’t do it for that, you know?”

Tom looked down at the script he was about to burn.

“But after years of loving someone knowing that at some point they loved you… It’s scary, and stupid and you hate timing, of course, I’d be confused. And It wasn’t like I wanted to be with her, you know? And I can’t believe I did that, because I want her to be happy, and I wanted you to be happy, hell we shouldn’t even have… I dunno, Tom.”

“I shouldn’t have dated her,” Tom said.

“No, that’s where you’re fucking wrong, Tom, when you love someone you do something about it,” Harry said. “You don’t--You don’t have to wait, look at the mess that comes when you don’t say what you really mean.”

“How do you really feel about her?” Tom asked.

“I don’t know. I guess I always wondered how she felt about me. She always felt guilty, I know that, I could see it, how any time I tried to make a move, she’d feel guilty. Just like she did today as if she felt bad that she can’t reciprocate. I think she forced herself back before Rome, as if she was trying to accept it, it didn’t feel… natural. Not even for me, even today, when I kissed her it felt… Weird.”

Tom frowned.

“And we’ve made a mess, and… I don’t know.”

“How did it feel weird?” asked Tom.

Harry was sad, Tom could tell his brother was probably trying to hide away the fact that he probably was broken-hearted too. Somehow, he felt that his brother was lying. Tom knew his brother, and Tom knew that Harry didn’t mean what he was saying.

“It was gross,” Harry said after a while, probably trying to word it outright. Because he had seen Harry’s stress fade away when his lips had landed on y/n’s. Harry hid his hands in his pockets.

“What?” Tom frowned.

“I kissed her and it was gross,” Harry snapped, clenched his jaw. He fidgeted with his hand. “She didn’t kiss back and I have no…. Feelings for her. I know that. And she doesn’t love me.”

Harry was lying. Clearly.

Tom watched him and pointed at the script. “Read that.”

Harry shrugged. “I only read the ending,” He explained. “And judging by your reaction it’s exactly what you didn’t read.”

Tom crossed his arms. “She wanted it to be you.”

Harry shook his head. “But it isn’t.”

“And do you want to be?” Tom asked.

Harry shook his head looking down. “I know she wants it to be you,” He explained.

“But do you still love her?”

“I think I’m never going to stop loving her, really,” Harry said. “It’s been years for me, don’t know how long it’s been for you, but feelings never really fade away. They transform. I think… I don’t know, I’ve made a fool out of myself for her and I don’t think that’s how it’s supposed to go. I don’t know. I’ve spent my whole life crushing on her eyes, and her smile, memorizing every single thing about her, her favorite songs, her favorite films. Knowing how to make her laugh, and knowing who made her cry. If she likes silver earrings or gold ones, it depends on her dress. The way that she drinks coffee in the morning and tea in the afternoon, two cups if it’s raining. I know which song I can play to make her dance and I know that she is so stubborn, that even if she won’t like an ice cream, she’ll try it anyway the very next day.” Harry nodded slowly, to himself. “I know that she still sleeps with that plush frog and if she travels or forgets it, she’ll end up hugging a pillow.”

Tom didn’t know what to say. His brother knew y/n, perfectly. And he was right, he’d seen y/n lookout for a pillow in her sleep to hug, a small pillow even if she was holding Tom, she’d always unconsciously search for a small pillow.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about her, Tom,” Harry gulped. “How many poems she’s written about you, and how many times she’s cancelled plans for you. I know why she didn’t show up to the premiere that one time. I know her first kiss wasn’t that Nicholas guy, and I know she always ends up buying the same shade of red lipstick every now in a while, and that she always ends up boxing them.” Harry bit his lip. “I know that her most sincere smile came the day you took her to prom, and I know that she really did love you and she’ll keep choosing you.”

Tom looked away.

“Do I love her? I don’t know. But if you’re asking if the kiss could lead to anything more, no, it wouldn’t from me and it wouldn’t from her. Because we both know she’ll end up choosing you.”

Harry walked away Leaving Tom confused. This wasn’t his brother’s fault. Maybe y/n’s. Probably y/n’s.

“But yes,” Harry sighed. “I still love her, always will.”

“You fucking lied you know?” Tom said. “To me, to y/n, to Emma. Especially to Emma. You still love y/n. “

Harry stopped as if he was going to turn and say something, he didn’t, he kept walking.

Tom didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t want to know it, he was not going to do anything. What was there to do?

But she hadn’t kissed Harry back. Tom watched Harry leave, and then stared at the script. He didn’t want to think about it. Had Harry given him his blessing? And did he even want it? Did he want to go back to that place with y/n?

He didn’t want to read the script, though. Not even if the ending changed everything. He really didn’t want to go there, not right now at least.

He needed time. So he’d take even more days. She didn’t reach out for him. He didn’t reach out for her.

Both of them were quiet. Very, very quiet. He didn’t know if it hurt him more that she hadn’t told him anything about it. Or if he understood it, did she have to tell him anything?

Maybe she didn’t want to.

Because Harry had spoken for himself, but Harry didn’t know if nothing had been awakened on y/n. Maybe y/n had had her own explanation.

Tom had his, though. Maybe Harry hadn’t done much because he knew y/n was in love with Tom. But Harry didn’t know how y/n had wanted it to be y/n.

Y/N eventually called him.

He didn’t answer.

And she called again.

He didn’t answer.

And again.

Maybe she gave up.

But she left a voicemail. Tom didn’t listen to it. Because why the hell should he?

He had let the flowers die. He hadn’t burned them. He had ignored it. A dvd, a box and an envelope.

And he had purposefully avoided them, because he still had something to look up for. It wasn’t a memory, it was something he could still look forward to. But he was curious. Very, very curious. Why had y/n bothered to bring her box to him.

And it bothered him. He had asked Haz when she’d brought it. And it made sense that she had closed the door to Tom. But what the hell was on it?

He couldn’t help himself, he opened it, but then he closed it again. He was furious, defeated.

He opened it again. And it hurt, opening it. Polaroids, from their dates in New York, from Rome, and the first polaroid from two months ago, with Tom smiling as he was eating a pancake, another one from the time Tom asked her out, lipsticks,a beer bottle from that lunch with their parents, a napkin that had ‘NY hot dogs’ written on it, the plane ticket from their first date, a baseball she’d bought after that other one, a dried out yellow flower, pebbles, more pictures,, a drawing, movie tickets, a spiderman toy, a broken teacup from that time they were kids and Tom had accidentally stepped on it, an xbox broken controller, he remembered it, perfectly the controller that had stopped working right after their first kiss.

A lego piece, a Barbie-- he remembered that one, he’d cut her hair and y/n had cried. And many, many more things that were only tokens… For what?

Tokens of their… relationship. As he was taking out each and every object he was reminded of every single thing. As if every time he touched an object, a memory flooded his brain. The yellow flowered dress she’d worn to Harry's party was the one that hurt the most. A wine bottle, a beer cap . Lipsticks, many lipsticks. An old lighter. The Sour Patch empty bag from that same night at the hotdogs….

Maybe Tom was wrong, maybe their story wasn’t New York and maybe their story wasn’t only Rome. For how long had she built this?

He kept going through it, toys from their childhood, a package of cigarettes, a hair comb and…

A pregnancy test?

A pregnancy test.

A pregnancy test!

Tom suddenly felt cold as he saw it laying down on that corner of the box, waiting for it to be seen. He didn’t want to see it. Was she pregnant?

Was this… Was he going to be a dad? He had to take care of her, and the baby. Was this her way of telling him? And how would it work? Did they have to make it work? What the hell was he going to do?

But it couldn’t be.

No, but it could.

“Fuck.”

It didn’t make any sense. But it could make sense. They hadn’t really stopped… New York had been fun. But had it been?

But fuck, this couldn’t… It could be. But why hadn’t she told him before? How the hell… When had she found out? He had been an idiot for waiting so long. Maybe he should call her. What was he even going to tell her? He was sweating cold. He would take care of them, but fuck, how complicated would it be? And poor baby, the whole story their parents had. Fuck, this was going to be difficult.

He blinked as he slowly reached out for it. He felt it. That fear. But… a baby could solve their problems, but what king of bloody thinning was that?

And he finally reached for it, snatching it quickly and bringing it up to his sight.

One lined. It was negative.

And Tom felt a relief. Not because he didn’t want to be a father, but because his relationship with her was too complicated and adding a baby would ruin everything, or would it? Was he really thinking about that?

He couldn’t have a baby, for god’s sake. No, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t, though. He didn’t have to worry about that.

He laughed, slightly. He knew y/n, she probably had done this exactly to get that reaction. But it hurt, to think she was giving all of this back. Because that meant she didn’t want to have them anymore.

He looked up for the DVD next. He decided to play it.

It felt weird.

“Hello! This is y/n!” An old video started. With barely any resolution, as a young, probably 4 year old y/n was speaking to the camera, her face too close, and her lips purple stained.

Tom sat on his bed, staring at the video in front of him.

She lifted up the almost finished purple popsicle, and pointed behind her. “There’s Tom, ugly Tom,” she said as she moved to her hand to angle just slightly right to show Tom sucking on a blue popsicle. “There’s—Jamesy!” She said as she pointed the camera to her brother, too busy away kicking a football. “He’s playing! And I’m here—So I stole my mum’s new—campera—camra, camera, and we’re gonna—“

“Bloooooooooooop!” Tom has snatched the camera from her as he recorded his face just as he ran away.

“Tooom, no, give it back, it’s mine!” Y/N could be seen running after him.

“It’s not, it’s not!” Tom laughed. “Too slow, y/n!”

Y/N was already tearing up. “Tom!”

“It’s mine!” Tom laughed.

“Tom give it back!” She continued, and the young innocent voice faded away and grew into a deeper voice.

“Tom give it back—“an older y/n appeared on the screen now, from a few weeks ago. Back in New York, on set, as Tom was running away with her phone. “give me my phone back.”

This had been just weeks before, when her smile still made him smile. When he wasn’t a fool.

“No,” he lifted the phone out of her reach. The sight of Tom watching her, as she walked over.

“Thomas,” she laughed. “Can you give it back?”

“What for? you were already recording my pretty face, I’m only helping you!” He laughed as he scrunched his nose to the camera. “I don’t even know what kind of vid you want here, so I’ll just—“

“Baby!” She complained as she tried to reach for it.

He smirked as he turned to her. “Baby? Oh, so I’m baby now,” he grinned. “You’ve never called me baby.”

She blushed, instantly. “Give it back, dumbass.”

“That sounds more like you.”

“Can I have my phone back?” She asked, Tom grinned as he walked to her.

“Yeah,” he smirked. “I’ll only just—“he pointed the camera at her face, she tried to snatch it away. “Can you wait? A second?”

She laughed and crossed her arms. Tom only pointed the camera at them before placing a long kiss to her lips.

“oh—shit, oh shit, shit, shit, y/n and Tom are kissing. Fucking hell!” A voice said over their kiss, before switching to the video it belonged to.

The prom kiss, a Snapchat video from someone who had been coincidentally recording the part. Y/N and Tom in a little corner as they kept kissing.

“It’s y/n and Tom, right? Yessss bloody hell!” “Bloody hell!” “Tom—and y/n—“

“Tom and y/n!” The voice said as it turned yet into a different video. “They’re dancing—“ Elaine’s voice was speaking now.

“They’re adorable,” Nikki's voice said on camera.

“They’re not fighting!”

It had been at that wedding, when y/n looked adorable with that pink dress.

Tom remembered that night. It was the night he finally admitted it out loud to himself. “I like y/n.” Shortly after the first yellow flowers.

And they were dancing. Children being silly, holding hands but throwing them up in the air.

“But they’re dancing!” Elaine commented again.

And as Tom twirled y/n, another video appeared. A most recent one, too. When they had been sillying around at Tom’s dance rehearsal. After their Dirty Dancing moment.

“Okay, y/n,” the choreographer said. “Come here, Tom, pretend she’s Maddie.”

“Why would I do that?” Tom laughed, as he brought her close to him. “And how would I? Y/N here is a terrible dancer.”

She chuckled. “Shut up!”

“Unless she’s drunk,” Tom pointed out.

Tom kept watching the video, videos of them transitioning from children, to teenage years, to Rome, to New York, to everything. As if the videos proved how they hadn’t changed, just transformed.

Feelings never fade away.

Tom wasn’t even watching it. What was the point of that? Why did he… feel like this? He finally opened the envelope. A few pages. At first, Tom thought it was a script. It wasn’t. It was… a letter.

Dear Tom, Hello, To you,

Tom.

Yes, I’m sticking with that one. Sorry if I scratch things. Sorry for the bad orthography, grammar or the unfinished thoughts. No, that’s not the thing I should be apologizing for, but it’s a beginning. I’m writing this from my heart and I am trying to write this as sincerely as possible. It’s what you deserve. I initially wanted to think all of this through but I realized that if I let the pen flow, I’ll get to say everything I want to say. I also thought I would try and tell all of this in person but I’m afraid you won’t listen to everything I want to say. This is easier.

You know me. I always have second thoughts and I never do anything that isn’t premeditated. This was the most spontaneous thing I could do, I just picked up the first paper I saw, so yes, it’s stained with coffee.

How does one even begin to write a letter? This is not the kind of stuff I like doing. I’m not good at this. Hell, I don’t know if you’ll even read this. I don’t know if you watched it. That DVD. Hope you did. I really hope you’re watching it.

Though it might be stupid and cheesy and probably not really the romantic gesture you’d expect from me, I have no choice. Because I’m really trying to prove a point here.

I initially thought I would write a script, you know, write a story to make you understand my point of view, but now I barely want to, a script ruined the best thing I ever had. But I guess, it also started it.

I wish I’d told you sooner and I really wish it hadn’t started that way, but it made it start.

You see, that script is the biggest con I’ve ever tricked myself into, making myself believe I would be doing it for a stupid script, when in reality, I guess it’s all I wanted, for you to fall in love with me. I shielded myself saying I would break your heart, I shielded myself saying it was only for the sake of my job. When it really wasn’t. It was me trying to give it another chance. I blew it all up.

And yes. I did write I wanted to break your heart. I don’t even know why. Why did I have to break what I love so much?

Want to know a secret? I never knew how I would do that. My “plan” went as far as to make you fall in love with me, no further shenanigans, because, really, that’s all I really wanted. I didn’t know how I’d break your heart. I didn’t have any plans because I knew I really didn’t want to. I only wanted you to love me.

Hope you did.

Hope you didn’t, too. Because if you didn’t, then I will at least pretend I didn’t hurt you as much.

I know I did. And it’s fucked up, very fucked up.

I’ve been struggling to find the right words to tell you. I know sorry won’t cut it. It’s not enough.

And since I know you don’t read until the end, I am really doubting if I’ll give this to you. It’s not on you, I wouldn’t have read it. Maybe I’m just writing for myself, probably. But it helps. I’ve never been good with words, which is ironic, I’m a screenwriter, or I pretended to be one, I guess. You know me, I’m more about moments. I’m more about little details.

I did send you the script, though. It’s in that box. It’s yours. Keep it. Burn it. Rip it off. Do whatever you want with it. I don’t blame you.

It’s yours.

But it’s there. With a lot of other things. Things that finally explained something I haven’t understood for a while. Until now.

I think that among these years, I’ve found myself in a predicament. You’ve seen it. You’ve heard it. And I’m pretty sure you’ve said it.

I don’t love who I’m supposed to love.

That’s the reason behind it right? I’d like to think so.

That’s what they said, right? I don’t love who I’m supposed to. Not the perfect guy, not the guy who’s been there all along.

And everyone said it, you should date him, that guy it’s your endgame. But I didn’t—feel it.

Maybe for a bit, I did. But I ended up coming back to you.

I didn’t love who I was supposed to love. And that’s what the script said, too. I don’t love the guy who has danced with me under the rain, or the guy who’s taken the best picture of me under the rain too.

No. I love the guy who’s probably the worst thing that could ever happen to me, and who’ll probably be away most of the time. I love the guy who was the storm.

But I still love him. So dearly. And so much. And I miss him. I really miss you.

And I’m sorry.

Really sorry. You don’t know how sorry I am. I can’t believe I fucked up that much.

I am the monster. Not you. I fucked up. And I can’t blame you if you don’t ever want to see me again, I understand it. And I won’t blame you if you burn this. I can’t blame you, I’d probably do the same.

But I’m sorry.

I can’t believe I did this to you, the love of my life.

But it all comes to that. Doesn’t it?

I don’t love who I’m supposed to love.

Except, Tom. I do. That’s what we’ve both got wrong. I do love who I’m supposed to love.

Searching through our memories, I wanted to build up the puzzle, understand every situation that’s led us to where we are now. To two very broken hearts. To lost battles. To understand why I loved someone who has crushed my heart into tiny little pieces, throw it into the ground and then step on it.

You read it, how I described you. How I described what I was doing. How I said you were a monster. How you hurt me. How you were only my…

Perfidy.

1: the quality or state of being faithless or disloyal: TREACHERY.

2: an act or an instance of disloyalty

3: deceitfulness; untrustworthiness.

It’s a war concept, it was used to refer to someone who won someone’s trust only to betray them. Must like us.

We don’t make sense, do we?

I tried to understand a lot about us, and I think I’ve found the answer. It’s complicated, bare with me, and please, this time, keep reading. I can’t afford losing you to another unfinished story. I already lost you, I know.

I know where we went wrong.

We thought of each other as a war, a game, a prank, an apology. And we didn’t have to, that’s where we went wrong. I guess we really were blinded by the idea of a sworn enemy that we walked in thinking this was a war and waiting for the other one to shoot first, when nobody should’ve shot.

All is fair in love and war. But don’t get those two mixed up, because then, it’ll be all unfair.

That’s our problem, you even said it, a war song reminded you of me, I used to describe you with a war concept.

We thought this was war Tom. And it shouldn’t have been. It didn’t feel like one.

And I don’t even know what to tell you now. This wasn’t a war zone. We were wrong. We didn’t have to be careful, we didn’t have to. And I shouldn’t have pulled the perfect perfidy.

But after years of battles, did we expect not to?

The fact that you love me, if you do, and I really hope you do, doesn't change the fact that you hurt me. I think that’s the best thing we can do for now, accept the fact that we’ve both hurt each other so much.

I did write you were a monster. And yes, most things in the script are true. I guess I have to acknowledge it. I own it, I wrote it.

Yes. I love you.

But I can’t pretend I didn’t cry for months, I can’t pretend that night at the club I felt like the whole world tumbled upon me. Because it did. And you know it. I can’t pretend I wasn’t diagnosed with a broken heart and I can’t pretend that I really started this thinking you’ll do it again.

I can’t pretend I was alright, and that your name didn’t feel like a dagger for a while.

It would be stupid for me if I said you never hurt me. And I know, I know, I fucked up this time. This time was on me, but Tom, really. How many times did I not cry for you?

How many times did I not trash my room because it had you all over the place? I can’t pretend that didn’t happen.

Yes, the script narrated that. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.

But I also can’t pretend that I won’t come back to you. I can't pretend I don’t love you. Because I do, and I loved every single kiss. I can’t pretend all those good times didn’t happen.

And yet, even after every battle. I come back to you. Because I am supposed to love you.

And I tried to build it up. And you know what? It makes sense.

I don’t know if you’ve seen the DVD, in my stupid mind, because you know me, everything is for the story, the aesthetic, but in my mind the DVD is playing right as you read this, in the background. Maybe you look up a little, smile at something and turn back. You probably aren’t. You probably won’t.

He was, actually. The video stayed in the background. He looked up to see it,

“So we’re here at y/n’s 18th birthday party. She’s currently sober. As your biggest enemy y/n I need to have on record on how you’ll get wasted.”

“Shut up dumbass.”

“You shut up idiot!”Tom said.

“Shut up!” Another Tom appeared on camera, turning to a different video, of her dorm room in Rome, Tom was by the window.

“No no, sing again I want to hear you sing,” y/n said behind the camera. She approached him, and opened the window.

“I’m not going to sing,” Tom warned again.

“Come on, everyone in Rome wants to listen to you,” she laughed as she stuck her phone out from the window, recording the beautiful afternoon in the italian city.

“No.”

“Ah, come on, maybe go downstairs and serenade me,” she suggested.

We haven’t changed Tom. Or maybe we have, for the better. But I hope you see it, I am supposed to love you.

And I know you probably want me to go fuck myself, I get it. Maybe this letter will be burned.

I’d do it.

Like those yellow flowers you gave me. I shouldn’t have burnt all of them. Should’ve kept one.

But that DVD, it shows it. You are the guy I was supposed to fall in love with, we’ve built it upon our whole lives. Or maybe we were destined to tumble down. You choose.

I really like to think we are both so stupid that we are meant to be. Maybe that’s toxic.

Probably, yes.

But we have to change it, don’t we? Maybe not.

But we did change it. It just took me a few minutes to realize we transformed all the bad things into good things.

And hell, they were very nice, while it lasted, weren’t they?

We’re the same stupid kids, Tom.

Either we’ve hated each other our whole lives and we fucked up by falling in love. Or we were madly in love and fucked up by hating each other.

Either way, we fucked up.

I also gave you a box, yes that same box you saw in my bedroom, it has your name and it’s scratched and ripped, a little. You don’t know how many times I’ve had to hide that box. And I’ve kicked it and I’ve repaired it.

Inside you will find more of the puzzle I solved. Polaroids, picture-perfect memories, an empty box of pasta, lipsticks, a beer cap, that yellow-flowered dress I wore that day. Everything that’s led us here. Memories that I used to either remind myself that you were stupid, or that I was stupidly in love with you.

I hope you remember most of the stories. I know I do. They’ve built us up to who we were. Like that broken teacup, that teacup was around the time I was about 5, maybe 6. It was kind of the first time you made me cry, ugly cry.

There’s that Xbox controller that stopped working before our first kiss. Do you remember it? That’s why you were the only one playing.

It’s weird now that I think about it. And stupid, how I’ve been in love with the guy who gave me my first kiss for my whole life. Sounds pathetic out of context. Maybe even more with context.

Don’t know if you found the pregnancy test. If not, there’s one in there. Yes, I was scared, it was a few days ago, I was so bloody scared, a baby? Having a baby? At first, I thought, it doesn’t make any sense but it would, considering our… routine in New York. But it was negative. Hurray, I guess.

And yes, a dried out yellow flower. No, you didn’t give me that one. You know it, I’ve never kept any yellow flowers you’ve given me, ones I threw them away, the second ones I gave them back and we know what happened to the third one. So no, you didn’t give me the yellow flower on that box. That one. It’s got a story. After Rome, yes. I once stared at that box, and I promised myself I wouldn’t fall in love with you. I broke my promise. I never fell out of love.

And I remember one day, I was with Timothée, actually. We were on a date, and I remember the day was so bright, the sun was shining again. After all those grey storms, the sun had come out again. I was smiling, I was laughing again.

Don’t know if I’ll ever be able to again. I’m sure of this, I’m never going to New York again.

But I was with Timmy that day, we were in that café I used to go with him, outside. I had noticed from the early beginning of the date that we were sitting by near a kid with a spiderman t-shirt. I didn’t really think of you at that time, I kept on with my date. I did… feel something, maybe a little jump inside of me. I remember I ignored it.

Because... I was so happy, genuinely happy. I thought I had come out of the tunnel. Didn’t want to ruin it. And I remember as I saw the vase on our table, full of yellow flowers. I cried instantly. Couldn’t explain it to Timmy at the time, but I did take it out and kept it.

Sounds stupid, doesn’t it? The power the flowers have. I cried while I got the ones I sent you.

I guess that’s why I used that yellow-flowered dress. I don’t know. I was trying to tell you I wanted to turn it into something beautiful.

You know, Tom. Whenever I used to think of you initially I thought into frogs, yellow flowers and my hair being pulled. Broken tea cups, and stupid games that would get me full of dirt.

Then it changed, to a first kiss, dancing to an 80’s song and late night with videogames.

Then again it was prom night, with that pink dress I used, the first lipstick I had to box in here because I didn’t want to wear it anymore because you had kissed my lips while I was wearing it, and you guessed it, yellow flowers.

For a while, it was a mix of all of that, you bothering me, a kiss, unusable lipsticks, yellow flowers, dancing, frogs. Endless discussions, broken bones. Stupid, silly things.

For a while to think of you, it meant pain, yellow flowers, a nightclub and Rome.

I thought that would never change anymore.

But look at me now, whenever I think of you I think of pancakes, yes my favorite food, Of an elevator, dirty dancing, again an 80’s song, and laughing, and kissing, and other stuffing.

Sometimes what you expect never comes, but it’s the unexpected that changes your life. All I knew the day after we said you loved me was that I needed to be there forever. And I already know your worst, but hell, I wish I can still learn your best. You feel like home, Tom. You feel like it’s raining outside, and you feel like a crowded buzzing city, with people rushing, but you feel like coming back home to a warm pair of arms.

And I really hate that you had to see my worst when I should’ve given you my very best.

And now I won’t have that box, and I’ll give back every polaroid because I don't want them haunting them, and because I don’t need anything to remind me that I fucked up, because I know I won’t have you anymore.

How am I supposed to deal with this?

I don’t know if I can live with this, knowing you’ve touched and kissed spots the sun has yet to see, and it probably won’t ever see them. You’re a fast learner, you know? You knew every single beauty spot, even the ones I didn't know I had, you’ve learned them. The most sensible and subtle touch, the sensitive cardinal points. Underneath our clothes, under the sheets, you learned my story how am I supposed to live with this? Knowing that my body will now remind me of you? How stupid does that sound? You know it now Tom. I’ll never go to war again, I’ll never shoot again. I promise.

If it’s not clear yet...

It’s you. It’s always been you. No matter how cheesy it sounds, it’s you and I don’t want to hide it. Because you own it, you know? the place where my thoughts hide. My thoughts, my heart, fuck, even my body now. It should’ve been an endless story, and maybe it is. And now I know I’ll keep seeing you everywhere, because I’ll be able to smell your skin in some of my clothes. And I know I’ll see your shadow in the moonlight, and I know I won’t be able to sleep now that I can’t hear your heartbeat next to mine.

And I won’t pretend I’m alright this time. I don’t think I’ll be able to.

And I’m sorry, and I will never forgive myself for hurting you. I shouldn’t have. I should’ve explained it to you sooner. But right now, I doubt there’s anything I can say now. I think all apologies are worn out. We’ve been good at apologies. But we are gone, aren’t we?

And though I still want to fight for this, I still would go to war for you, I don’t want to stay in a narrative that includes hurting. I don’t want to stay in a narrative where I’m fighting for an ending that won’t be read. I’m choosing to stay away, maybe we’ll write a different ending next time, not right now, because I can’t afford living knowing I ruined the amazing relationship the love of my life and my best friend have. And though I know I’m losing you both, I’d rather stick with more good memories than bad ones.

I don’t even know what I wrote here, I don't know if it’s too much or maybe it’s not enough, I just wrote for the first time something spontaneous.

I don’t want to promise I’ll stay away, I’m not good at keeping promises. I just want you to know that I really liked our film, I’m just going to pretend it never ended. In my mind, we will be infinite, everlasting. And maybe in another story, in another script, I’ll find a way to make you stay this time, and we will find a way to get out of the warzone.

With love,

y/n.

Tom finished the letter as he hunched his shoulders, the DVD had kept on playing and he looked up just to get the last stone to hit him.

“The princess?” A younger y/n asked, to yet another video, this one seemed different. Not recorded by their parents. “Alright, so the princess is going to…save the prince!” Y/n explained to Tom. “Because she is in love with him!”

“Why does it have to be a princess?” Tom frowned. “Why not be a superhero! Besides, it should be me who saves the damsel!” Tom pushed.

“This is my movie, Thomas,” y/n complained. She was wearing her yellow princess dress.

“This is my movie, Thomas,” he mimicked. He groaned. “Why can’t I be the dragon? Why does Sam get to be the dragon?”

“Because you’re the prince!” Y/n said with a bright smile.

He took the script off her hands. “What does it even say?” He asked as he read it. “This is stupid!”

“No, it’s not!”

Tom frowned. “Why would we kiss?” He wrinkled his nose as he stuck his tongue out.

“Because we like each other.”

And then it faded out. It had all been so quickly. And Tom had to think about it. If they loved each other. Why the hell wouldn't they kiss? Why the hell couldn’t they be together? It didn’t take him more than two minutes to stand up and decidedly go and look out for her. He had made one quick stop, but then he had rushed to her building. He had used the stairs, the elevator had taken too long. He couldn’t wait to see her.

And when it hadn’t been her, the one who had opened the door, Tom didn’t know how he was feeling.

“Oh, another one with flowers, great,” The girl said, she had a clearly not british accent. She looked very similar to y/n though.

“What?” Tom asked. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Yes, first one brought peonies, second one daisies and you… what are these?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Tom gulped. “I’m… Where’s y/n?”

“Seems like we have… Chamomile, primroses, evening primroses that is, and… Heleniums,” The girl pointed out as he stared at the flowers Tom was holding. “Huh, what’s up with y/n having three hot guys bringing her flowers, girl is lucky.”

“Who--who are you?”

“I’m y/n’s cousin, Cherry, nice to meet you, Tom I presume.”

Tom blinked, in shock. “Where’s y/n?”

“She’s gone now, buddy. Left London this morning.”

The end?

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ohmightydevviepuu · 4 years

Text

for tonight you’re only here to know / part one

(artwork used with permission from @carpedzem) available on AO3 [1/2]

happy inaguration day. ❤️

In the darkness of the ballroom, the hall lit only by torchlight, her eyes glitter green like emeralds and he remembers: The dark and stormy night with a full posting inn, which was good news for one Captain Killian Jones, sometimes granted the more colorful moniker of Hook after the curved and wickedly sharped prosthetic appendage where his left hand had once been. Hook cared not one whit for the rain except that it was a harbinger of a roaring fire, a full dining room and plenty of easy marks for his dice. Possibly the willing companionship of one of the chambermaids, or the barmaid. A drinking companion at the least, a pretty face, something to look at besides the ruddy visage of his first mate or the quartermaster or the crew looking to spend their spoils on ale and food and women.

What he was not prepared for, or expecting, was her.

(Truth be known, he still isn’t.)

The clouds were so heavy, the rain so constant, that from the front door of the inn the harbor and the masts of the Jolly Roger were invisible. Hook would send the crew back to the ship in good time, but he was determined to have one of the inn’s rooms for himself.

Alas that his path to the bar was blocked. She was between him and it, her hair dark and braided back into a messy queue. His only view of her was from behind--Hook was not complaining--her leathers blue and well-worn--a belt at her waist with a scabbard for a knife long enough to be every bit as deadly as his hook. With a cry and a lunge she turned and Hook saw, clearly, that she had the weapon in hand and was quite familiar with its proper use. With her other hand she had twisted the arm of someone--undoubtedly an unlucky fool who had dared to lay hands upon her--high up and behind his back as the tip of the blade just kissed the fleshy jowl under his chin.

Hook raised an eyebrow in appreciation. “Do you require any assistance, madam?” he asked.

She made a rude noise and his eyebrow went higher. “Because a ‘little lady’ such as myself might not understand the sharpness of this blade?” she answered, tilting her head in response even as she tightened her grip on the Fool. Hook inclined his head very slightly, his left arm outstretched and his right hand resting on the buckle of his belt. “Because a gentleman always offers to help a damsel in distress.”

With a snarl the woman let go of the Fool and said, “I’m a damsel--in distress--but I can handle it. As long as you--” this was spat in the general direction of the Fool “--have learned some manners?”

With a mumbled curse the Fool gripped his wrist and rubbed it, slinking away, as the woman’s eyes turned fully toward Hook.

Everything--the tavern, the rain, the cold, the full tap room and the flickering fire--vanished as he found himself staring into her eyes; there was her and only her and the world created by the two of them in that moment. Who he was--where he was--what he was--everything he’d been and done--all of it gone until she blinked and the world resumed.

“I assure you, madam, that my manners are nothing if not impeccable.” It was a challenge to speak.

Hook loved a challenge.

“Because you’re a gentleman,” she said, with an exaggerated shrug as she sheathed the knife.

“Always,” he said, his voice low and serious as he offered her his hand.

She regarded him, looking him over, up and down from his boots to the eyebrow that was still up in his fringe as he watched her. A smile curved th edges of her mouth--a glint in her eyes--they alighted on his hook and she said, “You’re Hook, then?” She extended her own hand. “I’m Swan.”

For all that Hook and the Jolly Roger were the terrors of the high seas it was this woman--Swan--who roamed the forests, guarding the roads to and fro where they criss-crossed the capital city of Misthaven, exacting tolls according only to her own criteria of who might be required to pay.

“So you’ve heard of me?” he said, sweeping over her hand as he took it, turning it gently so that he might kiss the tops of her knuckles. “It’s always nice to leave an impression.” He squeezed, slightly, with a smile that felt, somehow, realer to him than any he had offered in some time, as she winced.

She winced, and covered it up so quickly he almost missed it but for the way her fingers stiffened.

“Swan,” he said, pulling her hand closer so that he could rest it on top of his wrist. “Are you bleeding?” Someone behind her stumbled and he felt the weight of her against him before his brain registered what happened. It, and he, could only process one single thought: She smells delicious.

It was then--though he would not realize it until much, much, later--that he saw her eyes flash green for the first time.

(He would not realize it until the image began to infiltrate his dreams, to haunt him in his waking hours with the memory of them, of her, of the noise she made and the way she smelled and felt and tasted.)

“It’s fine, she said; looked up at him and gasped a small oh and this, of all the sounds she made that night, might be the one that most haunts him still.

“Oh,” he said. Oh. Then, “That is a plausible excuse for grabbing me, but please--next time do not stand on ceremony.”

The spell--for that is what it was--broke, and she stepped back. But she was still smiling as she said, “Consider it thanks for your ‘assistance’, then.”

“I thought you didn’t require assistance,” Hook said, shaking his head. “You had the matter well in hand, if your plan was to stab every man here.”

Her smile turned playful. “If I had wanted anyone stabbed,” she said, “you wouldn’t have known it until my knife was buried in their chest.”

“I believe you,” he said. And he did. He stepped closer--just one foot in front of the other--she held her ground. “Is that all my ‘assistance’ is worth to you? You speak of stabbing, but what of my heart, which has surely been pierced by Cupid’s arrow?”

Hook was playing with fire and he knew it, but she was more than his match in this game as she threw her head back and laughed, as she pulled at the lapels of his coat until they were inches apart and said, “Does Captain Hook have a heart, then?”

Her hand was on his wrist--his right wrist, where her name was inked into his skin--and it was this, perhaps, as much as anything that made him answer as he did. “It’s been a very long time since anyone has accused me of such a thing,” he said, his voice once more low and serious and more truthful than he intended it to be.

He was playing with fire.

But she was beautiful, and it never took him long to warm to pretty things.

“As for gratitude--” he said, and she scoffed.

“Please,” she said, a smirk on her face that was delighted and inviting and yet somehow--more--heated and winding a lazy, pleasant curl of flame straight to the base of his cock. “You couldn’t handle it.”

His hand went back to hers where it was still gripping the leather of his coat; his fingers brushed hers and he felt her shiver. “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it,” he said, a whisper into her ear as he took another step closer.

“Try me,” she said, looking up at him through her eyelashes. The taproom’s lights were bright--very bright--and yet not bright enough.

It felt as if the room itself was suddenly spinning.

She was beautiful.

“I would love to,” Hook said. “If only I had a room.” His breathing was perfectly even but there was a gravelly undertone that had not been there before.

“Oh,” she said. “What if we used mine?”

She rose, standing on her toes--pulled his forehead to hers with a gentle hand guiding his jaw as they lingered in their moment, the world around them vanished once more as they stood together.

It was magic.

(But that, too, is something he will not learn for quite some time.)

Ariel is standing next to him when he sees her, because Ariel--Princess Ariel, of the Maritime Kingdom, had put him in this position, of needing to be her escort. Killian Jones, Captain Hook, puts his neck on the lines for two things: Love and revenge.

But a true gentleman may not turn down a request from a lady in distress, especially when the cause of her strife matches so easily with his own.

And might, perhaps, be laid at his door.

Hook should have known she--Swan--would be here. She has her grudges, too, after all.

He should have known--perhaps he did, perhaps he had, hoped for it, planned for it--but nothing about it prepares him for what he sees in front of him right now, which is--her.

Princess Emma, of Misthaven. Heir to the Queen.

The Evil Queen.

Princess Emma, her golden blonde hair dangling in loose curls nearly to her waist, her green eyes bored and her face expressionless as she surveys the crowd come, against their will, to honor her mother’s step-mother.

No.

Hook blinks, and the expression is gone--he’s not even sure he saw it at all as he looks and sees the vapid smile of a young woman immature enough, spoiled eough, rich enough to gaze upon all of this and not understand its meaning and then she sees him.

And Hook knows what he saw.

Her gown is blue.

(Just like her leathers, Hook remembers--he remembers, a lie he tells himself as if there is ever a day he forgets. As if a single day has gone by, since that one, where he does not think of her.)

Princess Emma.

Swan.

He shouldn’t recognize her--she has clearly set up her entire life so that no one will recognize her--but he remembers. Remembers how the door closed and for a brief and fleeting moment there was a flash of insecurity--of green--before she looked at him with a gaze so intense he felt his insides flip; he was so close to her, his nostrils were filled with nothing but her, something sweet and delicate but spicy, as if for balance. The torches accentuated the strong muscles of her body and when he dared to meet her eyes again, he saw that she was watching him watch her.

“Your eyes--” was all she said. “When you look at me like that--”

“My apolo--” but he couldn’t finish the word before she pushed him against the wall of the small and dark rented room.

His throat was suddenly dry, his heartbeat accelerated, and she felt it, he knew she did as she touched him, her hand roaming over his chest and tracing the embroidered pattern of the brocade waistcoat he wore. Her fingers tangled in the charms he wore around his neck; the torches flared as she found his mouth with hers, her lips exploring his as desire flooded him. He was nothing but hot and hungry need and she felt this, too, from the sound she made in the back of her throat. The way her breasts pushed closer against him.

“Is this a dream?”

Hook is still not sure if he said it out loud or if he only thought it; she was there, and warm, and real and those were the only three facts that mattered. He grasped her wrist, turning them so that she was against the wall, and left his hand there as his hook anchored at her hip. He left his hand there for steadiness.

For strength.

It was only a kiss.

(It was the longest kiss in the world.)

She made him weak-kneed--she made him want everything at once, impossible and fantastical things he didn’t even have words for. He had to have her then and there and that instant, yet he didn’t want to move, to do anything to interrupt the sensations coursing through him.

“Swan,” he breathed, and the torches flared again and her eyes flashed again and the noise she made this time was small and sad until he kissed it away, butterfly kisses across her cheeks until she found his mouth once more and there was nothing but fire.

Pure, hungry fire.

And magic.

Hook knows the rumors, though they are nothing more than whispers passed around secret networks, of the princess under the Evil Queen’s thumb as she bides her time--twenty-eight years since her parents’ mysterious disappearance. The product of True Love, they say--for her parents’ love story is already regarded as legend--and thus allegedly the vessel for magic that even the Evil Queen cannot tame. If only, the whispers say, if only she were more than the vapid girl she appears.

He has no names for what he felt that night, just as he had no words for everything she made him want. It’s something he only knows now, looking back--looking at her and the way she stands in front of him in all of her majesty as he understands that something in their coupling made the glamour she surrounded herself with shatter when her magic surged and her eyes flashed green.

Even that night there was something regal about her, Hook thinks, as he wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees, to worship at the temple of her body he was hers for the taking, and she knew it.

So long as she wanted him, she could take him any way she liked.

He remembers the feeling of her hair as he tangled his hand in the dark locks--the dark locks that glittered gold in the torchlight, in his imagination, in his dreams, and now in reality--as he kissed her and he was anything but gentle. As she answered him--not gentle, either. Her skin was luminous as she removed her belt and tunic, as he unfastened the buttons of her shirt and exposed her to the dim golden glow of the torches, as she pulled herself closer to him and he grasped her from behind, crushing her against him.

It is her gown that glitters now, diamonds strewn across a blue blanket and Hook thinks she is aware of being watched, that he is watching her. Ariel tugs at his sleeve in a futile attempt to divert his attention but he is unmoving, his eyes only on her. Swan--Emma--is so still and so quiet that she might be a statue, her posture rigid as she holds herself tightly as a breath underwater and Hook thinks he might be the only one in this room who sees her as she truly is, and not what she appears to be. The gown is beautiful-and she is beautiful in it--but Hook finds himself missing the soft blue leather that showed off not the body of a woman of leisure, but of a fighter--supple as a bowstring, twice as strong.

Ariel tugs again and he turns to look at her, to see the disapproval stamped all over her face. A second passes--two--before he decides, dropping Ariel’s hand, walking carefully around so that he comes up behind the princess as the dancing begins. Feels her spine tighten under his touch. She knows. Knows he can see her and not the glamour she shows to the world; there is murder in her eyes as he leads her onto the floor.

Then again, Hook has always had something of a death wish.

Lunacy, his brother used to call it. Daring, say the reverent whispers of his men. Hook thinks that, tonight at least, his brother has the right of it. The question is on his lips before he can think better of it. “Fighting, dancing, knifeplay, magic--what other arts is the Princess of Misthaven taught?” Despite the intimacy of their positions, he keeps his tone casual.

There is no sign of a silly young woman--there is only Swan, the bandit, the woman he made love to on a dark and cold rainy night when she says, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He would.

That’s the problem.

They complete three figures of the dance as her eyes widen in surprise--perhaps at the notion of a dancing pirate, perhaps at the easy ways their bodies move together, as if they are once more alone in the safety and the darkness of that small rented room--there is time for nothing else because a princess cannot linger in the crowd with a strange man--with a hook--for too long without attracting notice.

The truth is that neither of them wants to attract notice, especially the notice of the Evil Queen.

Hook watches her go and feels himself deflate before he returns to Ariel and her disapproving stare. She gestures and it is eloquent in its silence: We have a job to do. He smiles and nods because she’s right and he’s a right arse. “I’m sorry, lass,” he says, and means it. Ariel’s hand lands on his wrist and she squeezes.

He puts his hand atop hers and squeezes back.

“Let’s go steal a compass,” he says.

The compass is his.

He stole it first.

And it is this, perhaps, that rankles as much as--more than--anything. Because she had done more than leave him. He’d always known she would, from the first glimpse of her in the taproom. Hook has no more claim to her than any man; it is the principle of the thing.

There is such a thing as honor among thieves, after all.

But not for Swan, or so it seems, and she proves this hypothesis further when she appears--Hook would say materializes--behind him and steps out of a shadow with her knife at his neck.

“Twitch,” she says, “and I will cut your throat.”

He does wonder where upon her person she hid the knife, a passing thought only before he has her wrist in his hand, his hook along the neckline of her dress as it glides across her decolletage; she is backed up against the wall with surprise once more in her eyes, the knife now pointing down and toward the floor.

“Bad form, love, coming up behind a man like that,” he says. He does not leer--he looks nowhere but her face. Her eyes. One breath--two--she blinks and he is the one on the defensive, her knife pushed gently against the inside of his thigh. An inch higher--

She grins.

They are dancing, just as they had been in the ballroom--once around, twice, three times--and the only thing keeping him centered is her eyes as the world spins.

She’s skilled with her blade, he cannot deny it. Hook wonders at the Queen allowing her heir to be so proficient in weapons that could one day be used against her.

Or, perhaps, the Queen does not know.

Perhaps the Queen, like everyone else, sees only what Swan--what Emma--wants them to see.

She is good, but he is better. His hook slides across the edge of her knife until he is very nearly on top of her and they are both breathing heavily when she says, “Killian.”

(A whisper in the darkness, a gentle moan. “Hook.”)

(“‘Killian’, love,” he whispered. “‘Killian’ will do.”)

When she spoke his name there was Power in it; she exhaled it gently and it was a caress as he inhaled the scent of her and savored the taste of her and she reached for his arm, pulling it from the wall and guiding it until it joined his hook at her waist, their bodies reconnected. Here, and now, there is still Power; her eyes change to something wide and frightened as the torches flare around them.

“Oh,” she says. “Oh, shit.”

Hook laughs. It’s a quiet laugh but it echoes in the empty hallway all the same. “Fine talk for a lady,” he says.

“Who says I’m a lady?”

And he laughs again, at the Princess of Misthaven, with her knife pressing his side.

Daring.

Lunacy.

Magic. He wants to kiss her again. (Always. Forever.)

But Ariel awaits, and he does have a job to do--there is a limit to how long a man can stay lost in a woman’s eyes while he catches his breath. Even her eyes.

“You, Princess, are like no lady I have ever met before.” He moves his head, pulls himself away from her; his voice, however, carries with it all of the intimacy of the bedchamber, of that dark room they’d shared. “You also have something I need,” Hook says. “I must request that you return it to me.”

She took it from him that night almost as if she’d planned it, and maybe she had. Maybe she’d been looking for him, maybe she’d known the Jolly Roger was back in port; these were but some of the questions he asked himself on all of the mornings after, when he woke up panting with want.

(He dreams of her--Swan--the only woman he has dreamed of besides her in all of his unnaturally long life--but that is a question Hook is not sure he is ready to have answered.)

“You would do better to return to the ballroom, pirate, and to your pretty partner,” she says, “before she finds out your purpose in being here, or that you are in a darkened corridor with another woman.”

“Ah,” he says, and takes another step back. The seriousness of her tone makes him want to laugh again but for all that he might have a death wish, Hook is not truly suicidal. “How fortunate for me that Princess Ariel knows not only my purpose in being here, but volunteered herself to be part of the endeavor. Nay, insisted.”

This surprises her and he can see it in the fraction of a second the expression lingers. “Princess Ariel?”

“Aye,” Hook says. “She is here to beg a boon of the Queen, as is her right on the heir’s birthday.” The Evil Queen, he does not say, for they might be alone in a darkened hallway but for some things there can never be enough caution. In the aftermath of the disappearance of Snow White and Prince Charming, the Queen could have rained down death and destruction. Yet though she doled out both with a heavy hand in those dark early days, the Queen is a canny ruler, leaving in place beloved traditions of pomp and circumstance, of perceived benevolence and mercy. She has not won over the populace, not by any means, but she has subdued them: Quick to anger, quick to punish, and always magnanimous in her forgiveness once the example has been set.

Unable to help himself, he inches forward again. “Warmest felicitations, Princess.”

Hook is here tonight because he can never repay the debt he owes Ariel for exposing her to the Queen’s “mercy”, but no one--save Ariel--need ever know that.

“And if I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request?”

She ignores his bait and smiles at him, icy cold and arch and the expression is nothing so much as a copy of her step-grandmother’s.

“Then I shall take it,” he says. “I am, as you say, what I am.”

Hook has seen that smile, and worse, from the Queen herself and he takes another step. Pushes.

Holds up an object in his hand: A small vial corded with a piece of string, meant to be worn around the neck. He dangles it for a second between them before he vanishes the vial into his sleeve with a flick of his wrist. “You’re not the only one who can do tricks, Highness,” he says. “As you have taken from me, now I have taken from you. Though what your purpose is with sparkly dirt I am not sure I want to know.”

Her face reddens, color tinging her cheeks and the tips of her ears. “Give that back.” It is a threat, and she makes it in deadly earnest. “You’ve seen what I can do when provoked. I can do it to you, too.”

“You can try. Again,” he says. “You’ll fail just as you did before, and it will be just another excuse for your grabbing me. Not that I would object in any way.”

“Grabbing you? You came after me and nearly got us caught. Do you have any idea how long I’ve been planning, waiting to--”

“You need me. Just as I, it seems, need you. So what do you say we--” he gestures, moving his hand between the two of them “--try something new, darling? Trust. I may be a thief and a pirate but I am also a man of honor.”

“--someone is going to see us. And talk.” She is furious. “Your friend--”

“Cannot say anything,” Hook says. He cannot keep the bitterness from his own voice, not when Ariel has none. “That is why she was forced to attend tonight. That is her boon from the Queen.”

Her eyes widen. “It was you,” she says. “You’re the reason Ariel is here tonight.”

He does not question how easily she can read him. How well she already knows him. For the first time tonight Hook cannot bear to be near her as he steps away--two steps, three, four--scrubs his hand down his face as he exhales. “Aye,” he says, as she follows him--for the first time tonight pushing him, invading his space.

The torches flare, a burst of light that envelops her face and the concern in her eyes and he can’t look at her, turns his head and is met with resistance as her hand cups his jaw and forces him to meet her gaze.

“And you?” It’s a whisper.

Hook doesn’t answer straightaway--he does not know what to tell her--needs her to trust him. “I am here with her but our missions are not the same,” he says. His words are careful, and the princess does not fail to notice. She nods--nothing else; it hangs between them before she speaks again.

Hook can feel her breathing, puffs of air brushing across his cheek.

“And I should trust you, when Princess Ariel’s trust is what brought her here in the first place?”

It is a blow and it lands and there is nothing he can say that will justify his actions--not to her, and not to himself--so he says nothing, for a moment every bit as mute as Ariel is.

“I am a thief,” he says, smiling, turning her words back on her. “I put my neck on the line for two things: Love and revenge. This business with Ariel is just that--business.”

“And your business here tonight? Honor?” She mocks him, uses his words.

Let her.

“Revenge.” He tastes the word, savors it, takes solace in its familiar cadence and its comforting syllables.

Emma tilts her head. “I see,” she says, as if she does. She lets go, pulls back. She moves mere inches and it feels like a chasm has opened between them. “You should know something about me, Hook.”

He exhales a laugh that’s more of a snort. He cannot help himself. Hook has seen, touched, tasted, worshipped every inch of her body--of Swan’s body--but he does not know this woman at all.

The princess is smiling now, a tight smile that Hook finds he does not care for. “I am very good at telling when people are lying. And I believe you. But I also believe--” she follows his head with her gaze as he tries to turn away “--that you wish to make amends. So we will do this together. Do not make me regret this. I am not taking my eyes off of you, not for a second.”

“Princess,” he says, and he says it sincerely, “I would despair if you did.”

She laughs, a gentle chuckle that Hook feels as she smiles--a real smile, that same smile, that same chuckle, delighted and heated and echoing in his dreams.

Magic.

“Killian,” she says, and nothing else.

Nothing else because here is a shout at the end of the hallway and they are no longer alone.

She pushes him back, back--slams him into the wall so hard it hurts but he does not even notice because the torches flare again--still--brighter now as her mouth finds his. It doesn’t surprise him, this time--the magic--he feels it coursing through him, warmth and comfort and something else, the things he cannot name, the things he cannot want. Hook turns his head, kisses her jaw, kisses her skin, lets himself be guided by the hitch of her breath and her body pressing into his, her hips rocking against his--a barely-there movement impeded by all of the layers of her gown.

He’s pinned to the wall and he would stay there forever if she told him to.

“Be still,” she whispers. “Kiss me again.”

What else can he do but comply?

He is, after all, only human--has dreamed about this almost every night since the night she left him--stole from him--

“Princess,” he murmurs, but she surges against him. “Swan--”

He hears his name again, a whisper this time. A cry, a plea, a wish; the warmth of a tear where their cheeks touch, salty and hot when it hits his tongue.

The steps are getting louder and with each one Hook imagines her pulling him closer; the steps in time with his breathing, in time with his heartbeat.

They are caught.

“Princess.” It is a man’s voice, a voice that Hook recognizes filtered through the helmets of one of the Queen’s Black Knights.

He steels himself, and stills himself, and watches the woman in front of him transform. It’s her posture--her expression--the way she holds her head--her eyes look even wider, suddenly innocent--she blushes.

“Oh!” Emma giggles, and never has a Hook heard a sound less suited to a person.

“You should not be here,” the man says. “Princess, you should return to the party before you are missed.”

Emma pouts and Hook can only wonder if he and he alone can see the artifice in the expression. “I was just having a bit of fun,” she sighs.

The man coughs a sound that might be a laugh, or it might be exasperation. Hook keeps himself from smiling and decides it is probably a bit of both. Either way, it is laced with fondness--either way, Hook has no way of knowing yet if this voice and its fondness will be in his favor, or against it.

“I’m sure that is true, Princess,” the man says. His voice is gentle and persuasive. “But if you please, your Highness, I would rather the Queen not--”

“Of course, Graham.” Emma somehow manages to sound petulant even in her agreement. Her smile returns. It’s playful in the way that a child is playful and as foreign to Hook as the simper and the giggle and he tries not to wink as she turns her attention to him. “Are you coming?”

Only in her eyes does he see the spark of genuine amusement, of teasing, as if she can see every dirty thought in his mind and agrees with all of them. Only the presence of the man--this hallway--Hook’s purpose--Ariel--keeps his body from responding to the question.

The man answers before Hook can even open his mouth. “No. He’s staying.”

The fondness is gone, replaced by hard edges and a softly-sheathed threat.

Emma sighs again. She tugs the chain around his neck. Gives herself an exaggerated shake as she deliberately rearranges the neckline of her dress and walks--saunters--back toward the ballroom.

Hook exhales the breath he has been holding, but does not move to follow. He counts back from five and has only made it to two before the man speaks.

“What the bloody fuck do you think you are doing here? With her?” The man yanks at his helmet and runs his free hand through the thick dark curls and many, many things click into place.

Such as: “It was you, wasn’t it--who taught the princess to fight?”

Graham looks away. “It is the least of what I owe to her.”

“Snow White did not ask for your sacrifice,” Hook says.

“And what do you know of sacrifice, pirate--”

“I would not do what Regina required.”

“You had a choice,” Graham spits.

“That does not mean my goals have changed in all of these years,” Hook says, “nor has my determination to achieve them ebbed.”

“And now you’ve come to beg a boon of the Queen on the heir’s birthday? Or--” The man’s expression darkens as he reaches for his sword.

“I assure you, Humbert, that is the opposite of my purpose this night.” Hook takes a step forward. “Right now, I am here to beg you. Let me go after her.”

“The Queen? Or the princess?”

“Emma,” Killian says softly.

“You put the princess’s life in danger, and for what? A tumble in a hallway? If the Queen sees you--”

“Peace, Huntsman.” Hook holds his hand in a preemptive warding gesture.

Graham hisses. “Do not call me that. I beg you. Those days are long gone.” There is sadness in the words, wistful and broken.

Hook has heard all of those things and more in his own voice over the years, seen all of that in his reflection in the mirror, inked all of it into his skin with thousands of pinpricks, each painful jab a reminder of what he has lost; he relents. “I know you are not so much her creature as that,” he says.

“Perhaps. But I am not so much free of her as that either.” Graham sighs. “And soon, neither shall you be.”

The hallway goes dark as Hook falls.

@captain-emmajones @profdanglaisstuff @katie-dub @thisonesatellite @stahlop @kmomof4 @mariakov81 @karl0ta @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @shireness-says

#cs fic #enchanted forest #cs fan art

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incorrigible-groupie · 3 years

Text

Actually, the ends weren’t that bad (a TPN/TOA essay)

So.

There are two series that ended recently and which had a lot of impact for me but also a very controversial end, like there are some wars between fans who argue about if the end was good… or not.

And me ? I really want to believe that The Promised Neverland (the manga, obviously) and Trollhunters have very coherent ends.

You’re probably wondering « why putting these two together ? » and I have a reason, multiple reasons actually. Of course, there will be spoilers of The Promised Neverland and the entire Tales of Arcadia saga (Trollhunters, 3Below, Wizards and the movie Rise of the Titans).

First, Promised Neverland.

And mostly the character who made a lot of people cringe even before the last book : Emma. Cringe because, for some fans, she isn’t someone you can relate with because she isn’t realistic… in every sense of the word.

She is too perfect or at least too perfectly programmed for the plot whisky is not entirely true ! « She is too kind ! » well… maybe not ? I don’t think all her actions were driven by kindness.

She is too clever to be the naive kind of kind.

And don’t tell me that if she was that clever, she would have noticed that her orphanage was a farm because… she probably was in denial. Also, how would she imagine that monsters were waiting for them outside ? Maybe she didn’t see, maybe she didn’t want to see. But anyway, when she discovered the truth, her first thought was to get everyone out. EVERYONE.

Of course, there are her family, she won’t let them… but she did have to let some of them because it would have been too complicated, so that prove that she isn’t just a naive idealistic.

She wanted to fight, first for her family, then for every kid of every farm, because that wouldn’t be fair if her kids stayed alive and not the others. Then she also want to save every monsters, because that wouldn’t be fair since they didn’t choose to have to eat meat.

This is not about being kind, this is about being fair. This is about responsibility and guilt.

Emma doesn’t want to save everyone because everyone deserve to be saved or something cute like that, she would have killed less people or monsters otherwise.

She wants to save everyone because she doesn’t want to feel as bad as the people, as the monsters who hurt her and her family. She doesn’t want to be a monster.

When she understood, and ONLY WHEN she understood what it means to hunt, she realized how thin was the line between her enemy and herself so she doesn’t want to live knowing people lived horribly because of her.

She didn’t want to live with that on her conscience.

And… I think this is kind of selfish ? She doesn’t do that because it’s right, she does that because she wants to be better… I don’t know. She took a lot of risks, for her and for a friends just so she won’t feel that guilt.

But the others don’t care that the mutants die, only Emma who is really clever like I said before understood and was like « yeah so no we need to find a solution or it will haunt me for the rest of my life ». This is more like a perfectionist thing that a kind thing.

Which is… logical for a character like Emma.

Really the characters in the manga are very well-written, especially Isabella who has such a dignified way to die. It was a good end for her, very symbolic, even if I’m very sad about it. When she betrayed the blond guy, I was pleasantly surprised but at the same time it made sense like, it’s very consistent, everything is consistent even if we started with a complex project. Ending the meat industry ? Save all the children ? And Isabella’s end shows how the real villain of the story are the one who benefit from the system (which says a lot about our own society).

But Emma, actually, became « queen » of the system when she made the new treaty, she literally created a new system so… welcome responsibilities while she was only 14. Will she benefit too ? Or even take advantage ? But how could she after everything she learnt, and mostly after so many people sacrificed their lives so she could reach her goal ? Did she deserve it ?

How could she live with that on her conscience ?

The answer is : she can’t. She isn’t that strong. She isn’t that positive. She isn’t that perfect.

And destiny (haha) gave her a solution on a silver plate. Not by surprise like a Deus Ex Machina since we knew there would be a counterparty which won’t be too violent because Emma cleared the path. This was an equivalent exchange. THIS IS LIKE FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST ! (By the way, why does everyone think TPN’s end was too easy while in FMA, the best manga of all time, the solution to get Alphonse’s body back was in Ed’s hands… LITERALLY !).

Anyway.

The demon offered to lose her memory, thinking she would refuse because she would be alone, separated from her family which is… euh… stupid… I mean… have you seen Your Name ?

People who are meant to be together will find each other.

Moreover, Emma was so relieved because it was solving all her problems : nobody dies, everybody goes to the other world, nobody sacrifices themselves, and the guilt she was afraid to live with ? Gone. I think Emma was also relieved to be like « yes, I have a second chance, now I will live a normal life ». And it was selfish because it seemed like she said « so guys I will send you to another universe I know nothing about after I brought you into this mess but now you will deal with it yourself everyone ! ». That was… a little cowardly ?

And the worst was that every encounter she made, every lesson she learnt, she lost them…

Well, thinking about that…

TROLLHUNTERS !

Trollhunter’s end was… hard. And gave me a bitter sensation since not only we said goodbye to our favorite characters but we also genuinely said goodbye to the show. Even if we wanted to watch the show a second time, it was kinda deleted (along with Anton Yelchin acting…) ?

Yes, it’s hard… but isn’t it ballsy to do a scenario like this ? And we could have expected this, it’s not the first time we talked about time travel in this saga. And for gods sake at the very beginning of the movie there were a lot of things that shouldn’t happen. The train’s crash in New York, the Titans probably crushing people, the bridge being destroyed, and all that jazz… Can you imagine how Jim should have lived with all of this besides everything else he had lost ? And then, Toby died (which affected me more than I imagined).

But it’s not Toby’s death that made Jim want to change everything, it was just the last straw. The last thing that wasn’t supposed to happen. After all, if it was written that Jim was given another chance, if Naru saw that Jim would have to get back, to go aaaaall the way back, there must have a reason, or multiple reasons. Do you think humans could live normally after everything that happened ? Do you think humans and trolls could coexist ? I’m not sure, not after that kind of damage. And Arcadia was destroyed ! The HeartStone, the center of the universe, was destroyed too ! I think even if Toby survived, the end wasn’t that bright…

And the time-travel wasn’t a Deus Ex Machina either because otherwise it would have been a « and then BOUM everything is back to normal and everything is ok » situation, which isn’t…

We don’t know what will happen.

Jim will do everything so it’ll be okay but maybe he will make some mistakes. Vendel may not survive, maybe they will take more time to kill Gunmar, Aaaaaargh may be turn to stone again… we don’t know. And I think everyone in the fandom is pissed because of that. Because we don’t know. And I do understand : this is not the end, not a conclusion, not a great finale, more like the beginning of something we won’t get to see (like a legacy?), which is both great and very very sad for us. I hope Dreamworks will do comics or books…

But also, I doesn’t mean that nothing will be like before. There is a lot of things Jim has no control of. For example, what happened to the extraterrestrials, Jim knew nothing about it so he can’t change a thing. And for the wizards too. And when you think about it, what happens in « Wizards » has to happen. Jim won’t be a troll during that arc but it will happen anyway, it’s supposed to happen because it’s the creation of the Trollhunter, the creation of the Amulet ! And Jim has no idea of what will become because he wasn’t really there.

What is supposed to happen will happen.

Friendship or love, it will happen. Even the relationship between Jim and Blinky, even if Jim isn’t the Trollhunter. OH, SPEAKING OF WHICH.

Choosing Toby as the new Trollhunter is a super idea. Toby will accept his role right away. Toby will love his new destiny. And since he will have Jim’s help, he will be okay. Jim doesn’t want his friends to get traumatized again (I mean it’s cool to learn stuff but do you really need to suffer for that?)(I’M LOOKING AT YOU AGAIN, EDWARD ELRIC), so he will do what he can so things don’t get too heavy. And you know, maybe he want (AND DESERVE) to give a bit away. He probably give the Amulet to Toby because he knew Toby is brave enough to fight even without powers… and because he was tired to bear the Amulet ? Anyway, like I said, everything that is supposed to happen will happen and if Toby isn’t the right Trollhunter, the Amulet won’t choose him.

AH ! And don’t forget that Jim doesn’t need the Amulet to be a Trollhunter ! This is literally what the show wanted to teach us, guys ! If you forget it, it proves that it’s not only the characters who had a reset…

A reset…

Holy guacamole this is exactly like Undertale. This is Undertale’s principle. Jim is Frisk who after taking a Neutral Route wants to do a True Pacifist Route ! This is so cooooool !

Except that, exactly like in The Promised Neverland finale (well, not exactly but like a reversed version of it), Jim decides that everyone forgets everything that happened and take the guilt off their shoulders, as heavy as an armor. He erased everyone’s guilt, except his. That is far from being selfish or cowardly.

It’s the opposite ! These two shows which don’t have a lot in common have finales being negative pictures !

And Jim’s end isn’t perfect either because he still has the world on his shoulders (a little less because he isn’t the Bearer of the Amulet, but still a little more because he knows what happens if it goes wrong).

He is still the Young Atlas because even if the characters in the shows won’t live the same thing, they will still be the characters we knew, the characters we saw growing, the characters as brave and as strong as we used to see : like in Undertale, « despite everything, it’s still you ».

And to everyone who says to me « yeah but it will go wrong because when Merlin shows Jim the future where he isn’t the Trollhunter, it was shit », well : NO.

Jim stays a Trollhunter, he said so ! And I mostly think (since the moment I saw this episode) this all thing was an illusion, not a real future, because Merlin is a real piece of garbage and I was only sad for Douxie when Merlin died (otherwise, I would have celebrate it). And I think Jim knows it too, that it wasn’t real.

By the way, I hope they will find another way to not say « For the glory of Merlin » anymore, I loved the new version of the Amulet in the movie (AND JIM LOVED IT TOO).

All of this just to say that : these endings, even if it’s very frustrating, make sense.

Of course, saying goodbye to so many things I cared about for years make it difficult to assimilate it, but that also means that I really loved it.

And in the end, it showed these two characters flaws, these perfect, pure, way-too-nice characters with too many responsibilities and a huge desire to survive, but who are being selfish for once by taking a clean start.

But they’re doing it with their pockets full of determination… proving how humans they are.

And I really will miss them.

Ready ? Set ? Go !

#tpn #the promised neverland #manga #emma tpn #toa #tales of arcadia #trollhunters #dreamworks #jim toa #jim lake jr #rise of the titans #netflix #fullmetal alchemist #undertale

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period-dramallama · 4 years

Text

Spanish Princess Episode 5: many many thoughts

Strap yo selves in

-WHERE WAS THE APOLOGY?? Lina’s just back with Catherine like nothing happened??

-Katherine, I get why you’re upset, but you kind of should be unsurprised?? Your dad was unfaithful to his wife, most kings were. Henry VII and Richard III were the exceptions, and even they had illegitimate sons before their marriages. Many kings also had official mistresses that everyone knew about, so by the standards of the time Henry and Bessie are actually being pretty tactful in at least trying to keep their affair out of sight. (Sexy dancing aside).

-Honestly it would have been so much more moving if KoA was like “I know kings take mistresses...but I thought...I was so sure... he would be different...”

-”they gave me a purse of gold!” It’s expected that you give the monarch lavish presents, lmao Ursula and Stafford would do that even if they hated each other and you

-”everybody loves a masque” the only sensible thing Henry has said so far in this show. Also court probably had way more masques than we see in the show, and it would standard to have a masque every holiday.

-”she is not a boy” hurry up with your character development and learn to love Mary already i am so TIRED of this miserable BS

-seems a rather depopulated masque? If the Chateau Vert pageant is anything to go by putting on a masque was a court activity, with most of the ladies performing.

-Bessie Blount in her cute masque costume... sweet mother i cannot weave Aphrodite has overcome me with GAAAAAAAAAAAAY

-”I never enjoyed carousing...my mother scolded me” look i love the Neville sisters with my whole heart but a) Margaret was 3 at most when her mother died, how does she remember her? She’d have clearer memories of her double-uncle and double-aunt, Richard III and Queen Anne b) Isabel Neville in the White Queen was established as very prim and proper, a well-bred girl who cared about enforcing decorum, she refused to ‘carouse’ and she certainly would never bring a 3 year old to a party c) we saw little Margaret as a girl at the end of the White Queen and she didn’t seem at all shy.

-”she died young, didn’t she” ...yes? most people did?

-”they both did” understatement of the year. Isabel Neville died young because she was ill, George died young (in the universe of The White Queen, at least) BECAUSE HE WAS FORCEFULLY DROWNED IN A VAT OF MALMSEY WINE. THESE TWO THINGS ARE NOT THE SAME! I do at least trust the writers of this show that the understatement was intentional, I’m sure even Emma Frost couldn’t forget a major character getting violently drowned.

-So the court only noticed the plague when one of their own got it so obviously and then died? Yes, plague could move fast, but if there was a whiff of plague the court would flee with the speed of the Looney Tunes road runner. If an acquaintance of an acquaintance of a cook had a cousin who saw someone with the plague, the court would flee to the country. How have these people not died of terminal stupid?! Like Compton was in the same building as the heir to the throne

-To be fair, it makes sense that they’re surprised Compton’s dead. Because the real Compton died of the sweating sickness. In 1528. Also he was involved in Buckingham’s downfall so... you just wrote yourself into a corner.

-Oh wow an actual good reason for More and Pole to be quarantined together i am amaaaaaazed

-”attend the queen” Boleyn, what do you think your daughter’s been doing all season if not attending the queen? Playing tetris?

-Katherine helping Anne into the wagon...I actually like that little moment. Like it does make sense, because the two have no reason to hate each other yet. (And who couldn’t like Anne? She’s such a babby!)

-Thomas More in the Tudor equivalent of casual clothes... much better. Shame about the 1930s lady’s wig.

-”what else should we do?” Maggie, this cannot be the first epidemic you’ve ever lived through. Have you forgotten the sweating sickness of 1485? You’ve probably lived through more epidemics than Oviedo has, you should know the protocol better than him.

-Oviedo continues to be the only man with rights. I wish we could see him crying and missing his wife and babies, but then my lil heart would break so maybe it’s for the best.

-They burn Maggie’s weird blue hood AS THEY SHOULD! IT WAS UGLY AND STUPID! I NEVER HAVE TO LOOK AT IT AGAIN NOW! THANK YOU SO MUCH! yes they also burned her nice dress with the strawberries on it but honestly it’s worth it, bc now i can rest easy, knowing the evil hood has been defeated.

-”you were a plaything” Katherine is so obviously insecure. I’m getting second-hand embarrassment. Like if she really was certain Bessie wasn’t important, she wouldn’t need to say it, would she? Except to rub it in. Which this KOA would absolutely do.

-literally all Bessie said was good morning?? Like Bessie is doing her best?? The masque was Henry’s idea, not hers, she hasn’t shown off about her affair, she hasn’t demanded money or titles, she hasn’t demanded any status to rival Katherine’s, she doesn’t flirt with or even speak to Henry when Katherine’s around, she acts like they’re strangers, she doesn’t even react when Katherine loses her temper...someone please please stick up for Bessie!

-”the rocking of the cart is unsettling to the stomach” is Anne naive, or is she covering for Bessie? I hope it’s the latter, in which case Anne is the one person looking out for Bessie...the babby is Soft, I repeat the babby is Soft!

-the irony of Mary being cold to Bessie when she’s next in the firing line...

-”it is not the rocking” Thank you Lina, where would we be without your gift for stating the obvious?

-”where did Wolsey get his money”...He’s a churchman...at the top of the church hierarchy...how do you fuckin think he got wealthy. Have y’all not been in the sixteenth century for five minutes? Why do you think Luther is so mad at the church?

-”I know of no other man in her bed most nights” Honestly wow I’m surprised KoA wasn’t like “well :/ a girl like that :/ who knows how many men process in and out of her bed :/” KoA gets half a point for being less bitchy than usual. Also Bessie looked so uncomfortable with Henry groping her stomach in front of Katherine. I pray the next man in her life treats her right and that Fraham don’t prematurely kill her off like they did with Compton.

-”the future king” if you’re regent on his behalf, then he’s already king! “Civilised companionship” back at it again with the Scots-are-barbarians.

-Laura Carmichael is utterly stunning this episode, with her hair down. The cinematography was beautiful in general this week.

-”freedom to speak and licence to speak are two different things” hey look at that one of Thomas More’s actual beliefs. I am giving all the credit to the historical advisor for that, I don’t believe for one second Fraham knew that beforehand.

-Maggie I love you but no, God does not sanction adultery. For any reason.

-KOA smirking and gloating about Bessie’s pain...she has never been so punchable. I would understand, if not condone it, if Bessie was manipulative, or greedy, or ambitious, or trying to supplant Katherine. But Bessie’s been betrayed by Henry too, and there’s no concrete evidence she ever gloated about her affair, to anyone let alone Katherine.

-”You think only of your own fate while London is struck down with plague” Earth to Katherine?? What concern have you shown for the Londoners?? Also calling Bessie selfish...Bessie’s not the one who lashed out at Lina, was jealous at Lina for having twin boys, and who wanted to continue a war for personal reasons. And then Bessie proves KoA wrong 5 hot seconds later by sticking up for Mary. Bit rich of KoA to be all “how dare you leave my daughter unattended” when she herself won’t even hold Mary.

-”Louis didn’t last a year” What! Is! The Timeline!

-Meg in that cloak reminds me of the Scottish Widow adverts. Georgie is so greedy- she steals every single scene she is in! Even when she’s raging she has more dignity and more presence than KoA ever has.

-”YOU LYING SOD” i burst out laughing it’s really not the little two-timing shit’s day, is it?

-Mary receiving Charlie B in the most Extra way possible. A++

-Why does Wolsey look like he’s about to cry?

-”thoughts are not actions” Lina I love you but... that is NOT what the New Testament says. Jesus said evil thoughts are very very much sins. I’ll give you a pass because maybe you haven’t been Catholic as long as Katherine has? Idk your backstory.

-Aaand now she’s wishing death on Bessie and her unborn baby and Lina isn’t disgusted? At least Katherine is feeling guilty. AS SHE SHOULD.

-”must it always fall to me to be magnanimous?” Katherine, you think only of yourself, for 23 out of every 24 hours.

-”God wants me to be compassionate to Bessie because of my sins” God wants you to be compassionate because that’s how Christianity is supposed to work. It’s not very selfless of you to decide to be selfless so that you can get what you want.

-oh wow look at that! She’s getting some self-awareness, i never saw that coming.

-”you betrayed Bessie” 5 points to Katherine of Aragon for standing up for Bessie when Henry screwed her over. Finally, some positive character development.

- MINUS 20000 POINTS FOR BABY STEALING

-WHAT THE FUCK

-is henry so dumb he thinks that baby is Katherine’s? Katherine was so obviously not pregnant

-When a baby’s born his skin needs to touch his mother’s skin so they can bond. They should have at least an hour’s cuddle time. Katherine of Aragon is literally traumatising a baby the very minute he is born. For her own selfish, selfish desires.

#the spanish princess

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 4 years

Note

i love amnesia au so much i hope for part 4???

Part 1

Warnings: angst

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You really need to stop that." Ethan's frustration had reached its peak, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You don't have to be so sweet all the time. I know you can see how fucked up I am, you don't have to pretend otherwise."

Licking her lips, Y/N sinks her teeth in the bottom one. "I'm not sugarcoating anything", she sighs. "I'm saying you're more than your grief and you may not see it now, but I do and I like what I see."

"So what happens when you finally open your eyes and realize all you thought you like now is the reason why you don't like me then."

Placing her right hand on Ethan's shoulder, she used it to help position herself in his lap. Wrapping her arm around him, she brought her lips closer to his.

"I will realize that those reasons aren't for me to like, but love. Ethan, I am here and I'm not planning on leaving anytime soon even though you might want me to." Smiling softly, she pecks his lips.

"You're trouble, Y/N Y/L/N", passes Ethan's lips, but his smile is what makes her heart beat louder.

Staring at Ethan felt too weird nowadays. It's been a few weeks since he allowed Y/N regular visitation rights and while it made her happy to know her presence is wanted, she doubted if it was sincere.

A part of her always questioned if Ethan was only doing it out of a sense of obligation. To who? She wasn't sure. Maybe it was to her and the memories she had and he lacked or to Ethan who was madly in love with her and the life they built together.

"You wanna help me out, sunshine?" Ethan asks, his voice mellow and for once, he sounds like the Ethan she used to know. Except, her Ethan never called her sunshine.

"Of course." She smiles, happy he's learned to ask for help when he needs it. "Give", she holds out her arm to take the bag from Ethan, moving out of the way for him to take his crutch. It took a while, but he accepted he needs it as his leg was falling behind compared to the progress he made with his arm.

"So, uh, you'll stay here?" Ethan shifts his gaze to the ground, walking past the door slowly.

"If you want me to. I mean, I have my own place." Shrugging, she kicked the pillow from the floor, rolling her eyes at Grayson who said the house was ready for Ethan to return.

"Maybe not yet", Ethan said, his voice low but clear. "Probably best for now." He clears his voice, stealing a glance her way only to notice her usually chipper attitude is gone and she isn't even looking at him.

Sitting down, Ethan exhales loudly as the strain on his muscles lessens, the pain fading too.

"What year is it for you?" Y/N speaks up, leaving his bag by the bed. "I never asked. If it's before me, it must be at least a year and a half ago for you."

Folding his hands in his lap, Ethan's frown deepens. He stares at his shoes, gnawing on the inside of his lower lip. "It's just after my dad died."

"Oh", she furrows her eyebrows, unable to find what would be the proper thing to say.

Y/N met Ethan a few months after his father died, just after he had went though a break up as well. She found her angel when his wings were still black. She never thought they'd be back in that dark period again. In a way, she understood him better now. He wasn't just reacting to his newfound disabilities, he had once again been faced with a grief he barely escaped the first time.

"Is this before or after", she stops herself, afraid of what the answer might be.

"Before." But Ethan knew what she was asking. "According to everyone, I'm in love with you, but", shaking his head, Ethan pauses. Taking Y/N's quivering chin in consideration, he knew it would hurt her to hear the truth.

"Say it." She speaks in a whisper, struggling to hold on to sanity.

"You're great, I'm sure you are, but in my head I'm still with her." Closing his eyes, Ethan realizes he can't keep lying to her. "Emma is my girlfriend and I feel like I'm cheating on her and I don't understand how or why we broke up."

Swallowing thickly, Y/N folds her arms again. It's something she does when she's anxious and holding back her feelings, Ethan noticed.

"So, uh", she glances at the door, once again looking for a clean exit, "What does that mean for me?"

Holding back tears, she kept her hands tucked under her armpits in order to hide how shaky they are. In truth, her entire body shakes as if she will crumble with his words.

"It means nothing." Ethan shrugs, "Business as usual. We are getting to know each other again."

Scoffing at the word business, Y/N runs her hands through her hair.

"It does mean something. It means she is on your mind even when you're with me. It means she is a regret, a mystery for you and you will eventually want to know what happened there and while I could tell you, it won't matter because none of that happened for you. I'll be an afterthought in your life and I can't be that!"

Leaning toward her, Ethan pushed himself off his bed without his crutch, hoping to stop her from crying. He can't handle her tears.

"Tell me and I'll believe you." Ethan pleads, reaching out for Y/N and despite every instinct in her body, she allows him to put his hand on her. She looks into his eyes, blinking away a tear as it crashes down on the carpet.

"You left her because you realized she wasn't right for you. She couldn't give you what you want. It wasn't a mutual breakup."

"What does that even mean?" Ethan grumbles, forcefully turning away from Y/N. Stumbling, he sits back down and shakes his head. "I don't understand."

"I'm gonna go." Y/N sniffles, grateful she can actually leave without being followed. Ethan would never let her just walk away from a conversation without resolving the issue. She loved how communicative he was, but she was really glad she didn't have to be communicative now.

"Stay", Ethan croaks, "Sunshine, please."

Looking over her shoulder, Y/N looks up in hope of drying tears so they don't start running down her cheeks in front of him again.

"I want to." But her voice betrays her anguish, "Gosh, I really want to stay."

"So stay." Ethan tries, stopping when he sees her broken smile grace her lips.

"It's not that easy. You look at me like a stranger while pining over someone else and I...I don't know how much more of this I can take."

Nodding, Ethan presses his lips together. "You love daisies." Ethan states, hoping it would stop her from leaving. It's not exactly a memory, but a dream he had. She had daisies in her hair and she was laughing, the very laugh he recognized a few weeks ago and he didn't know what to make of it.

"They're on my profile photo." Her smile falls, her eyes narrowing. "You're gonna have to try harder than that."

"I want to."

"I'm trying to be patient. I am." Placing a hand on her chest, she averts her gaze to the painting she bought him hanging on his wall, the same painting she wrote her first I love you on, "But I can't do this anymore." It is only fitting she says her goodbye while looking at her hello.

"What does that mean?" Ethan's frown deepens, standing up a little too fast. He stumbles back and falls on the bed again, realizing he can't even stop her from leaving though he wants to.

But she can’t think, she can’t even breathe around him anymore. Y/N has completely lost the reigns and she doesn’t know how to take back control over her own emotional wellbeing.

Watching the man you love become a stranger, understanding all the love she has for him is going to waste because he’s suddenly hung up on his ex who wasn’t even an issue before?

It’s devastating.

And Ethan can see that in her eyes, the pain he causes just by existing. Wishing to God he can remember anything, no matter how small, his eyes fill with tears too because losing her isn’t an option for him. He doesn’t even know why, but the idea of never seeing Y/N again wrecks him.

Wetting her lips, she shakes her head as if she hoped it would be a fairytale ending and Ethan would tell her he remembers everything and things would go back to normal and this amnesia would be nothing but a nightmare.

But it isn’t.

She is still there, her whole world falling apart as Ethan’s tears make tracks. There is nothing left to say - he doesn’t know her anymore and she’s not sure he would ever truly let her in again. She fought for him, always, but Ethan isn’t hers anymore even if she is his. She can’t imagine a day where she won’t be.

"Goodbye Ethan."

Part 5

#dolan twins #ethan dolan #ethan dolan x reader #ethan dolan angst #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan fanfiction #ethan dolan fic #ethan dolan fanfic

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killiansprincss · 3 years

Text

Never Forget You ch. 15

Season 6A Canon Divergence.

Emma is happy. Finally happy with her parents, son and boyfriend. But this happiness is taken away from her when the Evil Queen curses her and turns her into a toddler.

Heartbroken and angry, Killian and Henry run away to Neverland to wait for Emma to break her curse. But when she does break it and comes looking for them 25 years later, she soon realises this Neverland is very different now it is no longer under Pans rule.

Will she be able to save Henry and Killian in time, or will this new ruler of Neverland keep them hostage forever?

Chapter 15 of my Neverland fic is here, I hope you enjoy it! Leave a comment if you liked it, they mean the world every comment I get :) AO3 Link

Previous chapters

Verena was worried about Cecelia. This was a dangerous plan to begin with, even before Hook and Henry’s family came for them. She’s proven that she will do anything to make sure the two of them stay on the Island. The Echo Caves were a dangerous torture device, once used to drive the darkest secrets out of fairies, so they could be exiled or executed. And she feared this was exactly what she planned to do.

Verena was worried, no, scared for what her sister was doing. She was afraid for her life, if she stayed by her side she could end up dead, if she betrayed her she would equally end up dead. She needed a way to help Henry’s family while making Cecelia think she was helping her.

_____

She watches the family as Cecelia does. Cecelia thinks Verena is watching them in the same way she is, searching for a weakness in them. She’s a smart fairy, but also very passionate about what she wants so could be willing to let a few pieces of information slip from her mind.

“Anything new?” Cecelia asks one morning.

Verena shakes her head, “Not at the moment. They’re mainly talking about their lives, what’s been happening in their land over the past 25 years. But I’ll keep watching, there may be something in here we can use.”

And then it hits her. She’s watching the boys grandparents talk about their journey, they had been through a lot during the Enchanted Forest with corrupt Kings and Queens. But there was one part of their story that stuck out.

A sleeping curse.

Verena knew of her sister's plans for the pirate and the boy. And if she could give their family time, time to defeat Cecelia, she would keep the pirate safe under a sleeping curse, that way Cecelia would not be able to touch him. Her sister would be defeated, and then Emma, if she loves him as she says she does, she will wake him up.

Verena doesn’t tell her sister of her plan, afraid she will do it herself with some sort of twist. No,she does this independently, and will show her sister the outcome.

____

Despite never being the biggest fan of Hook to begin with, he was his daughter's true love. And he had shown countless times how far he was willing to save her, and Emma for him. They all went to hell, the Underworld to save him. So it shocked him when Emma told them he was sleeping with the fairy. There was no way he would do that, he knew how much he loved his daughter.

“I think I need to have a little chat with our Pirate. Find out his intentions.” He tells his family. He wanted to speak to him alone, find out the truth about him.

Emma doesn't even bother to stop him. She’s still angry, hurt and upset with Hook. Nobody stops him.

/\/\/\/\

If there was one thing Killian Jones associated with Neverland, aside from Pan and the fairies, it was Rum.

Rum in some senses had been his only companion during his years in Neverland. When he had handed Bae over to Pan many years ago, he greatly regretted this decision every day and it haunted him. So he turned to Rum, and he drank it every day to make him forget what the horrible consequences of that decision was. He couldn’t run away from his problems, he was in Neverland and needed the eternal youth it provided him with, so Rum could help ease his mind and put those worries to the back of his mind.

He doesn’t sleep. He made that mistake enough times to know it’s a bad idea. In his first days of Neverland before he met Emma he would see Liam. And if he didn’t see Liam, he would see Milah.

“Killian. Killian.”

He kept hearing a voice, it sounded an awful lot like his brother. But he knew better than to think his brother came back to life.

Except he kept hearing it. He opened his eyes to see Liam Jones standing in front of him.

“Liam?”

“Little brother what are you doing?” His voice was hoarse and bitter.

“Liam? Is it really you?” He was shocked to see him just walking around like it was nothing.

“Of course it’s me you bloody bastard! What are you doing with your life, little brother? This isn’t what we planned.” He was angry with him, that was sure.

“I’m sorry. Liam. You died. I messed up. I can’t trust the Navy, they killed you. I had to avenge your death.” It was true what Liam was saying, this wasn’t Killians plan-they planned for Liam to captain the Jewel of the Realm for a few years with Killian as Lieutenant until Killian would Captain his own ship one day. They would sail under the Kings Realm as the Jones Brothers, 2 of the finest Captains their kingdom had seen.

“Pirate, Killian? Really? Pirates were our worst enemy, and is that Rum? After all your talk of Good Form? The moment I’m gone, you become a drunk pirate?” This wasn’t Liam, or at least the Liam he knew once.

“You’re not Liam are you? What are you? Demon reveal yourself?” He could tell it wasn’t him by the way he spoke about his choices. Yes it wasn’t their original plan, but he wouldn’t judge his decisions so harshly considering what happened. And he would never call him a drunk. Never.

The demon was revealed to be a shadow. The shadow demons would take the form of another to try and trick you, or reveal dark desires. He learnt that the hard way when Pan when he revealed a dark secret about Milah.

“We wouldn’t want poor Bae finding out his mother’s darkest secret now do we?” Pan taunted him, he was unsure whether it was 50 years into his time in Neverland or 200.

At the time he had no idea how he found out. “Captain you can’t be so foolish as to speak to every shadow demon you see. O matter how many times it appears as Bae’s mother.”

When he realises it was just a bloody demon and not actually Milah's ghost or spirit, he goes back to his ship and drinks as much rum as it takes until he passes out.

Passing out from too much rum had become a regular occurrence for Killian, and slowly turned into a habit. The only way he could get through the days and nights which along with the time moving differently that had turned into a blur.

When Killian arrived back in Neverland with Henry, he told himself he wouldn’t use rum like that again. But that changed when he realised the shadow demons were Neverland speciality, not just Pan’s.

He sees Emma. He’d recognise her face anywhere, her blonde hair loose, green eyes shining as they always did, and her red jacket.

“You left me.” Emma grumbles.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry love. I didn’t know what to do.” He apologises and apologises to her, but she won’t hear his cries or his pleas, she just keeps repeating

“You. Left. Me”

It takes a while for him to understand that this was a demon. The demon looked so like Emma, and he so wanted to see her, to bring him home.

But that was a long time ago. 1,000 years could’ve passed, that’s how Neverland works. And the only thing that could help him see past the demons was Rum. And lots of it. Neverland had an unlimited magic supply of the stuff so it was an easy fix to his daily problems. Especially after what happened with Eli, he couldn’t bare to look at his brothers face without feeling an enormous sense of guilt, so he would drink and drink and wake up the next morning with no clue what happened. It was best this way, just drink the pain away.

He pushes Henry away too. And he hates himself for it. But the poor lad looks so like his mother, he’s only reminded of the blasted reason they’re here every time he looks at him. He came aboard the Jolly one day with his ever present smile and boyish grin, ever the positive lad. He tells him to get off his ship, raising his voice at him.

“I-I don’t understand.” The poor lad trembles.

“I want you off my ship. Don’t ever come back onto my ship without a direct invitation from me first.” Killian snaps at him. He cringes at the memory, but he was angry once again at the universe and he took it out on Henry who was a painful reminder of the woman he lost.

Emma would be ashamed if she knew how he had been treating him, he made a vow to protect him and he had broken it. He’d done worse than broke the vow to protect him, he banished him from the only familiar place on the damn Island.

He only sees Henry in the Lost Ones clearing each night. They don’t ever say more than a few words to another at first. But then as time goes on in Neverland, and Henry forgives him, well he doesn’t outright say he forgives him, but he asks how he is. Henry knew better than to ask about his mother, Henry was having his own awful dreams of her, he knew it would only be worse for Killian. They keep their distance but Henry knows Killian isn’t okay, he notices how he drinks and drinks, each night, sometimes he will sit down and say nothing the entire night except mumbles which Henry can’t make out. He drinks his flask of rum, some nights he even has 2 flasks.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

“Emma that you?” Killain asks as he hears a knock on the door to his hut.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Oh it was Dave, “She’s not coming.”

“I didn’t sleep with Cecelia. I don’t know what she showed Emma, but I swear on my life that nothing has happened since I returned to this blasted Island.”

“I know.” David knew, he knew fairies, especially darker fairies were unpleasant creatures who created a web of lies and deceit to fulfil their desires.

“You do?”

The Prince nods at his once almost son in law. “You love Emma, I see it. I saw how it broke you when she was cursed. You ran away to Neverland, with Henry to protect him against seeing the person you both love not recognise you. The place that is filled with your own personal demons and nightmares. You came because you love Emma. I’d do the same for Snow.”

Killian breathes a sigh of relief, “you have no idea how much it means that you believe me. I just wished there was a way to show Emma.”

“You know what she’s like, stubborn as hell.” David laughs. “Give her some space. She’ll realise soon enough that the fairy is messing with her. Just stay on our side and we can figure out how to defeat -“

He is cut short as he senses movement outside Killians window.

“Verena!” Killain says as he and David grab their nearest weapon as the fairy poofs in front of them.

“I’m so sorry. I swear I’m on your side, my sister has much darker plans for you so this is something I have to do. If the woman you love truly feels the way you do, then she’ll wake you.”

One moment Killain is pointing his sword at the fairy dressed in red, and the next moment he suddenly feels sleepy and hits the ground as slumber.

“What the hell did you do to him?” David asks, sword pointing at the fairy.

The fairy clicks her fingers causing the Prince to fall to the ground,

“I’m afraid it’s for the best.” She whispers as she takes the Pirates body and disappears in a puff of red smoke.

#never forget you #my writing #captain swan #cs ff #cs fic rec #captain swan ff #fanfic #Emma swan #Killian jones

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kazoo5480 · 3 years

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The week passed quickly, Emma had her interview lined up and she was sitting in the passenger seat of David’s suburban while Killian got their suitcase in the trunk. She dug into her laptop bag and grabbed her Road trip CD and popped it in. Killian waved in thanks to David and headed out through town.

He was excited, it had been a constant reminder all week that this was really happening, and he was excited to see Boston and spend a long weekend there alone with Emma. He had made a reservation for tomorrow night at some pricey seafood restaurant in the wharf district, and Emma said she would show him around town if he wanted.

She was looking out the window, the breeze blowing her curls into a wild tangle. Her smile widened, the sun shining on her face and she looked incredibly happy.

“Excited Swan?” he asked.

“I think the suburban was overkill, I don’t have this much stuff to fill it, but yeah. I miss Boston, and I am glad you’re coming with me” she said smiling at him.

“So, love, tell me what is it that August does?” Killian asked curiously as he navigated the road ahead.

“He is a tracer. Tracing funds, wires, cash, money trails, mainly deals with large-scale money laundering and embezzlement cases” Emma said as she fiddled with the radio knobs.

Killian nodded, “that’s interesting. How did you guys land in your fields?”

She shrugged. “I got arrested, and my boss Cleo was my P.O. She taught me everything she knew, and it turned out that I am really good at tracking people. August was always really good with computers, which was surprising, but he understands software and picks up things normal IT sweeps don’t” she said.

“What did you get arrested for?” he asked looking over at her curiously.

“Stealing, nothing major, I was 17. But I had no record, and they let me go on probation” and Killian nodded looking ahead.

“Does that bother you?” She asked nervously.

“Not in the slightest. I was just curious is all, and now I have another puzzle piece in my Emma puzzle” he said smiling at her reassuringly.

Emma turned the CD on and grinned at him. “I hope you don’t mind but I brought my road trip mixtapes” and grinned. Killian laughed at her, “I don’t mind at all love” he said.

They talked about little things, books, movies, things that people in relationships talk about. He loved every new little fact, treasuring it, and hoarding it away in the back of his head. She was fascinating, and every little surprise and secret just made him adore her more.

They made a stop to gas up, and eat lunch, and he took in the scenery as her CD played. “Do you and August have mixtapes for everything?” he asked her smiling.

She nodded, “We had a lot of music, and two kids who didn’t have a lot of money, we spent a lot of time in our studio apartment dancing and picking up albums and CDs at the thrift stores. August has all of our record albums at his house now, and we put everything on playlists in our cloud” she said.

He nodded. “If you two shared a studio, what were your sleeping arrangements?” he asked genuinely curious, and Emma laughed at him.

“Bunk beds,” she said still laughing, and he barked out a laugh.

“Who got the top?” he laughed.

“Me, I weighed less so he always made me take the top” and smiled at the memories of their crappy apartment.

“What about you and your brother, did you both live in the loft?” she asked him.

He shook his head, “Liam and I rented a little apartment near the marina, and once we bought the shop, we started working on making the loft what it is now. But he left, and I continued building the loft out, and he never got a chance to see it.” He said.

“I’m sorry,” Emma said and squeezed his hand.

He shook it off, “Don’t be. I took the settlement money and paid off the shop, and put the rest in savings, and the shop does alright. It’s ok, really Emma” and she smiled at him.

“I wonder if he would have liked me” she mused looking out the window.

Killian lifted her hand to his lips, “I probably would have been coming to blows with my brother over gaining your affection” he said smiling. Emma rolled her eyes at him and smiled.

“He would have loved you, Emma, truly.” She smiled, “Do you want to switch and let me drive the rest of the way?” and he shook his head.

“Come on, you don’t know where you are going!” she said, and her lower lip jutted out in a pout.

He grinned, “you just navigate and tell me where I am going, love.”

“Alright Jones jump on I-90 in about ten miles, and I will tell you from there,” she said. She led him to her building, and he parked in her spot in the underground garage. She dug through her bag for her keys and hit the elevator button while Killian rolled their suitcase towards her and locked the car.

She was excited, Killian smiled at the face-splitting grin she wore. “Happy to be home love?” and she nodded practically bouncing in excitement. He smiled, and a flash of guilt rolled through him. She was picking up her whole life to be with him, everything she loved and the city she called home to move to nowhere Maine, and his gut churned with anxiety.

Was he asking too much of her? She was a city girl, what if she hated Maine, and she got bored. He tried to keep his face impassive as she led him out of the elevator and to her door. She unlocked it, and they stepped inside. She turned the lights on, grateful August had tossed all the garbage and her groceries. She was so happy, the familiar scent of home washing over her.

“So, this is home,” she said and smiled at Killian as she flicked the lights on illuminating her space. He walked to her windows and saw her view of the water.

“Wow, this is quite a place, Swan,” he said, and she smiled at him.

“Yeah, it is,” she said softly. “Come on, I will show you everything else.” She led him down the hall to the bathroom and laundry, her room. He stilled as he walked into her bedroom, the colors dark, and the artwork black and white photographs. “Are these yours?” he gestured, and she nodded.

The prints were stunning. “Did you take these Swan?” and she nodded shyly, he was amazed by her even more.

“August got me a camera one year, and it was a terrible camera, but I loved it. A few years ago, he bought me a very fancy camera for my birthday, so I enrolled in a course. It’s just a hobby” and she smiled. “Not so morbid after all,” she said teasing him and he laughed.

She left him in her room and went to get their suitcase rolling it to her room. Killian was looking out her window at the city below. “You hungry?” she asked, and he nodded.

“Master bath is through there,” she said pointing to a door, “I'll grab the menus” and kissed his cheek walking to her kitchen.

She opened her fridge, and it was empty except for diet coke, beer, and water. She smiled, August had cleaned it out entirely and it smelled like cleaner. She grabbed a diet coke and a beer for Killian setting it on the counter while she dug through her menu drawer. "Babe, do you want Indian, Chinese, Seafood, pizza?” she called out.

Killian washed his hands and his face. He looked at his reflection, what the fuck was he doing. She had a fucking life here, her whole world. He ran his hands through his hair, shit jones. Was this a mistake?

Emma knocked on the door. “Killian, is everything alright?” she called, and he opened the door ensuring his mask was back down.

“Hi, yeah just washing up,” he said smiling at her.

“Ok,” she fanned out 5 or 6 menus towards him. “Let's order” and led him to the kitchen. She guzzled her coke down, and he grabbed the neck of the beer she opened for him. She sat on her leather sofa, Killian noticed the furniture was all modern, with clean lines, devoid of color. There was no clutter, no mementos save for a few photos of her and August, a stereo, a weight bag hanging in the corner he hadn’t noticed. It just seemed cold, the opposite of what he knew about Emma's personality.

“Do you box love?” he motioned towards it, and she nodded looking up at him.

“Yeah. Do you want Indian or Chinese?” she asked looking at the menus.

He swallowed, feeling overwhelmed. “Either is fine with me. I will leave it to you” he said, and she smiled but noticed something was off about his mood.

“Ok. Are you, ok?” she asked, and he nodded still looking out the window.

Emma’s internal lie detector was ringing out in alarm. He was lying to her, for the first time he was lying. She ordered the food and tried to decide how to approach this. Why would he be lying? She really wished August were here now.

She grabbed a pen and paper, and a pad of sticky notes. She walked through the apartment and placed sticky notes on what was coming and began making a list of supplies she would need to pack.

She sat on her bed perplexed, what was he hiding from her?

A little while later the buzzer rang out, and Killian went to the door taking the food, and signed the receipt.

“Swan, dinners here love” he called out to her. Emma was gnawing her lip nervously; she was just going to be direct with him. She walked toward the kitchen; Killian was searching in her cupboards for plates.

“Left one,” she said, and he grabbed two plates and set them on the island.

“I have a question,” she asked. Killian stopped what he was doing and looked at her.

“Okay?” he said swallowing. Emma watched his body language change, how uncomfortable he seemed to be.

“You’re lying to me about something, I want to know what it is,” she said, and Killian’s eyes widened.

“I am not lying to you Emma,” he said running his hand through his hair.

“Yeah, you are. You said you are ok, you’re not. So, care to tell me why you are lying to me now?” she asked with a hard glare.

Killian rolled his eyes, “it’s not what you think Emma” he said.

She held her hand up as he tried to reach for her. “Talk Jones. Now” she said.

He sighed. “Can we not do this tonight love? It’s been a long day” he said pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Wrong answer,” she said.

“Love, I am not lying, at least not in the way you are thinking. Ok?” He said irritated, and she just stared at him.

“Emma, look around. Your life is here, everything is here. I feel like a selfish git for expecting you to leave your home, your city, your life behind for me. A mechanic in nowhere Maine. I mean look at this place, you worked very hard obviously to afford a place like this. I am an ass for thinking you would be happy with me in Storybrooke” he shouted at her.

Emma looked at him, her eyes beginning to tear up, and trying to process what he said to her. Not knowing what to do, she got up and grabbed her purse, and ran, letting the door slam shut behind her.

Killian ran his hand over his face. “Bloody fucking hell” he yelled and banged his fist against the marble counter. He couldn’t go after her, he didn’t know where the hell he was, nor did he have keys to get back inside.

“Fuck!” he screamed and grabbed his phone sending two texts off, one to Emma begging her to come back home and talk, and one to August asking him to call him.

Emma walked down the street, and her phone chirped. Killian: Emma, please come back, talk about this love. Please, Swan. I love you.

She threw her phone back in her bag. She wasn’t ready to go back. She walked to her favorite bar and was greeted warmly by the bartender that knew her well. A glass of whiskey appeared in front of her, and she smiled in thanks to Tommy, who knew her well enough to leave her alone.

Killian’s phone rang, August Booth, flashing on the Screen. “What happened Jones, where is she?” August asked him sounding irritated.

“We are in Boston, we argued, she left me here in her apartment,” he said.

“What did you do?” August asked.

Killian told him everything, about his feelings, his doubts, Emma storming out, all of it.

August was quiet for a minute, “I am going to text you an address, ok?”

“What if I get locked out?” Killian said.

August chuckled, “behind the front door, see the key hook, a green ring hanging there? Those are the extra set; she loses her keys sometimes. Take them and go to the address I am sending you; I know that is where she will be” August said.

“What is it?” Killian asked.

“A bar. Her bar. You were in her house, so she ran to the closest place she feels comfortable” August said.

“August, I fucking love her. Am I an asshole for asking her to do this, for wanting this?” and the man was quiet for a moment.

“I think you definitely shouldn’t have lied to her Man, that doesn’t fly with a person like Em. My guess is that you didn’t know Emma is a walking lie detector, you never set hers off once since she met you. Then tonight you lied, and it probably scared the shit out of her” he said bluntly.

Killian sighed, “I didn’t lie. I just didn’t want to blurt it all out like that, we had been in the car all day. I was tired, it was overwhelming being here, and I planned to talk to her tomorrow before we started packing. I didn’t lie, I just needed a minute to get my thoughts together before I did something stupid, like exactly what occurred!” Killian said exasperated.

“Go to the address, Tommy is the owner. I will call him and ask him to keep her there so you can catch her” August said.

“Alright” Killian sighed.

“Jones, I told you if you didn’t want her, let her go. So, you better know what the fuck you want from her before you walk into that bar and upset her any further. I don’t want to catch a red-eye to Boston tonight man, but I will if you fuck with her” he said.

Killian groaned, “you’re a pain in the ass man, you know that? I am not trying to hurt her. I want her August, in my life, long haul, all of that.”

“Don’t be cute Jones and stop trying to sweet-talk me. Go get her, bring her home, and make sure she eats something. She is more rational when she eats, ok?” August said tightly.

His phone chirped, “Thanks August.”

“I want an update before you go to bed, so hop to it, or I am buying a flight. Fix it” he said, and the call ended.

Killian grabbed the keys off the hook and followed the walking directions, it was only a block away.

He walked in and a man was hanging up the phone behind the bar, and he eyed Killian and nodded at Emma. The man’s stare was not a kind one, Killian got the feeling that August told him to keep an eye on them.

“Swan” and Emma looked up at him surprised.

“How?” she asked.

“August,” Killian said, and she laughed.

She rolled her eyes, “Of course. Hey Tommy, did August just call you?” and he gave her a nod.

“You guys are the fucking worst,” she said smiling at him, and the man smiled at her, and glared at Killian.

“Let me know if you need me Em” and he walked away wiping down the bar.

“Emma, can we talk? Please let me explain” Killian said, his voice desperate.

She eyed him and gestured to the stool next to her and knocked her drink back.

“Emma, please don’t interrupt, and let me just get this out. Ok?” he said searching her face, her mask was entirely in place.

He sighed, “I just got overwhelmed. I don’t want to drag you back with me, not if being here is where you want to be. We could figure it out, the long-distance and I would try my best for you, to not lose you. I did lie and say I was ok, and I am not. I saw your life, your apartment, things you worked so bloody hard for. I feel like a selfish arse for even asking you to come back with me, I want you to, God, I fucking want you to. But I need you to tell me you want to, that it’s your choice, that I am your choice” he said, and looked away as tears welled up in his eyes.

Emma listened and turned the words over in her head. She stood up, and walked around the bar, and hugged Tommy, whispering in his ear. The older man smiled at her and looked at Killian.

Killian watched as he said something to Emma, and she nodded, and he hugged her again.

Emma walked back toward Killian, and Tommy came over.

In a thick accent, the man nailed Killian with a glare and said “There are 5 of us O’Malley’s that own this bar, and every single one of us will beat you within an inch of your life if you hurt her. Am I making myself clear boy?” The man said and Killian nodded, swallowing thickly.

“That’s enough Tommy, I got it. Love you, tell Peggy I said Hi. I’ll call” Emma said, and grabbed Killian’s shirt.

“Let’s go Jones” She hauled him out the door and looked at him curiously.

Killian swallowed, “you have a whole arsenal of bodyguards, don’t you?” he asked her.

Emma smiled, “They take care of me, I take care of them,” she said and shrugged and started walking in silence towards her apartment.

She finally spoke, “you could have told me you know? I would have told you, had you just been honest. I don’t take kindly to anyone who lies to me Killian. You know my trust issues run deep,” she said as she unlocked the door to her building.

He was quiet until they reached her apartment. Leading him inside, she grabbed a diet coke and sat at the kitchen island. Killian grabbed the food and plated it for her, and she looked at him and shook her head.

“Did August tell you to feed me too?” she asked, and Killian laughed nodding at her.

He leaned against the counter, “I mean it, Emma. I love you; I am in love with you, head over heels in love with you. I want you to come with me, to live with me, to be with me. I want a life with you, only you. But if you don’t want to leave, I need to know now. I don’t want to drag you back with me and have this come up in a month and you realize you made a mistake. I need you to be completely certain” he said, his voice hoarse.

Emma chewed her noodles and swallowed. “The sticky notes are things we are taking, the rest stays,” she said and eyed him.

Killian stared at her. “That’s it?” he asked flummoxed, and she nodded getting up and walking to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I choose you. Us,” she said.

Killian looked into her eyes, “Swan, I need you to be certain,” he asked not believing what she just said, feeling faint.

She nodded and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and crushed her to him, burying his face in her neck.

“I was so scared I lost you, Emma,” he said, and she let him hold her.

“Come on Jones, food” and she released him, and plated some for him setting it next to hers. He just stared at her; he couldn’t believe she chose him.

He sat next to her, and they ate everything in sight. His phone chirped.

August: Everything alright?

Killian typed back, yes. All settled, don’t buy a flight. thank you.

Emma eyed him, “August?” and he nodded. She shook her head and rinsed her plate putting it in the dishwasher.

She cleaned up the containers and grabbed two bottles of water and walked toward her bedroom. She grabbed her toothbrush and brushed her teeth and started her shower. She took off her clothes and grabbed a few towels out, setting Killian’s toothbrush on the counter. She stepped in, she would miss her shower, she loved this shower. Maybe Killian would build a bench in his for her she thought, he had the room she thought.

He took in the scene in front of him, her pink skin, water running down her body. He stripped off his clothes and brushed his teeth quickly. He pulled the door open and stepped into the steam-filled space, and she wrapped her arms around his neck pulling him under the spray with her. Killian slid his hands over her ass pulling her against him, needing to feel her against him.

“Here?” she asked, and he answered her by picking her up and pinning her against the glass wall with a wet smack of skin. Emma wrapped her legs around his waist and grabbed the top of the shower wall arching slightly back and Killian adjusted his legs. He lined himself up, and Emma slid down over his cock in one move.

“Oh fuck” he groaned, and Emma held onto his neck as he pounded up into her, her back sliding up and down the cool glass, the warm water running over them. Killian sucked her nipples into his mouth, lightly biting the peaks as she moaned- the echoes of their wet skin and their cries bouncing off the tiles.

Killian tangled his hands in her hair pulling her mouth to his, tongues clashing. “Killian the bench” she moaned against his lips, and he pulled her away from the glass and the benches cool tile a sharp contrast to the hot water running over them.

Emma straddled him; her arms tightened around his neck as she cried out his name as she slid up and down on her knees, but it wasn’t enough, she needed more.

“Killian, I need you deeper” she cried, her nails digging into his shoulders.

He pulled out of her and stood, turning her, and lifting her leg to rest on the bench opening her wider to him. He guided her back forward and widened his stance, her hands on the glass in front of her, and he plunged in deeply. “Oh fuck!” Emma cried out, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head.

His hand gripped her hip, pulling her against him with every deep plunge inside her, his other hand rolling her nipple, plucking at it as he rammed his cock into her over and over again. Emma felt her orgasm coming, “Killian I can’t hold back” she bit down on her lip. He bent her further forward, his index finger ghosting over her puckered hole, he gently slid his digit inside her rear, and Emma gasped at the surprise.

He kept fucking her with everything he had, Emma's hands slipping on the glass wall in front of her. He plunged his finger in softly, keeping pace with his plunges into her cunt. Emma gripped his cock tightly, her walls scorching, her ass so soft and warm surrounding his finger.

“Oh god! Oh god, Killian!” She screamed, and he kept going, gently with his finger he kept the punishing pace of his hips up, fucking her through her first orgasm and she felt a second one starting.

“Babe, I’m going to come again. Please!” she cried, and he kept going, he dragged her leg down and pushed her all the way forward, her ass in the air, and the angle changed, she felt even tighter like this.

“Let me feel you come again for me Emma, let me feel that gorgeous cunt come again, and I will fill you up love” he panted.

Emma was panting loudly, Killian’s finger doing amazing things in her ass, Emma felt invaded by him everywhere, and God- she felt like her body was a live wire, so close to exploding.

“Killian! Fuck! Oh fuck!” she cried, and her orgasm ripped through her.

Killian slid his finger out of her ass, and he railed into her. His sac slapping against her ass as he plunged in and growled her name. His fingers digging into her hips as she felt hot lashes of his cum, spurting deep inside her.

Killian’s lungs were burning. His cock slipped out of her, and his cum leaked out of her cunt, dripping onto the tile floor. He licked his lips; that was so fucking hot. He turned her and pushed her to sit and knelt in front of her, pulling her lips to his, and licking her tongue, his hand grazing her swollen folds.

Emma pulled back, her head tipping back against the glass, and she moaned, her body jerking at his touch. Killian bent to suck her nipple into his mouth softly while his fingers slid inside her, and he moaned feeling his cum inside of her, he coaxed it out, spreading it all over her folds gently with his thumb.

“Gods, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he said. His blue eyes burned into hers.

“Please keep going” she begged, and he continued playing her like an instrument, every spot he knew she was sensitive receiving his gentle attention.

She bucked her hips into his hand, her moans echoing in the space.

“That’s it love, fuck yourself on my hand. His hand gripped her ass, pulling her closer while she neared the precipice once more.

She reached up tangling her fingers in his hair and cried out as her orgasm rolled through her. She was panting, shaking, and Killian brought her down gently easing out of her once her shaking stopped.

He kissed her softly and smiled. “I love you.”

She gazed at him, still coming down from her high, “I love you too.”

Killian sat next to her on the bench and Emma gave him a wicked smirk, dropping to her knees quickly and taking him into her mouth before his brain could react. Killian moaned his back against the glass, the coolness of it feeling a direct contradiction to the warmth surrounding his cock. His knuckles were sore still, but he gently gripped Emma’s hair, and she took him deep into her throat.

His body jerked in surprise when she took his sac into her mouth. Emma sucked lightly, her tongue licking up the seam while she jerked him off at the same time.

“Bloody fucking Christ” he shouted and bucked into her hand, and she worked her way back to take him into her mouth, her tongue and mouth doing amazing things.

Killian couldn’t restrain himself, fucking her mouth and lost in sensation, he was surprised when her hand went in between his legs and rubbed gently over his taint. He gasped at the sensation, “Fuck Em I’m going to come!” he barked out, and she moaned taking him all the way into her throat.

The vibration of her mouth around him, and her fingers gently rubbing over that sensitive spot between his legs, caused his orgasm to fire through him violently. He moaned her name, and spurted hotly down her throat, gripping her hair tightly in his fingers. Emma slowed her speed, and he slid wetly from her mouth. His head tipped forward onto his chest, and he looked down at her, her eyes sparkling as she rose and kissed him.

“Gods, I love you,” he said kissing her, tasting himself on her tongue.

“Let’s clean up”, she pulled away to stand up.

He grabbed the soap, washing, and Emma stood there scrubbing shampoo through her long hair, smiling at him. Killian stood and shook his head grabbing the detachable showerhead rinsing himself and raised it over her head. She turned her back toward him, and he gently rinsed the soap out of her long curls. He put the head back in its cradle and kissed her once more as she put her conditioner in.

“I am never showering alone again if that is what it is like showering with you,” he said, and she laughed.

“I love you,” she said as she soaped his chest, and gently washed his cock, he shivered at the touch, still sensitive.

“I love you, Emma, so much. You know that don’t you?” he asked her.

Emma nodded as Killian wrapped his arms around her waist, his face tucked into her neck, and embraced her until the water began to cool on their skin.

Climbing into her bed, she snuggled into him, her hand stroking his chest hair, and he ran his fingers through her damp curls.

“Are we ok?” He asked her, and she looked up at him, her green eyes on his, nodding silently. “I can see why people rave about makeup sex” he whispered and nuzzled her nose with his. She smiled, “We were bound to fight sooner or later,” she said, and they closed their eyes falling asleep wrapped around each other.

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#emma swan #killian jones #once upon a time #ouat

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captain-emmajones · 4 years

Text

Love, Emma (7/7)

(Art by the wonderful @carpedzem <33)

Loosely based on Love, Rosie (2014).

Killian and Emma are best friends and neighbors. They’ve always been – until he leaves for the Navy when his brother dies. When he comes back, nine months later, summer has begun and childhood is ending. Emma can tell something is changed in him, but she doesn’t know what. Until she does. He’s fallen in love with someone else.

And then, suddenly, they’re kissing on her nineteenth birthday. When she asks him to forget their night out, and never talk about it again, Killian thinks she means to tell him she regrets the kiss they exchanged. Except she has no memory of it.

Big thank you to @profdanglaisstuff for being a wonderful beta and having my back all through this work!

Friends to Lovers - Mutual Pining - Angst - Fluff - 7000 words - ao3

Part 1 - MIRRORBALL, Part 2 - AUGUST , Part 3 - HOAX, Part 4 - PEACE, Part 5 - THIS IS ME TRYING, Part 6 - CARDIGAN

Note: This is it, the great, the terrible last chapter. I hope you guys will like this as much as I tortured myself writing it, making sure it is the perfect ending to this story :’) It’s been a pleasure writing this story, I loved every second of it and yeah...Thank you for sticking with me through this. It’s been really lovely having you as my readers.

PART 7 - INVISIBLE STRING

Present Day -- August, Storybrooke, Maine.

That night, Granny’s dinner is fuller than usual. Fuller with people, fuller with life.

It’s an agreeable summer night, the air a cool breeze against Killian and Emma’s bare arms as Mary Margaret and David argue over the color choice of the napkins for their upcoming wedding. Crickets chirp all around them, seeming to mock them.

Their plates of food are now empty, and Ruby expertely piles them up on her left arm as Mary Margaret shoots a death glare at her boyfriend.

“White is simply perfect, David.”

“So you play Snow White once in High School and now it’s your favorite color? That’s ridiculous, Mary Margaret.”

“Is it now? And what kind of color would you go for? Orange?”

“Well, orange would be a statement for one!”

“Over my dead body, David. It’s white or nothing.”

If Emma weren’t so distracted by the warmth of Killian’s fingers around hers, she would have probably choked on her beer and mumbled “Mary Margaret - 1, David - 0.”

Thankfully for everyone, the palm that curled around hers a few minutes ago metaphorically threw her straight into a pink cloud kind of paradise.

Looking up from their intertwined fingers, Emma is greeted by the very real purple pink clouds in the night sky, behind Killian and Mary Margaret’s back. They are sitting opposite Emma and David, while Ingrid sits in the middle, a small contented smile on her lips, as she eats her onion rings in silence.

Fairy lights hang above their heads. Emma loves fairy lights, she always has.

“Why not settle for another color, mates?” tries Killian in a calm, soothing voice, and Emma is surprised he is talking at all.

He should know better. Grave, stupid mistake it is to get between Mary Margaret, David and their napkins.

“NEVER,” the couple answer as one voice, and Emma watches with a chuckle caught in her throat as Killian backs away, hands in front of his face.

“Wohoho, mates. Calm down. The only people you’re allowed to kill are each other.”

And as Emma swallows another grin, she thinks Killian and she haven’t talked about it, but that’s fine. Emma’s brain doesn’t seem able to come up with words, anyway.

A few hours ago, the walk back to Ingrid’s was achieved in near complete silence, and it was weird -- considering with whom she was walking. Actually, cross that -- it was weird to be walking back to her childhood house with Killian Jones, period.

But Emma was able to find comfort in Killian’s lack of words as well, and god knows how talkative Killian can be, she found comfort in his breathy tone when he handed her the box back and the flush on his cheeks, knowing if she could barely hear anything if not for her own heartbeats, surely he wasn’t pulling this any better than she was.

“Earth to Emma, would you like a desert?”

Emma blinks. Two green eyes are staring at her.

Right. Dinner. Granny’s. Damnit, focus Emma. Ruby’s voice sends a shameful loop down Emma’s belly.

“...Mmm, no, actually. I’m fine, for now.”

Ruby’s raising an eyebrow. Everyone is staring at her. Why are they staring?

“Are you sure, Ems?”

“I am. Why do you ask?”

“...It’s just, it doesn’t sound a lot like you.”

And then Emma’s pretty sure her hair stands on end.

“Really.” And each word is meant to sound more threatening than the last. “I. Am. Fine. Ruby.”

She’s not looking at him, but Emma catches Killian’s small chuckle all the same. It’s hard to ignore how easily her rage melts away, and she hides the beginning of a smile behind a napkin.

“Fine.” And Ruby nearly sounds like she is the one who got attacked. (Perhaps she was. But she deserved it.)

As the waitress disappears in a clatter of heels, Ingrid is tapping a napkin against her mouth, delicately, and Emma knows very well what this means.

“Well, it’s already 10pm. I think I’ll leave you youngsters to it.”

Emma watches as Ingrid folds the napkin in front of her, just like she always does, and gracefully stands up.

“Goodnight, kids.” Ingrid grins, and everyone replies with a lively “Goodnight, Ingrid!”

A kiss is dropped onto Emma’s forehead, and Emma doesn’t miss the subtle pat on the back Killian receives on Ingrid’s way out. Emma thinks Ingrid’s always liked Killian, but then she stops thinking about it because David and Mary Margaret are coughing, and it is the least natural piece of acting Emma’s had the chance to witness in a while.

They both exchange a sly glance, nod and stand up at their turn, and Emma stares at them -- cheeks burning.

“Yeah, we’ll go, too. It’s getting pretty late, and we flew in very early this morning.”

Traitor, shout Emma’s eyes at Mary Margaret, but the small brunette is smiling with all of her teeth out and doesn’t seem concerned by Emma’s impending murder threat.

“Enjoy your night, guys,” David looks far too delighted. “Byye.”

“Aha, bye guys.”

Away from Granny’s dinner and up Main Street towards Granny’s B&B, the couple vanishes into the night.

And just like that, Emma and Killian are alone under the fairy lights.

Chirp, chirp.

This time, Emma cannot ignore the childish panic that strangles her throat, as his touch begins to burn her skin and her hand slowly slides out of his palm. She looks down at the green plastic table.

What to do now? Jesus, she is not nineteen anymore, she needs to take initiative, and—

“Fancy a walk along the beach, Emma?”asks Killian, and Emma is so thankful for the distraction she nearly knocks the table down as she springs to her feet.

“Excellent idea!” Why do her legs feel so wobbly?

And Killian smirks, and she wonders if he knows just how badly she is afraid, of him, of her, of risking her heart.

“Perfect then, let’s sail away.”

But she wants this to work, she wants them to work. She spent a good part of her life agonizing over this relationship, daydreaming about it, and then cursing it, and it better be as good as she thought it would be.

As things turn out, this walk along the beach feels like brutally falling down a rabbit hole. It knocks the wind out of Emma and it is wonderfully terrifying.

The wind blows that night. Salt air dances with Emma’s light dress and Killian’s hair.

Emma’s shoes dangle from her fingers, but she is still shaking like a leaf.

Awful, isn’t it, to finally get all you’ve ever dreamed of?

She knows it’s not entirely hers yet, she knows she still has to dash forward and grab it with her two hands, and not let it go – on any account. (Do you want it?)

It’s terrifying.

She did not reach out to Killian, this past month, although she knew about his letter...and she probably wouldn’t have reached out first, had he not appeared on her porch.

There is still this stupid fear, down her stomach, this stupid fear that he never cared, he never will, and this is all a sick joke.

(She wants it.)

“Should we sit?”

“Aye.”

He complies as she sprawls into the sand she feels moist under her toes, sitting down a few inches from him.

Somehow, staring at him still feels illegal.

When he gets a flask of rum out of his leather jacket, she rolls her eyes, and her bracelet glints under the moonlight. For the first time in ages, it is not a painful sight. She does not twist the little charms.

“Really? Is rum your solution to everything?”

“It’s not rum, Swan. It’s merely water.”

“Is it now?”

“Nah, it’s definitely rum. But it never hurts to have a drink between friends.”

And at that wicked, wicked word, they both stare at one another and gape slightly.

It should be funny. Except it still itches.

Aren’t they friends?

There are stars reflected in his eyes. There is still this ache inside her chest.

Emma is urged by a desire to look down then, but she doesn’t cave in. Instead, her mouth curves into a smile.

“…Friends or other types of acquaintances,” he adds after a while, and Emma’s smile widens.

The flask of rum is handed to her, and she drinks a few mouthfuls that diffuse a sweet heat and courage down her throat. Lord does she need it.

“Acquaintances, you say, um?”

She licks the small drop of rum that rolls down her lower lip, notices with satisfaction as Killian’s eyes follow the movement of her tongue and widen when he realizes she has caught him red-handed.

“Aye. I believe we’ve been acquainted.” There is a delicious twirl, down in her stomach, that could drown her fears, she knows it, if only she allowed herself to let go.

“Right.”

Idiot. Her cheeks burn. It is ridiculous, they are ridiculous and she doesn’t mind.

Woosh, woosh, the waves giggle.

As Emma inhales deeply, she figures she has to give him back his flask and that this -- whatever the hell this really is -- is probably going to be more difficult than she initially thought.

Her fingers brush against his as his hand closes over the flask -- of course they do -- and Emma couldn’t honestly say who’s to blame.

“Thanks, Swan.”

Oh, how many scenarios she made up in her mind, about him showing up. They all ended with their lips locked together. What she had a very hard time figuring out was the in-between. The talking. The confession. Because there has to be one, right?

She hears him gulp a few mouthfuls of rum down next to her and she refocuses her gaze on him. He clears his throat.

“So, erm, any plans for the foreseeable future?” he inquires.

The flask is buried in the sand between them.

“I don’t know, to be honest. For now, I think I’ll stay in Storybrooke. It’s my home.”

And then a pause, she glances at him through her eyelashes. A mischievous wave comes crashing at their feet, bites their toes.

“What about you, Killian? Still in Portsmouth?”

She watches him tilt his head next to her as he carefully sieves a handful of sand between his fingers, brows furrowed.

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about moving back to Storybrooke. Joining the Navy again would not be easy, and I’m not sure it’s entirely what I desire. I mostly did it to honour Liam but it’s never been a dream of mine…”

A pause, a breath, for him, Emma has stopped breathing somewhere after “Storybrooke”. And her mouth refuses to shut.

“Plus, there’s the fact that Graham did mention the need for another deputy,” he casually adds, shoots a swift glance at her.

Oh. Breathe, Emma, breathe.

It’s very hard, then, for Emma to swallow the smile that tingles her lips.

“You are?” she asks, curses silently her quivering tone. Clears her throat. Dammit, why did it come out like this?

If he notices it, Killian doesn’t show it. Instead, he goes on, the ghost of a smile over his lips.

“Aye. I don’t think there’s anywhere else for me to be. It is high time I came home.”

Home. The word echoes between them, much like the gentle rustling of the waves.

And Emma nods and she has no idea where to put herself, what to say. She settles for telling the truth.

“That’s great. I could really use you around.” A pause. “I’ve missed you.”

Twinkle, twinkle the stars in the night sky, and the constellations in her heart as her eyes meet his. They put to shame the sea of stars in front of them.

Emma’s heart is bursting out as he slowly glances down at her lips, and then even more slowly looks up, a dangerous grin overtaking his features.

“Aye. I’ve missed you too, Swan. I don’t want to be apart from you anymore.”

Hearing him repeat her words is positively the worst thing that could have happened to her heart rate. That one nearly rips her heart out of her chest and sends it ricocheting on the waves.

She nods, laughs a bit, crinkles her nose mostly to hide how flustered she truly is.

“How…How did this happen?”

And he sighs next to her, a very dramatic sigh that she recognizes as a poor attempt to hide a deeper kind of pain. She watches as he stretches his legs, digs a shape into the sand with his fingers.

“How did you end up marrying Neal Cassidy, you mean? Poor judgement, if I do say so myself.”

The bastard.

She elbows him in the ribs, of course, he deserves it.

And he only chuckles, feigns a moan of pain, and… and grabs the arm she threw at him to bring her closer to him. There are grains of sand stuck to his skin as his hand closes over her fisted palm. As he stares at her, all air has definitely been knocked out of Emma’s lungs.

His nose gently brushes hers. Little pulses of magic seem to climb up her hand, her arm, to gently tickle her heart.

And she gazes into his eyes, mortified. Swallows hard.

“To be fair, he did hide that letter from you. A shame really, it was truly a pearl of literature.”

His breath tingles Emma’s lips, and it isn’t fair.

She snorts, she tries to at least, because it is hard to do anything when he is this close to her.

“David told you,” she mumbles, rolls her eyes dramatically, blushes furiously.

He isn’t denying the letter. He isn’t denying anything.

“Aye that he did. You can’t trust the guy with a secret, love.”

She doesn’t know what David told him over the phone, but Emma thinks it is safe to assume that it is somewhere near absolutely everything. And it should bother her, it should bother that secret and private part of herself, but Emma’s tired of fighting against herself, and she lets it go. All of it.

Her hand is still in his, twisted against his chest, right above his heart. She doesn’t mind. They could remain like this, forever, for all she minds. But that wouldn’t be very practical, now, would it?

“And it’s not like I didn’t know…” he continues, and Emma’s mouth drops even more, if it is possible. “I think I’ve known from the moment I met you. Haven’t you?”

A nervous chuckle shakes her shoulders.

“What exactly have you always known?”

“You can’t answer my question with another question, Swan. That’s just not how the English language works.”

“Well, if you could drop the metaphors and double entendre, then perhaps, perhaps I…” A breath. There’s no need to hide anymore, although something ludicrous seems about to explode inside her chest. “Y-yes, I think I knew...But I --”

“-- Good, because in that case, there’s no use for me to hold back from doing this…”

And as she opens her mouth to complain about metaphors and double entendre, again, he leans into her, tilts his face and, as Emma’s heart does a weird leaping thing in her chest, delicately presses his lips to hers.

While Emma does think it is definitely very rude of him to interrupt her like that, she cannot bring herself to complain too much.

Neither can she ignore the sudden explosion in her chest, thousands of strawberry bubbles of happiness that taste of childhood and dreams bursting out.

Oh god. She muffles a moan against his mouth, snatches her hand from his grip to tug at his hair, brings him closer to her, as close as humanly possible, presses her mouth harder against his, as hard she can, and she quite literally feels like a house set on fire.

Thump, thump, cries her heart, as their lips dance together, as his hand gets lost in her hair, and no air reaches her lungs and this goddamn flower keeps blooming inside her chest and there isn’t any space between them, and she’s pretty sure she’s combusting into flames, but it’s fine, it’s really fine when his mouth opens and gives her access to his tongue.

It’s a gentle kiss, in spite of the passion. It’s such a gentle kiss, in the way with which his hand tenderly lingers in her curls, as if he were afraid she’d shatter under his touch, or in the way his other arm curls around her waist, holds her tightly, but not too tightly, so as not to break her it seems.

Years of yearning will do that to you, make you afraid of shattering the glittering and fragile object of your affection.

And when they let go, burning forehead against burning forehead, because they really, really need to breathe, Emma doesn’t want to run. In fact, she doesn’t want this to ever end. And she doesn’t know it, but she smiles.

“Then why –” he begins, his lips lightly, delicately brushing against hers as he speaks.

And how dare he be talking! She can barely breathe.

“—why the wedding?” she lazily answers against his lips. “Because I didn’t think you cared…” A pause. “You never told me you did... You didn’t even call, after the k-kiss.”

Damnit, that was harder to spit out than anticipated. And it probably sounded more accusing than she wanted it to, but she forgives herself.

The painful memory allows her to step back a little, to gaze into his blue eyes and discover his cheeks crimson and an awestruck look on his face, as well as a lot of guilt and tenderness.

A sigh. “Of course I didn’t. I was waiting for you to do it. You were bloody engaged, may I remind you.”

Her brows furrow.

“And I did! But you didn’t answer.” Silence. “Tink did.”

She watches his features with weariness. She watches as he frowns. Backs away slightly, to gaze into her eyes, seems to seek the truth. And then, sighs.

“Of bloody course. Tink.” Emma watches as he rolls his eyes dramatically, hisses a few insults between his teeth.

She thinks he is still infuriatingly handsome.

Another nervous laughter begins rattling her body, because this is ridiculous, they are ridiculous, they just had to talk it out and it would have been fine but --

“Seems like our lack of communication isn’t only on us.”

Emma smirks. “Well, it’s mostly on us.”

“Point taken.” And it’s unfair because he smiles a bright smile then and her heart jumps once more.

And he looks down, again, at her lips, and Emma feels frozen only she is burning. She needs to kiss him again, and forever, probably.

“But if you cared--” Why is he talking again? She opens eyes she didn’t know she had shut to dart a murderous gaze on him. He doesn’t see it, the fool, keeps talking instead. “--why did you ask me to forget our kiss?”

That nearly knocks her out. “Our kiss? Which kiss?”

She doesn’t know just how right she is to ask this question.

He raises an eyebrow. His cheeks are flushed and his hair dishevelled, and Emma has to focus to look into his eyes and not stare at his swollen lips.

“You mean to tell me you don’t remember?”

And his eyes do a weird twitching thing. He doesn’t seem alright. And he sounds a little bit as if a part of himself has just died.

“I mean… I sure as hell think I would remember this.” Oh, she totally would.

“Your nineteenth birthday,” he exhales, and if he could raise his eyebrows any harder, they’d get stuck up his hairline, “we kissed on the rooftop right before you fell to the ground.”

Well, she does remember the wicked headache she got that day, but she thought it was caused by the alcohol and…

“No…Yes?” A pause. She frowns. Realization sinks in. Well that would explain a lot, indeed. “We did?”

That would explain his crumpled face as she asked him to forget their night, it would explain why he avoided her all through summer, and why he stayed with Milah, and why she started dating Neal in the first place, and oh -- they are two idiots, aren’t they?

“Aye. And you specifically asked me to forget that night.”

If she keeps frowning her eyebrows will remain stuck forever. She frowns harder.

“But I had no memory of that kiss.”

“Bloody hell.” And Killian lets go of a very dramatic sigh, shakes his head.

Emma’s mouth forms an “O” as she watches Killian glance further away, to the sea, and she begins to understand years of struggle could have been avoided, had they, had they…well, talked about it, it seems.

An angel passes.

“Damnit,” she whispers.

And Emma is surprised to find a chuckle tickling her throat. Why is she laughing? This isn’t funny.

He still isn’t looking at her. Impish waves keep nibbling their toes. She hates how heavy everything suddenly feels.

Emma thinks that all this time he thought-- he thought she didn’t care, but she did, oh she cared, and...

Emma breathes in, fingers pressed to her temples. Shrugs a bit, breathes out and casts an eye on Killian. He doesn’t seem alright. But she knows how to distract him.

“Since I don’t remember, allow me to ask: did you kiss me?”

His blue eyes flash in the dimness as she smirks.

She doesn’t think she has seen him look this offended before.

“I beg your pardon? You bloody kissed me, Emma!”

His high pitch does make her chuckle.

“Don’t give me that offended look. That does sound like something you’d do.”

Oh, the wrath sparkling in his gaze then, it’s a sight for sore eyes, and she cannot stop smiling.

“Nah, you were the one who melted onto my lips and sucked the bloody life out of me, perched on your high heels.”

“They weren’t that high. And, at least I did something about my feelings.”

“Well, you forgot so it was pretty useless in the end, anyway.”

“Hey!”

And her fist punches his chest, and he captures it again, traitor, and time stands still for a moment, as they glance at each other.

Everything still feels very fragile and terrifying. But that’s quite alright.

And then with a swing of his hip, he shifts her under his weight, onto the sand, and her body meets the ground softly.

His face surrounded by dark, tousled hair hides the moon from her sight, but as her breath catches in her chest, she doesn’t mind.

“You were saying?”

“Mmm…”

Emma thinks sand will get stuck in her hair. And it’s going to be a pain to wash it out. But that’s okay.

They’re only twenty-three, murmurs her inner voice, they’re allowed to be young and stupid and messy and –

“Well, I’m glad it didn’t take us another ten years to figure our shit out. Wouldn’t be nearly as sexy.”

“Speak for yourself, Swan.”

“Idiot.”

And without a second thought, or a first, she raises her face to capture his lips, drink his breath, because she is allowed to, and this is right and all she’s ever wanted.

Up the beach, down Main street, Killian and Emma walk along the roads of their childhood.

Emma doesn’t know where they are going, but it doesn’t seem to matter, not just yet.

Fear is of course lurking in one deep corner of her mind, but it is easy to ignore it while her hand is safely tucked in his.

“Where are you staying?” she asks as they shift to stare at one another.

Granny’s green B&B sign flashes behind Killian’s back.

Amusement sparkles in his eyes. “Granny’s.”

Emma remembers New York’s cold street lights, and the snow melting onto her lips, and Killian’s damp hair, and the sad glimmer in his blue eyes and her cold, shaking hand in his.

It was the night she decided to give him up, not knowing, not knowing he cared too.

It was the night she would have burned in hell to hear him invite her into his hotel room.

(Was it worth it, all the pain, in the end?)

“Fancy a last drink, Swan?”

Streetlights dabble gold beams into his blue eyes.

She nods, a little out of breath. Something soft and awful swallows her from inside.

“Yeah.”

And down the road, up the stairs, they go, hands clasped together. Her bracelet jingles up the stairs.

Emma remembers standing on his porch before her eighteenth birthday party, forehead pressed to the door, eyes locked on her phone screen, heart beating fast, fast.

“Come in whenever you want, I’m ready!” And her stomach twisting at his reply.

Things were so easy while she was still convinced that she was in love with him and she would never love anyone else and they had all the time in the world.

She was wrong, but that’s also fine.

(Isn’t pain just pain?)

Click, he’s unlocked the door, and Emma steps forward to gaze inside. Beyond Granny’s questionable decoration choices, everything is clean and proper and Navy and Killian. What a relief.

It is quite late now, and exhaustion burns Emma’s eyes, circles her throat and crudely brings to light her fears and insecurities. She feels bare, exposed, vulnerable under the dark green chandelier.

For a short moment, she fears there will be too much to mend between them, too many scars over their chest for them to offer their hearts again.

“Make yourself at home, Swan.”

The red leather jacket is dropped onto the bed just as he neatly folds his own on a chair by the wall.

And she keeps staring at those four walls, at this cramped room, and she thinks a month ago she was marrying someone else.

She’s still scared. Is she supposed to be scared?

“You okay, love?” he nudges her.

His hand softly grabs her shoulder.

She shrugs. If she is honest with herself, she does feel a little bit overwhelmed. This room is too silent. She can almost hear past echoes of their hearts breaking.

“Yes, I’m just…”

“Reminiscing?”

A smile. “That’s not the word I would have gone for, but yeah.”

His hand hurtles down her arm and slides into hers. His touch still shoots electric trails all over her skin.

“Want to sit down, Swan?” A nod, and he’s tucking her down with him.

When Killian switches on the small outdated TV on the wooden table in front of them, Emma sighs in relief.

And when still no words echo between them, Emma feels his eyes burn the skin of her cheek.

New York again. A cold bench. The snow falling onto his hair. This pain, in her chest, as he utters her name. Milah.

(Pain is just pain.)

“What are you thinking about, Swan?”

She blinks, licks her lips. Breathes in.

Will not look at him.

Augusta airport this time. His back, his image printed in blood over her retinas, this dark shape she cannot forget, forever turned on her.

“The past.”

The pain.

Storybrooke’s town hall. Her weary eyes twitching back and forth from Neal towards the door. Begging Killian to appear. And he doesn’t. (Or he does, but he’s too late.)

“Listen, Emma,” and his fingers have found hers again, and they are soft, and she looks up to discover his eyes even gentler, and his lips spread in a tender smile, “The past is behind us and we cannot change it.”

“But there’s been so much pain…”

She sounds like she is twelve again, she can almost touch Ingrid’s wooden fence under her fingers, can almost feel the tingling fear that a splinter might get stuck in the tender skin, and she can almost smell the yellow irises, and it almost brings her to tears.

“I know. But we can do better now.”

She nods. Can they do better? What if all of this is just a chimera and they’ve both idealized their love and what if … What if none of this is real?

She should sleep. Her eyelids are heavy and her eyes burn.

But then his hand cups her cheek, and its warmth brings her back to reality, tethers her. Her own palm settles above his as she leans into his touch. Closes her eyes, for just one bit.

She is so tired. Morpheus is luring her into his arms.

“As long as I am alive--” Oh, but then he is talking, and his voice is velvet against her skin, and she opens her eyes to stare at him. She’s pretty sure he can hear the thump of her heart. “--you can live with the conviction, Swan, that I will always be by your side.” A pause. “Always.” Another silence, his words sinking into her skin, as his fingers trace butterflies along her neck. A smile. “I’ve always been in love with you. From the moment I met you.”

Oh. Her eyes widen. Thump, thump.

She is swallowed by a gigantic wave of confused feelings. She thinks an earthquake is shattering the windows and shaking the walls. She thinks a tear rolls down her cheek, but she is not crying.

And it’s not like she didn’t know, she knew, but, but also she didn’t, for so long, and this is all very confusing and unexpected but very much expected, and he keeps staring at her and she doesn’t know what to say, for fuck’s sake.

And the only answer she can come up with is her trembling hands caressing his cheeks and then slowly grabbing the lapel of his t-shirt, and then, finally -- the pressure of her lips against his. Tender, at first, and then furious, desperate, hungry.

She wants to tell him, I loved you when you walked away from me, the first time, and the times after that, as well. I loved you although you never looked back at me, and I couldn’t look forward. I loved you when you were avoiding me, and I loved you when I didn’t think I loved you anymore. But mostly, I loved you from the moment I met you.

Instead, she presses her mouth into his, fiercely, for all of those times she wishes she had been brave enough to kiss him and she didn’t.

And Emma forgives them both. Forgives their past mistakes and heartaches.

They will do better. (They want to, and that’s already half of the journey, isn’t it?)

A number. Nineteen. Emma’s nineteen tonight. He’s been for a while now. (He feels a hundred years old since Liam left. Feels like he’s been holding his breath for centuries. Only the pain doesn’t flatter.)

They’re on a rooftop. Emma’s pink dress floats in the wind, much like a pirate flag. Her smile, that night, is bright, vivid, infuriatingly confident as she glances down at his lips.

The waves crash against the sand, back and forth, back and forth.

Her body is warm against his chest. Both of his hands hold her waist.

Time stands still, as she stands up on her tip toes and kisses him.

It’s an explosion, then, in his chest. A mercurial bliss.

And this time, he catches her before the fall. He doesn’t let her go. This time, his grip is secure around her waist, his fingers firm around her hips as she stumbles forward and they chuckle together.

This time, she doesn’t forget their kiss.

No.

Instead, she stares deeply into his eyes and she says: “I’ve been meaning to do that for a while, now.”

And he says: “I’ve been waiting for you to say that.”

And if everything is easy, it’s only because it is a dream.

A ray of sunshine tickles Killian’s eyelids. His face crinkles, he groans, opens one hesitant eye.

Bloody hell. What a dream. Or a nightmare, he cannot really tell.

There is a weight against his chest, bitterness at the back of his mouth.

He glances down. Emma. She fell asleep in his arms last night while he was slowly rocking her, and they forgot to close the shutters and now Killian will never fall back to sleep again.

His eyes still burn.

He gazes at her face buried in the hollow of his neck, blonde hair across his chest. He smiles.

A hospital room, eight months ago. A blinding, golden light. Her sleepy smile. “Oh, you’re awake?”

He would pinch himself if he had a hand to spare.

Those six months, without her, thinking she didn’t want him, were some of the bleakest of his life.

It was like losing a limb, only he lost two. And he had to keep on learning how to walk without an anchor, how to live without a hand and without hers to hold.

And then, David’s call, one morning.

“They broke up, Killian. Neal found your letter. I think you should do something about that, or I will personally come to murder you in your pitiful apartment, do you hear me?”

Emma snores lightly against his skin. He traces the shape of her jawline with gentle fingers.

He is terrified. Perhaps it is the only way to be, for now.

Perhaps it is good. It means they’re trying. They’re evolving, together, for the first time in ages.

A grunt, her small hand spread across her face, she’s starting to wake up, he can tell.

There is still a lot of sadness in his chest, for the boy who loved a girl and suffered deeply for it. For the boy who lost everything and still managed to lose more through the years, until there wasn’t anything left to lose.

Liam’s smile from his car window. A wave. And then void, nothing.

Killian clenches his jaw.

“Hey,” a small voice groans, “if you keep staring at me while I sleep, it’s going to get creepy.”

A grin.

“Sorry love, couldn’t sleep.”

Emma lifts her chin, green eyes shimmering in this golden morning light, and she tries a sleepy smile.

“Morning, Killian.”

“Morning, Emma.”

“Am I crushing you under my weight?”

“I think I’ll survive, love.”

She still hesitates to kiss him, he sees it in the small start of her head backwards, so he bends forward to kiss her.

It’s a sloppy morning kiss, but he wants all of them.

Last night, they absolutely did not take time to undress. Emma fell asleep like a rock, and he was too afraid he’d wake her up to try and remove his clothes.

But she seems very much awake as her legs curl around his hips, and it is very hard for Killian to ignore the way her dress climbs back up her thighs and gives away the beginning of her red panties.

He can feel his cheeks become hot and red, and suddenly Emma’s smirking at him.

“Like what you see?”

He swallows down.

“It’s quite alright, aye.”

A squeeze of her thighs around his torso, he is trapped, and his heart leaps.

“Alright?” she repeats. “That’s definitely a disappointing answer.”

As for Killian’s heart, it’s practically bursting out in his chest by now. He gulps.

He cannot say he hasn’t thought a lot about it, what it would feel like to go beyond a simple kiss with Emma. How her skin would taste under his tongue.

He may have started to think about it at around age fifteen, when he saw her come back from summer vacation all tan legs out, and he can still hear Liam’s mocking tone “If you open your mouth any wider, little brother, you’re going to swallow flies.”

The thoughts worsened after their kiss. There were some lonely, desperate moments as well during which he imagined tracing the shape of her body, much like his fingers flutter against the side of her leg right now.

His eyes don’t leave hers, scrutinizing her to know if he is allowed to go further.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to, Emma,” he whispers.

The wicked smile she shoots him is a sufficient answer. “Oh don’t worry, I want to.”

And then her lips find his again and his fingers are gripping her thigh now, clutching her skin, leaving marks, climbing back up some more and feel the soft skin right under the fabric of her dress.

She moans against his mouth, and it’s a wonderful sound, and suddenly they are both wearing far too many clothes and they have to hurry or they’ll combust into flames.

Emma straddles him just as her nimble fingers pull her dress up and throw it over her head.

“Couldn’t have done it better myself,” he mumbles and it’s very hard to look anywhere else but at her naked body.

But she’s already getting impatient with his t-shirt, and she groans. “Come on Killian, help me. Raise your arms up.”

“Didn’t think you’d become such a morning person, Swan.”

She laughs a bit as his t-shirt hits the floor in its turn in a muffled sound, and she does this thing where she stops to gaze into his eyes and he will die for a lack of oxygen.

He watches as she swallows, ogling him.

“Some things are worth waking up for.”

And then she’s melting into the skin of his neck as her fingers sift through his hair, and Killian ceases completely to think.

A month later -- Augusta Airport.

Emma clutches Ingrid’s yellow irises against her chest. Her hold is gentle but her lips form a firm line.

As she stares at the Arrivals Board in front of her, the beat of her heart is drumming in her ears, and she is pretty certain oxygen is having a very hard time reaching her lungs.

He’s only been gone a week, mumbles her inner voice, but Emma’s too happy to pay attention to her pride.

She glances up, and a breath of relief escapes Emma’s throat as the light next to Portsmouth changes color.

“He’s landed,” she whispers to herself, flowers still pressed to her chest.

She glances down, careful not to damage the beautiful bouquet Ingrid offered last night, over the dinner table.

“I know how much he loves them,” Ingrid smiled.

Another look at the clock. He should be here any time now.

Her heart skips a blissful beat.

A part of her still cannot believe this is real. That he is coming home, for good, that Emma found them a cute apartment near the beach and they’re going to get everything they’ve ever dreamed of.

“Are you sure you want to do this...I mean, we could wait, and I could go back to Ingrid’s for a while…”

A butterfly in the dark, a kiss in the night.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything…”

Gazing all around her, Emma spots the familiar large window in front of her. It still shows a blurry reflection of her body. Emma frowns. Well, that will never change. One hand reluctantly gives up on the flowers to comb her hair.

It is now mid September in Storybrooke, Maine, and Emma has to admit she’s missed him.

It wasn’t the kind of missing him she was far too familiar with only two months ago. It wasn’t a burning ache in her chest. It was just like losing your glasses and finding them again on your bed table, where you left them. It’s a kind of missing she knew to end. And it made a great difference.

As she remains very still, feet stuck to the ground, she remembers shaking, bouncing up and down on her feet, waiting for him to come back the first time, four years ago.

Nothing’s really changed. She is still Emma and he is still Killian. Except everything’s changed.

It feels like another lifetime. Emma smiles down at the flowers in her hands. A very peaceful sunflower blooms in her chest.

The crowd of people around her brings Emma back to the present. More people gather together, and Emma understands they are all just as eager to see their loved ones as she is.

And she waits, knowing her love is about to arrive.

Another few minutes go by, and time seems to slow down. She clenches her jaw. Unclenches it. Come on, relax, Emma.

And then… And then, there he is.

“Killian.” The blissful whisper escapes her throat as a brutal wave of bliss sweeps her off her feet. She doesn’t hold it back. It isn’t scary anymore.

She’s somehow thankful to notice he hasn’t changed one bit, but it’s only been a week, what was she expecting? A tender hue of blue meets her eyes and smiles in recognition.

“Emma, my love,” he mirrors her happy sigh.

Her heart beams as they walk towards each other, their pace sure and quick and knowing, and in a few steps he lets go of a thousand suitcases to pick her up from the ground.

“Careful, Killian, your flowers,” she complains even as her feet quit the floor.

And she tries to hold the bouquet away from his face, but he doesn’t seem to care and presses a long kiss to her mouth instead.

She sighs happily into his embrace, wraps her arms around his neck, and her senses are filled by him – his smell, a strong cologne she is only too familiar with, his skin under her fingers, his tousled black hair.

“I missed you,” he exhales against her cheek, and drops another kiss to her cheek.

She slowly backs away, smiling. “It’s only been a week…”

He raises an eyebrow that challenges her to lie some more. She chuckles, crinkles her nose, mumbles: “Okay, I might have missed you too…”

He sighs a dramatic sigh, rolls his eyes.

“Now, you nearly gave me a heart attack, Swan. I was this close from flying back to Portsmouth.”

Idiot, her inner voice snorts, unimpressed. But her heart isn’t very concerned, and a giggle jolts out of her throat. Even her cheeks give her away, flush furiously, and she hates them for it - come on, it’s been a month now.

Her hand lingers on his face, tracing the little scar on his cheek.

“Are you going to take those flowers, or should I keep them for myself?” She attacks in a coy, sharp tone.

He flutters his eyelashes. The fucker.

“If the lady insists.”

A roll of the eye, a bright smile, and Emma’s heart sighs -- defeated. And the flowers carefully slip into his hand.

He drops another kiss to her lips. “Thank you, love.”

“Of course, Killian.”

And then there is this very dramatic moment during which they both stare at his three enormous suitcases and wonder how the hell they are going to make this work.

“Damnit. Did you have to take your whole life with you?”

“Well, a blonde lass did ask me to move in with her.”

Her fist punches his shoulder, playfully. Another sigh echoes all through the airport’s hall.

“Well, let’s go, I guess.”

She’s quick to grab the bag he let go of to hold her and seizes two red suitcases. And he watches her, the fucker, flowers in the crook of his arm and the third suitcase secure his hand. He seems infinitely entertained.

“Don’t you dare laugh in my face, Killian Jones.”

“Well, if it weren’t for the flowers, I could maybe hel-”

“-- NO. You keep the damn flowers! For once Ingrid offered them.”

And as they are walking down the airport like old times, Emma knows they’ll do better. They already are doing better.

(Emma thinks pain is just pain, and they should have known sooner, they should have known better but she also thinks that doesn’t matter because surely there is no kind of pain that cannot be absolved by a lot of love.)

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@yasbio2015 @bubblegum1425 @daenerysmyhsa @dancingnancyy @elizabeethan @farewell-courgette @beca0912 @stina-g @tenaciouskittynightmare @noensnaringnet @klynn-stormz @sekretny13 @tiganasummertree @vvbooklady1256 @brustudyblog @peggyyswan @thisonesatellite @ohmightydevviepuu @courtorderedcake @snowbellewells @kingofmyheart14 @teamhook @mariakov81 @folkloreismylullaby @officerrogers

(Might write some missing scenes, and add a few bonuses to this story, so if you’ve got anything in mind you’d like to read, hit me up ;) (actually hit me up for anything and let’s be friends.)

#cs fanfics #cs ff #captain swan #my stuff #amy writes #i need to find a new source of serotonin guys #my brain doesn't want to let this go #thank you all for your comments #and likes #and just for reading this story #it means the world to me #and i'm so glad i got to talk to some of you through this <3 #i hope you'll this #and now i'll shut up

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wellhellotragic · 4 years

Text

Be Alright 4/?

Summary: Sometimes all it takes is one phone call to completely turn our lives upside down.

He’d left. That was all she’d known. He’d packed up in the middle of the night after a stupid fight, leaving no trace behind of where he’d gone. But when David’s phone rang one night telling them that Killian was in a hospital in Boston, everything changed. For Emma, it was the last call she ever expected and it meant facing the ghosts of her past and releasing everything she’d kept bottled up and hidden away.

But then again sometimes it’s the tragedies in our lives that finally let us feel again.

A/N: I’ve tried editing the cut line 3 times now and tumblr just doesn’t want you to read more under the cut I guess. Sorry to the mobile peeps

Previous chapters: 1, 2, 3

If Ao3 is more your jam…

It was dark. Just so dark. He felt himself being drawn deeper and deeper, a bottomless pit of despair. The place where hope went to die. Everything was confusing, thoughts incoherent, but he felt the grief all around him. Nothing but death and despair. Deeper and deeper still he fell, with nothing to cling to. No lifeline to hold to.

Until he heard it. A call to arms in the night.

He followed the sound, winding through a maze, wrong turn after wrong turn, but the voice still called to him. A pull to the core of his spirit. But just as he emerged from the deep dark woods that had been holding him captive, the world went silent. His lids still heavy, the world still dark.

Everything was wrong.

But then he heard a shuffle, and she moved just enough to make it into his eyeline, and suddenly he wasn’t so alone.

“Who’s Grumpy?”

“Killian?” That one single word, his very name was a balm to his weary soul.

She was there, wherever there was. Everything unfamiliar. Everything except her. But there was something, a feeling he couldn’t quite place. Something just out of reach, like a distant memory. Her voice, her presence. Something wasn’t right. Something.

He let the void take him once again...

________________

“Killian?” Panic rose from deep within her as she called his name again.

He’d been there. Just briefly, but he was there and then he wasn’t, and it shook her to the core. He should have been awake hours before, days even. Something was wrong. She didn’t even remember making her way to the bed, but she was at his side in a flash, gently trying to rouse him again. When that didn’t work, she found herself shaking him harder, calling his name over and over.

Her voice strangled.

“What’s going on in here?”

Emma looked up briefly to see the hazy image of a frazzled nurse standing in the doorway.

“He woke up, but…” She didn’t know how to finish the sentence. Was he asleep, in a coma, was he dying?

Everything inside her tensed as the woman walked closer to Killian’s bedside, and she protectively leaned in and grabbed his hand, her lifeline to him. The nurse, a gruff woman in mannerism, roughly pulled his lids open, flickering her flashlight above him. Without saying anything, she moved to the computer against the wall, clicking away at the mouse.

“Everything alright in here?”

Emma looked up to find the same nurse she’d spoken to earlier pulling on a pair of purple latex gloves.

He checked Killian’s vitals, listening while the other nurse, a woman named Hilda made smart remarks about Emma being loud enough to wake the dead. She paid her no mind though, instead focusing on Killian’s hand in hers, stroking her fingers against his paml, feeling the roughness of his fingers. A familiarity that she clung to.

“It’s okay Hilda, I can take it from here.” The other nurse had some more unflattering things to say, but Emma continued to ignore it.

She watched as the male nurse took Killian’s temperature, and pushed buttons on a monitor at his bedside. She listened as the cuff inflated.

“Is he,” she started before letting her voice drop off, not quite sure which question she should ask first.

“His vitals are fine.” “He, he woke up. He said a few words and then just, I don’t know.”

“He’s groggy. His body has been through a lot, and he just needs the rest. He’s okay though.” The man stayed a bit longer, explaining to Emma that Killian would probably wake up for short bursts off and on over the next day. That it was completely normal considering the medication they’d given him. His very presence calmed her, and she made a mental note of his name on his badge before he left again to check on another patient.

Merlin .

She sat at Killian’s bedside all night, a mixture of adrenaline and anxiety fueling her through most of it, until her body finally crashed as the first rays of light began filtering in through the window.

________________

It was slow, his awakening. It started with the whispered, hushed voices all around him, familiar and distant at first, then nearly overwhelming. He recognized them, but placing them was just out of his grasp. It wasn’t until he heard one of their names spoken aloud that he realized who it was.

His mouth was dry. His eyes felt welded shut and it took a significant amount of effort to open his lids enough to look around him. In the corner of the room he saw three figures huddled together in chairs. He had to blink a few times before everything came into focus enough to see them better. Mary Margaret sat in a chair, on the far right smiling at David. He was telling a story, and while Killian couldn’t quite make out the words through the muffled whispers, he was fairly certain it was a tale from their college days. David had always had a way of gesturing with his hands, almost telling a story by themselves. He blinked a few more times, just watching them. David’s entire face was lit up and Mary Margaret appeared to be holding back tears from laugher.

It took a moment for the realization to hit him. To see and recognize the third person with them. He’d been so enraptured that he’d missed him. Graham. The man who’s name he spent months cursing. The man that he’d once considered the cause of his ruination.

Graham was a sweet man. Killian would have been lying to say that Graham was to blame, but in his moments of weakness, when he was down to the bottom of a bottle, it was easier to blame the other expat than it was to admit his failures. To face that fact that he wasn’t good enough for Emma.

Emma.

The woman he’d once been convinced was the love of his life. The kid sister of his best friend. When they’d first met in his and David’s shared dorm, he’d thought her cute, in that way young girls were. Sweet and innocent, almost like a sister of his own. It wasn’t until his senior year that things began to shift. That he’d begun seeing her differently.

The realization hitting him like a ton of bricks. His heart leapt from his chest every time he heard her name, goosebumps rose in his flesh when they touched. It was both slow and sudden. But she was David’s little sister and unspoken rules meant that she’d never be his.

He tried to avoid her, he really did but somehow she’d wormed her way in, and a genuine friendship formed. Something more than just a physical yearn developed, and he was helpless to give her anything she needed. His heart sank every time she dated someone new, deeper still when it always ended in heartbreak. He was always there to pick up the pieces, and it was all he could do to just be her friend. To wipe her tears away with her fingers instead of kissing them away with his lips.

Occasionally he flirted, used innuendo. Sometimes she mirrored it right back at him, but more often than not she just rolled her eyes and changed the subject, confirming what he already knew. She didn’t see him that way.

And then one drunken night, she grabbed the lapels on his pirate costume and pulled him into her. It was everything. The warmth and softness of her lips. The taste of rum on her tongue. The way she told him to wait 5 minutes before making an excuse to leave and to follow her back to her apartment.

For two years they continued the secret rendezvous, and slowly it became more than sex. Or at least that’s what he thought. Sometimes when she looked at him, he could feel it. The way he felt about her, like she hung the stars reflected back at him. Her gaze would linger on him when she thought he wasn’t looking. Her hand would always find its way onto his chest in her sleep, coming to a rest just over his heart. She’d nuzzle into his side, rest her face in the crook of his neck.

But he’d misread all the signs. Because at the end of the day, they were nothing, she’d told him as much. She was just killing time with him until someone better came along. Someone like Graham.

Emma had dated a handful of guys since they’d started sleeping together, but nothing ever came of it. They were always one and dones. Men that Mary Margaret had pushed on her. But she always came home to him as soon as dinner was over.

Then came Graham, and a first date. Then a second. Emma never went on second dates. It destroyed him..

He hadn’t heard Emma’s voice in a year. Hadn’t seen her either. Not since he’d walked out the door after their last fight. The one to end them all. The argument to end them . She’d broken his heart. Shattered it really. She may as well have crushed it in her cold dead hands as she told him that he was nothing to her. That the two years of his life he’d devoted solely to her had meant nothing. They’d just been a fling.

He left that night, just got in the car and drove and drove until he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Boston wasn’t far but at four in the morning it had been a sanctuary of sorts.

Somehow he’d managed to lay roots down there. A handful of friends. A new love. One that actually wanted him back. Milah.

Milah...

“Milah!” His voice was horse and he’d barely managed to strangle out her name.

She’d been in the car. Everything was still a blur, but he remembered her, remembered the headlights, the sound of crunching metal.

The way she screamed.

Panic flooded his very essence. Looking around the room he couldn’t find her face.

“Killian?”

“Where,” he had to stop to swallow, his throat dry and lips chapped, “where is Milah?”

It wasn’t a question so much as a demand.

“Hey.” Killian watched as Mary Margaret and David came closer, the way their faces changed. The smiles small and meek, betrayed by the pity in their eyes.

Everything after that was a daze. David telling him Milah was gone. People rushing in the room. The chill that ran down his arm as they gave him sedatives. A flash of blonde hair running out the doorway.

And then, just the darkness once more.

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She couldn’t stay in there anymore. She was a coward for sure. Leaving when he needed someone the most. But then again, she was probably not the best person for the job. The scorned ex lover. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, what she should have expected. Of course Milah would be his first thought. His wife .

God. She was such a fool, thinking she could help him when she couldn’t even help herself. When he’d still consumed her thoughts every single damn day since he left. Hell, she’d even counted the days he’d been gone. Why did she think she’d matter to him anymore.

He left. He fucking left and took every bit of her heart with him, and now all she could do was hide in a bathroom and let the tears flow, to claw at her neck as she tried to loosen the imaginary emotional noose choking the very life out of her. She was nothing to him.

And God, why couldn’t she have missed the way Graham looked at her. Everything was just so wrong, and it was all her fault. She was a monster, stringing Graham along hoping that he’d somehow swoop in and heal her. That he’d make her feel something again.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d held up in the tiny room, but it felt like ages. Long enough for her to realise that she shouldn’t be there. That no matter how much they’d once meant to each other, that she just didn’t belong in his life anymore.

#cs fanfiction #captain swan #be alright #trying not to abandon this one

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