#i was so worried i was finding neal attractive | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-iceni-bitch · 4 years ago

Text

Search No More

Pairing: Andy Barber x fem!Reader

Words: Guessing cuz I’m on mobile again, 1.5k?

Summary: Andy has a new job and needs you to save him from forced camaraderie.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected vaginal sex), alcohol consumption by adults of appropriate age, Neal Logiudice (cuz fuck this guy), SMUT, 18+ ONLY!!!

A/N: Another one from the WIP folder that is specifically for @imanuglywombat’s “Is that even a sex position?” challenge, week three. I figured a nice soft position would be perfect for our favorite floofy lawyer boi. Please check out the other great fics this challenge has given us and enjoy!

Check out my masterlist and join my taglist if you want!!

It had been a slow night at the bar, so your staff practically insisted on sending you home early, Jesse shoving out the door as you protested feebly.

“Take a night off, boss.” He grumbled amicably as he ushered you towards your car, handing you your coat and bag as a light snow started to fall. “Maybe go snuggle with that boyfriend of yours that’s always hanging around. Where is he tonight anyway?”

“There was a new faculty mixer.” You said with an eye roll. “You’re sure you’ll be fine, Jess?”

“We’re always fine.” He said dismissively with a wave of his hand as you climbed into your vehicle.

You texted Andy as you started your car to see where he was and he practically begged you to come meet him at the party, whining about how sinfully boring law professors were. You got the address from him and headed out, arriving in the posh Newton neighborhood in a little under 30 minutes.

There were a few partygoers hanging around outside, and you cursed to yourself when you saw them wearing cocktail attire. Leave it to Andy to forget to mention a dress code. Thank god your dry cleaning was in the back.

You tried to find something relatively conservative and settled on a simple satin sheath that was probably a little shorter than was appropriate but it’s not like you had a lot of options. You started to awkwardly disrobe in your front seat, shimmying out of your jeans and pulling your sweater over your head. A surprising knock on the window made you yelp while you were bent over the console with the back of your dress unzipped to grab your emergency heels.

“Ma’am, we’ve gotten some reports of an extremely attractive woman getting naked in a 2003 Acura, any chance that’s you.” A gravelly voice said behind a blinding flashlight.

You growled and opened your driver’s side door into Andy, almost making him drop his phone in the street. He let out a chuckle at your scowl as you stepped out of the car and straightened up, starting to pull the zipper of your dress up your back.

“I would’ve changed at the bar if you let me know this was a cocktail party asshole.” You snarled at him, turning to let him help you draw the zipper up the last few inches.

“Or, you would’ve gone back to your apartment to try to find something else to wear, and I would’ve been stuck listening to professor McDrones-A-lot talk about torts for god knows how long.”

“Aww, are your new coworkers boring, babe?” You teased him as he wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you inside.

“God, they’re so fucking boring.” He murmured into your hair before turning to introduce you to some ancient man with elbow patches. “Professor Donaldson, this is Y/N.” He said, throwing you a wink. “She was just telling me how interested she is in tort reform.”

“Splendid! Are you a lawyer my dear?”

You shook your head and did your best to listen politely as you glared at Andy over the old man’s shoulder. He gave you a stupid grin before heading to the bar to grab the two of you some drinks.

“What the fuck are you doing here, sweetheart?”

You cursed under your breath and turned to glare at Neal Logiudice, the absolute last person you wanted to see.

“Hello Neal.” You grumbled.

“Get out of here, Wally.” He said, dismissing the professor he had very rudely interrupted. “Go find some other asshole to bother.”

The old man just huffed and gave you a sympathetic pat on the arm as he hobbled away.

“That was rude.” You said, your eyes roaming the room in search of Andy. You didn’t feel like dealing with Neal’s bullshit tonight. “Why are you here Neal? I thought this was a faculty only event.”

“Alumni are invited too. And you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.” He growled, stepping closer and invading your bubble. “Cuz you’re definitely not alumni or faculty. You work your way through all the lawyer dick at your bar and come looking for more?”

“Lovely.” You said dryly, frowning at the smell of whiskey that enveloped the man. “You’re drunk.”

You felt a warm hand on your shoulder and turned your head just enough to see Andy scowling behnd you. He slotted himself beside you and wrapped his arm around you in a protective embrace as he and Neal stared each other down.

“Logiudice.” He said menacingly, and you rolled your eyes as the levels of testosterone in the room shot up suddenly.

“Barber.” The giant said with a sneer. “I see you’ve moved on to the leftover dregs of the Newton law community. I hear that pussy’s had every defense attorney cock in town.”

Andy let out an absolutely feral growl and you just managed to hold him back as you glared at Neal.

“Jesus, Neal. Glad to see you’re not bitter.” You said with little humor as your arm strained against Andy’s chest.

“No bitterness here, sweetheart. Just waiting for you to work your way to me.” He leered at you, giving you a lascivious wink.

You let out a sigh as you started to shove Andy away from the idiot, grateful for all your experience manhandling drunks as he fought against you every step of the way.

“He’s not worth it, baby.” You murmured once you had achieved a good amount of distance, your hands smoothing his jacket over his chest in a soothing gesture as Neal let out a guffaw behind you.

“I dunno, I kinda feel like punching him in the face is definitely worth it, sweetheart.” Andy said as he took some deep breaths and turned his gaze back to you.

“Maybe not at your first event for your new job though.” You teased him, tugging softly on his beard and making him grin at you. “Where’s my fucking drink?”

“Shit, I got distracted. I’ll be right back.” He said apologetically, starting to turn away from you.

“Oh no, you are not leaving me by myself again. All I need is to get cornered by some crazy professor who wants to tell me all about bird law.” You said as you tagged after him, the two of you weaving your way through the partygoers as you made your way to the bar.

“What the fuck is ‘bird law’?” He beamed at you after ordering your drinks, leaning against the bar and cocking one eyebrow at you.

“Jesus, I think you might be too classy for me, Barber.” You teased. “We’ve gotta work on your pop culture references.”

The two of you managed to have a relatively pleasant evening, even though you had no idea what anyone was talking about most of the time. But you loved watching how relaxed Andy was around you, and how passionate he got whenever he started to debate with one of his new colleagues. He was in the middle of a particularly heated discussion about the evolution of laws regarding sovereign immunity when he noticed you gazing at him, and his face broke out in a grin.

“You’ll have to excuse me, guys, I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten and I worry I’ve been neglecting my date. Let’s continue this on Monday?”

He made his way through the party, saying some quick goodbyes as his hand rested on your lower back. You let out a soft moan when you reached the foyer and he pressed you into the wall, his lips brushing against yours before he broke away to find his coat.

He returned after a few minutes and wrapped his arms around your waist, his mouth moving against yours hungrily as he guided you out the door.

“Jesus, Andy!” You whined when he lifted you slightly as the two of you made your way to his Range Rover. You bent your knees so your toes wouldn’t drag along the pavement.

“I dunno what you expected when you were looking at me like that, sweetheart.” He teased as he wrapped one arm around you tightly and brought his other hand to fumble through his coat pockets in search of his keys.

“I couldn’t help it.” You murmured in his ear as he pressed you against the driver’s side door, working to open the door to the back seat. “All that law talk does things to me.”

“Yeah?” He muttered around a grin, finally getting the door open and setting you down across the back seat. “You didn’t find it boring?”

“Not when it was you, Professor Barber.” You said in a husky voice, winking at him as he climbed on top of you and pulled the door closed behind him.

“Fuck honey.” He growled as he tossed his coat in the front seat before burying his face in your neck. “You’re gonna need to call me professor more often.”

“Mmm, professor.” You hummed as he ran his teeth over your throat before sucking a bruise over your collarbone. “I had some questions about affidavits I was hoping you could help me with.”

He gave a dark chuckle against your chest as his mouth kept moving lower, his lips brushing over the swell of your breasts as his hands moved under your back to unzip your dress. Once he had it open he yanked it off you and tossed it aside, bending over you again to nip at your skin as you dragged his suit jacket off over his shoulders.

“Why do I feel like you just want to hear me say affidavits?” He teased as you drew his tie off and started to work on his shirt buttons. He wrapped your thighs around his hips and ground himself into you, making you whimper as a fresh rush of arousal flooded your panties.

“Fuck, say more lawyer words, professor.” You whined as he drew the straps of your bra down your shoulders, drawing your breasts out of the soft lace and wrapping his lips around one of your nipples.

“Amicus brief.” He teased as his tongue laved over your nipple and you felt your pussy clench around nothing.

He moved to give your other breast the same soft attention as you worked on undoing his belt, your breath coming in shallow gasps as he worked you over. You finally drew his belt off and he sat up to remove his slacks, his lust blown eyes never leaving yours as he dragged his pants and boxer briefs down over his legs, tossing them on top of the rest of his clothes in the front seat as his cock bounced up against his abs, making your mouth fill with saliva at the sight.

You didn’t give him a chance to dive on top of you again, instead climbing into his lap as he knelt there and sucking his lower lip into your mouth. He groaned against your lips as you brought a hand down to wrap around his dick. You dragged his length through the slick that had soaked your thighs before shoving your panties aside and guiding him to your entrance.

Andy let out a deep sigh as you sank onto him, taking his full length in one smooth motion until he was fully seated in you. His tongue pressed between your lips and curved against yours as you wrapped one hand around his neck and the other around his bicep.

“You’re so goddamn perfect, baby.” He muttered against your lips as he started moving his hips at a languorous pace. “So fucking warm and wet for me.”

“Mmm, Andy.” You moaned as you nipped at his lips softly. “I love having you inside me.”

“Yeah, pretty girl?” He murmured as he started to move a little faster. “You love feeling my big cock in that tight little pussy?”

“Fuck, I need this cock, baby.” You hissed, resting your forehead against his and staring into his eyes. “Nobody fucks me like you do.”

“Shit. You’re squeezing me so good, honey.” He muttered as he ground against you. “I wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

“Fuck, I’m so close, Andy.” You whined as his hips thrust against you even harder. “God, right there. I’m gonna cum”

“Do it, I wanna see that cream all over my dick.” He buried his face in your neck and gave one last violent push of his hips.

You let out a cry as every muscle in your body went rigid, your fingers digging painfully into his neck and shoulders. Your pussy clenched around him for a beat before fluttering in your release as your torso rolled against his and a wave of intense pleasure washed over you.

“Jesus, baby.” He murmured as you came down, straightening his legs one at a time as he held you to him tightly.

You were still kneeling and the new angle had him hitting you even deeper than before, making stars burst behind your closed eyelids. Andy bent his knees slight behind you and leaned you back to rest against them as he moved his mouth to your breasts, making you whimper as his tongue brushed against your nipple.

“God, I could spend all night like this.” He murmured as he started pulling you down to him over and over, making you devolve into a mewling, whimpering mess. “My face buried in these perfect tits and my cock buried in that perfect pussy.”

You felt yourself clench around him at the praise and dug both hands in the hair at the base of his skull, pressing his mouth to your chest as you arched into him. His cock twitched inside you in response as he let out a deep groan, his hips meeting yours desperately.

“I’m gonna cum again, shit. You close, baby?” You felt him nodding between your breasts as his hips stuttered. “Fuck, I wanna feel it fill me up. I love when your cum inside me.”

“Goddamn it.” He hissed, and that was it for both of you.

Your knees squeezed his hips painfully as you tugged at his hair, a moan coming from deep in your chest as your orgasm ripped through you. Your cunt fluttered uncontrollably as your muscles spasmed around him, milking his cock for everything he could give you. He shouted your name against your chest and dug his fingers into your waist as his spend filled you up, painting your velvety walls in hot ropes that mixed with your own release and seeped over your thighs in a thick mess.

He collapsed back against the seat with a groan, taking you with him as he still held you tightly. You nuzzled into his neck as aftershocks still shook through you, your pussy clenching around his softening cock at random intervals.

“Well, fuck me Professor Barber.” You teased as he buried his face in your hair.

He let out a groan and grinned at you as he brought his face to meet yours, his tongue slipping between your lips as he kissed you deeply.

“God, I fucking love you.” He whispered without thought as his hands ran over your spine. His hands stopped suddenly as he realized what he’d said and his held his breath as he waited for your reply.

You just buried your face in his chest hair and sighed before whispering “Love you too, Andy.”

Tags!!!

@slothspaghettiwrites

@captain-asguard

@starlightcrystalline

@harrysthiccthighss

@quxxnxfhxll

@bonkywobble

@macgruberrr

@chrisevanscardigan

@chubbybuckydumpling

@travistheaussie

@StanAllStarks

@dacreswhoree

@slytherinandoutasgard

@blackestpinkworld

@egcdeath

@fistmebuckyskywalker

@wanderinglunarnights

@wandering-spiritash

@Cavilsgirltaurus

@bval-1

@chris-butt

@beck07990

@badbleep88

@maddywrites14

@khadineberry

@shutupstevie

@muzzyandbusy

@sizzie9

@slytheriin2002

@isysen

@babyb3ar

@WanderingAlice00

@kaylamontaniz

@whxre4cevans

@harrysthiccthighss

@kaleeelizabeth58

@tlcwrites

@angrybirdcr

@unsaltedalmonds

@amerikakapitanyy

@lizette50

@drabblewithfrannybarnes

@stargazingfangirl18

@jack-skellingtons-stuff

@chrissquares

714 notes · View notes

mellkat1986 · 3 years ago

Text

Stop Reading Reddit Posts

I’m in the middle of writing my next chapter for ‘Unrequited Love’ and I wanted to look something up. Course, whenever you type something into google, you get hit back with a load of hits that really weren’t what you were looking for, but I was saddened with some of the hits I got back. I know, for some people, the age gap between Rumple and Belle in Once Upon a Time was hard for them to accept. Mostly, because Robert Carlyle and Emilie de Ravin have an age gap between them, which has never been an issue for them. I believe I read somewhere, Emilie had the question put to her, whether age gap in relationships were a problem for her, and she refuted the allegation. Stately plainly, that if anyone has the chance of finding love with someone, age shouldn’t be an issue. Its the person, not their age, you fall in love with.

For me, I’ve always been attracted to the older man. Not because of ‘daddy’ issues or anything like that. I couldn’t actually tell you, but there have been plenty of men, famous and not, who have been considerably older than me that I have been attracted to. My husband has been the big exception to the rule, as he’s the same age as me.

Talking more from the show point of view. There are a few characters who have been older than their partner. The obvious, of course, is Rumple and Belle. Rumple is supposed to be about 300 years old. Probably about 260-70ish when he met Belle. Belle would’ve presumably be in her early twenties. (I’m guessing). So we have an age gap of say 240-50 years. Hook and Emma is the next. Emma being about what... 27-28years old. Hook is from Rumple’s time, so ignoring his appearance, would’ve been over 200 years old too. Maybe, 230-40 years, for instance. So that’s around 200 year age gap too. Neal and Emma as well. Neal would’ve had 200 years on him as well. Just because he didn’t age till he came to ‘Land of No Magic’, he still would be hitting just over 200 years old. Everyone in the show, had an extra 28 years on their ages, because of being stuck in the curse.

So, yes, let’s take that for a fact, the curse was for 28 years and everything outside of that would’ve aged. The biggest plot hole of all, for me, is Robin, Zelena, Cora, Hook (as he had left Neverland), and several other people who came into the mix after Emma broke the curse, would look older than those in Storybrooke. (I’m not trying to confuse you). Which means, Robin should’ve been older when they met him at Rumple’s castle after recasting the curse. And if, for instance, there’s a stupid time lapse difference, Regina would’ve been older than Robin.

This is why, these people who get hung up on age are totally stupid. It’s not the age. It’s how the couple looks together. He’s older, and yes, he’s old enough to be her father. There are several celebrity couples, for example, Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta Jones, who are old enough to parent and child. But guess what, they’re not. And neither is Robert and Emilie. Any woman, or man, would be lucky to in a relationship with either Robert and Emilie, since they are great. Kind, funny and both so down to earth.

For those who do get hung up on age, my advice to you, is to treat and think of people exactly how you wanted to treated. There are people out there, you’re overlooking because you think they’re too old, or too young, when that person could bring so much light into your life. And right now, with all the Covid worries, I think everyone needs someone or something to bring them some goodness right now. Age is not important. It’s how someone makes you feel, which should be important.

Enough with my rant and musings

#fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic writer #writing #writerslife #writer problems #writer #rumbelle #ouat rumple #rumplestiltskin #belle #ouat belle

46 notes · View notes

mythicalshipping · 2 years ago

Text

So before I watched this ep, I saw a post on here that mentioned Link was disappointed in the 10 word story on today’s ep of GMMore:

Wtf was up with Link’s lip licking?!?!

So Rhett ended on the word “universe” and Link was indeed disappointed. But I have to wonder...what exactly were you hoping for? Was he intimating a “do the carpets match the drapes” comment at Rhett? O.O

So Stevie announces the name of today’s article, screenshot now featuring my super cool advanced editing.

And mentions this as the firs piece of advice in the article.

And Link is ON THAT S*IT like...IMMEDIATELY.

For he is DEDICATED in his quest.

This is the real reason some of their eps get banned; this one must have been right on the line because dannnnnng.

Is he gonna actually put that whole thing in here? That’s a choking hazard. Like no, not even in a dirty way but FOR SAFETY!?!?

OMFG HE ACTUALLY DID IT WTF DID NO ONE READ HIM THE “KEEP AWAY FROM AGES 3 AND UNDER BECAUSE THIS IS SMALL PARTS AND THEY WILL PUT IT IN THEIR MOUTHS?” (I actually was quite worried when this happened lol)

*whew* Okay so he spits it out and Stevie specifies that this is indeed a genedered article. And Link Neal said “eff your gender norms.”

Are there other similar things you’ve watched him do?

Rhett: *awkward laughter*

“One time.” Sureeeee.

So then they talk about how drawing attention to one’s lips could teeter on the edge of finding someone attractive versus not finding them attractive. I wonder if an colourful lipstick would do the trick.

So Link then says he likes when women smack their lips after applying ChapStick, lipstick or whatever. And what does Rhett start doing immediately? YEAH. But also, the screenshot just above this one that I took was super poorly timed so all I could think about was:

And then they talk about how hot eye contact can be and Link looks into the camera, and I’m reminded of how HARDCORE Link goes with making eye contact with the camera. Can’t believe Link / y/n is canon.

#rhink #rhink gmmore #rhink gmmore 2198

18 notes · View notes

elizabeethan · 3 years ago

Text

Watch the Sunlight Fade: 8 / 17

Emma Swan finds out that her boyfriend has been hiding something from her: he’s in a gang and trying to get out. Reluctantly, she decides to support him, sticking it out with him until they have enough money to flee to Florida. All she has to do is wait and ignore that feeling in her gut that something is seriously wrong. With the help of a kind and handsome stranger, she just might make it out alive.

Or, alternate summary: I’m horrible at summaries, please just read it.

Something of a cross between a What Still Remains AU and a Sons of Anarchy AU.

A/N: Things might be starting to come together this week! Let me know your predictions.

This chapter talks extremely briefly and ambiguously of Emma not exactly wanting to have sex with Neal. Also, there is a discussion of Killian’s semi-violent past. Nothing is detailed, but let me know if you need more information or anything!!

Rated M

Get added to my tag list

Read the Rest

Read my Other Stuff

Read on Ao3

~~~~

The days turn into weeks, although Emma can’t help but feel as though time is dragging her along mercilessly. Nothing has changed since she found out about Neal, how he’s the brother of the leader of The Lost Boys. Nothing, aside from her feelings of safety and security, of confidence in her relationship, being completely shattered.

Every night, she fights off the desperation to walk across the hall and join Killian in his bed, letting his strong arms consume her and blanket her with a sense of ease and contentment. Every night, she fights with herself as she crawls into bed with Neal, a man she thought she loved, and forces herself to put on an act of affection towards him. She forces herself to lie back and accept his convoluted attempts at showing her that he loves her, knowing that he couldn’t possibly. If he loved her, he would never have lied to her. If he loves her, he would let her go.

She also fights with herself through the anger she feels, directed inward rather than at anyone else. Sure, she’s mad at Neal for what he’s done, what he’s putting her through, but at the end of the day, she’s the fool to let herself be put in this position. It’s her fault. She should have seen through his lies from the moment she met him, but she was too desperate for love and family and acceptance. He knew that, too, and he exploited her weaknesses like she meant nothing to him.

It drives her mad to not know what he’s after. She’s hardly the most skilled person at finding people who don’t want to be found, so why he feels the need to target her specifically, she can’t say. It could be argued that, in some perplexing, psychotic way, he thinks he loves her, but she knows now that this isn’t love. It can’t be.

Lying at his side, wide awake through her inability to sleep, she can’t seem to shut her mind off. Each time she closes her eyes, she feels terror at the memories burned behind her lids. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees Neal on top of her, despite her resolve to squeeze her eyes shut each time he decides he wants to be with her. Usually, she’s able to go to another place, letting thoughts of the beach or her happy future serve as a distraction of her fear, but sometimes she can’t ignore the feeling of his rough fingertips burning her skin.

Sometimes, when she’s in Neal’s arms and struggling to get past the feelings that come along with being with him, she thinks of Killian. Not necessarily in a way of longing for him-- not because she wishes she was with him instead, although she can only assume it would be more pleasurable-- but because of the comfort that he always brings her. Being with him is like being embraced by warmth and safety itself. It’s like the rest of the world turns off, and all that’s on her mind is the soothing way his arms wrap around her and the gentle rise and fall of his chest against her cheek. She doesn’t have to worry when she’s with him. She only has to think about how good it feels to be in his arms.

And she’s noticed his physique, too. It would be difficult not to. She noticed that first night, when he lifted his sweatshirt off and pulled his t-shirt up with it. She noticed the other day when he visited her in her cave of an office, leaning his shoulder against the door frame with his arms crossed, muscles bulging out of his sleeves and a tempting smirk coloring his lips as he teased her over the dinosaur of a computer she was working on. She notices the way he looks with almost everything he does, and she knows it's a dangerous game that she’s playing.

It’s not like she never found Neal attractive. But knowing what she knows now, she can’t help but to feel slightly nauseated every time she sees his face. She’s got to get out of this.

~~~~

“Since you did such a good job with the last one, I have another little task for you,” Peter says, his voice teasing and his smirk unsettling.

Emma works hard to maintain her composure as she sits straight up in her seat, one she was finally awarded after weeks of standing awkwardly before the group sat at the table. Today, when she walked into the daunting conference room, Peter invited her to sit beside him, beside Neal, and has been leaning towards her in a way that she knows is meant to appear polite, but holds a threatening undertone.

“Okay,” she agrees, trying to make her voice sound confident and fighting off the fear that never seems to go away.

He turns from her to Neal and remarks, “she really has begun to come into her own, hasn’t she?”

“I guess,” he shrugs, and a part of her feels offended at his nonchalance. Despite her strong desire to be anywhere but here, she thinks she’s done a pretty nice job of trying to fit in. Ever since Gold spilled the beans a few weeks ago about Neal’s status in the club, she’s held it together fairly well on the outside, with the exception of her initial breakdown.

There’s only one person she truly feels comfortable breaking down in front of. Only one person who she really trusts.

She hasn’t told Neal that she's found out his true identity. She and Killian have talked about it at length, sometimes able to spend time alone together especially when Neal leaves, and they’ve agreed that it’s for the best to keep her discovery under wraps. Gold’s subtle drop that Neal is his son and brother to Peter was purposeful, and she can’t let him come out on top. She knows, she’s terrified, but she’ll maintain her composure. For whatever reason, Neal doesn’t want her to know, so she’ll keep playing dumb.

“Who do you want me to find?” she asks, wanting nothing more than to prevent Neal from saying anything else casually offensive. His small digs at her serve a purpose, she now knows; to bring her down as far and as quietly as he can.

“This one may be a bit more of a challenge; a member from a rival gang. While Graham was more of a nomad, this man has ties to the Kings of Elsinore and is better protected. I want you to find out everything you can on him.”

“Okay,” she nods assuredly. “Well, I'll take whatever you have on him and get to work, then.”

Before she can move from her seat, Peter’s hand is on her wrist, oppressively holding her still. “Not so fast. There’s someone I’d like you to officially meet. Call in Hook.”

A man Neal knows, Walsh, she thinks, stands from his chair and walks towards the door, summoning someone inside. She has to stop her jaw from hitting the floor when she sees who.

“You two seem to have met casually, but I’d like you to officially meet Killian Jones. He’s gotten himself into a touch of trouble and, as punishment, will be helping you with whatever you need until this man is located.”

She gulps, anxiety setting in again despite how hard she’s been trying to keep it at bay. She promised herself she would be strong, refusing to let them get to her, to let them see her squirm. She will keep her promise to herself. “Okay,” she murmurs, forcing herself to peel her gaze from Killian’s. She can’t help but wonder what he’s done to get into trouble with Peter. She selfishly hopes they weren’t caught without her knowledge.

~~~~

“What happened?” she begs desperately once the door to her small office is shut, Killian ushering her into the room before practically slamming it. “What are you in trouble for? Killian, please tell me they don’t--”

“Nothing like that,” he hisses, stepping towards her. With a soft, gentle voice only just above a whisper, he says, “love, you have to stay calm. You did phenomenally pretending we don’t know each other well, but we have to keep up the ruse.”

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I know, I just… what happened?”

“Nothing, love, I promise. I only refused to go on a trip with them last week and Peter feared I wasn’t dedicated to the club’s cause.”

“You did?” she asks in surprise. When Neal told her that he wasn’t dedicated, she forced herself to believe him. When Killian says it, she doesn't even consider doubting him.

“Aye. Told them I had pressing matters to attend to.”

She cocks her head suspiciously and asks, “what were the pressing matters?”

“The Mummy Returns was on TV, remember? We watched it together.”

She can’t help the smile that breaks across her face, a snort escaping her throat despite her best efforts as she shakes her head and feels a blush creeping up her neck and pinkening her cheeks. “You’re dumb,” she says, and she feels like a child in a playground with a school crush.

“Well,” he shrugs, giving her a beaming smile. “Here, love. I’ve got the information we have so far. Time to start digging.”

A part of her almost wants to take her time, content to sit in the small office with Killian sitting beside her for quite some time. No one would suspect a thing, what with Peter already telling her that this guy would be harder to find; it’s the perfect excuse to soak in all of the comfort and happiness that Killian brings her despite her circumstances. But she knows they have to keep up appearances so as to avoid being caught in their elicit friendship, so she’ll work at a normal pace and hope no one notices that her smile is genuine rather than the forced one she gives Neal.

James Spencer is certainly a hard man to find. If she didn’t already know that he was linked to the Kings of Elsinore, she would be lost, as the man seems entirely enigmatic in nature. He seems like a ghost, her research pointing her absolutely nowhere, but Peter insists that he’s got ties to this rival club, despite her finding no evidence to support his claim.

She groans after a few hours, dropping her head to the desk as Killian continues to bounce a tennis ball off the wall in his boredom. It certainly is a punishment for him; the fact that he has to sit here and watch her find nothing is likely eating him alive. “It’s only been a few hours, love, you’ll find something soon,” he tries to console. Her frustration wins out, though.

“This is stupid.”

“Aye.”

“Are all of these stupid gangs this hard to navigate around?”

“Aye, I'd assume so. Although, I've never been a bounty hunter.”

She rolls her eyes, picking her head up and glaring. “I wasn’t a bounty hunter. I was a bail bondsperson.”

“That’s different?”

She holds her hands out, requesting the ball from him and catching it when he tosses it, only to throw it back at him with too much aggression. He yelps and laughs at her too loudly, and she can’t help but smile in response. She settles back into her chair after the short reprieve and sighs.

“How can I find someone who doesn’t want to be found if I know absolutely nothing about the environment he lives in?”

He hums in agreement, nodding and remarking, “you need an inside man.”

“No, I just need to know how a fucking motorcycle gang works,” she grumbles. It’s been a confusing few weeks, and she realizes that, while she’s gotten a few small bits of information, she still has no idea what the club’s actual purpose is. “Like… why even bother having one?”

He gives her a soft smile, standing from his chair and dragging it closer to her. “Are you sure that’s what this is about?”

“What?” she asks indignantly, giving him a look that she seriously hopes conveys how annoyed she is.

“Your little tantrum, love,” he teases. “Is it really about not knowing enough about how gangs work? Or is it, perhaps, more about your need to know everything about a situation in order to convince yourself that you’re safe?”

With another glare shot his way, she drops her jaw in surprise and shakes her head. “What the hell do you know?”

He smirks. “I know a lot more than you think. You’re a bit of an open book, love. And I’ve known you long enough now.”

“To what, psychoanalyze me?”

“I may have considered studying psychology, had I gone to university,” he laughs. “I know you’re scared, and I'm beginning to realize that not knowing what’s going to happen, or what’s happening without you knowing, is probably feeding that fear.”

With another heaving sigh, she drops her head back down, resting it on her arms and nodding. “You’re right,” she concedes, although part of her wishes he wasn’t. It’s true, though, being so in the dark about everything is making her feel weak.

His hand lands on her shoulder, staying there for a moment before he gently and slowly scratches his fingertips against her skin and pulls away. “I can tell you what I know, if that’ll help.”

She perks up, lifting her head and recalling a conversation from weeks ago in which he told her that his brother was an influential member of the club. “Yes,” she says, and why she didn’t think to ask earlier, she doesn’t know.

He gives her a nod and another one of his encouraging smiles, the one that always makes her heart skip a beat, and clears his throat. “What I know is that Neal is older, but Peter is in charge. From what I gather, and I was never privy to much, Neal went off on his own for a while and Peter took over everything. Gold’s always seemed a bit more… hesitant around Peter, but I almost suspect that he favors Neal. Either way, Peter was running things behind the scenes for quite some time before Neal left. When he came back, it was with you on his arm and with Peter happily leading, refusing to give up his spot. No one argued with him.”

She nods, but it doesn’t tell her much. She’s always known that Neal is more of a follower, happy to do whatever he can to impress his friends. The fact that he willingly gave up what seems to be his birthright doesn’t really surprise her.

“So what are they doing when they go away on their trips?”

“Usually seeking out merchandise. They deal in stolen goods, mostly watches and the like. Typically, a trip is a heist of some kind. A jewelry store, antique shop… sometimes even banks with safe deposit boxes.”

Emma looks down to her own wrist, Killian’s gaze following closely behind, and notes the watch she wears. The one that Neal gave her after one of his trips. She shudders and moves to take it off.

His hand stops her, looking into her eyes deeply and shaking his head. “Keep it,” he murmurs. “We can’t let them know that you know any of this.”

“Why?” she asks in a whisper. “Why is it so bad if I know?”

“I don’t know,” he shakes his head again. “But if Neal hasn’t told you, there’s a reason for it.”

She nods in understanding, letting her heart rate slow as his hand remains on her wrist, moving down to the top of her hand. She wants to wrap her fingers around his, but she knows she shouldn’t. “Can I ask something about you?”

“Of course.”

“Why do they call you Hook?”

His eyes drop from hers, glancing down at their joined hands, and she watches his brows knit together tightly. She feels his grip on her hand tighten, and despite both of them knowing it’s a bad idea, his fingers weave with hers and he squeezes her hand. She squeezes back.

“There are things about my past that… that when I think about telling you, I become…” he sighs, unable to finish his thought.

“Killian,” she whispers, “I already know you’re in a gang. Can it really be that bad?”

“Aye,” he answers immediately, his eyes meeting her own in a desperate attempt to convey to her something she can’t quite read. “I’m not… a good man.”

“Of course you are.”

“No. Maybe I’ve never thrown knives at a woman I’m supposed to love, but I’ve certainly… I mean…”

“Killian.” Her grip on his hand, the one she should release, tightens. “Whatever happened… you’re not that person. You’re good. I know bad people and I pegged you as good the second I saw you.”

It’s as if he can’t meet her gaze, too ashamed of whatever it is that he’s done. Too fearful of what will happen if she finds out. He witnessed her finding out that Neal has been lying to her, and she wonders if he fears a similar response now.

“I don’t-- it’s silly,” he laughs. “I just… I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You can’t,” she whispers. After everything he’s done for her, everything he plans to do for her, he could never disappoint her.

He sighs, squeezing her hand once more before turning it over in his and drawing a line across her palm. “I was a-- an angry lad growing up. My father abandoned us, my mother died. I found myself seeking release. Ways to get my anger out. I was never taught anything productive.”

She stays quiet, letting him open up to her on his own terms and distract himself by tracing the lines in her palms. “I came here at fifteen. Gold recruited me for… well, to put my anger to good use, in his eyes. He used me-- he’s always been good at picking out someone’s weakness and exploiting it. Whenever he needed information out of someone, he would bring me along and I would…” he sighs again, taking a deep and grounding breath. “I had a favorite weapon,” he mumbles.

With a nod, she tries to stay calm, tries not to let fear overtake her. She was fearful of Neal when he held the knives and smirked at her, and of Peter when he pressed the tip of the blade to his finger and smiled. But when she presses her hand to Killian’s cheek and makes him look up at her, she feels no fear. She sees only truth and regret and a longing to be a different person.

“It was a hook?” she asks for clarification, but she can see the answer in his eyes.

“From Gold’s boat,” he croaks. “That’s usually where we would take… the people we were interrogating. But, Emma, it’s been years. Liam found out and put an end to it. I think that’s--”

“What?” she asks gently as he cuts himself off, shaking his head painfully.

“I think that’s when things started going poorly for him.”

He’s done so much for her. He’s soothed every ounce of pain she’s felt since she got here, since Neal sliced her cheek and he touched it tenderly. He held her together as she cried harder than she ever had before. He’s vowed to see her out of this danger despite the predicament it puts him in. And still, she feels powerless to help him. He’s sitting before her, broken and in anguish, and she can’t heal him like he has her.

All she can do is take his cheeks in her hands and promise him, “that was not your fault.”

“Emma,” he breathes, his eyes pleading with her, for what, she isn’t sure. “He… he kept insisting I stay out of it. He kept holding me back, refusing to let me go, putting up a fight… I think they got tired of it, eventually. Of someone constantly questioning them and going against their word. He’d still be here if I hadn’t--”

“No. You had no hand in what happened to Liam. And when this is all over, you’re gonna be able to leave too.”

It’s bold of her to assume that it’s something he wants. He’s told her plenty of times that he wants to help her escape, but he’s never mentioned a desire to leave himself. It’s bold of her to assume that that’s in his best interest. But when she looks at the sadness and regret in his eyes, a part of her knows that it must be.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs after a moment of silence, and she lets him cast his gaze downwards again. “I should have--”

“It’s okay, Killian. The things you’ve done in the past don’t reflect who you are now.”

“Of course they do,” he nearly spits, clearly angry with himself as he pulls away and throws his head back. “I was a monster then. How can you not think of me as a monster now? I’m no better than Neal or Peter.”

“Don’t say that. Peter would probably do something like that now if he wanted to. Would you?” She lets her voice rise just the slightest amount, feeling more intensity than before and finding it necessary to convey to him that she doesn’t see him as a monster.

“Of course not.”

“And Neal… don’t even get me started. He nearly pulled his gun on me last week because I asked him where he was going. Would you do that?”

“Emma,” he says softly, finally looking at her once more, and she knows what he’s thinking. She knows he wants her out of his apartment; out of his life.

“You’re not a bad person,” she whispers, leaning closer to him just as he sits forward again, and they’re so close that she can feel his breath warming her nose. “I know bad people. You don’t qualify.”

He nods, his eyes deep and soulful as they bore into hers, and says, “I want to be a good person for you.”

No one has ever spoken to her like this. No one has ever expressed such a definitive desire to be worthy of her. No one has ever been so close to her and not made her instinctively want to pull away. And when she sees his eyes fluttering shut, his lashes touching his cheeks and casting long shadows in the dingy light, she wants to lean closer.

She almost does, too, is tempted to close her eyes like he has and touch her lips to his, but there's a swift knock on the door and they spring apart so quickly that she kicks his shin, causing him to bend and silently groan. She cringes in apology as she jiggles the mouse to her computer, begging it to wake up before the knocker enters the room.

“Any luck?” Gold asks as he pokes his head in.

“None so far,” Killian answers easily, his persona shifting effortlessly and maintaining their cover. “Swan’s searching high and low, but we don’t know much about Spencer’s tactics yet.”

“And Hook’s been a help to you, Miss Swan?”

“Yes,” she smiles, fighting the urge to lunge out of her chair and wring his neck for the name he’s given Killian and his insistence to still use it despite his obvious discomfort.

“It’s clear already that you have the club’s future in mind; I'm sure you’ll find something soon enough.”

She nods, staring as he walks away and cocking her head in confusion. “So weird,” she says softly once he’s gone, trying to remain quiet as he’d left the door ajar.

“What?”

“That’s the second time he’s mentioned the club’s future, specifically. What does me finding this James Spencer have to do with the future of the club?”

His response is a shake of his head, a slight roll to his eyes before he stills suddenly. His eyes widen as he looks down, then his brows knit together in thought, and she can clearly see the cogs turning in his mind. It’s like she’s watching him have an epiphany in real time. He looks up at her once, urgently, then he snaps out of it as if he’s remembering where he is, his demeanor shifting entirely as he smiles. “I’m not sure. The old man never makes any sense.”

“Killian…?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing, love. We’ll just keep working on finding Spencer, alright? There’s no need to worry.”

For a brief second, she feels distrustful of him. It’s reminiscent of when Neal tells her not to worry about things that she couldn’t possibly understand. It’s like he knows something, but he doesn’t think she's capable of handling the truth of whatever it is. For a brief, fleeting second, she doubts him.

But she can’t let herself think like that. Neal lies to her to protect himself. Killian has been nothing but honest with her, wanting nothing but her safety. Truthfully, if whatever he’s discovered is bad enough that he doesn’t want to tell her about it, she isn’t sure she wants to know.

~~~~

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook @therooksshiningknight @eeteeaytay @xsajx @itsfridaysomewhere @alexa-fangirl-forever @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @qualitycoffeethings @rapunzelsghosts @spaceconveyor @badcats-andmice @batana54 @sailtoafarawayland @deckerstarblanche @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @hookedmom @pirateprincessofpizza

#Watch the Sunlight Fade #Captain swan fanfic #cs ff #sunlight ff #captain swan angst #captain swan fluff #emotional hurt/comfort #tw

49 notes · View notes

wefoundloveunderthelight · 3 years ago

Text

A Story in the Life of Killian Jones and Emma Swan by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Chapter 1/2

Read on AO3: | Part 1 | Part 2 - Coming tomorrow

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx @deckerstarblanche

Part 1:

Killian Jones was sitting in the darkened room of Hall D, a video playing on the screen in front of him as he tried to scrawl notes and designs in his notebook. It had been a grueling four days in Las Vegas soaking up everything there was to learn at the Architecture and Design Expo his brother had sent him from England to attend.

Normally it would be his brother Liam who would attend these events, but a freak biking accident had taken Liam off his feet for a few weeks, leaving Killian to attend at the last minute.

Killian disliked boring events, content to stay back running the business in his brother’s absence. He would have preferred that Liam send Neal or Robin to this convention, he saw no need to pretend to be interested in the glitz and glamor of rubbing elbows with others in the business under the lights of Las Vegas. If there was one thing he was certain of after visiting the city, it was that American’s sure did enjoy taking things over the top.

Everything was bigger in Vegas. He found no reason or need for such lavish adornment, and yet he had spent his evening having dinner underneath a replica of the Eiffel tower while watching a water show across the street at the Bellagio. He supposed he should be impressed; someone had spent time designing every corner of the large buildings around him. Yet he couldn’t imagine the millions of dollars that had been spent and paid to create such large attractions for no other reason except to drawn in visitors to spend their hard earned cash for a few hours of entertainment.

As the lights came up in the hall, he shoved his notepad into his bag and slung it over his shoulder, following the crowd into the convention center. He was exhausted and ready to fly back to England in the morning.

He pulled out the stool in front of the bar and tossed his bag on the counter. “Dark and Stormy, please.”

The bartender nodded at him and began making his drink. Killian unlocked his phone sending off a text.

Killian: I’m home in the afternoon, lets meet on the Chamberlin deal. Need to talk money before you fly back.

Killian tapped his fingers against the bar as he reviewed his emails from earlier in the day. Robin had sent him some docs to review, and Liam had set up a few meetings for him in the evening once he landed back in England.

His phone buzzed with a response to his earlier text.

Neal: I think you’re going to like the proposal. See you when you get here buddy.

Killian closed his messages and accepted the drink from the man in front of him. Taking a long sip, he closed his eyes and let the liquid warm him.

“Vodka martini.” A voice sounded beside him. From the corner of his eye, he saw a woman take the seat next to him.

His phone buzzed again, and he looked down to see the text from his brother.

Liam: Need you in some meetings tomorrow when you get back, so don’t get drunk tonight.

Killian grunted as he finished his drink. Shaking his head, he ordered another from the bartender. He tossed his phone into his bag and pounded out a tune with his knuckles as he waited.

“I’ll have a beer and another for the lady.” A voice boomed to his right.

“The lady can order her own drink. Thanks.” The woman beside him growled.

“Come now beautiful, I’m just trying to buy you a drink.” The man insisted.

“I’m not interested.”

“Let me guess, you’re a lesbian.” The man said with a sarcastic tone that caused Killian to pound his fist on the bar.

“I believe the lady said she wasn’t interested.” He said forcefully without looking at the woman beside him. He didn’t need to turn his head to know that the man had skulked away with an angry huff. He didn’t honestly care, he just wanted to enjoy what was left of his evening in peace.

His drink was set on the counter in front of him and he took the glass, quickly tipping it back against his mouth. Exhaling loudly, he stared at the television above the bar.

“I had it handled.” The woman stated a few minutes later.

“I don’t doubt that.” He said simply, keeping his eyes on the television.

He sat in silence for a few minutes, not really paying attention to the news that was flashing across the screen. “You here for the convention?” The woman asked and he finally turned his head toward her, the sarcastic comment about to roll off his tongue died in his mouth the moment their eyes met.

“Aye.” Was all he could muster, his entire mouth suddenly felt like it was full of cotton. The woman beside him was beautiful. Not beautiful like a model or those women you see on television that you know are in no way born with the body they are displaying. This woman was gorgeous in a natural yet mystifying manner. He could barely keep himself from getting lost in the deep green of her eyes.

The bartender handed her a drink and she raised it toward him. “Well, here’s to four days you’ll never get back.”

He smiled, lifting his glass toward her. “I’ll drink to that.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, I’m just not really into this shit. I mean, we’re in Vegas, the city that never sleeps and we’re stuck in a room all day. If they wanted us to do that, maybe they should have hosted it in Ohio or somewhere else completely boring.”

“I’m offended, love. I’m from Ohio.”

The woman laughed. “Bullshit, not with that accent.”

“I have an accent?” He feigned shock, grabbing his heart. “I had no idea.”

“Very funny.” She rolled her eyes, and he took the moments distraction to scan his own down the rest of her body. She was wearing a dark blue suit jacket with a matching skirt, with a white button-down shirt under her jacket. She had gorgeous legs and he could see just the tip of her heels peeking out from the tall bar stool. Turning back toward the bar, he took another sip of his drink.

“Are you an architect?” He asked.

“Designer.” She said with a smile. “You must be an architect though.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“You were staring at my legs. Architects are always looking at how things are built.”

His mouth turned up in a smirk. “Aye, I do admire a well-built structure.”

“Of course you do.” She returned the playful banter with a smile of her own.

He swallowed his drink, slamming the glass down on the counter. “I’m not going to apologize for admiring the view.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” She shrugged. “As long as you don’t mind if I do the same.”

His mouth sat open for a moment. “Are you checking me out?”

“Maybe.” She responded, sipping her drink. “There’s always been something a bit sexy about British men.”

“I’m not British, I mean, I live in England, but I’m from Ireland. Just haven’t lived there in a long time.”

Her eyebrow rose playfully. “British and Irish, should I take my panties off now or wait til we leave the bar?”

He turned in his stool so that he was facing her. “That depends, love.”

“On what?” She asked quietly, titling her body toward his.

“Your room or mine?”

“That’s mighty presumptuous of you.”

“Perhaps.” He smirked, turning back toward the bar. “However, you’ve already admitted the accent is a turn on, and I’ve caught you staring more than once, I think you might be quite taken by my devilishly handsome features.” He grinned into his drink before taking a sip. God he had missed this. He hadn’t flirted with a woman in ages. She snorted as she sat her drink back on the bar, the ice clinking around in the glass at the bottom. “Can I buy you another?”

He caught her eye, and she shook her head with a sly smile. “Think I’ve had enough alcohol for one evening.”

“Why, love? You a bit worried you'll find me even more irresistible after a few libations?” He teased.

Her laugh was loud and raucous, but it was like music to his ears. He watched as her head tilted back, a smile widening on her face.

One moment they were sitting in the bar, staring into each other’s eyes and the next they were in the elevator, his mouth on her neck, her hands pressed against his crotch. They barely made it to his room before he had her out of her clothes, her body pressed against his, long legs wrapped around his waist as he fumbled in his wallet for the condom he had kept in his pocket for a year, wasting away from his lack of dating.

He devoured her well into the night, memorizing every exquisite part of her body, down to the freckles on the inside of her thigh.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t been with a woman before, back in university he and Neal spent their evenings at the local bar looking for the next woman to warm their bed, but that had been years ago and as he had aged he grew tired of bedding a woman simply to prove he could.

He hadn’t intended to have relations with anyone on his trip to Vegas until he laid eyes on the woman who shared his bed that evening. She enchanted him, brought every one of his senses to life simply by looking at him. Sex with her had awakened something in him that had laid dormant inside him for years.

Burning need and desire.

He couldn’t get enough of her, the sound he elicited when his tongue slipped between her folds, the way she moaned when he entered her, or the way she leaned against his chest once they were both sated and physically exhausted.

He held her in his arms until his body finally gave way to sleep, content and relaxed.

When his alarm went off on his bedside table the next morning, he groaned as he turned it off, rolling over to find the bed empty beside him.

She was gone. It was in that moment that he realized he never asked her name. Another chapter in the sad story of the life of Killian Jones.

~*~

3 years later

“I hate flying.” Robin squirmed in the seat beside him.

“Would you stop acting like a pussy.” Liam groused as he poured a small bottle of rum into his diet coke.

“I’m just saying it’s not natural to fly, we aren’t birds.” Robin countered.

“Would you prefer we swam here, brother?” Liam teased and Robin grabbed the drink sitting in front of him and downed the entire thing.

“Bloody hell, that was mine.”

Killian stared out the tiny window as the world got smaller below him. It would be another seven hours before they landed in New York. Neal Cassidy, his childhood friend, and co-worker was getting married. Neal had been located at the same branch as Killian in London since they began working for Liam. But after traveling every few months to New York to run the accounting portion of the business, Liam allowed him to relocate to New York four years ago. It had been a year since Killian had last seen his friend and now he was getting hitched.

Neal had been unusually quiet about his personal life, no one at the firm had even met this mysterious woman that he had been seeing for the last 3 and a half years. When she gave birth to their son a couple of years back, no one was more shocked than Killian to get a photo of a newborn with the caption, “Look what I made” underneath it. Neal had always been a ladies’ man, children were never a priority for him, so seeing him on the screen with a child in his arms was something he could hardly believe.

Killian had called Neal that evening, demanding to know why they had been kept in the dark for so long only for Neal to act his usual self, promising to provide more details when they all could meet in person.

Six months ago, he received a photo of a woman’s hand with a large diamond ring on it, captioned “she said yes.” He was happy for his friend, and anxious to meet the woman who had stolen him away from them for so long.

“Maybe she only has one eye.” Killian snapped his attention to the conversation going on beside him. “Or she’s unusually grotesque.” Robin was stating.

“Are you talking about the last woman you bedded, mate?” He teased.

“This Emma woman that Neal is marrying, we were just saying that Neal has never sent a photo of her.” Liam answered. “Seems odd.”

“Seems like something Neal would do. Most likely she’s bloody gorgeous and he was afraid one of us would steal her away if he showed us her photo.” Killian shrugged.

“Well, you do have a history of…” Robin began.

“Bugger off, Shelia doesn’t count. Neal wasn’t even interested in her.” Killian countered.

“But he was in love with Susan, and I seem to recall he found you in bed with her the morning after she spent the night with him.”

“Is it my fault that she was roaming our flat at 3am in nothing but lacy panties and a smile?” He joked.

“You’re impossible.” Liam snorted.

“I’m happy for Neal. Honestly, I never saw him settling down, he was always a selfish bastard, I’m shocked he had time to make an honest woman out of this lass.” Killian shrugged.

“Love is magic, mate.” Robin winked.

“Makes many a man falter and give up his selfish ways.” He brother sighed.

“And that’s why I avoid love at all costs.” He mumbled.

“He’ll never get laid again, the stupid git.” Robin laughed.

“A toast to the poor bastard.” Liam raised his glass. “May his drinks be as plentiful as his balls will be blue.”

“To Neal…” They all cheered.

~*~

Emma ran around the apartment picking up dishes and clothing that had been left strewn throughout the rooms. There were toys littering the floor of every corner in the apartment. Henry was barely a few months older than two and he had more toys than he could even play with in a full day.

She needed the apartment to look clean, or perhaps clean enough so she didn’t look like a failure as a mother and future wife. But the house was a wreck, and she had no time to keep up with it.

Today she was finally going to meet Neal’s co-workers, who were practically the only family he had growing up. She had heard so much about them, or as much as Neal would share with her, and they were finally coming to New York for the wedding on Sunday.

She was so anxious that the men Neal had grown up with would find her to be lacking as a match for their friend. In particular, she was most interested in the opinion of Killian Jones, he was Neal’s closest friend and the one who knew best what Neal was like when he was younger. She couldn’t wait to hear stories about him. Neal was a private person and kept much of his past life hidden from her, but Emma was naturally curious what he had been like before she met him.

“Are you wearing that?” Emma looked up as Neal entered the living room, standing in front of her in a blue button-down shirt and jeans. She looked down at her yoga pants and stained t-shirt.

“Yes Neal, after I cleaned the toilet, I thought I would just stay in these clothes to meet your closest friends.” She said with a snort. “I’m changing after I finish the living room.”

“Oh, ok good. Not that I don’t appreciate the yoga pants, but I’d prefer you not have your ass on display when you meet Killian.” He walked up, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Just Killian? Not Robin or Liam?” She narrowed her eyes. “Interesting, is there a story you aren’t telling me?” She teased.

He fidgeted for a moment and then smiled. “Just a little brotherly rivalry.” He bent his head to her neck, pecking lightly at her skin.

“Ah, well, don’t forget, you’re the one I’m marrying.” She reassured him.

“Wanna prove that to me right now.” He growled against her ear as their son bobbled into the room.

“Mama…”

Neal sighed and she felt his weight against her shoulder as he deflated against her. She stepped out of his embrace and picked up her son. “Hey bud, you ready for a bath?” She asked excitedly.

“Bubbas.”

“Yes with bubbles.” She said, offering an apologetic glance in Neal’s direction. “Rain check, babe.”

“One of these days I’m gonna need the sun to shine…” She heard him shout playfully as she took Henry to the bathtub.

Emma ran the water, setting her son into the tub. She knew Neal was frustrated, their lack of sex lately had been noticeable to her as well, but she could rarely help how tired she was after a long day in the office and then taking care of Henry once she got him home from daycare. Neal was ok at parenting, but he wasn’t the most attentive parent, so Emma spent a lot of time keeping a watchful eye on Henry as he became more curious around the apartment.

Emma did love her life. She loved her son. And she loved Neal.

She wasn’t always sure that she wanted to settle down with him, she had struggled when he asked her to move in with him. Emma did what she always did the night he asked her, she ran. She had a convention in Vegas that week and she used it as the perfect excuse to postpone her answer.

Of course, that excuse turned into an entirely different problem in Vegas. A sexual encounter with a stranger she met at a bar, something she had never done in her entire life, ultimately made her realize that she needed to stop running and settle down. She was getting too old to begin having one-night stands, it was time to grow up. So, she did what every responsibleadult should do when they reached a certain age, she did the walk of shame back to her hotel room, got on a plane, moved in with Neal, and acted like a grown up.

And then she found out she was pregnant and well, here she was now…a two-year-old son, a busy life, and finally giving in to the M word. Marriage. She shivered as she thought about the approaching date. She was going to be someone’s wife soon.

It was all part of the plan, she reminded herself.

Neal had a 5-year plan, get married, have another kid, buy a house, and retire to Florida. Emma had resisted getting on board with the plan, she didn’t understand why they needed to map out every aspect of their life. She was used to just doing what felt natural to her.

Though she supposed that’s what got her into this whole mess to begin with.

Had she walked away from the bar that night, had she not gotten into an elevator with a man who’s name she still didn’t know…perhaps things would be different. Maybe her life would have taken her somewhere else.

Lately she spent a lot of time thinking about the what ifs of Emma Swan’s life. What if she had left the bar alone that night, would she still be marrying Neal? What if she stayed until the man woke up that morning, would she have asked his name? What if she got his number? Would he still be in her life?

She brushed her son’s dark hair out of his face and smiled down at him, his blue eyes shining back at her. She knew she wouldn’t change anything in her life, without the decisions she had made, good or bad, she wouldn’t have her son. Henry was the most important thing in her life. She would do anything for him.

She supposed if the man in the hotel room had taught her anything, it was how to love something so fierce that you would do anything to hold on to it. Even if she never knew his name, he had given her the most important thing in the world. Henry.

Neal never questioned her; never took into account that she became pregnant almost immediately after moving in with him. There was always the chance that the child could be Neal’s, and she couldn’t bear to tell him the truth about the man in the hotel, the man she was with before she had settled on Neal. It was selfish on her part, but she didn’t know the man’s name she had spent the evening with, so he could never be a father to Henry, but Neal could. She was always determined that she would make that be enough for Henry.

~*~

Killian grabbed his bags from the turnstile, heaving the strap onto his shoulder. He watched as Robin struggled with another woman over his own bag, arguing over who the bag belonged to.

“I beg your pardon, are you telling me that your name is Robin Locksley as well?” He pointed to the name on the bag with an indignant stare. “Of course you aren’t.” The woman removed her hand and Robin dragged the bag away from her with a triumphant raise of his chin.

“Did you want to take her outside?” Killian joked. “Perhaps a lashing is in order.”

“Bugger off.”

“He gets very cranky when he travels.” Liam whispered as Robin flashed his middle finger in their direction. Killian laughed and followed his brother through the halls of the airport. They were to meet Neal outside the terminal where he was going to pick them up.

The moment they stepped into the sunlight of New York City he recognized Neal stepping out of his car. “Jones.” He greeted him with a hug.

“Cassidy. Where’s the ball and chain? I’m starting to think she’s not real.” He joked.

“Trust me, she’s real. She’s back at the apartment, Henry gets cranky in the evening, so we thought it best he take a nap before we go to dinner. I’ll drop you at your hotel and we can all meet back up at the restaurant.”

“Who the hell are you? You sound so domesticated.” Robin wrinkled his nose as he reached them, embracing Neal in a hug.

“You know me, I’ll never be fully domesticated, but I suppose it can’t all be helped.” He laughed. “Shall we?”

Killian climbed into the back of the car, watching the city fly by as they drove to their hotel. He had been to the city before, they had done business in New York a multitude of time in the past, but he hadn’t been back to the states since his trip to Las Vegas. Since her.

Many nights, he found himself imagining what her name could be. He would sometimes dream about her, she would introduce herself, her name on the tip of her tongue and then he would wake up in a cold sweat, still wondering what it was, or if he would ever find out.

He scanned the faces of the pedestrians walking by, always hoping that one day, he would see her face. He knew that was ridiculous, she was one in millions, he had no idea where she even lived.

“What does one even say to a baby?” Robin asked as he stepped into the hall from his room. “Do two-year old’s talk?”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine; just pretend you’re talking to Killian.” Liam scoffed as they entered the elevator.

“You’re hilarious brother.”

“But I’m not wrong.” He winked, climbing into the cab as they headed out that evening.

When they arrived at the restaurant, Killian could feel the anticipation of finally meeting the woman of Neal’s dreams. Would she be short, tall, maybe a red head, or perhaps dark hair, Neal had always been attracted to dark haired women?

When they entered the restaurant they were led to a back room where Neal was waiting for them, he approached them immediately, hugging him with a giant smile. “I’m so glad you guys made it. I hope you were able to get a short rest at the hotel.” Killian smiled as Neal turned toward the back of the room. “I want you to meet, Emma.”

A woman approached them, blonde hair bobbing at her shoulders, she stepped next to Neal and his heart stopped the moment their eyes met. It was impossible. This couldn’t be happening.

“Emma, this is Killian.” The woman swallowed, extending her hand without a word. He blinked, trying to stop his chest from heaving, needing to catch his breath. He looked at Neal, waiting for the cameras to jump out from behind him and announce that he had just been pranked on one of those ridiculous comedy shows American’s loved so much.

Robin elbowed him and he flinched back to reality, lifting his hand to take hers, he smiled nervously. “Nice to finally meet you Emma.” He barely recognized his own voice, and he was sure she had paled when his eyes met hers again, certain that she was suddenly having the same panic attack as he was.

“I can hardly believe we’re meeting like this.” She said with a shaky breath and a nervous laugh.

“You’re telling me.” He laughed uncomfortably. Robin glanced at him with narrowed eyes and Killian dropped the woman’s hand.

“This is…” Emma started. “Just wow. I mean…wow.”

“I’m Robin.” He interrupted the trance that was held over Emma and Killian’s stare, pressing his hand between them to shake hers.

“And this is the big man, Liam.” Neal smiled largely. “He’s the entire reason we met.” He said proudly. “If he hadn’t sent me to New York for that negation, I never would have met you at all.”

Killian cursed under his breath as he glared angrily at his brother.

“Mama…” A child with dark brown hair, nestled his way between them, reaching up to pull on his mother’s skirt. Emma reached down and lifted the boy against her chest. Her hand instinctively brushing his hair back from his face.

“Um, this is Henry.” She said timidly. “My…our son.” She added as she looked at Neal. The boy turned his attention toward Killian, the brightest blue eyes staring back at him. He bit his lip, a strange sensation overtaking him as he felt sweat start to bead on his brow. Something about the child clearly affected him, something he couldn’t explain.

“He’s adorable.” Robin mused, making a face at the boy.

“I’m two.” The child said, holding up his fingers.

“Two years old, I’m surprised he’s survived that long with Neal around.” Liam joked.

“We just had his birthday party a few months back and he was just so amused by everything at the party.”

Killian was counting on his fingers, adding numbers in his head. It was ridiculous and yet staring at the boy, seeing his face, his blue eyes, the fact that he looked nothing at all like Neal and so much like…

No. It wasn’t possible.

“When’s his birthday?” Killian interrupted and Emma jerked her head in his direction.

“August 15th, right in the middle of the hot summer, it was rough on Emma.” Neal laughed.

Not possible. He stepped away from the table, mumbling to himself. “9 months…that’s November…convention was on the 11th…”

“Have a drink.” Robin pressed a beer into his hand.

“I need rum.” He grumbled, looking over at the woman currently at the crux of all his anxiety.

“What’s your problem?”

“Nothing, I just…I need air.” He pushed his way out of the room, stumbling toward the bar at the front of the restaurant. “Rum, ice. Make it a double.” He said in a haze.

“We’ve really got to stop meeting like this.”

Killian glared at the woman who stepped up to the bar next to him. “Were you already with him…” He asked, refusing to make with the niceties any longer. “The night we met?”

She sighed. “It was complicated.”

He laughed loudly. “Apparently so.” Grabbing his drink he sank the shot, swallowing the liquid with a gulp. “Does he know?”

“About us?”

“No not about us. Of course he doesn’t know about us, if he knew that, he never would have invited me here. I’m talking about your son. Does he know the lad isn’t his?”

She paled, blinking a few times as she looked around the bar nervously. “What are…” He laughed again as she feigned some sort of ignorance at the topic, gesturing for the bartender to bring him another round.

“I know how math works.” He remarked softly, staring at her hands. “He was born in August, that’s nine months after the conference.”

“I was already dating Neal before the conference, even if it wasn’t exclusive, sex was involved.”

“So you’ve said, but I never did think that boy looked much like Cassidy. I chalked it up to grainy photos over the internet, but seeing him in person, well that just smacks you right in the face doesn’t it, love.”

“I couldn’t tell him. And I didn’t know who you are. I didn’t know what to do so I…”

Killian couldn’t stop his laughter, grabbing his drink and downing the liquid again in one shot. “So, you lied to my best friend, trapped him into having your kid, my kid?”

“It wasn’t like that.” She shot back. “You weren’t there, you don’t know what it was like being faced with raising him on my own.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t disappeared in the middle of the bloody night.” People were beginning to look at them and Killian lowered his head and turned back to the bar.

“What did you want me to do? Drop my life? Beg you not to go back to London because of one night together? We had sex, that’s all it was.”

“And you didn’t think it pertinent information to try and let me know I had a son?”

“I didn’t know your fucking name.” She screamed, tears dripping from her eyes before she reached out and laid her hand on his arm. “I did what I had to do; I’m not going to apologize to you for that. I’m just asking you not to destroy my life.” He met her eyes and found fear behind her green irises. He realized she was terrified that he could take everything she had away from her by telling Neal her truth.

He sighed. “I’m not going to ruin your life, love.”

“You’re not going to tell Neal.”

He shook his head and closed his eyes. “I’ve never lied to him before, but I have fucked shit up for him in the past. I don’t want to be responsible for doing that now. But be careful love, because eventually, the truth always comes out.”

“I really am sorry.”

“For which part, cheating on Cassidy, having sex with me, disappearing without a trace, or giving birth to a child I knew nothing about?"

“I didn’t cheat on him. We weren’t exclusive yet.”

“Aye love, that will help me sleep better at night.” He stood from his seat, leaving her standing at the bar alone wiping her eyes.

~*~

Emma stared at herself in the mirror of the restroom. She had streaks of mascara on her cheeks and her eyes were red. She knew she needed to clean herself up and get back to the dinner table. Neal would start to wonder where she had gone. She was sure that Henry had probably gotten into something he shouldn’t have by now.

She reapplied her lipstick, cleaned her face and took a deep breath. She had no idea how she was going to get through this night, much less the weekend.

When she saw Killian standing there, still the most gorgeous man she had ever laid eyes on, she almost vomited on the floor. At first she thought she must have died and was stuck in some sort of purgatory where you are forced to face your worst fears, in the same room, all at the same time, and then he took her hand, and everything stopped.

He was there right in front of her, the man she had wondered so often about, the father of her child. Standing right there in front of her, and of course he would be Neal’s best friend.

Fuck. Life really did have it out for her.

She knew the moment he laid eyes on her son, their son, that he had known the truth she desperately wanted to remain hidden. She could see the wheels turning in his head. Everything she had worked so hard to build would be ruined, destroyed.

It was selfish, she knew that. He had a right to know his son, but after all these years, she had thought that wasn’t possible. She had moved on, accepting Neal as Henry’s father. She had convinced herself that she had done the right thing by Henry. And now she couldn’t ignore the screaming in her head that one day soon she was going to have to face the consequences for her deception.

But she couldn’t deal with that now, not days before the wedding. She would tell him later. Once the wedding was over, once Killian had returned home, once she was ready…who was she kidding? She was never going to be ready for this.

She returned to the back room, taking her place next to the man she was going to marry.

“You alright?” He asked as she sat down.

“Yes, I haven’t eaten all day, just feeling sick to my stomach.”

“As long as you aren’t pregnant again.” He laughed loudly and Emma felt Killian’s eyes staring into her. “Last time was hell. Never seen a woman vomit like that, except for maybe on the Exorcist.”

“Neal…” She glared. “I’m sure your friends don’t want to hear horror pregnancy stories.”

“I find them quite fascinating.” She heard Killian lament across from her. “Do tell Neal, how did the two of you find out that Emma was pregnant.”

She glared at him from her spot at the table, but Neal carried on. “Honestly, she’d been gone so much during that time we thought she was just tired from all her traveling or perhaps that she had caught some sort of illness from being around all sorts of people.”

“One never can be too careful with travel.” He said, lifting his glass and taking another sip of his drink. Emma wanted to smack the glass out of his hand.

“Exactly, did you know that you had the chance to meet Emma back then?” Emma choked on her water.

“Do tell?” Killian smirked.

“I didn’t know it at the time, but she attended that convention, the one in Vegas that you had to attend because Liam forgot how to ride a bike.” Liam gestured inappropriately at Neal.

“Did she now?” Their eyes met and she narrowed hers. “How unfortunate that our paths never crossed.”

“Small world right?” Neal laughed. “But fortunate for me.”

“Why is that Cassidy?”

“Well, if she had met you, she might have never come home to me. I know how well that Jones charm works on women. It’s that fucking accent, man. I could never compete.”

“You did quite well for yourself as I can recall.”

“Except for the ones you stole right out from under my nose.” He winked. “Bastard always took the best ones out from under me.”

Killian blinked, finishing his drink as if he was contemplating how to respond. “Well, looks like the best man won this time. Seems you’ve bested me.” Emma swallowed hard as his eyes met hers. She felt Neal’s arm wrap around her shoulder.

“I won the lottery with this one.” He beamed and Emma felt the sharp knife dig a little further into her chest.

“Aye, you certainly have, Mate.” Killian responded softly and Emma forced herself to look away, avoiding the sincere gaze of regret across the man’s face.

~*~

“You were in rare form tonight, brother.” Liam lectured in the cab. “It wasn’t a bachelor party; you know that right?”

“Aye, but we were celebrating.” He countered with an angry slur.

“Not with the entire liquor cabinet.” He responded in disgust.

“Apologizes for not living up to your expectations.” He pouted.

He avoided the disapproving glare from the front seat, focusing only on the blur outside the window of the cab. When he got to his hotel room, Robin stayed back as Liam bid them goodnight.

“What got into you tonight?”

“Can’t a man be excited for his best friend to marry the love of his life?”

Robin chuckled. “He can, but I didn’t sense that you were there to congratulate him. Do you not approve of Emma?”

“What’s to approve of, he’s in love with her, she has a child…”

“Well yes, and they are getting married.”

“How wonderful for them.” Killian opened the door to his room, groaning as Robin entered behind him.

“I’ve never known to you be so sour when meeting someone, it was like you wanted to stab the woman in the eye all night.”

“Oh, to be so blunt.” He groaned, reaching for the tiny bottle of rum in his mini bar.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough alcohol tonight?”

“There isn’t enough alcohol in all the world to cure what ails me.” He shot back.

“Henry was cute wasn’t he, it’s hard to believe that of all the people we know, Neal would be the first to procreate.”

He snorted a laugh, taking a large gulp of his drink. “Find it hard to believe myself. Odd that he looks nothing like him, don’t you think.”

“Killian.” The man said with a warning tone.

“Is it a crime to point out the obvious.” He said loudly.

“Can you try just being happy for your best friend for once, without there being some reason to doubt it. I swear, I have no idea what made you such a cynic, but sometimes good things just happen to good people.”

He scoffed. “But not to me. I just get fucked up the arse, don’t I?”

“What is your problem, mate?”

“That could have been me.” He shouted. “I could be getting married, a child in my lap, staring at the woman who made me happier than I’ve ever been, but of course that goes to Neal.”

“Killian, you don’t even date, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Why should he have everything!” He shouted. “He gets to live my life. With my child. With her.”

“You’re not even making sense, you’re drunk, go to bed.” Robin spat as Killian reached out for the wall, feeling the room spin around him. He turned and slid down the wall of his room.

“I met her in Vegas.” He said through tears. “I didn’t even know her name.”

Robin turned around and faced him, hands on his hips. “Bloody hell, tell me you’re fucking around right now!”

“I wish I was. I swear I never knew she was with Neal. Not until tonight. Not until I saw that boy.”

“Oh my God.” Robin paced the room until realization washed over him, he walked over to the mini bar and poured himself a drink before draining all the liquid in the glass. “How is this possible?”

“Someone hates me up there.” He laughed.

“You’re serious aren’t you.” His friend exclaimed as he sat down on the floor next to him.

“Aye. I met her at that bloody conference. We had the most amazing sex I’ve ever had in my life; it’s haunted me ever since. I never got her name; I had no idea she was with Neal. But tonight, the moment I saw that boy, those damn blue eyes, I knew.”

“Are you sure?”

“She all but confirmed it when I spoke to her, she’s worried I’ll ruin the ruse with Neal by telling him the truth.”

“You can’t tell him.” Robin insisted suddenly.

“I have a child.” He stated angrily.

“I know, but…” Robin sighed. “He’s Neal’s. He has been for over 2 years. What are you going to do, walk in there and tell him you took yet another thing from him?”

“That’s not my fault. I didn’t know.”

“I know that, and honestly I’m sorry, this sucks. But Killian, he’s getting married in two days.”

“I’ve thought about her for over two years.”

“Thinking and doing something about it are two different things. While you’ve been having wet dreams, Neal’s been raising this child, living with Emma, he’s getting married to Emma.”

Killian hit his head against the wall behind him. “If I had known, I would have destroyed heaven and earth to find her.”

“You have to let it go.” Robin said softly.

“I’m supposed to just pretend like I never saw that boy?”

“Yes.” He said matter-of-factly. “Move on, go home, continue on with your life.”

“How is that fair?” He asked sadly.

“It’s not. Look I don’t know what to say here. You met her once…”

“She’s haunted me every day since she left.” He responded honestly. “I haven’t been with a woman since.”

“Ok, so I don’t know what to unpack there. The fact that a woman you slept with once is that good in bed that you can’t stop thinking about her, or the fact that you haven’t slept with someone for over two years.”

“Either way, I’m in hell.” He grumbled.

“The fact still stands; Neal is marrying her in two days. He’s your best friend.”

“I hate him. He doesn’t deserve her.”

“You don’t hate him. He took care of her; he took care of her child. No matter who made the boy, Neal has been his father. Has she said anything that has given you cause to think that she doesn’t want to go through with marrying Neal?”

He turned toward Robin and glared. “I hate you too.”

“I am sorry. I’m sure this was not how you expected this trip to go. I wish you would have shared this torment with me earlier.”

He hung his head against his chest. “How do I just walk away?”

The man beside him sighed. “You hold your head high, be there for your best friend, and go back to your life. It won’t be easy, but it’s the right thing to do.”

Killian cried softly, feeling the arms of his friend wrap around his back. Just this once, he didn’t want to do the right thing. He wanted everything. But alas, he knew his friend was right.

~*~

Emma woke the next morning with a heavy weight sitting on her chest. The evening prior had gone worse than she could have ever imagined. She rolled over and reached for the man beside her, only to find an empty pillow.

The door opened and Neal walked in with a tray. “Good morning, future wife.”

Emma sat up on her elbows. “What’s this?”

“I figured since I wasn’t going to see you until the wedding, I’d feed you before I go.”

“You’re leaving already?” He leaned over and kissed her on the head.

“Yeah, gonna go out with the boys tonight, I’m staying at the hotel.”

She frowned. “I thought you were coming home tonight?”

“I can’t come home drunk the night before the wedding.” He laughed. “You’ll be good though, you’ve got Henry.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll just see you at the ceremony.” She frowned.

“Come on Ems, it’s just one day. We’ll have the rest of our lives to see each other.” He patted her on the head before picking up his keys and leaving the apartment.

Emma spent the rest of the morning wandering nervously around the apartment, she needed to get out of the house, to clear her mind. She dressed Henry and put him in his stroller, heading toward the park.

Emma wished she had a mother or even a girlfriend to share all her problems with. Right now, she just needed someone to talk to. Henry cooed in his stroller and Emma absentmindedly shook the toy in front of his face. “Mama sad.”

Emma looked down at her son and smiled. “I’m not sad, baby.”

“Mama sad.” He babbled again.

“I’m not sad, I just…” She watched as her son grinned at her. She envied the innocence of a small child. “I never thought I’d see your dad again.” She realized how ridiculous it was that she was talking to her two-year-old child about her problems. “I only met him once.” She continued, knowing she had no one else to talk to about this. “He was beautiful.” She mused. “You have his eyes, you know. Those bright baby blues that have me completely at your will.” The boy laughed and Emma lifted him into her arms.

“I don’t know what to do.” She gulped as a tear slid down her cheek. “Neal’s been good to us. But I can’t help but wonder…” She sighed. “Is it fair to you, not knowing who your father is?” The boy pressed his palm against her cheek.

“Mama sad.”

She laughed. “Ok yes, Mama’s sad.”

~*~

Killian threw his empty beer bottle onto the ground, reaching over to grab another one from the cooler. “Yeah but didn’t you have sex with Kayla anyway?”

Killian watched Neal and Robin sitting in the lounge chairs across from him. “I had to get to her before Killian did.”

He rolled his eyes, “You act like I fucked everyone you’ve ever laid eyes on, Mate.” He said with an icy tone and Robin shook his head warily.

“Someone’s cranky.” Neal teased.

“I’m not bloody cranky, I’m just tired of you making everything that ever went wrong in your life somehow my bleeding fault.”

“It’s just jet lag.” Robin interjected before Neal could respond. “Perhaps you need a nap.”

Killian titled his beer back and swallowed. “Perhaps.” He knew he was behaving poorly; he just couldn’t control himself.

“We got a few hours before we head out tonight, why don’t you go lie down. I need my best man in the right frame of mind.” Standing up, Neal walked over and held out his hand to Killian, pulling him up from his chair. “Brothers for life, man.”

Killian patted the man on the back. “Brothers for life.” He repeated.

He walked slowly back to his room but stopped short as he turned the corner. Emma was standing in front of his door, a stroller next to her, and a screaming child in her arms.

“Emma?”

#stacy's fics #A story in the life #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #captain swan modern au #captain swan fics #captain swan au

20 notes · View notes

donteattheappleshook · 4 years ago

Text

Playacting

~*~

This fic was written as a thank you to @darkcolinodonorgasm for tainting her screen with Neal's face to make an amazing gif for me that sadly won’t load now.

Summary:

Emma has finally left her awful boyfriend after nearly a decade. But when he makes her meet him in a bar to pick up the last of her stuff, she risks falling victim to his usual tactics of sending her crawling back to him. Thankfully, the handsome bartender is there to lend a hand. A fake-boyfriend AU. Heavily Anti-Neal so don't read if that's not your thing.

Read it on Ao3

~*~

Emma sits down heavily on the stool, her elbow landing on the bartop as she lays her chin in her hand, exasperated. Stupid fucking Neal. It’s just like him really, making her come here to meet him after everything he’d made her put up with for the last ten years. Finally, finally she’d worked up the nerve to leave him, to say enough was enough and convince herself she deserved better and then of course as soon as she walks out for good, he finds a way to drag her back, to make him face her one more time.

She should never have gotten involved with him in the first place. She hadn’t known any better in the beginning. She was seventeen and he was twenty five and she thought it was so cool that someone so mature wanted to be with her. She thought that had to mean she was mature as well. It wasn’t until much later, when half a decade had passed, that she realised how messed up it was… but by then they’d been together five years and he was her whole life. Nearly all her friends were his friends, they lived in his apartment… she can’t believe she stuck it out another five years after that.

You can do this, she tells herself. You’ve already done the hard part. You left and nothing he can say will make you come back. But still, she steels herself for what will undoubtedly be an excruciatingly unpleasant interaction. Neal is just… he’s just so good at making her feel worthless, at breaking her down and chipping away at the little things he knows she’s self-conscious about until there’s nothing left and she just feels small and broken. She clenches her fists, staying her nerves and bracing herself. Not anymore though. Because you left and you just have to see his stupid face one more time and then it’s over. It’s just words.

She jumps as a glass is set down in front of her and looks up to see a somewhat familiar pair of brilliant blue eyes looking back at her. The bartender. The handsome one. She’s seen him around before. She’s come to the bar fairly often over the last year or so and he seems to work most nights. She likes him, well, as much as you can like a stranger who pours you drinks all night. He’s always nice and friendly and extremely polite and he doesn’t hit on her the way most bartenders do. She’d never admit it, but sometimes it bothered her a little that he didn’t. She can’t quite remember his name, having never had a real conversation with him, and she stares at the drink in front of her, raising a suspicious brow at him.

“I didn’t order this.”

“I know, but you look like you could use it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demands, scowling. She’s already having a shit day, she doesn’t need some bartender trying to analyze her and telling her she looks as terrible as she feels. He doesn’t even bother to look embarrassed. Instead, he crosses his arms on the bartop, leaning on his elbows.

“It means, you look sad.” He tilts his head then, scrutinizing her face. “Or angry,” he adds. “And you look like you could use a drink.”

Emma wants to glare at him a little longer but his tone is light. There’s no judgement or pity on his face, just a friendly offer of a drink, and she can’t quite bring herself to be annoyed. And besides, he did guess her drink right. She reaches for her wallet and goes to pull out some cash but he waves her away.

“It’s on the house,” he tells her and honestly her night is going to be so terrible that she doesn’t have it in her to turn down a free glass of rum. She takes a sip, noting that it’s damn good rum, and tilts her cup to him in thanks. He smiles, a little smugly and a little mischievously, and leaves her, going back to whatever work it is he has to do.

A few minutes pass and Neal still hasn’t arrived. She glares at her watch. Of course he’d be late. He’d want to make her wait as long as possible so she’d have time to stew in her decision, both to leave him and to meet him. Her glass is nearly empty and she raps her fingers against the bartop rhythmically, waiting, bored, anxious, and impatient.

The bartender looks up briefly when she does and then goes back to his task. The bar is empty apart from the two of them so he doesn't have anyone to wait on. He’s counting something, concentrating quite seriously and she takes a moment to study him. Of course she’d noticed he was attractive before. It would have been impossible not to. But she hadn’t really let herself look, not properly. She was in a relationship after all. But you’re not now, she realises suddenly.

So she casts her eyes over him slowly, noting how soft his hair looks in contrast to the sharp angle of his jaw and the scruff that covers it, notices the muscles of his shoulders and his arms under the fitted black shirt he wears, the slightest bit of chest hair peeking out of the v of his collar.

When she looks back at his face again he’s biting his lip against a smirk and she wonders if she’s been caught looking. But he doesn’t acknowledge it, doesn’t come over to try pick her up and so she turns back to her drink and to waiting. But she doesn’t last long. She’s never done well with waiting and her impatience grows until it spills out of her mouth in the form of small talk.

“So which is it?” she asks finally and he turns to look at her, a little surprised. He doesn’t quite seem to get her meaning. “Sad or angry. Which is it?”

“Ah,” he says, as understanding dawns on him and he walks back over, leaning against the bar and looking at her carefully. She tries not to react under his intense appraisal. “Both, I think.” Emma grumbles into her drink, annoyed that he’s read her so easily, and he laughs. “Although, perhaps the anger is my fault. Maybe I should have made your drink a double.”

Emma smirks around the rim of her glass and then sets it down. “Well, it’s never too late to make amends.”

He laughs again and grabs a bottle from the shelf behind him, refilling her drink. “So tell me, love, what brings you here tonight?”

“Are you always this nosy?”

“It comes with the territory,” he shrugs. “Although people are usually much more forthcoming with their ails and secrets. You’re a bit of a puzzle, I’ll admit.” He smirks then, wicked and bright. “But I love a challenge.” Emma rolls her eyes.

“I’m meeting someone,” she says finally.

“I see. A first date?” he asks and she nearly chokes on her drink, coughing.

“God, no. Hopefully the last one.”

He raises a brow in interest. “Are you here to break up with someone? Should I have security on standby?”

She shakes her head. “No, that part’s already done. I left last week. But now the asshole is making me meet him here so that he can give me back the files I left behind and need for work.”

“You couldn’t just go pick them up?”

“I wish,” she frowns. “He put them in a bag and has been holding them hostage until I agreed to meet him.”

“Sounds like a real winner,” Killian drawls sarcastically.

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Bad breakup then?”

She nods. “Bad relationship."

“What sins is he guilty of?”

Emma laughs. “Take your pick. Lust, wrath, greed, pride. Throw a dart at any of the seven and you’ll hit something that sticks.”

“I’m sorry love,” he says and she shrugs. It’s not his fault. “So tell me something then, because I can’t quite seem to figure it out. Why are you so nervous to see him?” he asks and she looks at him in surprise. “You look like you can handle yourself and you’ve certainly got enough rage and fire under the surface to burn this whole bloody place to the ground. What is it?”

Emma catches her lip between her teeth, a little pleased at the compliment, at the suggestion that she looks like a badass, but the question hits hard. She’s been asking herself that for ten years. Why is Neal able to get under her skin so easily, to make her doubt herself and her worth?

“Neal,” she says finally and the bartender doesn’t push, just leans on the bartop, waiting, giving her time. “He’s the only guy I’ve ever been with. We dated for ten years and he knows everything about me… and he knows exactly how to use it to make me feel like crap about myself, like if I didn’t have him I wouldn’t have anything, nobody else would want me.” And she can’t exactly prove him wrong considering she’s been faithful to his selfish ass for a decade, regardless of the fact that he had no problem showing her how many women wanted him.

Her hand tightens against her glass and for a moment she worries she might crush it but then the back of the bartender's fingers brush against her knuckles and she feels the anxiety and the hurt start to seep out, to dissipate at the warm touch. He’s not holding her hand, he’s barely moved his own across the space between them, nudged hers with it in a way that could almost be an accident. But when she looks up and meets his gaze she knows it’s not. And his next words confirm it.

“Believe me, I can guarantee you that’s not true.”

She swallows. “I just -” He waits again. “I just wish I hadn’t stuck it out so long, you know? I wasted ten years with the guy, all of my twenties. And that whole time he never wanted to get married, never wanted to make any commitments or promises, kept saying he didn't want to be tied down.” Didn’t want to be tied down to you, her memory supplies. “And I - Why am I telling you all this?” she asks herself suddenly and he smiles, letting out a little huff of a laugh.

“It’s not your fault,” he tells her. “It’s the bartender thing, people can’t help themselves.”

She doesn’t know if she believes him. She knows people like to treat bartenders like therapists but there’s something about him, an honesty and a sincerity that makes her believe he actually gives a shit about her and what she has to say, like he really cares about her troubles. But maybe everyone projects that onto the people plying them with alcohol.

“Well now you know my entire sad life and I don’t even know your name,” she says and he straightens, holding out his hand between them.

“Killian Jones.” She reaches out, shakes it, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Emma Swan.”

“I know,” he says and before she can question him he speaks again. “Now that we’re not strangers anymore, can I be candid?” She hesitates but only for a moment and then nods. “Your ex sounds like a complete and utter douchebag.” Emma bursts out laughing, the sound of the insult on his tongue seeming wrong, not fitting his accent and the smooth, slightly rogeish way he carries himself.

And then, suddenly for some unfathomable reason, she catches herself doing what she always does: defending Neal. “It’s not all his fault,” she says, the words coming out automatically. “He had a really rough upbringing. His dad was never around and then he had to run away when he was really young and -” Killian cuts her off.

“That’s a really sad backstory,” he says. “But he's still a douchebag.” Emma bursts out laughing. It’s almost manic, shocked and disbelieving to hear someone dismiss Neal’s history so flippantly, that story which had been used by her friends and his to defend and forgive every shitty thing he ever said or did to her. And now here Killian is, refusing it. Refusing the excuses and the justifications for treating her poorly.

As if on cue, the bell over the door jingles and Emma turns to see Neal walking in. Killian must know who he is by the way her whole body stiffens at the sight of him. But Neal hasn’t noticed them yet and Killian leans in.

“Hey,” he says, brushing his warm fingers against her arm. “You’ve got this.” And then he’s gone, disappearing into the back room without another word and Emma tries no to take it to heart, not to let it feel like a dismissal. She thought they had something going there for a moment. She didn’t really know what, an understanding maybe, a connection, the kind she always thought she had with Neal but didn’t realise until now how wrong she was.

Before she can get too caught up in her disappointment, Neal sits down in front of her, setting the bag with her files on the bartop unceremoniously but keeping his hand on it. She goes to reach for it, hoping that maybe she can get through this whole interaction without having to exchange a single word with him, but as soon as she does, he drags it back towards himself, out of her reach. She glares at him.

“Give me the bag, Neal,” she sighs and he looks at her with that look she’s seen so many times, that look she hates, the patronizing, belittling look that makes her feel like someone to be pitied, someone worthless. She can feel her hands start to tremble and so she clenches them into fists. “Neal,” she says again when he doesn’t answer. “The bag.”

“Come on, Ems,” he says and it’s a long-suffering kind of thing, her name sounding exhausting, like more trouble than it’s worth, like she’s some toddler throwing a tantrum. “Can we stop this now? We both know you’re not leaving - why else would you have agreed to meet me here?”

“To get my files back,” she bites through gritted teeth. “I need them for work.” She was going to lose this skip if she didn’t get them back and he knew that.

“Are you sure you didn’t leave them behind so that you could find a reason to drag me out here and sit through your little charade of ‘woe is me’ until I agreed to take you back?”

“You made me come here,” she reminds him.

“Because I know you, Emma,” he says. “I know that you don’t want to do this. You’re pissed, I get it, whatever. But it’s time to get over it. You’ve made your point, time to come home.”

“I’m not coming home.”

“Yes you are. You always do.” When she doesn’t agree he sighs. “How many times have we done this? You’ll sleep on Ruby’s couch for a few days, stew in whatever it is you’ve convinced yourself I’ve done wrong, and then you’ll come home because you know as well as I do that we belong together, I’m it for you. What do you think you’re gonna do without me? You think you can support yourself just by chasing skips?”

“Yes,” she says but her voice wavers. Don’t let him get to you.

“Emma, enough, alright. I know you’re mad about that whole thing with that girl from work but it’s not really my fault.” They’ve had this fight before. She won’t do him the decency of asking him to explain what that means. But he does anyway. “Maybe if you weren’t always off trying to play superhero, coming back looking like a mess and acting like a dude I wouldn’t need to go find what I need somewhere else. I won’t do it again, okay? Not if you really try. But I’m not gonna put up with it again, you walking out.”

“I’m not coming back,” she says, refusing to take the bait and reaching for the bag again. He still holds it away.

“Do you really think you’re gonna find someone better?” he asks then, some anger creeping in. “You’re not going to find someone who treats you better than I have, Emma, not after everything I’ve had to put up with over the years. Nobody wants all that sad, lonely orphan baggage that you drag into the room with you.”

Emma can feel the tears burning her eyes and she knows he can see them too and she hates it. She hates how every word he says digs deeper, how carefully calculated and crafted his speech is to target all the things she dislikes about herself, all the things she knows push people away, all the reasons she knows she’ll probably be alone from now on. This is usually the moment when she breaks, changes her mind and comes back because the idea of being alone is far scarier than being with him.

She can feel herself weakening when a voice cuts through the silence of the nearly empty room. “Swan! Love, I’m so sorry I’m late.”

It takes her a moment to realise that it’s Killian talking, that he’s somehow managed to come through the doors from outside, a jacket thrown over his tshirt and his apron abandoned. She opens her mouth to ask him what he’s doing as he strides towards her but before she can finish saying his name he’s caught her face between his hands and captured her lips with his.

He catches her gasp on his tongue, kissing her with a desperation and an intensity that threatens to knock her off her stool but he holds her fast. There’s a heat and a passion behind every pull of his lips and flick of his tongue against her own that shoots straight to her belly. She groans against him, she can’t remember the last time she’d been kissed like this and her hands find his hips, hanging on for dear life as he uses his hand at her cheek to tilt her head, his thumb pulling down at her chin so he can kiss her deeper. His other hand finds the leather of her jacket, bunchin in it and using it to pull her closer, as if there was any room left between them.

When he finally pulls back she’s breathless, her eyes and her head feeling foggy and every inch of her skin humming. He smirks, his lips still brushing hers and then capturing them in another slow, soft kiss, this one shorter than the last and it sends waves of desire through her. Her own hand tightens in the leather at his hip. He breaks the second kiss and she’s ready to pull him back in for a third when someone coughs behind Killian.

Neal. She’d forgotten he was here.

She looks up into Killian’s eyes, glad to find them as heavy lidded and swallowed by black as she’s sure her own are. He brushes his thumb over her cheekbone, a smile crossing his face and then, he winks. He fucking winks and her, his back still to Neal. Emma sits gaping like an idiot, waiting for an explanation.

“I’m sorry,” he says again instead. “I got caught up at work. I hope that makes up for it a little.”

It takes her another second to catch on but when she does, a wave of gratitude and relief and a little bit of disappointment washes over her. It’s an act. He’s doing her a favor because she told him about her shitty ex boyfriend and he’s a nice guy. Killian smiles at her again, encouragingly this time and Emma decides to play along. Let Neal be the one feeling small, and unwanted and replaceable for once.

She reaches up and cards her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s just as soft as she thought it would be, and then allows herself the small pleasure of sliding her hand around the back of his neck and down to his chest where she teases the hair poking out of his shirt. “It’s a start,” she tells him. “You can really make it up to me later.” His eyebrow shoots up as a barely contained laugh, impressed and conspiratorial, crosses his face before he catches it between his teeth.

“Oh, I intend to,” he promises and while she knows they’re just playacting, the timber of his voice stirs some very real desires in her. She can feel the flush creeping up her cheeks, weighing the pros and cons of dragging him into the bathroom and seeing how far he’ll take this charade. Neal clears his throat again, interrupting her fantasy and Killian smirks, smug, though she can tell it’s not at the reaction he’s drawing from her, but rather at the annoyance he’s managed to evoke from her ex.

“Hi, mate,” he says, reaching over and grabbing the bag from Neal’s stunned and limp fingers. “Thanks for this, we really needed it,” he tells him, gesturing between them with the bag. He hasn’t taken his hands off her. When he turned, his hand snaked around her waist, settling low on her hip, fingers playing idly with the waist of her jeans, teasing at the skin beneath her shirt and it’s all Emma can do to hold back the shivers that are forming at the base of her spine.

“Who the fuck are you?” Neal frowns, glaring at Killian before turning it on Emma. “Who the fuck is this guy?” he demands. Emma blanks, the ferocity of Neal’s anger freezing her on the spot. She’s never seen him jealous before. Thankfully, Killian jumps in again, his hand sliding up from her hip to the back of her neck, playing with the hair at the nape in a way that’s both sweet and oddly possessive.

“Take your pic,” Killian says breezily, looking at her with an extremely convincing imitation of a lovesick expression on his face. “Lover, paramour, beau, flame... boyfriend,” he says finally with a brush of his thumb under her ear and she practically melts. He’s very good at this pretending thing. Too good. “I’ll take whatever she’ll give me,” he says finally when she looks up at him and her certainty that he’s pretending waivers.

He stares at her for a moment longer, something weighted in his gaze that sends her heart beating frantically in her chest before he turns back to Neal, throwing the bag over his shoulder. “But I don’t need to tell you that,” he says dismissively. “You know what it’s like to be lucky enough to have Emma Swan give you the time of day.” There’s an edge to his voice when he speaks next. “Only a fool would have let her go.” He presses a kiss to her temple.

Neal is angry again. This time, it’s directed at her. “You expect me to believe that in the week since you stormed out you’ve gone and found yourself some boytoy to follow you around? Some guy you just met?

“I didn’t just meet him,” she says and it’s not technically a lie. She’s known him in passing for a year now, even if she did just learn his name tonight. “We… work together,” she says finally.

Neal looks at Killian with a wary expression. “You’re a bail bondsman?” he asks and Emma doesn’t miss the surprised and flatteringly impressed look Killian gives her before flawlessly answering that yes, yes he is in fact a bail bondsman.

“I’ve spent the last year working alongside Swan. Pining for her, waiting for her to walk into the office, to see that smile light up her face.” He traces the line of her lips. “The way those unreasonably tight jeans cling to her.” His fingers trace their way down her throat, over her shoulder. “Watch her face down one creep after another.”

He catches her hand, her knuckles a bit bruised from the last skip who wouldn’t stop fighting. He brushes his thumb over her knuckles before he brings them to his lips and kisses them. She watches him, enthralled by the picture he paints of her and he meets her gaze, looking no less mesmerized himself. “She’s a marvel, my Swan.” Emma swallows, she likes the way that sounds coming from his lips. My Swan. “But mostly,” he adds finally and he’s still not looking at Neal, only at her and god he’s handsome and he smells so good and he’s so… kind. That’s not something she’s used to but she’s drawn to it. “Waiting for her to break up with her idiot boyfriend so that I could tell her so,” he finishes.

Emma’s not sure what comes over her but suddenly her hands have found the back of his neck and she’s crushing his lips to hers. She can feel his surprise and nearly pulls back but his arms go around her waist as he draws her in, deepening the kiss. His hands alternate between gentle caresses and desperately fisting in her shirt and his mouth over hers is no different, languide strokes of his tongue alternated with bruising kisses and teeth nipping at her lips until she’s dizzy. Neal coughs a third time and Killian breaks away with a frustrated groan. One that feels very real.

“Are you still here?” he demands, glaring at the other man over his shoulder.

“I think I deserve some answers,” he says then, seething, and Emma feels a rage building in her like nothing she’s ever felt before. He deserves answers? He’s the one who’s spent years cheating and blaming her for it, who put her down at every opportunity, who reminded her that he could be with anyone if he wanted to and she couldn’t. She’s done with it. That final demand is the last straw. She owes him nothing.

“What’s going on,” she bites out and sees Neal almost recoil from the venom in her voice. He’s not used to her standing up for herself. Killian steps back, giving her room to finally tell off her awful ex, keeping his hand on her lower back and she appreciates the small gesture of support. “Is that I found someone who doesn’t treat me like garbage. Someone who doesn’t blame me for all their shortcomings and who actually gives a shit about what I think and feel and want.” She can see that her words are affecting him, for the first time ever, and so she digs in. She wants to hurt him.

“Someone who actually knows how to make me feel good, how to drive me insane and leave me desperate and wanting.” Killian raises a very interested brow at her then, listening attentively and she feels the blush creeping up her neck but continues. Neal had always been angry about how much difficulty she had finishing when they were together, accusing her of being cold and frigid. “Someone who doesn’t last thirty, underwhelming seconds and then rolls over like some useless lump. Someone I don’t have to beg to go down on me like it’s a chore so that I can have the hopes of a sub-par orgasm.”

She can feel Killian’s fingers twitch against the skin of her back but she can’t bring herself to look at him. His hand begins tracing up and down the base of her spine in a way she’s not even sure is intentional. His eyes are burning into her.

“Okay. Enough, I get it,” Neal says finally.

“Yeah. It is enough. I should have done this years ago.” She feels a pride swelling in her chest, mixing with the arousal that Killian is stirring in her and it’s a heady combination. “I think you should leave,” she tells him and she watches with vindication as his shoulders sag and he slinks out of the bar without another word.

Emma is so lost in the thrill and the satisfaction of watching her horrid ex leave so demolished, knowing that she likely won’t ever have to speak to him again, that it’s a moment before she remembers that she’s still standing here with a near stranger. A stranger she’s made out with three times now and who is currently removing his hand from where it had been playing against her skin. She misses it immediately. But the charade is over, she realises. It hadn’t been real, he’d been doing her a kindness and she was grateful to him, even if she was a little crushed that they couldn’t go on playing happy couple. He’d been very good at it.

Killian clears his throat, scratching at the back of his neck as he gives her a small, slightly embarrassed smile. “Well, I guess he won’t be bothering you again,” he says and Emma shakes her head.

“No. I’m sure he won’t. Thank you. For… well, all of that. You didn’t have to.”

He smiles at her again. It’s a nice smile, and she notices that he has a smudge of her lipstick on his bottom lip. She’s torn between reaching to wipe it off and leaving more marks on him. She does neither.

“Yes I did,” he says, drawing her attention away from his mouth. “He had it coming. I heard what he said to you and if what you said was true… well. You’re better to be rid of him.”

Emma clears her throat, a small smile playing at her lips. “Did you see his face when he thought we’d had some elicit office affair of the heart going on?” Killian nods, smirking proudly. “How did you even come up with all of that on the fly?” she asks. He’d been… very convincing.

“I didn’t,” he says and her eyes snap to his. But he doesn’t explain or elaborate, just lets it hang there in the air between them. She reaches out and takes his hand, tries to ignore the way the calluses feel rough against her soft skin, how warm he is.

“Thank you,” she says again. “I don’t know how I’ll pay you back for that.”

His smile is soft this time as he takes her hand in both of his and kisses her knuckles again. “You don’t. It was the right thing to do.”

He goes to leave her, to walk away but the feel of his lips against her skin is still burning through her fingers, burning everywhere that he’s touched her, like he’d branded her and left the marks behind. Her cheek, her neck, her spine, her hip, her lips, all of them are simmering after the raging inferno he set off in her and she’s not ready to let it die out just yet. He said he hadn’t made it all up.

She has no idea what she’s doing. She’s never been with anyone but her shitty ex and a few guys when she was a teenager. She doesn’t know how to seduce a stranger into taking her home - or on the bartop, she’s not picky - but she shoots her shot. She catches his hand more firmly in her own before he can walk away.

“Unless…” she starts and he stops, takes a step back towards her.

“Unless?” There’s something a little hopeful in his eyes when they meet hers. And something a little less innocent and a little darker as they trail down to her lips.

“I mean, you were late,” she says coyly and watches as the playfulness crinkles the corners of his eyes and the smirk pulls at his lips.

He raises an eyebrow at her as he closes the last of the distance between them, standing close enough that she needs to spread her legs on her stool to allow him to stand between them. His thumb finds her chin, tilting her face up to his.

“I was,” he says, ducking his head and pressing his lips to her neck, just below her jaw. She takes in a shaky breath. “How very rude of me,” he adds before kissing the other side of her neck, this time at the hollow where it meets her collarbone. Emma squirms in her seat. He’s facing her again then, his lips barely an inch away from her own, so close that she can feel his breath on them when he speaks. “How will I ever make it up to you?”

She doesn’t think, she just acts, grabbing his shirt and yanking him forward until he’s trapped between her thighs and she can feel the hardness growing where he’s pressed against her. He lets out a surprised but pleased sound and it emboldens her.

“Why don’t you think about that while I thank you properly,” she says and he doesn’t need anymore encouragement. He catches her face in his hands again, slanting his mouth over hers, his tongue teasing hers as he presses himself closer to her as one of his hands travels down to her thigh, sliding along it before hooking her knee and pulling it up around his hip. She nearly loses her balance on her seat but he holds her steady, his kisses growing deeper and headier and she’s letting out whimpers and soft moans, sounds she didn’t know she had in her and he swallows each of them up greedily, repeating whatever he’d done to draw them out so he can hear them again.

Her hands find their way to his hair, fisting and tugging and he lets out a groan so she does it again. And again. Her hips roll up against his of their own accord and he practically rips his mouth away from hers, the sound he makes somewhere between a gasp and a growl before he finds her neck again, lips and teeth and tongue laving at the skin there, biting and licking and sucking until she’s sure he’s left a mark but she holds him fast, tilting her head back to give him more access.

He takes it appreciatively, his tongue sliding down her throat until he reaches the top of her breast. The hand at her knee starts a slow journey up her side, under the skin of her shirt, burning and leaving goosebumps behind in their wake as he trails his fingers along her ribcage to her bra, his thumb tracing over her nipple and she gasps, dragging his mouth back to hers. She can feel his smirk against her lips but she doesn’t care, nipping at his bottom lip and slipping her own hand under his shirt and scratching at the trail of hair on his stomach, a trail she desperately wants to see and he shudders under her touch.

The bell rings above the door as a group of friends walk in, chattering happily and Killian pulls away, drawing his hand out from under her shirt. His forehead falls against hers, panting. His tongue comes out to run over his lip like he’s tasting her there. He’s looking at her like he’s waiting for her to decide what happens next and so she grabs the front of his shirt, tilting her head to brush her lips against his own, tongue flicking against the one he’d just licked and drawing another groan from him.

“Bathroom?” she asks and he shakes his head, stepping back and before she can even start to think she’s been rejected, he holds his hand out to her, nodding towards the back of the bar. She takes it and he begins practically dragging her towards the 'employees only' door before she remembers why she’d come here in the first place.

“My bag!” she says and he looks confused before he remembers, turning to grab the duffle and tossing it behind the bar and then pulling her along behind him again. Emma giggles at his enthusiasm, excitement and arousal and want making her giddy. He hears her laugh and turns, a bright smile on his face, crinkling his eyes and lighting up his features as he pulls her to him. He captures her lips again, his fingers tangling in her hair as they both try and kiss with grinning mouths.

They pass someone in the staff area as Killian continues to walk them backwards to wherever his destination is, refusing to give up the kiss, and Emma feels herself flush as the young man sees them and smirks smugly and knowingly.

“About bloody time,” he says and Killian glowers at him.

“Get to work, Will. We have customers,” he barks and the man holds his hands up innocently, the smirk not leaving his face. Killian pulls her along a few more feet then until they reach a door that he fumbles to open. They’ve barely made it inside before he’s pushing her against the wood, pinning her there with his hips and his mouth and her head is spinning but his lips have started down her neck again and he rolls his hips against hers in a dirty grind that has her crying out.

When her eyes open she notices they’re in an office and she worries about what rules he might be breaking, worried about his job and asks if he’ll get in trouble for bringing her in here. He shakes his head.

“I own the place,” he says, his voice muffled against the underside of her jaw.

“You own the bar?” she demands, surprised and he sighs, pulling his head up to lean his forehead against hers.

“Could we perhaps talk about this later?” he asks, his talented fingers following her ribs up to her breast again, cupping it in his palm and dragging against its peak. Emma nods furiously before kissing him again. His hand is still moving over her, massaging and flicking and teasing before he grows frustrated by the fabric between them, grabbing the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head.

As soon as it’s off, he’s pulling at the cup of her bra, exposing her breast to him and taking her nipple in his mouth. Emma gasps at the feel of his tongue dragging against the sensitive tip, swirling and licking, teasing it with his teeth. She has a death grip in his hair, refusing to let him move, not that he seems particularly inclined to.

“Fuck, Killian,” she gasps when he finds her other breast with his hand, working her up more and more until she thinks she might come from this alone. She can feel his smirk, his scruff scratching against her skin and it sends a shiver through her whole body.

“That’s the intention, love,” he tells her and she tightens her hold in his hair for his smugness, yanking until he’s forced to pull away from her chest and look at her.

“Then get on with it,” she tells him and thrills at the way his expression darkens. He slides his hands between her and the door, palming her ass and rolling her hips against the hard ridge of his erection before he lifts her, wrapping her legs around his waist effortlessly. Emma’s arms wind around his neck as he turns, carrying her across the room and setting her down on the desk.

“As you wish,” he tells her, slipping the straps of her bra down her arms. She reaches behind herself and unclasps it, tossing it aside and watches as he takes her in, eyes roving hungrily over her. Nobody’s ever looked at her like that, like he wants to devour her. Maybe he does.

He’s still wearing his jacket and Emma is suddenly overcome with the unfairness that he’s spending so much time just looking at her while she doesn’t get to see any of him. She reaches for his shoulders and pushes the jacket down his arms until it falls to the floor, reaching for the hem of his shirt and beginning to slide it up but she gets distracted when his fingers resume their tortuous exploration of her breasts.

She gasps, her head falling back as his touch sends wetness pooling between her thighs and her nails dig into the skin at his sides. He’s watching her, taking note of her reactions, figuring out what makes her tick and then doing it again and again until she’s writhing under him and he hasn’t even undressed her yet. It’s never been like this, all consuming and desperate and wanton. She needs more and she whimpers his name.

The sound of his name falling from her lips so needily does something to him and suddenly he’s dragging her mouth back to his, swallowing her moan as his tongue does sinful things to hers. He pushes her back until she’s laying against the desk and his lips leave hers, trailing down her neck to her chest, taking a moment to pay attention to each of her breasts before continuing down her belly, playing at her navel a moment before he reaches the button of her jeans.

“I must say I’m quite a fan of these,” he tells her as he flicks open the button and starts to pull down the zipper. “But I think it’s time for them to go.” Then, he’s hooking his fingers into her waistband and pulling them down with enough force that she slides to the end of the desk with them. Emma sits up on her elbows as she watches him pull them off, one leg at a time until she’s left in only her underwear. He's watching her as well with something predatory in his gaze.

“I want to see you too,” she says, grabbing at his shirt but he seems too distracted to catch on. “Hey,” she says finally, sitting up and grabbing the collar to get his attention. “Fair’s fair.”

He lets out a low huff of laughter. “You’re right,” he agrees. “Bad form,” he chastises himself before reaching to pull the shirt over his head. Emma’s eyes widen as she takes him in, the strong curve of his shoulders and his arms that his shirt hadn’t done justice, the long lines of his torso, pale skin covered in dark hair that blankets his chest and tapers down over his stomach, disappearing beneath his jeans. She doesn’t fight the urge to burry her fingers in it, hands tracing over the planes of his chest, scraping her nails over his nipples and down his sides and he lets out a soft hiss.

She reaches his belt then and as she begins to pull at the leather to loosen it, he stops her. She frowns at him but he only presses his lips to her jawline, tongue flicking out to tease. “Ah, ah,” he says, taking hold of the last scrap of material keeping her from being bare to him. “Ladies first,” he insists with a soft nip before he pulls them down her legs. He’s parting her thighs then, and while Emma expects him to undo his pants, instead he slides down to his knees, placing a leg over either shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

He raises a brow at her from between her legs, a slow smirk creeping across his face and it’s so goddamn sexy that her toes curl against his back, a shudder rippling through her.

“As much as I’d like to hear you beg,” he starts. “I’d also like to make sure you have at least some chance at a sub-par orgasm,” he says echoing her words from earlier and she grins, biting her lip at how ridiculous he is and he takes that as permission. He turns his head, trailing slow, languid kisses along her thigh, scruff scratching at the sensitive skin until he reaches her hip. He bypasses where she’s hot and desperate for him to do the same on the other and she whines, trying to pull him in with her leg on his shoulder.

He chuckles against her, his breath ghosting over her folds and she sucks in a shaky breath. “Please, Killian,” she says and suddenly his mouth is there, placing a deep, hot kiss against her center and her whole body clenches with the intensity of it.

“I told you, Swan,” he says. “There’s no need to beg.” He smirks at her. “This time.”

And before she can say anything his tongue is dragging a slow line from base to top and every thought in her mind is gone except for him and fuck. He eats into her like a starving man, tongue lapping at her folds, sliding inside of her and thrusting in a way that has her back arching off the desk and her hands fisting in his hair. He lays an arm across her hips to keep her still as he replaces his tongue with his fingers, dragging slowly and steadily against her walls in a rhythm that has her writhing, desperately trying to rock her hips against him.

“Bloody hell, love,” he says as he watches her ride his fingers. “You’re a vision. So wet, so wanting. Tell me what you need,” he asks then, begs, and she’s too caught up in the feelings he’s sending through her body to find words so instead she presses her heel against his back until he gets the message and closes his mouth over he clit, tongue flattening against it as he circles in time with his fingers.

“Fuck!" She’s already so close. It’s never been this easy, this quick, this intense, but her whole body feels like it’s burning, the coil in her belly tightening and he picks up his pace. His fingers curl inside of her pumping hard and fast as he wraps his lips around her clit and sucks and her whole world shatters.

Killian works her through it, fingers still thrusting slowly, his thumb replacing his mouth as he slides up her body, working her back up before she’s even sure she’s come down. He takes a moment to pause at her hips, her stomach, her breasts and by the time he’s claiming her lips she’s desperate for him again.

She sits up, taking hold of his hips and pulling him against her until their flush, the hair of his chest scraping against the sensitive skin of her nipples and only making her want more. This time, when she reaches for his belt he doesn’t stop her and she makes quick work of his jeans, sliding inside and taking him in hand.

He groans into her mouth and she smiles against his lips. He’s hard and hot and heavy under her touch and she drags her palm along his length a few times until he growls out a warning ‘Swan’.

She takes pity on him, pushing his jeans down his hips and wrapping her hand around him, pumping him slowly and his head falls back, eyes squeezed shut and lips parted in pained bliss and god she wants him. She can’t remember the last time she wanted someone like this. So she tells him.

“Now,” she adds and he nods a little frantically, patting his pockets before he spots his wallet on the desk next to her and retrieves a condom from it. He brings the packet to his teeth, fumbling for a moment as she squeezes him and he gives her another warning glare.

She smirks, leaning in to press her lips to his neck, catching the hard, tense lines of it between her teeth, biting and then soothing the spot with her tongue. He groans and she gives the other side of his neck the same treatment, thrilling when he curses under his breath, desperately trying to roll the condom on.

She’d help but she’s having too much fun, particularly when she sucks a bruise into the spot just behind his ear and he lets out a stuttering cry, his hand grabbing hold of her hip, fingers digging into her skin. She’ll probably have a mark there and she likes that idea, likes the idea that she can get him as out of control as he can her.

“Minx,” he accuses, using her hair to draw her mouth back up to his and sliding his tongue deep without preamble. His kiss is sloppy, desperate, wanting. He’s on the edge and she brought him there. She wonders if she can push him over.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” he asks then, releasing her mouth to say it low in her ear. “Ever since that first night you came into the bar with your friends. Gods you were stunning.” His fingers slip around her hip to between her thighs, finding her center again and she whimpers at his touch, slow and teasing, circling without ever hitting where she needs him.

“I wanted to curl my fingers into you bloody ridiculously long hair,” he tells her, doing just that as his fingers slip inside her once more and she gasps. “Aye, and in there.” She’s clutching at his shoulders as he fucks her with his fingers, continuing to rasp filth into her ear. “I thought about how you’d look, splayed out on the bartop with my head between your legs, or bent over this desk. It was bloody torture.”

His thumb finally brushes over her clit and her whole body wracks with the force of the pleasure that courses through her. “Why,” she gasps again when he circles tighter. “Why didn’t you?” she asks. She doesn’t usually like dirty talk. She'd always found it derogatory. But it’s not with him. It makes her feel wanted and desirable.

“Because you had a bloody boyfriend,” he growls, exasperated. Who? She wonders before remembering and then wishing she hadn’t. “But that didn’t stop me from imagining how you’d look with your back arched just like this,” he says, eyes raking over the length of her. “Or the sounds you’d make when I touched you,” he adds, then pulls his fingers from her heat and sucks them into his mouth, making her squirm. “I imagined you writhing just like this, begging me to take you.”

She doesn’t need to beg though at this point she would, dignity be damned. No one has ever made her feel this way and she never wants it to end. She’d give him anything he asked for if he just didn’t stop. She wraps her legs around his hips, pulls him against her so that his cock pushes through her folds and they both moan. Killian ruts his hips against hers a few times, the tip of him brushing against her sensitive bundle of nerves and when she thinks she can’t take it anymore he finally takes himself in hand and lines himself up with her entrance.

“Gods, I imagined how tight and hot and perfect you’d be around me,” he confesses before pushing in and grabbing hold of her, staying still for a moment as she adjusts to the sensation of being filled by him. He’s big. Thick and long and so much better than what she’s made do with for the last decade. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt so full, so properly full until now. “You’re even more perfect than I imagined,” he manages, his voice strained.

“Move,” she begs then. “Please.” He obliges, pulling out slowly and thrusting back in hard and fast and Emma cries out from the force of it. He’s barely started but she can already tell she’s never been properly fucked either.

He starts moving then, thrusting in and out of her at a punishing pace and she takes all that he can give her. Her hands are in his hair again and his finds her leg, hitching it higher over his hip so he can thrust deeper, hitting new places inside of her. His hand slides down to the cheek of her ass, pulling forward to meet his every thrust, rolling his pelvic bone over her clit each time he pushes back into her and Emma’s already nearly ready to fall again.

“That’s it, love,” he tells her as a litany of embarrassing sounds fall from her lips and she claws at the skin of his arms, hips rolling in a desperate grind. “Take what you need.” His free hand comes to her breast, teasing the hardened peak the way he’d spent time figuring out she liked. Everything he does is just how she likes it, how she never even knew she liked it. But he’s figured her out in the time it took to get her out of her pants and now he’s using all of it to bring her higher, higher than she’s ever been.

And she falls. He slants his mouth over hers, like he wants to swallow her ecstasy, feel it humming through his body and then with a final few thrusts, she feels his own release echo through her. They stay there for a moment, frozen in a half kiss, mouths open and panting, breathing each other in as they both try to come down from such a fierce, earth-shattering climax.

Emma finds his hair then, brushing he damp strands from his face as he holds her to him. “I wish you’d told me,” she says finally, thinking of all the time she wasted with him when she could have been having this with Killian.

He huffs out a laugh against her cheek, pulling back and stroking it gently. “Aye, I was a bloody idiot,” he tells her. “Everyone who works here knew I was pining for you and they all told me so.” Emma smiles, her heart beating rapidly and her cheeks reddening at his confession. He’d already told her he’d thought about her but to hear that he’d been pining…

“Well, you may be an idiot,” she grants him and he pinches her side playfully. “But you’re the best fake boyfriend I’ve ever had.”

He beams at her then, and then a wicked look falls over his face. The hand at her side begins tracing her thigh, from knee to hip and then up to her ribs.

“What are you doing?” she asks, though it’s fairly obvious when his skilled fingers find her still overly-sensitive center and she gasps at the sharp pleasure. He raises a brow at her.

“I’m wondering,” he starts, lips finding her ear as his fingers start a slow stroke that has goosebumps blossoming over her skin. “How many sub-par orgasms it would take to earn the title of real boyfriend.” Her heart is racing, from his touch, or his words, or both. She doesn’t care. She wants both. She likes him. It’s been so long since she liked someone and for it to be someone like him, and for him to like her back, to have pined for her as he put it…

She smiles. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

~*~

Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the tag list:

@kmomof4 @snowbellewells @teamhook @resident-of-storybrooke @stahlop @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @gingerchangeling @bubblegum1425 @jackieorioncat @darkcolinodonorgasm @xhookswenchx @lfh1226-linda @searchingwardrobes @winterbaby89 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @xsajx @thejollyroger-writer @elizabeethan @carpedzem @spartanguard @tiganasummertree @demisexualemmaswan @itsfabianadocarmo @courtorderedcake

#captain swan #cs #captain swan smut #cs smut #anti-neal #cs au

122 notes · View notes

jerakeenc · 4 years ago

Photo

It Was You, My Shine Light by old_enough_to_know_better

ATEEZ, K-Pop | Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi | Teen | 11,304 words

The world was grey, shades ranging from brightest white to darkest black. Everything was drab and dreary, until you met your soulmate. At least, that was how it was supposed to work. Mingi's always been able to see in color. How will he ever find his soulmate when he never knows when he'll meet them?

The Family You Choose by TunaFishChris

Avatar: The Last Airbender | Gen | The Gaang & Zuko | Teen | 36,049 words

Some people are born with soulmarks. Zuko has them, but his grandfather burned them off because they "make you weak." Team Avatar has a few things to say about that.

Louder Than Words by TheMarkOfEyghon

Buffy the Vampire Slayer | Ripper Giles/Randall | Mature | 36,740 words

In a world where everyone is born with their soulmate's first words to them marked on their arm, Rupert "Ripper" Giles is born with no words at all. Terrified at the prospect of growing up into a life without love, he becomes jaded and embittered, diving headfirst into loveless one-night stands and casual affairs. And then he meets Randall Evans. A non-verbal boy with a bright smile and even brighter eyes and his entire world is sent into a tailspin.

two halves of a soul by angel_deux

Game of Thrones | Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth | Teen | 42,773 words

Brienne really does think it's a coincidence that Cersei Lannister starts being extra cruel to her after catching sight of Brienne's soulmark at a slumber party. It's not.

Après moi le deluge by beyond_belief

Generation Kill | Brad Colbert/Nate Fick | Teen | 15,054 words

"That," he says, "is how you know it was close." - Sebastian Junger, War

The Fault in My Code by LiaS0

Hannibal | Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter | Mature | 90,434 words

Soulmate AU: Soulmates find their other half when they look into their eyes. After the next time they sleep, they wake with one eye the color of their intended. Will Graham avoids eyes. He's never wanted a soulmate, never wanted to be told by the universe who he was supposed to feel a connection to. He already struggles enough with connections, thank you very much. As a psychiatrist, he works with soulmates who have lost their other half through various means, part of a social system that regards the journey to your soulmate as the most important thing a person can do. Coerced by Jack Crawford to consult on a case where the assailant is targeting soulmates, Will finds himself turning to the notorious Dr. Lecter to gain insight on how he's choosing the soulmates to target. Things go horribly awry when he looks into Hannibal's eyes, though. The next morning, he wakes up with one eye blue, the other maroon. He's never wanted a soulmate, least of all one behind bars for murdering dozens of people and eating them. Hannibal thinks it's delightful -it's been dreadfully boring since he was locked up. Romance, thriller, mayhem, mystery, soulmate au with a realistic twist, and a grumpy Will Graham

Written on the Heart by who_la_hoop

Harry Potter | Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter | Explicit | 113,984 words

Harry doesn’t mind that so many Slytherins from his year have returned to finish their NEWTs, really he doesn’t. It’s just – do they have to be so friendly? He’s not prejudiced, really he’s not. It’s just – they’ve got to be up to something, right? Unnerved by the attention he’s attracting from everyone – the Slytherins are the least of it, to be fair – and struggling with a raft of changes to Hogwarts itself, Harry wishes he could be happy that one constant remains: Draco Malfoy really fucking hates him. When he’s hit by an illegal love-spell though, Harry finds he has more to worry about than whether or not Blaise Zabini actually wants to be his friend. For if everyone affected has been blessed – or cursed, by the look on Malfoy’s face – with a magical tattoo revealing the name of their soulmate, what does it mean that Harry’s skin remains completely bare?

Meadow of Ink by esama

Hikaru no Go | Gen | Shindou Hikaru | General Audiences | 933 words

It's the ones that matter who leave a mark.

Fastening One Heart to Every Falling Thing by thefourthvine

Hockey RPF | Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin | Explicit | 51,519 words

Geno can't. Sidney won't.

my heart is gold (but my hands are cold) by Rock_n_Fuckin_Roll

Karate Kid | Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence | Teen | 12,674 words

“No, please, don't, stop!” Those were the words that haunted Johnny Lawrence. One's that followed him day and night, ones that he looked at late at night in the darkness, when no one else was there, and traced them, thinking that they were the rightful punishment he got. That the first time he met his soulmate, they would scream for him to stop. To stay away. It was the punishment for Johnny Lawrence.

Nobody Lost, Nobody Found by ClaraxBarton

Marvel Cinematic Universe | James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton | Explicit | 108,331 words

"Look, dude, I get it. You’re fucked-up. HYDRA fucked you up. I’ve been there. But you’re my fucking Soul Mate!" “I can kill you. I could kill you without even realizing what I was doing. I’m not fucked-up, I’m a monster. I’m a nightmare. You can’t be here. You can’t- All the people I’ve killed- I will not murder my Soul Mate too. Not after everything else I’ve-” Clint worked his left hand between their bodies and managed to land a punch to the man’s right side, forcing him to shift his weight, and Clint brought his right hand down on the place where the man’s metal arm met his torso - hidden by the shirt he wore, but on full display in the video Clint had watched. The man released Clint with a grunt of pain, and Clint pressed his advantage, landing another punch to his abdomen, backing him up against the opposite side of the RV and then pressing the kitchen knife he had pocketed while cleaning up earlier to the man’s throat. “Like I said, I’m not a Boy Scout. I’m plenty dangerous myself. We clear on that?”

The Mark for Everyone's Souls by siderealOtaku

Persona 3 | Arisato Minato/Mochizuki Ryoji | Teen | 2,330 words

Minato Arisato's body is covered in marks. His mother called him blessed, until she saw the pitch-black skull on his left hip. "Death!" she screamed. "He is Death's soulmate!"

An Ever-Fixed Mark by AMarguerite

Pride and Prejudice | Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy | Teen | 190,537 words

One would think that having the name of one's soulmate appear on one's wrist on one's sixteenth birthday would make matrimony much less complicated. It mostly does not. And not at all for Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourne.

Pair Bond by Kass

Stargate Atlantis | Rodney McKay/John Sheppard | Explicit | 5,734 words

"I'm sorry," the librarian said. His voice sounded genuinely regretful. "But I can't possibly grant access to a lone electron."

your favorite old-fashioned fairytale romance by sinead

White Collar | Elizabeth Burke/Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey | Explicit | 12,442 words

Such a small touch, that whisper of skin against skin.

can you help me unravel my latest mistake by suzukiblu

The Witcher | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Explicit | 17,099 words

“It’s just a soulmark,” Geralt says, fist tightening. He feels like Jaskier’s about to get up and leave and he’ll never see him again, and he . . . “It doesn’t mean anything.”

See the Long List at Dreamwidth

#the fic club #first reading list

52 notes · View notes

snowbellewells · 3 years ago

Note

All The Right Moves sounds cool!!

Thanks so much for asking about this WIP @spartanguard !!! I really have a fair bit of it written and I just need a good kick in the pants to get myself the rest of the way!

This story begins with Emma as a dancer who has lost her partner (Neal) after he got them disqualified from a major competition and ditched her for a different dance partner. Her friend Tina (Tink) a retired former dancer who now owns a dance studio is trying to help her get back on her feet and gets her in contact with pro Killian Jones. He’s very good, but Emma finds him arrogant and difficult (and way more attractive than she’d like to). Eventually they’re going to team up and get their second chance together.

Here’s a snippet:

“...She was tempted to storm out and leave him there, but he was so good. If only he weren’t quote so aware of it.

They paused for water an a quick set of stretches. Killian leaned insouciantly against the mirrored front wall of the room, watching her as he downed his thermos of ice water. Emma had practically collapsed into a folding chair in the corner, long legs outstretched and leaning over them to touch her toes, keeping them limber. Guzzling her own drink thirstily she still watched him warily, already well accustomed to the troublesome look her wore.

“What’s the matter, Darling?” he pressed, arching one of those dark brows at her as if aiming to provoke. “Out of shape?”

She snapped back up, glaring at him in challenge. “Not your ‘darling’,” she corrected, standing abruptly to support her words. “And you just worry about your own stamina.”

“Oh, I can go as long as you want, Love, don’t you worry.” Killian pushed off the barre where he had been leaning, never breaking eye contact but winking at her devilishly, as if he knew how much it annoyed her. “Perhaps you can’t handle it, though?”

#WIP ask game #WIP ff #cs dancers snippet #my ff

9 notes · View notes

youvebeenlivingfictional · 4 years ago

Text

I Could Be Your Sometimes Part Six

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Rating: Explicit - 18+ Only Notes: Set before the series; not beta-read Thank you to everyone that’s liked and read this!! Warnings: Eventual infidelity and sexual content. If you dislike this, please don’t read. Thank you. Chapter-specific warnings: None Pairing: Andy Barber x Reader Summary: Why did that name sound familiar?

"Jesus christ, you look fine,” Nora rolled her eyes as I did a small spin for the camera. “Are you sure?” I asked, taking a step back to make sure Nora could see the entire outfit over FaceTime. it was the third suit I’d tried on, and I was no closer to deciding what I was going to wear. “Hon, I love you, and I know you want to look professional, but you’re driving me crazy. Besides, I’ve never seen you look unprofessional,” Nora added, resting her chin on her hand, “My vote still goes for for the grey suit. I mean the one you have on now is a good look, but the waistcoat might be pushing it, ya know?” I looked down at said waistcoat, tugging at the bottom of it. “I guess,” I grumbled. Nora rolled her eyes. “Just-- Don’t be so worried about it, kid. Go over your notes a couple of times if it’ll make you feel better, but besides that, relax, okay?” "Alright. See you in the morning, Nor,” I smiled. “Night, worry-wart,” Nora stuck her tongue out at me before hanging up the call.

I turned away from my phone to look myself over in the full-length mirror in my room. Nora was right, the waistcoat was definitely just a touch too much.

-- I arrived at the DA’s office at 9 - the talk wasn’t set until 10:30, but I preferred to get an unfamiliar conference room early, get a better feel for the space, go over my notes, even if it meant making small talk for a few minutes beforehand. I knew that Nora would arrive soon enough, it would be fine. Nora had made the right call - I was wearing a light grey pantsuit, as well as a white button down. I’d decided to chance it with a cup of coffee, but I hadn’t spilled a drop (yet - I always dropped a ‘yet’ on the end of that statement. With me, there was always a chance).

The receptionist that had shown to the conference room had reassured me that there wasn’t any other conference booked for the space, so I wouldn’t have to worry about needing to find somewhere else to go over my notes. I set myself up at the end of a conference table, close to the screen. “Oh-- I hope I’m not interrupting.” I looked up to see a man standing in the doorway. I glanced at my watch. 9:40 - still plenty of time. “No, not interrupting at all,” I flashed him a smile. He came into the room, letting the door close behind himself. “Here for the seminar?” He asked. “Yes, I’m actually running it. I’m from Tactician,” I said. The man’s brows rose, and he came closer, holding his hand out to me. “Neal Loguidice,” He introduced himself. Why did that name sound familiar? “Hi,” I greeted, shaking his hand. “May I?” He asked, gesturing to the seat beside mine. 29 other seats in that conference room and he wanted to sit in the one directly beside mine. “You’re just trying to see all my notes in advance,” I teased before nodding to the seat and adding, “Go right ahead.” Even if I wanted to tell him that he had plenty of other seats to pick from, I definitely couldn’t. I lowered myself back into my seat, pulling my chair in to give Neal room to slide in behind me. He settled in beside me, opening his laptop and notebook. We worked in amiable silence for a few minutes before he spoke up again: “Andy said that your firm was instrumental in his defense for the Warren case.” Apparently he’d mentioned that to a reporter, too, and Nora had been called for a comment. It had started a wave of requests for information regarding our trainings. “Yeah, I cut back on that section of the presentation for you guys because I figured you’ve had to hear a lot about it lately,” I said. Neal chuckled, shifting in his seat to look at me. “Well, I appreciate that,” He smiled. I returned the smile. He was... Cute. He had dark, warm eyes; his neatly-coiffed hair seemed a little at odds with his five o’clock shadow. Neal and I got talking - about work, about Newton, about his case load and how many requests for proposals I’d taken on the last month. “You’re here early.” My attention was drawn away by Andy coming through the door. He had a cup of coffee in one hand, his laptop tucked under his arm. His eyes darted from me to Neal, and his smile wilted to something a little less hospitable. I glanced at the time. “I mean, we do start in fifteen minutes,” I pointed out, “Being late would be a pretty bad look, Barber.” Andy set his things down at the seat across from mine, glancing between me and Neal. “I don’t think I’ve ever been into Harvey’s,” Neal said, continuing the conversation we’d been having. I turned to look at him again. “They’re not too far from here, over on Cedar and Sixth? Food’s not too salty, and they’re open pretty late.” “You would know,” Andy muttered just loudly enough for us to hear. I looked up at the ceiling, refusing to look at Andy. When I looked at Neal again, I found his brows raised, curious. I shook my head a little bit. "My late-night go to is usually Chinese food. There’s a place around the corner from here that’s got some of the best dumplings I’ve ever had,” Neal went on. "I love dumplings! Why are we talking about them?” Nora asked coming into the conference room, a cup of coffee in hand. She caught sight of Andy, smiling. “Morning, Mr. Barber.” “Morning, Ms. Abrahms.” Nora beckoned me toward her, and I excused myself. “You look settled in,” She commented. “Well, I’ve been here for almost an hour and a half, so,” I commented, tucking my hands into my pockets. “And your shirt is coffee-free. I’m incredibly impressed,” Nora teased. I leaned against the wall, shrugging. “For now. My shirt’s coffee free for now.” Nora grinned, shaking her head. “Your pitch skills are incredible but your hands would be less shaky if you drank less coffee.” “My pitch skills wouldn’t be as incredible if I drank less coffee. Keep up, Nora,” I teased. I peered around her, waving people in as they began to trickle into the room. -- “That was excellent,” Lynn was pumping my hand with politician-like photo-op efficiency; I was vaguely aware of their PR person taking a picture of us, and Nora muscling in beside them to get one for herself. “We appreciate the opportunity to come and work with you guys,” I smiled. Lynn patted my shoulder before dropping my hand and excusing herself. Half of the attendants had already filed out of the room. I stepped back over to my laptop, closing it and beginning to pack my things away. "Well, that was informative," Neal said; he had yet to get up from his seat.

"I'm choosing to take that as a compliment, Mr. Loguidice," I glanced at him. He chuckled, nodding. "It was certainly meant as one. And please, it's Neal," He said, standing and drawing himself up to his full height. "Well, then, thank you," I chuckled, pulling my coat on. "Back to the office?" He asked. I nodded. "I have work to do." "No time to stop for another cup of coffee or... Or lunch, maybe?" Neal asked, gathering his laptop and notebook before he turned to look at me. I arched a brow, shifting my bag on my shoulder. "Something from the seminar that I didn't explain clearly enough?" I asked. Neal smiled a little. "If that'll get you to say yes," He nodded. "Ready to go?" I turned to see Nora standing with her things, Andy close behind. "Andy has offered to take us out to lunch at Harvey's," She added. I shot Andy a glance before turning back to Neal, tipping my head to the side. "I've been meaning to try Harvey's," Neal said simply, hand brushing over my shoulders as he stepped past me, "I'll grab my coat." Nora and I turned to watch Neal leave the room; neither of us missed the split-second narrowing of Andy’s eyes as Neal passed him. -- Lunch was incredibly awkward - at least, I wasn't sure how it could've been worse. Andy and I had taken the seats across from one another by the window, and Neal had slid in beside me before Nora had the chance. Nora had mostly been able to keep the conversation moving throughout. But when there had been the odd... Lull, let's say, I could see Neal and Andy almost sizing each other up. As soon as we'd sat down, Andy had done as he had a few weeks ago, hooked his foot around my ankle and kept that contact up. Neal had pressed in close on my side, thigh pressed against mine, arm nudging me now and again to draw my attention - usually away from whatever Andy was saying. When he’d done that, Andy’s leg would brush against mine, reminding me of our anchoring where the others couldn’t see. I didn't know what their game of cat and mouse was, but I didn't think I liked being part of it. -- (8:39 PM) AB: Busy? I glanced at the text on my phone and rolled my eyes. Of course I was busy. I'd lost three hours of my day to giving that seminar at his job. (8:42) Yep (8:45) AB: Hungry?

(8:45) Nope

(8:46) AB: Need some company? I hesitated in answering that one, typing out a few different answers and deleting them all. I finally settled on sending, (8:52) I think you meant to send that one to your wife.

For all of the efforts I had made to put distance between myself and Andy both physically and emotionally, my attraction to him hadn’t budged. If anything, it had gotten worse. My stupid brain had gone beyond obsessing over the details of our conversations - I had dreams about the guy. They weren’t odd ones, either, where there’s some whacky circumstance and you just happened to notice him in the background. They usually had to do with touching him, kissing him, being in less-than-innocent and incredibly compromising positions with him. I’d out a cap on fantasizing about him in my free time, but apparently my subconscious hadn’t gotten the memo. It probably didn’t help that I hadn’t been with anyone in a while, and that Andy was incredibly attractive, and still talking to me, despite the fact that my recent texts and had been snippy or flat. But maybe it was the fact that when we were together, we did touch. I thought about our hug when we’d gone to dinner weeks before, and his foot hooked around my ankle, holding my attention in a way neither Nora nor Neal knew about. I could’ve pulled away from him, kept my...Leg to myself, but I wanted that contact. Even with Neal at my side, nudging me now and again, I wanted it from Andy. It wasn’t about the touches themselves. I wanted him.

#andy barber #andy barber imagine #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #I Could Be Your Sometimes

68 notes · View notes

nahte123456 · 4 years ago

Text

Marinette Bio-Dad idea, White Collar:Neal

Alright I was doing that stupid fanfic-writer thing where I saw two characters in a short time frame and went “I bet I can think of a story for this”. Those two being Marinette and Neal. I like the whole Bio-dad thing and they do both have blue eyes so I went with it when I found something out, Neal is meant to be around 33 in Season 3 as far as I can figure(it’s said the character is meant to be around the actors age and that kinda works with what Ellen says iirc) and Marinette is meant to be 13.

Neal’s age is an approximate and we know that when he was 18 and ran away from home he did some stupid stuff until Mozzie picked him up. So is it so hard to believe that Neal, fresh from running away and just starting to con see’s a vacationing Tom and Sabine, thinks to try and con/steal some money from them, and starts buying them drinks under an assumed(and older) name. He then learns that they are nice people that seem to just care about him because they are good people and can’t go through with the con, but at that point they are all drunk and attractive young adults and nature takes it’s course and an accident with a condom makes a Marinette that Neal doesn’t know about.

Until a few years later that is. We know Neal was in Paris at one point so in between con’s he remember this nice couple that helped him out for a night and decides he’ll look them up, pop into there restaurant and buy something, maybe they won’t even recognize him. Only to see tiny Mari who 100% has his eyes. And Sabine walks in and she’s not dumb, she recognizes Neal and realizes what he see’s and so he’s invited in and they all have a talk about there daughter.

So Neal starts to give an abridged version of his side of the story when Babynette walks over with a surprisingly good colored pencil sketch of what was, if only by the colors, clearly him. And Neal has a bit of a breakdown at this point, not like a sobbing wreck or anything but he has a host of family issues, pressure from being on the run, and the surprise of a daughter all get to him so instead of some made up story he tells them the truth about the whole witness protection childhood and once he starts he can’t stop until he’s told them everything about being a con, and they were originally his marks and now he’s a master forger and con artist.

Tom and Sabine are...accepting. They don’t really understand either Neal’s need to do these things or the reasons he started but they get that his life was different from theirs, and despite being a criminal he’s been nothing but a good guy to them. So they invite Neal to stay the night and he agrees, eating dinner with the family and bonding with the 3, before sleeping in the guest room.

The next day the adults work out a deal. Neal doesn’t want to be some absentee father Marinette only learns about when she’s an adult and wonders about him forever like he had to, but obviously he can’t just stay for a number of reasons, not the least of which is ‘Burke The Jerk’ getting closer and closer every day. So instead they set up communications, he can call, send gifts, letters, whatever, as long as no big trouble is tracked back to them and no gift or money he sends is illegal. He agrees.

So this goes on and flows into the show until just before Sarah finds out about the U-Boat treasure Mozzie has. White Collar is mostly the same as Neal is still keeping Marinette away from things, and he’s more then sneaky enough to get into contact without being caught, Neal is slightly better off as he was more cautious and he kept more resources to send/liquidate for Marinette.

As for Miraculous, again largely the same overall, Marinette is slightly more confident and knowledgeable about art, she does forgeries as a type of destressing although she always signs them to not get in trouble. The only large change is her having more money for her designing, and that she tells Neal about the Miraculous as he’s far enough away to be safe and he knows better then anyone about secrets and needing to do things.

The change comes after Lila shows up again, I don’t imagine this as a salt-fic(I like salt-fics fine but I don’t think that tone would work great with White Collar) but that is a lot of stress for a teen. Her designing, being bullied, being a superhero, school, just everything. So Neal offers Tom and Sabine a deal, he can take her in for like a month, where she only has to worry about designing and keeping up with school(and Superhero work but with Horse and Rabbit Miraculous that’s also easier without so many people watching). Then Neal and Mari talk and she agrees, she’ll take Tikki, the Rabbit and Horse, some design stuff, and school necessities and that’s it. Just destressing in New York with her father.

Of course Neal being a little shit Neal picks an airport just outside of his range and then at the Burke’s one day he tells Peter “Hey I need your help to get to ____Airport tomorrow, my daughter is coming in and I want to pick her up.” After the freak out from both Burke’s and Neal’s taunting he give a (mostly) complete explanation about his stupid years then finding out about his daughter. To which Peter correctly figures out where some money had vanished in the past and why Neal sometimes went above board to get jewelry and such, to give it to his daughter without any heat being attached.

So Peter agrees to go with him, but El decides she’s going to and rather then trying to both bunk at Neal’s place Marinette can stay in there guest bedroom(Peter’s not thrilled with this sudden information but rolls with it for now). The next day they go to pick up Marinette, who’s cuteness and happiness wins over El immediately although Peter is more suspicious.

After that is a lot of bonding, Marinette shows her signed-forgeries which both worries Peter(she is already far to good at that for his comfort), but also comforts him(even when not selling Neal never so blatantly made sure his work was distinguishable from the real thing), although Marinette does kind of ruin that by stealing his wallet as a “I am Neal’s daughter” thing, same smile to. Neal loves it, El thinks she’s adorable, Peter just knows this’ll mean more work for him somehow.

Over the next week Marinette works on some dresses and meets the rest of the crew. She and Diana get along good, Diana likes her spunk, she and Jones bonds surprisingly well(I want Jones to have a bigger role then normal), and June loves her as much as El does. Mozzie freaks out more then a little at first, but after he gets over it he becomes convinced Marinette will be great and really tries to corrupt her and Marinette does like him in his own zany way.

As for her and Sarah, they grind at first, Marinette doesn’t want to ruin anything for Neal and Sarah doesn’t know how to deal with a child so they kind of both try to pull back without hurting anyone and it all goes wrong but eventually they bond and Marinette asks to make her a dress that looks good and hides her baton and Sarah agrees. Neal’s happy about this but also more then slightly worried about getting teamed up on(it’s bad enough when Moz and Peter gang up on him much less them).

I’ll be honest I don’t have a real ‘plot’ in mind mostly just a bunch of character interaction I think would be great fun. Marinette and El talking fashion, Neal and Peter having a talk on how to deal with a child, and so on so forth.

#biodad au #miraculous ladybug #white collar #marinette dupen chang #Marinette #neal caffrey #neal #badass marinette #protective neal

22 notes · View notes

worryinglyinnocent · 5 years ago

Text

Fic: A Cacophony of Secrets

Summary: Belle is widely considered the secret-keeper for her circle of friends, which proves something of a problem when she has a secret of her own. Meanwhile, across town, Gold is trying to work out whether it’s a good idea to propose to Belle, without her finding out what he’s planning…

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling prompt: “Can you keep a secret?”

Rated: T

===

A Cacophony of Secrets

Can you keep a secret? It was always one of the first things that people asked her whenever they came into her acquaintance. Belle had no idea what it was about her that made people think she was so incredibly trustworthy. Maybe she had that kind of a face.

That wasn’t to say that she wasn’t trustworthy. Her response to the question, whenever she was asked it, was always ‘of course’, and she had never yet broken faith with anyone who had ever asked her to keep something to herself. Usually, they ended up making it public knowledge of their own accord soon enough, but she knew all too well the burning desire to share something with someone, just one individual who could be trusted not to spread it around.

She was feeling it right now.

The only trouble was, being the confidante for all her friends, none of whom were able to keep secrets anywhere nearly as well as she was, she didn’t really have anyone of her own to whom she could turn in her hour of need.

Well. That wasn’t strictly true. She had Gold. He was just as good at keeping secrets as she was. They’d managed to keep their entire relationship secret from the town for almost six months before anyone realised that they were dating, and prior to that, they’d managed to keep their mutual attraction secret even from each other for over a year. Well, ever since Belle had first moved to town and met Gold for the first time, really.

The trouble was that the secret she had now wasn’t one that could immediately be shared with her boyfriend.

Sitting in the cramped toilet stall in the library, chin resting on the sink as she stared at the positive pregnancy test in her hand, Belle wanted to scream with frustration. She was so excited, and so happy, and there was nothing that she wanted more than to yell to the world at large that she was going to have a baby with the man she loved and nothing at all could be better.

At the same time, there was still the little marble of trepidation in the pit of her stomach, because this unexpected surprise was in its very nature unexpected and not at all planned. She and Gold had never discussed having children before. Their relationship had moved comparatively slowly once it had finally got going and they weren’t even living together yet. Going straight into having a child together was a big step.

She needed to tell someone. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to get through the day without spilling the beans and it should probably be to a close friend rather than a random library patron. Or worse, to Gold himself by accident. She was going to need some time to prepare for that conversation. Not that she thought that he would react negatively; she knew how much he loved being a dad to Neal. It was still a huge commitment though. This baby would link them together inextricably for the rest of their lives and that was not something to be entered into lightly.

“Belle?” There was a soft tap at the door. “Belle, are you ok? You’ve been in there for a long time.”

It was Marian, her part-time library assistant. Belle thought for a moment. Perhaps Marian would be the right person to tell. They were friends, albeit not as tightly knit as she was with some of the rest of her inner circle whose secrets she held so close to her chest, and Marian was certainly more discreet than many others of her acquaintance. Plus, Marian was a mum herself; she would be fully appreciative of the delicacy of the situation.

“Belle? Please say something before I think you’ve fainted in there and I get Robin over here to break the door down.”

“I’m ok!” Belle said quickly. “I’m ok, I just…” She opened the door and peered around it. “Can you keep a secret?”

Marian nodded. “Yes. What is it?”

Belle held up the pregnancy test, and Marian gave a little smile.

“Should I be offering congratulations and helping you knit little hats, or offering tea and sympathy and discussing your options?”

“I don’t know.” Belle sighed and shoved the test in her pocket before leaving the bathroom. “I’m happy. For me this is wonderful news. I’ve always wanted to be a mother. I’m just not quite sure what Ciaran will make of it all.”

“Well, you won’t know until you tell him, but he won’t hear it from me.” Marian gave her a hug. “I’m sure that it’ll be fine. You’re both ridiculously furtive when it comes to this relationship, but it’s absolutely no secret in the town that you’re very much in love. You can’t keep that secret. Not with the way you look at each other when you think no one else is watching.”

Belle nodded. “Yes, you’re right.” She paused, her hand going to her skirt pocket again and feeling the outline of the pregnancy test there even if it wasn’t visible through her chunky sweater. She knew that the sooner she spoke to Gold and told him what was going on, the sooner her mind would be set at ease, but something made her want to keep this a secret for a little while longer. Once it was out in the open, everything would change - everything had already changed - and she was not sure that she was ready for that just yet.

“I can hold the fort here for a little while if you’d like to go and see him now,” Marian said. “You know, to stop it festering.”

Belle shook her head. “No, not just yet. I think I need some time for it to sink in for me before I start telling someone else. I haven’t processed it properly myself yet.”

Marian nodded her understanding and they went back into the main area of the library together, the conversation now closed and the secret safe between them.

On the other side of the road, just a few doors down from the library and within the view of the clocktower, Ciaran Gold was pacing up and down the back room of his shop, fingers turning the little velvet box over and over in a feeble attempt to use up some of his nervous energy.

He opened the box and looked at the ring inside, although he wasn’t sure why he was checking it was still there for the twentieth time since he’d put it in there that morning. Belle had expressed an interest in the ring when it had first come into his possession, and, in jest, she had slipped it onto her wedding finger. It had been a perfect fit, and in that moment, Gold had known that he wanted to put that ring on her finger for good, even if he wasn’t quite ready to tell Belle herself that just yet.

He was ready to tell her now. He just wasn’t sure if she was ready to hear it. Oh, he didn’t doubt that she loved him, as amazed as he was to hear it from her lips every time she said it. But they had not been together for very long and they weren’t even living together yet. Was he being premature in asking her to marry him now? He had conviction in his own thoughts and feelings - he had never been so sure of anything as he was sure that Belle was the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. But was Belle ready to make that kind of a commitment? She was young and still in the prime of her life after all. She loved him, but was she ready to settle down with him forever?

“Gold?”

The voice from the front of the shop startled Gold back into the moment and he made to stash the ring box in his pocket, but in his haste and nervousness the thing slipped out of his fingers as if it had been greased and it skittered across the floor, through the curtain and into the main shop, his attempts to retrieve it serving only to scoot it further until it ended up at the feet of the person who had hailed him in the first place.

David Nolan picked up the box and raised an eyebrow.

“I do consider you a friend, Gold, but I don’t feel that way about you.”

Gold snatched the box back. “It’s not for you,” he muttered, finally succeeding in pocketing it.

“I see. So, when’s the big event?”

“Pardon?”

“You’re going to propose to Belle.”

“No! Yes! No! It’s none of your business.”

David was not at all fooled by this bluster and failed to hide a smile. Gold sighed. David was one of the few people he considered to be a friend, but he wasn’t sure that he could be trusted with something as delicate as his plans to propose to Belle.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. David could probably be trusted, but if David told his wife, then it would be all over town within five minutes. Mary Margaret was notoriously indiscreet.

“Can you keep a secret?” he said finally.

David nodded. “I won’t tell Mary, if that’s what you’re driving at.”

Gold gave a huff of laughter but refrained from comment. “Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“What, not telling Mary?”

“No. Me proposing to Belle.”

“Well, if you love her and she loves you, then I can’t see what’s a bad idea about it.”

“Well, you know. I’m me and she’s Belle, and…”

“Gold, I’m sure it’ll be fine. You and Belle are very obviously in love, there’s nothing secret about that, despite how much you seem to want to hide it from the rest of the town. That ship sailed long ago.”

Gold supposed that he had nothing to lose. Apart from his dignity. And possibly Belle. It wasn’t as if they’d made a lot of plans for the future, but he couldn’t imagine a future without Belle by his side throughout all of it.

“Don’t tell anyone,” he snapped, trying to sound as imposing as possible but coming over only as rather worried.

“Of course not.” David smiled. “Now, shall we get down to the actual reason I’m here?”

The talk turned to business and Gold tried to put his plans to the back of his mind, but the ring box continued to weigh heavy in his pocket.

There was a definite tension in the air as Belle stepped into the pawn shop. Twenty-four hours had passed since she had been sitting staring at the little white stick that had changed her destiny forever, and she had made the decision that the secret could be kept no longer, and she was going to have to tell Gold.

She had called him last night just to chat, but it had been an awkward conversation with the knowledge forefront in her mind and ready to trip off her tongue at any moment. Gold’s own contributions to the talk had been stilted as well, and Belle didn’t know if it was simply because he was picking up on her own awkwardness or if there was another reason behind it.

He smiled when he saw her come in, and Belle could not help but smile back. Gold always looked at her like she lit up the room, and even when she was doubting her every move, it reassured her that there could be no doubting his feelings.

“Can we talk?” she asked. “I, erm, I’ve got something to tell you.”

Gold’s smile faltered and gradually faded, and it pained Belle to see the worry in his expression. She noticed the way his hand went towards his jacket pocket and then abruptly stopped, his hand clenching into a fist.

“Of course.” He smiled again, but it did not reach his eyes as he held the curtain back for her and she ducked into the back room. He followed her in and indicated for her to take a seat on the cot. Belle sank down onto the blanket gratefully, but then decided that it would be easier if she was standing and she jumped up again. Gold just stood, watching her pace for a while.

She was going to have to just come out and say it; there was no other way.

Finally, she stopped and turned to him.

“I’m pregnant.”

There was silence for almost a full minute before Gold spoke, and even then, all he said was a barely audible ‘what?’

“I’m pregnant,” Belle repeated. “I’m pregnant, and I’m keeping it. I want to have this baby. And if you don’t, then that’s ok, but I want to be a mum and…”

“Marry me.”

It was Belle’s turn to be stunned into silence.

“What?”

“Will you marry me, Belle? I’d get down on one knee, but I wouldn’t get up again.”

“I…” Of all the reactions, this wasn’t at all the one that Belle had been expecting. Not that she didn’t want to marry him; she couldn’t think of anything that she wanted more. “Ciaran, this isn’t the olden days, you don’t have to make an honest woman of me now that you’ve got me in trouble, so to speak.”

Gold shook his head. “No, no, this isn’t because you’re pregnant. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to be quite such a shock. I’ve been planning this for a little while.” His hand went back to the pocket and this time dipped in, pulling out a small velvet box and opening it. Belle recognised the ring she’d put on her wedding finger months ago, hoping but never seriously dreaming that it would sit there permanently one day. “Would you like to marry me, Belle? Start a family: you and me and Neal and a fourth member yet to be?”

They both looked down at her stomach, and Belle nodded, holding out her left hand. Gold slipped the ring onto her finger and Belle pulled him in for a kiss, long and deep and full of love. They were about to start a whole new chapter of their lives together, and she couldn’t be happier.

“So,” Gold began once she finally released him. “How long do you think we can keep this secret from the rest of the town?”

Belle shook her head. “No. No more secrets. We’re going to let everyone know.”

She was so happy, and so in love, and she couldn’t wait to share it with the world. She knew that there would be the cynics who would snipe at the engagement and pregnancy coming at the same time, but as Marian had said, the entire town knew that they loved each other.

That was no secret, and these new developments would only confirm that further.

#rumbelle fic #A Monthly Rumbelling #rumbelle #Belle French #Mr Gold #Fic: A Cacophony of Secrets

54 notes · View notes

lilacmoon83 · 4 years ago

Text

Mysterious Fathoms Below

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 9: A New Life

The years passed quickly, as David excelled in his job of a bail bondsman, alongside Cleo Fox. She had been in the business a long time and was immediately amazed at his uncanny ability for finding people. Unfortunately, without much to go on, they had yet to find the young boy he was really looking for. And as the years passed, he knew that young boy was probably nearing adulthood by now, as was his own daughter.

For the most part, they had settled nicely into the Land Without Magic for a second time. They settled into a small coastal town in Maine, with a house on the water and fairly secluded a few miles from the nearest town. It allowed them plenty of time in the water, while maintaining their lives on the mainland.

David was successfully running Cleo's east coast operation, while she ran the west coast operation out of Portland, Oregon. He traveled some to assist her with difficult cases, but was home most of the time, much to Snow's and his children's liking.

Since they settled down almost six years ago, the kids had settled as well. They were a normal family to everyone in town, traditional and tight knit and no one was any the wiser about their magical secret. The kids loved their school and had lots of friends. Snow loved working at the local daycare with small children, caring for them and teaching the preschoolers, while David worked in Cleo's office she kept there as the hub for the eastern seaboard. Their reputation was good enough that those from bigger cities often sought them out to find people instead of the firms in the cities.

That afternoon, he arrived home to find his family playing in the water on a warm, sunny summer day. It brought a smile to his face, as he watched their older children play in the water. Emma was almost eighteen now and he could hardly believe it. Ben was fourteen and the twins, Hunter and Rose were twelve. Perhaps the most incredible vision though was his wife, as she sat in the surf, her brilliant white mermaid tail splashing in the water and her long raven hair cascading down her back. He watched the way her beautiful face lit up, as their youngest ones swam around in the shallow water with her. Their cherub faces made his heart soar as much as hers did, as their three-year-old daughter, Astrid, swam around her mother and their baby son, Jackson, clung to Snow while splashing in the water. A lot of people thought they were crazy for having seven kids, but neither of them would change it for the world. A large family is what they both had always wanted and it was all the joy they could have imagined and more.

"Daddy!" Astrid called, as she flipped her lilac colored tail and swam toward the surf.

"Look Jack...Daddy's home," Snow cooed, as their son called out to him too. He smiled and looked around. When he saw that no one was around, per usual on their small property, he shed his shirt and walked into the water, before removing the pendant around his neck. His red tail appeared and he put his arms around Snow, as their lips met in a passionate kiss.

They were unaware though of the photos being snapped of them from afar…

~*~

"Okay...yeah, this sounds like a big job though. I'm going to need to call in my partner to help. The fees will be significant," Cleo said, from her office in Portland.

"This one has skipped bail twice and has stashed some really pricey watches from Phoenix in Portland. Your fees will be covered and you'll be well compensated," the man assured.

"Okay...I'll be in touch," she replied, as he ended the call and then made a call to David.

~*~

"Well...there's my favorite family," a woman said, as they entered the town diner that evening. Her name was Betty and since they had come to town, they had been her favorite customers. She loved children, so naturally, she got excited every time they came to the diner. She always made sure the large circular booth was available for them to sit in and promptly fetched the highchair for little Jack.

"Thanks Betty," Margaret, as she was known to the town, said, as she put the baby in the highchair.

"I see you lot when swimming again today. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were all half fish," she mentioned. Snow and David shared a secret smile, while the kids giggled.

"We do love the water…" David agreed, as they failed to notice the two men spying them from another table.

"I'll get your orders in right away," she said.

"Are you sure?" one man said, as they observed the attractive couple and their brood of equally attractive children.

~*~

"I'm telling you...I know what I saw. The kids...they walked into the water and then they had tails. The parents...they removed something from around their necks once they were in the water and then they had fish tails too," the other man said.

"You sound crazy," the first man accused.

"I know...but I snapped some photos and they're developing right now back in my darkroom," he said.

"Fine...let's go. If you are right...then we are looking at a fortune to the right buyer," he replied, as he looked at the family.

"A family of mermaids...we'll be swimming in money," he said deviously.

~*~

Their food was delivered promptly and they enjoyed their meal together as a family. As they were finishing, David's phone rang and he answered.

"Hey Cleo…" he answered.

"Portland, Oregon?" he asked, as he listened to her.

"Okay…we'll see you there," he replied, as he hung up the phone.

"You have a case?" Snow asked.

"Yeah, this time all the way in Oregon. It's a big payday," David replied.

"That's so far away," she mentioned. He smiled.

"I know, that's why she suggested that we make a family trip out of it. We can drive across the country and then you and the kids can have fun in Portland while I'm working," he replied. She smiled.

"Oh, that sounds perfect!" Snow gushed.

"Do they have an ocean in Portland?" Hunter asked.

"They sure do. It's a different ocean and a bit further from the city, but we'll find it," he promised, as the kids all got excited at the prospect of a family trip together.

~*~

Neal watched the cops at the corner and cursed inwardly. He had really done it this time. The watches he stole for a quick profit had backfired. He thought that skipping town in Phoenix was enough to take the heat off, but it had caught up to him in Portland. And now he was trapped. He was going to need some serious help escaping to Canada without being caught and right now, he had no means to do so. That meant laying low for a while and hoping they didn't find him.

Since escaping Neverland and landing in this new place, things had not been good. He avoided the system, not wanting anything to do with any foster families and had been living mostly on the streets for the last few years. He stole to get by and hated it, but it was the only way to stay alive. Sometimes, even Neverland and dodging Pan was better than this land. He went the other way and hoped that found a way to escape soon or he would be going to prison for a very long time.

~*~

He had been convinced by the photos and now he and his new partner watched the family pack their van for a family trip.

"Did you get a hold of your boss?" the portly man asked.

"Yes...and the Madam was very interested in the photos you took. She wants them," the thin man replied.

"Then we're going to have to follow them. Looks like a family trip," the portly one said.

"Don't worry, the Madam is wiring me the funds for anything needed. She wants us to bring them to Seattle once we have them," the thin one replied.

"Well…I heard they're headed for Oregon. That won't be far to go once we get them," the portly one said.

"Then this will be the beginning of a beautiful partnership, Jasper," he said, addressing his new partner.

"Indeed it will, Horace,"

~*~

"Well...we're all packed and ready," Snow said, as she came out of the house with the baby in her arms.

"Okay...and I've got the route all mapped out," he said, as they shared a kiss. He smiled at her, as she put the baby in his car seat and buckled him in, before they both got into the front seat.

"Wow...you plotted out all the beaches along the way," Snow gushed, as she looked over their route.

"Of course...we may have to drive there, but I made sure there will be plenty of water time for this family," he replied, as they kissed again, before he put the van in gear and they began their journey…

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #Charming family #AU #Snowing mermaid AU #romance #adventure #family #mysterious fathoms below

1 note · View note

eirian-houpe · 4 years ago

Text

Disparate Pathways - Chapter 9

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time), Maurice | Moe French, Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Spinster(s) (Once Upon a Time: Think Lovely Thoughts), Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Blue Fairy | Mother Superior, Black Fairy (Once Upon a Time), Baelfire | Neal Cassidy, Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Colette (Once Upon a Time), Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Widow Lucas | Granny, Dove (Once Upon a Time), Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Wicked Witch of the West | Zelena

Additional Tags: Abusive Parents, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Violence, Gun Violence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, UST, First Time, Drama & Romance, Kidnapping, Extortion

Summary: Gold has a past, a past that he has rejected, but it seems one that will not let him go. Belle, daughter of Governor Maurice French has been kidnapped, along with her mother, and just as the authorities raid the organization that is holding her hostage, decides to make her own bid for freedom, unknowingly derailing an undercover sting, and Agent Milnor has not choice but to take her into 'protective custody,' but is he all that he seems? As the threads of the story grow more tangled and the threat to Belle, and to Gold, her appointed protector, grow ever more real, a growing, mutual attraction makes everything far more desperate and far too personal for Gold to ignore what he knows to be the truth.

Read Previous chapters on AO3

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8]

Chapter 9 - On Whose Side

Even with his feet firmly on the ground, Jefferson felt less than confident. They still had a long way to go, and a light flickering on inside the house made his appeal to Belle all the more urgent. He supposed he should thank their good luck that at least the grounds at the rear of the house appeared empty, though he was under no illusion that appearances could be more than deceptive. However, ensured of their safety, at least for a few moments more, he turned his attention back to the diminutive young woman he was trying to save.

“Lower yourself down,” he instructed, his voice barely above an urgent hiss. “Wrap your arms and legs around the supporting post and slide down to me.” He saw the fear in her even before she spoke and added, “Don’t worry, I’ll catch you.”

“I… I can’t,” she stammered, but he shook his head, becoming aware that he’d been counting in his head, anticipating the moment when whomever it was had turned on the light inside the house would reach them.

“You have to. You’ve done the hardest part. This bit is easy.”

She shook her head again, and he pressed his lips into a flat line, controlling his increasing worry, and as encouragingly as he could, coaxed,, “All you have to do is slip over the edge and find the post with your legs first, then your arms once you have lowered yourself. You can do this.”

He saw the moment that she grabbed her resolve, and moved to position himself by the post where he would be best able to fulfill his promise to catch her, mindful, of course, of her injured hands.

“That’s it,” he crooned as she began to hang off the side of the awning by her elbows. “Just a little further.”

With almost a whimper, she practically dropped onto the pole, and he moved to catch her, thinking she would miss and fall, but somehow she managed to slam into the support and wrap her arms and legs around it so tightly that she didn’t move at all lower from the spot to which she had propelled herself.

“Ease up,” he murmured to her, not quite able to reach. “Let yourself slide lower. I’ve got you, I promise.”

Lips still pursed, he watched as, inch by inch, she slipped closer to the ground; closer to his reach. As soon as he was able he put a hand to her back, as much to assure her of his presence as anything else, and after only a few more, agonizingly slow, downward inches, she twisted her body as she let go with her arms, launching herself at him.

Anyone with lesser reflexes would have been toppled by the way she suddenly slammed into his chest, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck and shoulders, but some part of Jefferson had half expected such a thing. He sensed she was nearing the edge of what she could take in one night, and they still had to get out of the compound. He wrapped his arms around her back and for a moment held her tightly, reassuring, “You did good… great.”

Then, he lowered her to the ground and gently prized her grasp from him, though he kept contact with her.

She surprised him, asking in a shaky voice, “What now?”

“Now we get the hell out of here,” he told her, shooting her as boyish of a grin as he could muster under the circumstances. Then he pointed to the trees that lined the open expanse of the grounds. “We cross to the shadows of those trees, and follow to the wall. Stay low, and stay by me.”

She nodded and moved slightly closer as he hooked one arm through hers, and he saw her cringe as he pulled the gun from where he’d holstered it.

“Just in case,” he pledged, hoping he wasn’t making an empty promise. “Ready?”

As she nodded, he let go of her arm and slipped his own across her back to guide her as they crossed the back lawn. He tried to shorten his strides and still maintain a good speed, especially when they crossed the less shadowed patch of grass where light from the upstairs windows spilled out into the night. They reached the shelter of the trees without incident, and though he breathed a sigh of relief, he knew they had to keep moving. It wouldn’t take long for the two men who had been shooting at them to find their way down - unless of course they’d run into trouble on the way. The thought should have brought him some measure of comfort, but with the way everything had gone down since he learned of the takedown, he had little faith in gaining help from the authorities.

He led Belle deeper into the darkness beneath the trees, heading for where he knew the house was surrounded by high walls, but where he also knew there was an electronic gate for which - as a member of this ‘criminal elite’ - he had a key.

“Let’s hope they haven’t cut the power,” he muttered under his breath.

Belle turned to frown at him. “To what?” she asked.

He shook his head. “It’s all right,” he said. “Not far to go now.”

He could tell she was tiring fast, and after everything she’d been through that evening he was surprised that she wasn’t an utter wreck. He thought she was probably running on adrenaline, and that once she came down from that, then there would be problems. He had to get her somewhere safe, and fast.

The thought made him look down at his phone as he pulled it from his pocket and flicked to the secure email account. Damn it, Gold! he thought vehemently as his message went unanswered. Fine then, he answered himself. We’ll just have to do this the hard way.

Jefferson’s luck held as far as the gate was concerned, but not so much with what lay beyond. He heard the voices even as he pressed the fob against the gate sensor and winced as the whir and click seemed inordinately loud in the surrounding hush. He tugged the gate free, and wedged a nearby stone between the gate and the post to keep it from closing fully as he turned to Belle and tucked her into the dip made between the brick gatepost and the wall.

“Stay here,” he told her urgently. “Stay quiet… I’m not sure which side those guys out there are on, so…” he frowned to himself as he tugged a second gun out of a pocket and pulled back the slide. He had no clue whether Belle had even handled a weapon before, or whether she’d be able to use it with her hands in their current state, but he wasn’t about to leave her defenseless while he dealt with whatever awaited them outside. “...if anyone other than me comes through that gate… don’t wait, just squeeze the trigger.”

He handed the gun down to her, flicking off the safety as he did, and watched as she looked at it with near revulsion, but she nodded, and cradled it between her trembling hands.

“I’ll be back,” he told her softly, and nodding added, “You’re doing great, Belle.” Then, without another word, he turned, pulled open the gate and slipped through.

The narrow street beyond was poorly lit, but he wasn’t about to let that lull him into a false sense of security, though it did offer him a measure of protection as he took in the scene. There were two men, both wearing vests that identified them as FBI, which was promising, but didn’t actually mean anything worth Jack as far as he was concerned. The FBI were supposed to have had his back; supposed to have given him a thirty minute heads up on the takedown, and it hadn’t happened, so he could only assume that there were two separate factions within the Bureau.

The question was, on whose side were these two agents?

Moving carefully so that he stayed in the shadows, and could circle the car, parked barely six strides away, to approach the men as if he’d come around from another direction entirely, Jefferson took a deep breath and then straightening up, put a jaunty spring in his step as he moved to deliberately catch their attention, keeping the hood of the car between himself and the others.

It wasn’t long before one of them spotted him, and flashed - far too quickly to be seen in the darkness - an open wallet in his direction.

“Move on,” he instructed, gesturing behind him with a thumb to indicate further along the street. “This is none of your concern.”

“You know what the issue is with this world?” Jefferson said, as though answering the agent’s instruction, though the words were the first half of an identification protocol that he and Rab had agreed upon.

“Are you deaf?” the agent answered, “I said move on!”

Jefferson sighed, then muttered under his breath, “Well then, I guess that answers that question.” Then more clearly and with another sigh. “Sorry, fellas… no can d—”

Before he could even finish his insincere apology, one of the two agents rushed at him across the front of the car, but Jefferson was ready for him, and caught his arm as he got close, using the man’s forward momentum to launch him toward a garage wall on the opposite side of the street. He heard the rush of air burst from the man’s lungs as he hit hard, but Jefferson didn’t wait to see if he were winded enough to stay put. Instead, with a half roll, half slide, he propelled himself across the hood of the car toward the man’s partner, lashing out with a foot as the second agent’s arm began to rise, no doubt holding a weapon.

The kick brought a hiss of pain from the man, and the satisfying clatter of a weapon landing some way in the distance. He didn’t wait, however, for his adversary to recover, but slid off the hood of the Taurus, getting his feet under him to rush the man before he could fully recover.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other agent gather himself and begin moving away from the wall to head in his direction, even as he ducked a wild swing from the man in front of him. He saw a dark shape in the hands of the first of his assailants, a weapon… a gun? Swearing softly at the necessity of using his nearby opponent as protection, and counting on the man’s vest or his partners fast reflexes, to save the agent from lasting harm, Jefferson grabbed at the mans arm as he took another wild swing, catching it by the wrist, twisting it around behind, as he moved to use the man as a shield.

He heard the too familiar crack of the leads as they were propelled from the tazer, and managed to push the man away from himself and into the trajectory of the leads. He winced as the agent jerked like a man with Saint Vitus’ dance before he toppled to the ground.

“Oops,” he offered, with an almost apologetic shrug before rushing the agent that had just disabled his partner by accident.

The fight was brief; fast and dirty, he didn’t have time for finesse. The downed agent wouldn’t stay down for long and he had to take them both out. He drove his shoulder into the man’s partner, into his stomach and used the force of his rush to carry him back against the wall again, knocking the wind from the agent before straightening up to press his forearm across the the man’s throat and hold him in place as his struggles weakened. At first Jefferson had to endure a few painful but ineffectual punches, and even to twist aside against a knee raised toward his groin, but as consciousness began to elude the man he held in place the attempts grew less frequent, until the agent finally became a heavy weight as he slumped against Jefferson.

“See…” he said as he pulled both men to sit at the base of the wall, and after searching the pockets of the unconscious agent for the car keys, found some zip ties which he fastened around their wrists even though he hated those thing. “…that issue I was talking about…?” he went on, answering his own question. “Everyone wants an easy solution to their problems, and everyone refuses to make things easy.” The men groaned almost simultaneously beginning to wake. “Tell that to Rab when you next see him, and tell him also that this is where I disappear.”

#rumbelle #disparate pathways #i will always write jefferson #hurt/comfort #implied torture #implied drug use #implied noncon #violence #gun violence #drama/romance #UST #eventual smut #first time #angst

2 notes · View notes

spartanguard · 5 years ago

Text

you ain't gonna be lonesome anymore

Summary: Emma discovers that there's more to the guy who lives alone in the woods than the town would lead her to believe—and may have just found a kindred spirit. (Modern AU inspired by "Joshua" by Dolly Parton)

A/N: In the spirit of Dolly Parton's Heartstrings, this piece was inspired by her song "Joshua", which I heard and immediately knew needed to be an AU. I had intended to wait until closer to the release of the series but...I couldn’t. Hope you like it!

rated G | 5.6k | AO3

On her way into town, through the narrow forest road that just barely held two lanes of traffic, Emma Swan saw it—a tiny little cabin hiding among the trees. It probably wouldn’t have caught her attention were it not for the light coming through the windows, practically a beacon in the dimming dusk, and the bit of smoke coming from the chimney.

And she probably wouldn’t have given it another thought were it not for the people of Storybrooke being the way they were. She just assumed it was normal for hermits to live in cabins in the Maine woods, but once she realized this town was full of busybodys who knew everyone and made everyone’s business their own, she saw the oddity of it.

Not like she was much of anything normal herself; this was just another stop on the road to wherever. Neal may have left her with a broken heart and jail time on her record, but she also couldn’t forget his words: “Home is the place, when you leave...you just miss it.” So far, she hadn’t missed anywhere; not Arizona, not Tallahassee, not Minnesota, New York, Boston—anywhere.

And she was pretty sure she’d be able to add Storybrooke to that list. It was almost too quaint to be true, and the people, while hospitable, were one step away from cloying. But winter was approaching, and this seemed as good a place to hibernate as any other before moving onto the next.

So she got a job at the diner and began putting names to faces of just about everyone in town. The grumpy miner, Leroy, liked his bacon; the cute sheriff, Graham, stereotypically enjoyed doughnuts. And so on. She got the gossip about the romance between the teacher and the recently divorced manager of the animal shelter, and the equally scandalous teenage pregnancy that prompted the young lovebirds to elope.

It was on a quick trip out of town—because Storybrooke had a terrible liquor selection and she’d be damned if she spent her birthday drinking the swill at the Rabbit Hole—that she saw the cabin again, looking just as cozy yet standoffish as it had a month ago, and it got her wondering. Now that she knew everyone, just who lived there?

“Hey Granny,” she asked a couple days later (once she was over her hangover). “You know that cottage in the woods, out by the highway?”

“What about it?” the diner’s owner barked impatiently, even though they were in the middle of the afternoon lull.

“Who lives there?” She could see Graham tucking away out there, or maybe it was Belle, the sweet but reserved librarian.

“No one worth knowing,” Granny grumbled. “And you won’t see ‘em around here, anyways. Good riddance.”

Emma frowned; that was antithesis to just about everything she’d learned about this town. Everyone was so keen to make sure she knew everyone else—so what was going on there?

“You talking about the Jones place, out on the ridge?” Leroy asked, the only other person in the diner.

“I guess so.”

“Yeah, don’t bother. He’s a dick.”

“What did he do?” she asked, making a move to refill Leroy’s coffee mug.

“He just...is. Anytime anyone has gotten close to his property, they’ve been run off. The one time I saw him, he was glaring at anyone who dared to get too close. There's all sorts of weird sounds and smells coming from his property. He’s just a nasty piece of work. Don’t you worry about him, sister—just keep your distance and you’ll be fine.”

Well, Emma had a terrible problem with doing what people told her. Now she was curious.

She tested the waters. She started to ask people when it was slow if they knew anything about the cabin in the woods, and got all kinds of responses.

“Stay away from him, dear; his heart’s as black as his hair.”

“My cousin got lost hiking and ended up near the property; guns started ringing out and he ran the other way as fast as he could.”

“I ran into him down at the docks one night. No clue what he was doing there but it didn’t look like anything good.”

“I heard he’s a werewolf, and that's why he lives all alone!” (That one was from one of the kids in town.)

“No, silly; he’s a pirate, with a hook for a hand! He’s got his treasure out there so that’s why he protects it!” (And that was said kid’s friend.)

“He’s evil, plain and simple,” she was assured by the pawnbroker—but given that man’s smarm and apparent Napoleon complex, she didn’t take his word as gold.

Emma had seen a lot more of the world than the residents of Storybrooke, and a lot more people; while she hadn’t had the best interactions with all of them, she knew that no one was as terrible as they all made this Jones guy out to be.

She also knew a thing or two about keeping your distance from people and the reasons one might have to do that—especially the people here; there were some days she figured he had the right idea, particularly after she’d heard some nasty things about the teacher said by the prudish old ladies. God forbid they ever learn Emma’s romantic history; it might kill them in their vinyl-covered seats.

And Emma had always been a bit of a rebel; that streak had gotten her kicked out of more than a few homes growing up and into several scrapes, but even at 28, she had no desire to tamp it down.

So on one of the last crisp days of fall, early in November, she decided she’d see what the fuss was about.

She packed up a few pastries purchased with her employee “discount” (otherwise known as “take them out of my paycheck, Granny”), a thermos of hot cocoa, wrapped herself up in her leather jacket and a scarf, and then headed off on what she told people was a “fall colors hike”. Which wasn’t entirely a lie, even if more leaves were on the ground than the trees at this point.

“Don’t go poking around that Jones place, you hear?” Granny called as she was leaving. “I’m not gonna drag your carcass home.”

Emma just rolled her eyes. She’d be fine.

Wouldn’t she?

She couldn’t lie—some of the stories started sending shivers down her spine the closer she got to the property. She’d never really been an outdoors-y girl, at least not by choice; there may have been a few nights spent on park benches, but only in the summer. And she generally preferred to stick to marked trails, but this forest didn’t have any—at least, not that went where she was headed. So it took all her concentration to make sure she didn’t slip on a slick patch or some protruding tree root.

Or maybe it was the trees themselves; they were tall and a tiny bit foreboding, as if they were telling her she wasn’t supposed to be there. (Maybe she wasn’t quite as rebellious as she thought.) Somewhere, in the recesses of her mind, the voice of Legolas was telling her how old the forest was. But then she laughed aloud when she remembered a meme that changed it to “old as balls”.

Her laughter was quickly cut off by a growl, though. Up ahead was a large, shaggy black dog—and he was standing his ground. Emma saw the clearing—and the cabin—beyond, and realized she’d arrived. Crap, had that kid been right about the werewolf thing? This dog was huge.

She remembered something about not looking a crazy dog in the eyes and was trying to avoid contact, but then a voice called out that drew both of their attentions.

“Who are you?”

Standing in the entryway of the cabin was who she assumed was the owner and—damn. She was not expecting a guy who looked like that to be living out here. The old lady in the diner had been right about black hair, but where she’d been expecting long and messy, it was short and slightly tousled. He had a bit of scruff and even from far away, she could see the way his piercing blue eyes and furrowed brows were studying her. And a strong nose, sharp jaw, and high cheekbones left him with a face much prettier than anything she expected.

He was dressed for rugged living, in a dark plaid button up and worn jeans, but the way they hugged his biceps and legs couldn’t possibly be practical. She wasn’t complaining, though—whatever he was doing out here was clearly good for him. He was probably the most attractive person she’d ever seen in person.

“Lass?” he called out again, and took a step out from the house. He had an accent that definitely wasn’t from Maine—probably from the other side of the Atlantic—and his voice was more than on edge. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t sound mean, though—just wary. She couldn’t blame him; she probably would be, too, if some strange person was standing in her front yard and staring.

Oh, right—she was the strange person.

“Hi! Sorry, I, uh, I’m Emma. Emma Swan.”

The dog was still growling; she hadn’t noticed in her ogling. “Easy, Smee,” he said, and the pup finally relaxed, then trotted back to the man. He gave the good boy a scratch behind the ears before ushering the mutt inside and turning his attention back to Emma. “Can I help you with something?”

She could think of a few lusty somethings but it was then she realized that she had no real plan for actually finding anyone out here, despite the fact that she knew the place was occupied. “Oh, no, not really; I, uh, just—”

“Just thought you’d come out and see if the one-handed old coot was real?”

Busted. Her eyes darted away, focusing on an old barrel standing in the yard—though not missing the prosthetic hook at the end of his left arm—and she was pretty sure she was blushing in shame. God, why did she think this was a good idea? He probably had enough gawkers and clearly didn’t like people and—and he was laughing. What?

She looked back up and he was chuckling at her, giving her a bit of a wry grin.

“What’s so funny?” she asked, starting to get worried that he really was crazy.

“You’re the first person who’s had the guts to do that in broad daylight,” he replied, still amused. “Do you want to come in?”

She could feel her eyebrows disappear into her beanie—that was not what she expected at all. There was still part of her waiting for him to produce a shotgun and run her off the property, or wondering if she was about to be chained to a radiator Black Snake Moan-style.

That said, this was also the most entertaining thing that had happened since she arrived here, and she’d certainly made it through shadier situations. That and there were zero creeper vibes from this guy—something she was all too good at noticing. “Sure,” she answered casually.

He smiled—a brilliant thing, really, brighter than the autumn sun shining through the mostly bare branches—and beckoned her to follow him into the house. Leaves and twigs crunched under her boots as she followed.

He paused at the door, though, and turned back to her. “Oh, you can call me Killian, by the way. Killian Jones.”

“Nice to meet you, Killian Jones.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Emma Swan.”

He led the way in and she was right behind him, stopping only to swipe her shoes on the doormat; she may be awkward, but she didn’t want to be rude and track mud in—especially once she got a look around.

It wasn’t a large cabin, she knew that, but it was surprisingly spacious inside and clean—much cleaner than the rural setting would suggest. The wood floors were immaculately waxed and there wasn’t even the haze of dust motes swirling in the light from the windows; she couldn’t say half as much about her cramped apartment.

There was a tidy living space with a couch, a recliner, and an inviting fireplace with a large TV mounted above it; a small kitchen area to one side; and a couple doors on the other that she assumed headed to bedrooms. Smee was draped over one end of the sofa, his furry head resting on the arm as he watched her—still judging, but not aggressive, at least. Then the sound of wood scraping against wood drew her eyes back to the kitchen, where Killian was sliding another chair up to the small table. “Take a seat,” he said with a nod.

“Thanks,” she answered, and complied; the furniture was well-loved but also in good shape.

“Rum?” he asked, but he was already pulling glasses from a cupboard.

“Only if it’s good.” If anything, she’d be glad to leave Storybrooke for somewhere with better booze.

“Trust me, it’s the best.” He set the glasses on the table and then went back to grab an old-looking bottle off the counter; vintage was putting it lightly: it was scuffed and scratched and had no label, only a cork in the top to protect the amber liquid.

She had to bite her tongue when he deftly pulled out the cork with his teeth, because the extra attention on his mouth just highlighted how supple—and likely kissable—his lips were. He poured a generous amount for both of them before setting the bottle down and taking the seat next to her.

He lifted his glass, but then paused. “I feel like I should toast to something, but I’ve no clue what.”

It did feel odd to be making a toast with an almost-total stranger, but Emma agreed; that and it felt rude to not make one, and she’d already been that enough today. “To good rum?” she offered.

“Works for me. Cheers.”

“Cheers.” She took a sip and— “Damn,” she sighed as it slid down her throat. “You weren’t lying.” It was the perfect blend of sweet and spicy, with a light amount of burn that warmed up the bit of her that had been starting to numb in the chill autumn air.

“I make a habit not to.”

“Good to know.”

They took a few more sips in companionable silence, until he set his glass down and stared into it. “So, um,” he started, then scratched nervously behind his ear. “What, uh, what are they saying about me in town?”

“Nothing true.”

He arched an eyebrow at her in disbelief. “You hardly know me, lass.”

“No, but I can tell that your heart isn’t as black as your hair.”

“Someone said that?”

“Yup.”

“Well, it’s poetic; I’ll give it that,” he chuckled. “Anything else?”

“Mostly that you’re rude and combative, although the kids tell some tall tales.”

“Such as?”

“Werewolf, vampire, pirate—take your pick.”

He laughed again (a sound she was finding she enjoyed quite a bit). “I suppose pirate is the most apt of that list.”

“You do have good taste in rum.” Damn good; this reminded her of the stuff she bought on her birthday. “But I thought pirates lived on the high seas?”

“I do have a ship.”

“Okay then.” That explained why people saw him at the docks. “But then why would you live up here?”

He shrugged. “I imagine you’ve seen what that town is like.” She nodded; that she had. “I wasn’t in much mood for company when I arrived here, so they took that as a slight on their perceived hospitality. They wrote me off from there, and if that was how they were going to treat a newcomer, then I wanted no part of it.” He took another long drag of his rum. “And given that I wasn’t much in the mood for company, this place seemed perfect. So I bought the property, fixed it up, and...here I am. Well, me and Smee.”

She understood that; it was easier to keep people at arms’ length than to let them in and risk them hurting you. Casual, passing relationships were fine; intimacy was off the table, even platonic.

The thing she couldn’t figure out, though, was what was happening in the present.

“And what about now?”

“Pardon?”

“Are you in the mood for company...now?”

He was still studying his drink, but glanced up at her through his long lashes, and the corner of his mouth ticked up. “I suppose I am.” He paused a bit, then added, “Are you?”

“Not usually,” she answered quickly. “But it doesn’t seem so bad at the moment.”

The fine lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he gave her a sideways smile that, to her astonishment, made her heart skip a beat; she couldn’t remember the last time that happened. And—was it just her, or the rum, or were his cheeks pink? Was he blushing?

How did she stumble upon what might be one of the most adorable people on the face of the earth in the middle of the woods?

“So,” he continued casually, as if he hadn’t just possibly taken up residence in a part of Emma’s heart that she wasn’t sure worked anymore, “just how did you end up in Storybrooke?”

“I drove here,” she said nonchalantly.

“Ha. But really.”

She initially blamed it on the rum when she poured out her whole sob story to him, but in hindsight, the reality was that he was the first person she didn’t think would judge her too hard on it—which was confirmed when he relayed his own, which wasn’t terribly different: unstable homes, absent family members, and then broken hearts. When he found out about her nomadic lifestyle, he asked about the places she’d been; she followed suit when he told her he’d been in the Navy, which was where he lost his hand.

“Okay, but really,” she demanded, voice a bit louder than normal thanks to the influence of the rum. “Even if you’re not in the Navy anymore, you could go anywhere; why the hell are you here?”

He shrugged and licked his (delectable) lips. “Everyone has to make port somewhere at some point.”

She gave him a disbelieving look. “Yeah, but...Storybrooke? What even is there to do here? Why not go to a place like New York or Boston?”

Staring into his now-empty glass, he chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, then cast her a sideways glance. “Let’s just say...some ventures in life demand a fair bit of privacy, which is also something I quite value.” He was silent for another moment, but then continued, “If I show you something, do you think you can keep it secret?”

She held up her right hand in a Vulcan salute. “Scout’s honor.”

Killian’s jaw hung open at whatever the hell she was doing (frankly, she didn’t know herself, either), before chuckling, shaking his head, and coming to his feet. “Follow me.”

They headed back outside, Smee trotting behind them, over to the far edge of the property, opposite the way Emma had come from. Hidden between some trees was a small shack that was just as clean and pristine on the outside as the cottage was on the inside. As they got closer, she picked up on a smell that wasn’t the forest, but did seem familiar—and, she hated to say it, Leroy was right: there was a weird noise coming from it.

“What is this?” she had to ask.

“You’ll see,” he answered casually, pulling a key from his shirt pocket to unlock the door.

Inside wasn’t very big, and it was crowded with equipment on one end and bottle-covered tables on the other. The spicy scent overpowered her and almost stung a bit; it reminded her of her brief career as a bartender in a strip club and the smell of stale alcohol that wasn’t properly mopped after a spill. Wait—was this? “Rum?” she said, almost in disbelief, turning to look back at him.

“Aye.”

She assessed the operation once more; it looked more like the inside of the chemistry lab she was supposed to go to in high school than a moonshine operation. It was impressive, honestly. “So I guess you really are a pirate, huh?” she teased.

He gave a mock bow. “Captain Hook, at your service.”

She giggled, but then it was like a lightning bolt or whatever went off in her head. “Wait—Hook’s Rum?”

“Ah, so you’ve heard of it.”

She snorted. “I got drunk on it on my birthday. Best rum I’ve ever had.”

“It’s always nice to make an impression,” he said with a smirk. God, he was a dork.

“How many times have people tried to break in?” she wondered as he slipped past her inside and grabbed an empty bottle.

“Are you trying to rob me?” he countered as he fiddled with something on the still, flipping a lever with his hook and letting amber liquid pour into the bottle.

“Nope.”

“Then none.”

She leaned against the doorframe as she watched him work. “So, using your legend of infamy to keep your illicit business practices under wraps. I like it.”

“I have a license,” he tossed back as he shut off the flow once the bottle was full, then turned to another surface where an odd machine laid. “How else would you have bought it in the store?”

“Fair.” He twisted the handle on the contraption, which turned the bottle. “But is that how you’ve managed to keep this secret out here?”

“Indeed.” Carefully, he wiped the bottle down, then turned and handed it to her; now it bore the semi-familiar label that had caught her eye in the liquor store on it. “I can autograph that, if you want.”

“But then I can’t drink it.”

“Guess I better give you two, then.”

He did—somehow raising his dorkdom to adorable (adorkable?) levels—and directed them back to the house. The sun was definitely lower than it had been when she left and her stomach was starting to grumble; hopefully, those pastries weren’t crushed. But hunger wasn’t the first thing on her mind, oddly enough. “So,” she started, “if you keep that hidden, why did you trust me with it?”

He didn’t answer until they were back in the house. “You’ve been honest,” he answered simply. “And you have that look about you.”

“What look?”

“The look you get when you’ve been left alone.”

“Pretty sure we established that.”

“Yeah. But it means...I knew you’d understand.”

She swallowed and suddenly felt like his intense blue gaze on her saw every thought she’d ever had. “Yeah, I do,” she said softly.

And then her stomach rudely growled, interrupting what had been a soft but heavy moment.

Killian’s low chuckle eased her mortification, but only slightly. “I was about to make some grilled cheese, if you’d like; unless you need to get back to town.”

That look he’d just been talking about creeped into his eyes, and she saw it for the out it was. But what kind of monster turns that down? “Grilled cheese is my favorite.”

“Excellent. Pick out a movie and I’ll get that going.”

His collection was extensive, but she found herself more drawn to his book selection. Most people were surprised to know she was an avid reader, given her life, but she’d learned long ago that libraries were an excellent place to get out of inclement weather, and when you were strapped for cash, it was cheap entertainment.

Something he must have figured out, too, given the stack with Storybrooke Public Library stamped on the edges. “Really? You go to the library?”

“Is that really so surprising?” he called back from the kitchen, where she could hear the familiar sizzle of buttered bread on a griddle.

“Seems odd that the town hermit would go to the second-most welcoming place in the city center.”

“Only second-most?”

“After Granny’s.”

“Ahh,” was all he said, but then she heard the sound of dishes.

A minute later, he was back in the living room with a delicious, gooey sandwich on a plate just for her. “Well, there’s little that can keep me away from a good book, and Belle is the only other person in town that I like.”

“Other than…?”

“You, obviously.”

“I moved up your list that fast?”

“You’re second of three; let’s not get too cocky, love.”

“Yeah? Who’s third?”

“Belle. Smee is first.”

“Oh, I see,” she threw back, amused. It was kind of insane how easily they fell into banter after only...wow, had it really been 4 hours since she showed up here?

He invited her to take a seat on the end of the couch opposite Smee while he settled into the recliner and they started to talk about books. Then movies, then TV a bit, but it moved onto their respective educations (Emma: GED; Killian: the equivalent of a master’s or something crazy that he got from the naval academy and was decidedly not using).

He got another bottle of rum out once they finished eating and continued to drink and talk through the night, about...oh, everything. Emma knew she had been talking a long time because she was trying to use the rum to rehydrate (which probably wasn’t working all that well) but it was hard to remember what all they had discussed when it was literally everything. And when she was honestly enjoying herself more than any time in recent memory. Even Smee had finally warmed up to her, resting his head in her lap as she scratched behind his floppy ears.

Had she ever fallen into conversation this easily? Probably not. But then again, no one else was like Killian.

She’d been vaguely aware of the changing color of the sky outside his windows as the night wore on—orange to blue to black—but when lavender crept in, she finally took a glance at her phone and was shocked to see the time.

“Oh shit—I have to get to work,” she cursed.

“At this hour?”

“Breakfast rush,” she explained, showing the clock on her phone.

Killian’s eyes grew wide. “I didn’t realize...I’m so sorry to have kept you, Swan.”

“Quit being such a gentleman; I didn’t notice, either. The only thing is…” At this, she giggled for some reason. “I haven’t slept a wink and I’m slightly tipsy. This will be real interesting.”

He made a beeline for the kitchen and put a pot of coffee on while she gathered her things and shoved one of the day-old pastries in her mouth; she had enough time to walk back into town but she’d have to head straight to the diner. Assuming she didn’t stumble and hit a tree on the way. No—she was NOT giving Granny the satisfaction of knowing her warning had come true and actually forcing the old lady to drag her body from the woods. (She’d rather Killian do that, anyways.) (Or, you know, do her, but she got the impression he wasn’t the one-night kind of guy—or maybe she just didn’t want him to be that with her.)

She’d just zipped her coat when a thermos was being shoved in her hands; by smell alone, she could tell this was better than the cheap stuff Granny served. “Hope that helps,” he said softly.

“It already is,” she answered, then took a sip, not caring if she burnt her tongue. “Damn—is everything you brew amazing?”

“I try,” he shrugged arrogantly, but then the cocky facade washed away in an instant, replaced with something bordering on sheepish. “You know, if you wanted to come back later, or any other time, my schedule’s pretty clear.”

“Well, hopefully you’re going to get some sleep.”

“Well, yes, that. But, um,” he stammered, nervously scratching a spot behind his ear. “Don’t be a stranger, is what I’m trying to say. I’m...you’ll always be welcome here, if you want.” He was definitely blushing, the color visible even in the faint pre-dawn light.

“I might take you up on that,” she answered, trying to be casual but ending up much closer to sincere—because she had a feeling she would. She was already kind of dreading leaving, even if it was just because she didn’t like the idea of working on no sleep and with a questionable BAC.

“I hope you do.” The weight of the sincerity of that statement settled over both of them for an intense moment that in itself was enough to bring her back to sobriety, if the coffee wasn’t doing it, too. But then he was overtaken by a jaw-cracking yawn that effectively killed it.

“Go to bed,” she commanded, with a light shove on his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, I will. Be safe.”

“I’ll do my best. See you later,” she farewelled, hoping he could tell she meant it.

“Until then, Swan.”

She let herself out the door and headed back the way she came, at first afraid to cast a glance behind her because she thought if she did, she might not want to leave ever. But she finally did when she was back on the edge of the clearing, and saw him watching her through the window on the door. She smiled and waved, which he returned, but she didn’t miss the bit of loneliness in his gaze as he watched her walk away.

It took considerable effort, but she managed to put one foot in front of the other and continue on her way. The sun wasn’t visible yet, so she still had time, but she needed to hustle if she’d make her shift.

Between the coffee and the gorgeous sunrise, it was definitely a pleasant hike, and was definitely helping her in the staying-awake department. Still though, there was a feeling she couldn’t shake—something completely foreign, yet vaguely familiar, and she couldn’t lie—it kind of stung. What the heck was that?

She took another sip of the coffee as she tried to figure it out, letting it warm her as it slid down her throat. She’d almost forgotten what good coffee tasted like, let alone when it had been made fresh and just for her. It was going to suck going back to Granny’s mass-produced bean water; she’d miss this stuff.

Wait—miss it?

Was that what she was feeling?

Not just for the coffee, obviously (though that was certainly part of it). Did she already miss Killian?

“Home is the place, when you leave...you just miss it.”

No. That was insane. She’d only been there for, like, 12 hours. You can’t find home that fast, can you? (Not like she’d really know.)

But she couldn’t deny that it felt like part of her had stayed behind in that cottage. Or that she was already counting down the hours until her work shift ended and she could come back. Or that the ache got just a little bit worse with each step that took her away.

Damn. That had to be it.

Who knew she’d finally find what she’d been looking for in the middle of nowhere?

The sun finally broke the horizon as she reached Granny’s front steps and downed the last drop of coffee. She still had a couple minutes, so she quickly stashed the thermos in her backpack and used the selfie camera on her phone to make sure she didn’t look too haggard, lest Granny get some uncouth ideas.

(Actually, Granny was probably dirtier than Emma was, in that regard; and she had the oddest sense that the old lady might be able to smell the forest on her, or at least the rum.)

With one last deep breath, if only to make sure she didn’t reek too bad, Emma smoothed her hair and headed inside, for what was sure to be an arduous shift.

But, unlike most days, she actually had something to look forward to at the end of it.

Hours later, she pulled her little old Bug up the semi-hidden driveway on the other side of Killian’s property, bearing sandwiches and onion rings. Killian came out to greet her, but she didn’t let him get a word in before she’d pressed up on her toes and stole his smile with a kiss. (That he quickly reciprocated. Until Smee interrupted with a friendly bark, looking for his own hello.)

A few weeks later, her belongings, stuffed into a few age-worn duffel bags, accompanied her on her now-daily trip to the cabin in the woods; she was spending all her time there anyways, as Killian had pointed out—may as well just make the move permanent.

It took a bit longer for either of them to admit it out loud, but they both blurted it one night while cuddled close, watching The Princess Bride with Smee at their feet: she loved him, and he loved her. There was no denying it. And then they couldn’t stop saying it.

Eventually, they grew tired of Storybrooke and its whispers. Eventually, Killian’s not-so-discreet rum business got more notice. So they went onto the next place without much fuss.

She felt a bit sad when they first left the cabin, mainly because it was where they fell in love. But her home wasn’t those four walls. No, it was with Killian—and Smee, and whatever other animals or tiny humans eventually joined them—wherever that might be.

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

thanks for reading! tagging some friends: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @optomisticgirl @xpumpkindumplingx @shipsxahoy @amortentia-on-the-rocks @mryddinwilt @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @word-bug @distant-rose @wellhellotragic @welllpthisishappening @let-it-raines @pirateherokillian @bleebug @its-imperator-furiosa @fergus80 @killianmesmalls @sherlockianwhovian @effulgentcolors @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @nfbagelperson @stubble-sandwich @lenfaz @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snowbellewells @idristardis

#cs ff #cs modern au #dolly parton au #my ff

129 notes · View notes