#she is the more endearing one to me in the sense that she’s still babyish

[lokijiro]

I voted Kindergarten.

You are going to be trapped in a classroom or daycare room full of children for one school day and you will have to interact with them (assume there are other adults like a teacher or daycare employee present, so you don’t have to handle lessons/rules/emergencies, but you still have to interact with the kids via play, conversation, care, etc.)

*I’m aware this is an exaggeration of the term newborn, which is being used to simplify the options.

[harryspet]

sweet sister | peter parker

[Warnings] dark peter parker x innocent reader, reader is extremely innocent, manipulation, male/female masturbation, somnophilia, stepcest, hj, vaginal sex but not really? 

A/N: This is based off a request I got for a innocent reader where Peter teachers her about sex. Reader is 18 and Peter is around 21. DARK THEMES SO READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

In which you’re May and Happy’s foster kid and Peter takes advantage of your innocence. 

Like, reblog and let me know what you think!

word count: 2.9k

You came home from school like it was a normal day. Walking up the steps to your family’s brownstone, clad in your school uniform, and loud music blaring in your headphones, “May!” You shouted too loudly, walking down the hallway towards the kitchen, “Did my package come?”

You stopped in your tracks as you saw three figures standing in the living room. Happy, May, and … some kid you didn’t know. Your eyebrows raised in confusion at the young man standing with your foster parents. 

“Y/N, this is my son Peter!” May smiled, trying not to be awkward. She approached you, urging you forward. Now you recognized him and your eyes widened because of how easily you missed it. He was in all the photos on the mantle but, now, he looked a bit older. 

You were not what Peter expected, at all. By May’s description of you, he thought you might be a middle schooler. His eyes trailed over you, the way you filled out your uniform … Peter snapped out of it, moving forward to hold out his hand to you.

“Hi, I’m-” Interrupting him and surprising him at the same time, you went in for a hug. Peter hesitated for a moment before hugging you back. You noticed he had a strong grip. 

“She’s a hugger,” You heard May whisper. 

You pulled away and offered your hand for him to shake. He took it, smiling, but still a little confused by the long greeting, “I’m Y/N. You look just like May! I mean, you’re very pretty like her.” Happy always went on about how pretty May was and you always agreed. 

You watched as his cheeks reddened. Was it something you said? ''Thank you very much, I haven’t heard that one before.”

You looked back at May who seemed to improve the interaction. You smiled, worrying that you had made him nervous, “Peter finally has a break from his busy schedule to come see us. He’ll be here with us for at least a week. May and I thought this would be a good time for you two to get to know each other.” 

May had taken you in two years ago but this was the first time you were officially meeting Peter. He was always halfway around the world fighting crime and could only stop at May’s work every once and awhile. You never thought you’d ever have a full family like all the people on the television did. 

“That sounds like a lot of fun,” You heard Peter say and your heart did a little backflip. Your very own big brother.  “What’s this about a package?” 

“Oh,” Your face fell, “Uhm, they’re just books.”

Peter gave you a look of inquiry, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “You like to read? What kind of books?”

You opened your mouth to make up some excuse but Happy interrupted you, “I put your package on your bed, sweetheart. Why don’t you show Peter his new room?” Right, you had taken Peter’s old room. 

“Okay!” You perked back up, glad the subject of books was over, “Follow me, big brother!”

That was easy, Peter thought. She didn’t seem to give a second thought about accepting him which was endearing but scared Peter to a certain extent. How trusting was she exactly? May had warned him that she was a little eccentric … and a little emotional. 

Peter tried to keep his focus up as he followed you up the stairs. A part of him was a little let down that you were wearing shorts beneath your plaid skirt. 

“May says you have like a sixth sense. And that you can sense when danger is near. She talks about you a lot, you know? You call it a Peter tingle, right? I thought that was a really cute name but I’m not supposed to bring it up around you apparently-” You were rambling, as usual, and had passed your bedroom but you noticed that Peter wasn’t following you anymore. 

“You made it pink,” You heard Peter say as he peeked into your room. He adjusted the black backpack on his shoulder and you couldn’t help but notice his muscles. He was like the boys you read about in your books but … he was technically your stepbrother. 

You walked toward him, “May said I could decorate it how I wanted. Do you hate it? You hate it, don’t you? I’m really sorry. It’s just that it’s my favorite color and-”

“No way, I like it!” He quickly assured you, not wanting to see what happened when you finally ran out of air. Peter walked inside and you followed him. There was no twin bed anymore but a regular-sized bed with a white canopy. 

There was a pile of stuffed animals in the corner that Peter noted, “You have a lot of stuffed animals …”

“Those are the ones they give you in family court,” You explained to him before pointing over to your bed, “I keep the ones Happy and May give me on the bed, those are my favorite.”

“I see,” You spoke so casually about being in family court that it made Peter wonder what your story was. There were at least ten stuffed animals there, “Which one’s your favorite?”

You liked that question, smiling wide, as you walked over to your bed. Peter watched you carefully as you bent over to grab a gray penguin, “I like penguins a lot. My first Christmas here, May got me this and a penguin puzzle. I’ve done it a million times now but we could put it together if you wanted.”

“I can’t imagine anything better, Y/N.”

You were going to be very fun to get to know, Peter thought. 

+

The family had gone out to dinner that night and had been the rest of the evening putting together a hundred piece, penguin puzzle. It was one of the best days of your life and, as you expected, having a family was wonderful. Having Peter was just an extra bonus. You wished he didn’t have to leave. 

The next day, as you walked down the steps that lead from your school, you didn’t expect to find Peter waiting for you. You ran up to him and hugged him, of course, and you savored the moment when his strong arms were around you. Some girls you didn’t know gasped and practically swooned as they watched you two. 

“I have strict orders to take you straight home so you can start right away on your homework,” You frowned until Peter continued, “But I think we should stop for ice cream.”

You were practically bouncing with excitement as Peter grabbed your hand and lead you down the street. 

At the small parlor, you licked at a cone of chocolate ice cream while Peter stuck his spoon into his ice cream sundae. Peter’s eyes wandered over to your mouth, imagining your wrap your lips around his-

“You never said what you liked to read, Y/N.”

You blushed, your nose wrinkling, as the embarrassment filled you, “It’s silly … you don’t want to hear about it.”

“I do,” Peter insisted, “I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry.”

You took a breath, “They’re … they’re romance novels. It’s a series one of my friends at school told me about. She thinks I’m too … too babyish. Apparently, there are scenes in it ... “

“Scenes like what?” You blushed even more. 

“Bad scenes,” you whispered and Peter pretended to think the subject was taboo, “She wants me to learn about … dirty stuff. These guys are taking us to prom and she wants … she wants us to have our ‘first times’ together. I don’t even know what that means! But I can’t tell her that or she’ll think I’m even weirder than I already am to her.”

Buried treasure. Peter had stumbled upon pure gold.

“Y/N, you’re talking about sex?” Peter narrowed his eyes at you. 

“Sex?” You spoke the word like it was completely foreign on your tongue, “I think that’s it. Sounds gross, right?”

Peter couldn’t help but chuckle, “It’s kinda gross if you think about it too deeply but it’s not meant to be gross. It’s not as scary as you think. It’s quite beautiful, actually.”

Her eyes went wide, “You’ve done it a bunch, haven’t you?”

Peter shrugged, “A few times but only with special people. If the guy who’s taking you to prom isn’t special then you definitely shouldn’t give him your first time.” Peter would have to do some research on this guy and make sure he didn’t even think about coming near her. 

You looked solemnly at your melting ice cream, “I must be a total weirdo then …”

“You’re not, Y/N, trust me. Eighteen is still young.”

You leaned forward, whispering, “I haven’t even kissed anyone, Peter. People do that in middle school.”

Peter leaned forward next, entrancing you with his eyes, “Do you really want to get some experience? Because … I could help you. I’m probably better than those trashy books.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Do brothers and sisters normally talk about stuff like this?”

“Don’t you want to be friends too?” You instantly nodded, “Then I can help you out, as a brother and a friend. But if you want to read your books-”

“No, no, you can teach me!”

And you easily stepped into his trap. 

+

That night, Peter slipped out of his room clad in his pajamas. Your door slowly creaked open and you sat up in your bed. You rubbed the tired from your eyes as Peter peaked in, “My room is freezing … and I can hear Happy snoring through the walls.”

You pulled back your comforter, patting the spot next to you, “You can sleep in here with me,” Peter entered all the way before slowly shutting the door. 

“Really? I can sleep on the floor …” 

You shook your head, “It’ll be like a sleepover.”

Peter moved in the darkness, climbing in beside you. You pulled the covers over him and you both lay down. Peter watched as you turned over before tiredly murmuring, “Goodnight, Peter.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

Peter waited a good hour before moving closer to you. In a slow movement, he had pressed himself against you, taking in the scent of your hair, as he admired the lines of your body. It was a risk but he touched your waist, his hands trailing over to your stomach. He felt the soft skin of your back as well before reaching into his pants. 

He touched himself to the thought of you and he almost panicked as you moved. You turned to your other side, not facing him. Watching your sleeping face sent Peter over the edge and he muffled his grunts with a pillow. 

He wasn’t in your bed when you awoke the next morning. 

+

Happy had surprised May with a romantic dinner that night so Peter and you were left alone that evening. You were brushing your teeth in your jack and jill bathroom when Peter walked in suddenly. You looked over to see him only wearing a pair of basketball shorts. 

You blushed, looking back at the mirror before spitting out the foam in your mouth. He stalked closer to you and you noticed something different in the look in his eyes, “I was thinking something, Y/N, about what you told me at the ice cream shop.”

You put away your toothbrush, turning off the sink before wiping your mouth with a hand towel, “I thought you had forgotten …” 

Peter smirked, “Far from it, actually. I was thinking about how you said you want more experience. With kissing boys and things like that, right?”

You nodded slowly, growing nervous. 

“I think the first thing you should learn is how to pleasure yourself before you learn about pleasuring someone else,” He held your hand, rubbing soothing circles into your palm. 

“Pleasure?”

Peter nodded, “Sex is all about pleasure,” Peter held your hand it slowly brought it against his crotch. You felt something hard and flinched away, “It’s okay, don’t worry.” 

It was such a weird feeling. Only recently had you learned that boys and girls even had different parts. 

“Right here is where guys can feel pleasure,” Then Peter reached out to touch you. Through the fabric of pajama pants, you could feel his fingers brush against your folds, “This is where girl’s feel pleasure. Let me show you.”

He assured you that everything was going to be okay as he slid down your shorts. Before you could step out of them, Peter swiftly lifted you onto the counter and you yelped at the sudden movement. 

He took your hand and pressed your fingers against your crotch. He tried to guide you as best as he could, standing between your spread legs, “Oh my stars …” You breathed out, savoring the foreign new feeling. You wanted to run away from it and run to it at the same time. You looked at Peter with frightened eyes as he slowly moved his hands away.

“That’s it, good girl, keep rubbing,” He praised you, loving the sight of you discovering your own body. You kept going, rubbing circles over that sensitive area through your light pink panties. You leaned back, lifting a leg on the counter, so you could get a better angle.

“Is this good Peter?”

“You’re doing great, Y/N. Doesn’t that feel good?”

You nodded, practically whimpering. You looked at Peter differently than before, you didn’t see the boy you saw before. You thought about how handsome he was and how sweet he’s been to you all week. You felt the wetness growing beneath your legs and you blushed as you look down, “Peter, I-I  think I’m peeing …”

Peter gave you an amused smile, “That just means that you like it, Y/N. That you’re aroused,” Peter grabbed your hand and moved it away from your crotch. You found yourself missing the feeling and you watched as he slid off his pants and underwear. The sight of his manhood felt foreign but aroused you at the same time. 

Peter slowly palmed his manhood as he leaned into you. You practically froze as his lips touched yours. He didn’t even have to speak because as he slowly left soft pecks on your lips, you started to lean back into him. Your hands touched his neck as you started to move your lips against his. You liked it … No, you loved it, “Your lips feel squishy,” You gushed and Peter laughed, turning his head as the kiss became more passionate. 

You let your leg fall back over the counter and, as it did, Peter slowly slid off your underwear. Then suddenly, he lifted you. You wrapped your legs around him as he carried you into your room. He sat on your bed, leading you to straddle him. 

“I want to try something,” Peter said before pecking your lips again. 

You were all in. 

He laid back on your bed, and you sat on his legs, “Touch my cock,” You thought the word was silly but you could tell what he meant. It felt harder than you expected and as you gripped it on your hand, a guttural moan exploded from Peter, “Spit on it.”

“Peter-”

“It’s okay, it’ll feel better that way,” He tried to assure you and you hesitated before pulling your hair back. The trail of spit fell onto his member and you felt gross for a moment until you saw his reaction. 

That sound he was making you even wetter. 

Peter grabbed your legs, pulling you up more until your private parts were positioned right over his, “I want you to rub yourself against me, can you do that?” Peter asked. With all his fantasies coming true, he wasn’t sure how long he’d last. 

You nodded. You held onto Peter’s chest as you slowly dragged your private parts against his. His cock was pressed against his stomach and your lips moved up and down his length. You felt it then. That pleasure and his pleasure mixing. You kept going, starting to feel something building up in your core. 

You bit down on your lips, liking the feeling of when his tip rubbed against your sensitive bulb. Your wetness acting as even more lubrication, you thought you were making quite the mess but Peter didn’t seem to mind. 

You moved faster, Peter’s groans encouraging you and your curiosity of that thing building up inside you kept you going. Your toes curled as you got the feeling of a waterfall rushing off a cliff. Your mind went blank for a moment and your body shook as that damn finally broke. 

You moaned, riding out the feeling and that's' when you felt Peter convulsing. You felt his cock twitch as white spilled from the tip of his member and onto his stomach. Peter’s head rested all the way back and you couldn’t help but smile as you realized that you had both reached your tipping points. 

“Well, was that it? Did I do sex?”

“Sort of,” Peter said, completely out of breath. The eagerness in your eyes wasn’t something he expected, “You have a lot more to learn, Y/N.”

“Then can we do it again, Peter?”

+

Hope you enjoyed this! Feel free to check out my masterlist for more Peter fics! There is a short sequel to this! 

PART TWO

[spartanguard]

you belong among the wildflowers

Summary: Emma Swan's life has been far from easy. Neither has Killian Jones'. Through a handful of meetings, a couple tattoos, and some fantastic music, maybe they'll find a happy ending. (CS Modern AU heavily inspired by the music of Tom Petty) | Rated GA, 7k | tw: minor mentions of alcoholism

a/n: HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY, HOLLI!!! aka @mryddinwilt​ I started planning this AU quite a while ago, in honor of our shared love of “Wildflowers”, but then it kind of spiraled when I sat down to write last Monday only to learn of Tom Petty’s passing. So this is kind of double duty as your bday present and an ode to one of my all-time favorite musicians.

thank you to @shipsxahoy and @optomisticgirl for looking at this!

Hope your day was amazing, Holli, and hope you enjoy this! Thank you for always being an encouraging, awesome person!! <3

“You belong among the wildflowers...you belong somewhere you feel free.”

She wasn’t sure when she first heard the song. It must have been on the radio when Emma was a kid, in one foster home or another. The memory was fuzzy, but the sentiment was clear: that she deserved to be happy one day, and to have love and peace.

Those all seemed like things well out of reach for a 16-year-old runaway orphan, but it was a nice thought. And a wildflower was as good as anything else to get a tattoo of, especially when the main goal in getting a tattoo was more just getting one out of rebellion than wanting it to carry any specific symbolism. Who knew, though? Maybe she’d eventually get that.

At least, that was what she told herself as the needle stung the skin inside her wrist. She liked to think she was tough, and she’d certainly been hit harder, but—ow. Oh well, it was probably due punishment for using a fake ID to get it in the first place.

On the other side of the dingy parlor was a guy who couldn’t be more than couple years older than her—fresh out of high school, probably, since it was early summer—also wincing through the work being done on his forearm. But when he realized she was staring, he sent a sly grin and a wink her way, making her blush. What? He was cute, even if his “beard” was patchy stubble at best and doing nothing to mature his babyish features.

He left halfway through hers being done, but was smoking against the building outside once she finished, with a guitar case propped against the wall next to him.

“Want one?” he offered, holding the pack out to her; she didn’t realize she’d been staring again. She also had never smoked before, but—eh, what the hell? She strode forward and, as expertly as she could manage, slid one out of the box and held it between her fingers like she’d seen done so many times. He deftly flicked his lighter and she lit the cigarette, then brought it to her lips and inhaled...and then sputtered and coughed once the smoke hit her lungs, which was received with a deep chuckle.

“First one?” he teased, blue eyes laughing. Her response was continued coughing. “Well, you never forget your first.” She glared. “Don’t breathe so deep,” he offered, his accented voice turning gentle.

Once she’d regained her faculties, she tried it again, doing as he said. She wasn’t a fan but it was definitely better.

“There you go, love,” he cheered, sounding almost proud.

“Not your love,” she threw back.

“Fair enough.” She joined him against the wall and they settled into an easy silence. He didn’t have to say anything for her to get the sense that they had more in common than being freshly tatted; the fact that he was alone, too, spoke volumes.

But then she nearly jumped when he introduced himself. “Name’s Killian; Killian Jones.”

“Emma Swan.”

“Suits you.”

“What does?”

“Swan.”

“What does that mean?” Maybe things were better when he was quiet; this boy had no idea how to talk to girls, did he?

“It means you’re feisty and I’d rather not piss you off.” Well, okay; actually, that was probably the best complement she’d ever received. “Is that your tattoo? A swan?”

Oh, right—people asked what tattoos meant. Better get used to that. “Uh, no—it’s a flower,” she blurted out, shoving her wrist toward him and showing off the fresh ink. “It’s...well, it’s pretty, and it’s...a reminder, I guess.”

“Of what?” He was genuinely curious.

“That even though I’ve had a rough start, I can still have a happy life.”

He smiled at her, cutting dimples into his round, boyish cheeks. “That’s awfully brave, lass.”

She just shrugged; maybe it was, but if she gave up hope, what kind of life would she have? Unused to such praise, she turned the attention back to him. “What’s yours?”

He held out his arm, showing off the intricate heart design, deep red against his lightly tanned skin.

“That’s gorgeous,” she muttered, suddenly feeling self-conscious of her colorless outline. “What's it mean? Are you in lo-ove?” she sing-songed—a well-used defense mechanism that she had a feeling he’d see right through.

“No, not yet,” he brushed off with a laugh. “But someday. Just like you, I have hope.”

She scoffed. “You really think anyone will love people like us?”

“Even the losers get lucky sometimes.”

They spent the rest of the night burning through the pack of cigarettes and wandering the backstreets of Boston, chatting under the light of the full moon. He was from England, originally, but he and his brother ended up in the states with a distant relative after their parents were gone. He’d just graduated high school and was headed west, just like her, but he was chasing a dream, just he and his acoustic. She just wanted to be anywhere but here.

“Let me know if you end up in Portland,” she told him once they’d found their way to the bus terminal. Funny that her last night in Boston was when she’d make her first real friend.

“Will do. Take care, Swan,” he goodbyed with a salute, boarding his L.A.-bound coach.

She waved him off, watching as his bus faded into the dark and silently promising to try.

“The last three days the rain was unstoppable. It was always cold, no sunshine.”

“Sounds about right,” Emma muttered to herself as she putted around the record store. More like last year, for her. As good as it was to finally be out of jail, she was quickly learning that not many places were eager to hire an 18-year-old ex-con with barely even a GED. Thank goodness there was a homeless shelter nearby, but the beds there sucked even worse than her prison cot and what she wouldn’t give for something just a little plush to sink her still-aching body into. Though, she supposed, that ranked pretty low on her current list of problems.

She’d just come back from yet another unsuccessful interview—who knew McDonald’s was so picky?—and had a stack of even more applications in her backpack to fill out and return. But her spirit was just a little bit more shattered after her shit morning, so she popped into the music shop to see if that could perk her up a bit. Plus, it was air conditioned, which automatically made it better than the Arizona oven outside.

She browsed the used vinyl, skimming titles both familiar and unfamiliar as someone sang and played somewhere in the store. Honestly, that was the main reason she’d stuck around; she certainly couldn’t afford to buy anything, but the free show was already helping her mood. And it was hard to feel unmotivated when that song was playing.

“There's something good waitin' down this road. I'm pickin' up whatever is mine. Yeah runnin' down a dream…”

She was halfway ready to pull out a pen and start filling out all those forms right there in the middle of the store, but then she realized that there was something oddly familiar about that voice. Cautiously, she followed the power cords toward the back of the shop, where a makeshift performance venue was set up.

And there he was, after all this time. Killian Jones.

He looked a little bit more worn, just like she probably did; the scraggly beard had filled in some; his dark hair was just as much a mess as it had been a couple years ago, and that tattoo was teasing her from under the rolled-up sleeve of a plaid shirt while he played his guitar. More than a few times, she’d wondered if he’d had any success. Phoenix was a far cry from Los Angeles, but hey, he was performing—and performing well.

She hung out near the back of the small crowd, just watching him pour his heart into his instrument and the microphone. The audience was bobbing along and tapping their feet to the familiar tune, and his acoustic rendition and soulful voice made it all the more endearing.

And then the song ended, he thanked the crowd, and they dispersed as he packed up his things. A few people slipped him some tips, and he flashed that dimpled smile that made her own mouth tick up at the corner. It was good seeing him happy, even if the odds were high he’d long forgotten her. Out of curiosity, she wondered if he had.

She carefully made her way to him. “Hey.”

He stood straight up at her voice, then slowly turned toward her, a grin forming on his face. “Swan?”

That answered that question. “Killian,” she answered with a small smile.

“Bloody hell.” To her surprise, he engulfed her in a hug, but quickly, she returned it. “How’ve you been, love? I’m sorry I never made it to Portland, but here you are and...wow. Do you want to get coffee?”

She was nearly whiplashed from the warm reception; she hadn’t been expecting that. “Uh,” she stammered, not sure how to approach the money thing.

“My treat,” he quickly added enthusiastically.

“Okay.”

They settled into a corner table of a quiet little cafe, and before he could ask her about the last two years, she quickly focused on him: “So, are you a rock star yet?”

He snorted. “Hardly. Only had enough bus fare to get me to Oklahoma, so I’ve been picking my way across the country ever since. But I’ve been playing bars and shops all the time, saving up. Actually, I’m catching a train to L.A. tomorrow. Care to join?” he offered with a wink.

“I wish,” she answered, laughing. “Looks like I’m stuck here for a bit.”

“Oh?” He seeemed genuinely disappointed. “Fancy job here?”

“I’d take any job, actually. I...I just got out of prison.”

“Oh. I see.” To his credit, he didn’t try to put any distance between them, like most people would. Actually, he was almost annoyingly in her space; if it was anyone else, she’d be the one backing away, but Killian’s presence was unusually calming. And, for some reason, she felt compelled to spill the whole thing.

“Yeah, I, uh, met a guy in Portland, and he got me in trouble. Set me up for the stuff he did. He ran off, I got caught. Ended up in jail for a year. Had a kid. So, here I am, a year later. Just giving it another go, I guess.”

“Wait—back up; you had a kid?”

Oh. She curled in on herself a bit; she hadn’t meant to say that part. “Yeah. Found out while I was in there. He’s...I put him up for adoption. No one wants a teenage jailbird for a mom.”

He reached out and grabbed her hand, turning it over to find her tattoo. As he rubbed it with his thumb, he said, “A couple of years ago, I met a fiery young lass who told me that even though she had a rough start, she still had hope for a happy life.” She averted her eyes, studying the floor instead; it had been a long time since she’d given that tattoo thought, going so far as to cover it with marker while in jail. Things had been pretty bleak then and weren’t looking much better. “Hope is a powerful thing, Emma; don’t tell me you’ve lost yours.”

“Hard not to.”

“Don’t, Emma. You deserve it.” She finally glanced up, and the resolve in his blue eyes was nearly intimidating. Slowly, she nodded, though she still wasn’t sure she believed it.

She nodded at his forearm. “What about you? Found your true love yet?”

He chuckled. “Not yet. But I’m sure they’re out there.”

“I hope you find them, Killian.”

“I hope you find your happy ending, too, Swan.”

Again, they spent the night together, wandering around Phoenix, him smoking and her not (she’d learned her lesson there), until they ended up outside the train station.

“Look me up if you ever end up in L.A., alright? I’ll be the one playing the Viper Room.”

She wanted to laugh, but he was so confident. “I will. Good luck, Killian.”

“You too, Emma.”

They embraced before he boarded the train, and she waved until it was a speck in the distance, before heading back to the shelter with a bit more determination than she’d had the night before.

“Well, the moon sank as the wind blew and the street lights slowly died…”

Man, what a night. It was 11 o’clock, but she was too keyed up to hit the sack, despite everything that had happened already. And the thought of heading back to the just-slightly-nicer-than-a-fleabag motel she was staying in quickly made her decide that if she was stuck in Nashville, she may as well enjoy it.

The nice thing about the town was that there was music and life everywhere, with no signs of dying anytime soon. She had her pick of the bars, and it only mattered what kind of music she was in the mood for.

The more famous venues were all packed, but there were plenty of holes-in-the-wall and dives to grab a drink and a show. A cozy little place stood out to her, and pleasing, upbeat, classic-sounding rock was escaping the open door. She gave her skintight dress a quick tug down (ugh, this thing loved to ride up); flashed her legal, 22-year-old ID at the bouncer (not that he was looking at it); and headed into the smoky, hazy bar.

The band onstage was good, and so was the whiskey. It was nice to just be able to chill for a moment; she hadn’t been able to do much of that with her new job. Not at night, especially. Spying a few plush couches toward the back of the place, she got a refill and headed back, hoping to put her feet up for a bit and maybe even kick off these impractical heels.

The eyes of just about every man in the bar landed on her as she passed through, but she’d gotten pretty used to ignoring that by now. Until one pair did a double take and called out for her.

“Emma?”

She stopped—no way it was him. His Facebook page hadn’t said anything about Nashville—did it?

“Swan, is that you?”

But clearly, her memory was unreliable, because she turned and there he was: Killian Jones, rockstar. Well, almost rockstar, but he certainly looked the part in his skinny jeans, black t-shirt, and—“Are you wearing eyeliner?”

“Good to see you, too,” he teased before wrapping her up in a hug, then stepping back and giving her a once over. “I’m going to guess you didn’t just get out of jail this time.”

“Nope,” she answered, laughing. “Just enjoying a night on the town. Are you performing here?”

“Yeah, I’m the next set.”

“I had no idea!”

“You say that as if you should have had one.”

“I mean, you do have a Facebook page.”

“Did you ‘like’ me, Swan?”

“Of course I ‘like’ you.” It was amazing to her how she could so easily slip into the same old banter with someone she’d only spent hours with, but it felt like so much longer. “I’ve gotta be able to tell everyone that I once had coffee with a rockstar.”

He ducked his head and laughed, cheeks growing adorably rosy. “I’m not there yet, but,” he jerked his thumb toward a professional-looking woman with dark curly hair, “my manager thinks I will be soon.”

“You will.” Emma had never been more sure of anything. Her own life was still in flux, but she’d always known that teenage boy from what felt like a lifetime ago would go on to big things, even if his face had lost some of that youthful softness now. “Do you have time for a drink?”

“Of course.”

They settled on a sofa and caught each other up on the last four years: he did finally make it to L.A., and worked as a bouncer a bit before finally catching a break—and the eye—of a talent scout, and then a record label. And now he was on tour, trying to drum up enough attention to be able to put together an album.

“I tried to catch you in Tallahassee, but it didn’t work out. Got too busy that night.”

His eyes narrowed with uncertainty. “And what are you up to now?”

“Using my good looks to trap guys,” she answered, only semi-sarcastically.

“Swan, beg your pardon if this is rude, but…” His eyes drifted over her outfit again, and he seemed oddly concerned. “Are...are you a hooker?” he asked quietly.

She was taken aback at first, but then could only laugh. “No, but I can see why you’d think that. I’m in bail bonds. This is honestly the best way to nab a skip.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “I was near ready to offer you a job on my road crew,” he replied with a wink.

“You couldn’t afford me,” she threw back, smirking.

They kept chatting, and she had another drink, letting the warm buzz of liquor settle in her veins and relax her. Unconsciously, she found herself moving closer and closer to him, until her bare arm was lined up with his. If he cared, he didn’t say, or maybe his rum was having a similar effect.

He traced her tattoo with his index finger. “How’s this going?” he asked; he was still the only person who knew what it meant.

“Slowly. But things don’t suck anymore.”

“Sounds like progress.”

She followed suit, drawing her thumb around the edge of the heart on his arm. “And you? Found your love yet?” Her lips nearly brushed the pointed tip of his ear, they were so close now.

“No. Still waiting.”

“You’re a patient man, Killian Jones.”

“Aye, that I am.”

His voice dropped on that, with a seriousness she wasn’t used to hearing from him. She shifted away just enough to get a good look at his face, and his eyes were boring into hers, practically neon in contrast to the low lights of the bar. The words of the singer on stage swam into her consciousness; it was nearly comical how perfectly they fit the moment.

“But then somethin' I saw in your eyes told me right away that you were gonna have to be mine…”

The air between them grew heated very fast, raising goosebumps on her arm. And before she knew it, she was surging forward, crashing her lips into his.

Her hands found the nape of neck and his settled on her waist as she kissed him with everything she had. There was something just so perfect, so soul-satisfying about it as she nipped at his lower lip, that she didn’t know why she’d waited so long.

Their mouths and tongues fought for dominance as he held her tight, until finally they had to break apart for air. And then she realized what she’d just done, and who she kissed, and whose arms were holding her tight, and instantly backed away.

Hope was one thing, but the reality of a love—of a relationship—was still too daunting.

He rasped, “That was…”

“...A one-time thing,” she finished for him, not giving him another answer. She couldn’t; not with him. It was Killian. Their meeting was a fluke and the odds of it happening again were so slim; what was she thinking? Even if he was the one person who understood her; just—no. They couldn’t.

She hastily grabbed her purse and stood, a little too fast judging by the way the room spun. “Emma, wait—” Killian started, hopping up to stabilize her.

“No, Killian, I—I can’t.” She shrugged him off, not daring to look in his eyes. “Good luck.”

His plea fell on deaf ears as she raced out of the bar into the night, but one last line of lyrics caught her attention.

I'll never get over how good it felt when you finally held me; I’ll never regret…

But she would regret it, she knew. So it was better to run now.

“I'm so tired of being tired. Sure as night will follow day...”

It was raining—storming, really, and the power had gone out. So when someone started banging on her townhouse door from out in the dark night, louder than the battery-operated radio she had on, Emma was as terrified of an intruder as she was concerned it was someone seeking shelter.

Should have known it would be both.

The pounding grew quiet and a muffled voice was singing something unintelligible, which was then followed by a soft thud against the door and the hollow sound of a dropped glass that should have broken but somehow didn’t.

Baseball bat in hand, she cautiously tiptoed down the hall and peered through the peephole. Whoever it was was slumped against the door, soaked to the bone, and was dramatically raising their arm to knock again. As the sleeve of their leather jacket rode up thanks to gravity, she got a glimpse of a tattoo she’d recognize anywhere—though it was a bit different now. Just like him, she supposed.

“Killian, I’m opening the door; stand back,” she called, not wanting him to collapse in her entryway. Something told her he was going to regardless, but she heard a groan and the sounds of movement as she undid the locks and chains.

And then she swung open the door, and there he was. “Swan.” A tired smile deepend the lines around his eyes; she responded with a tentative one of her own. She honestly thought she’d never see him again after that night three years ago in Nashville—that he wouldn’t want anything to do with her, especially once he had hit it big.

But now a one-hit wonder was standing on her front porch, dripping wet and reeking of rum. Unable to come up with anything to say, she just stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.

“’M sorry to barge in on you like this,” he stammered, staring at the wood floor. “I...jus’ didn’ know where else t’go.”

“How did you even find me?”

“Same as you found me. Facebook. The internet.” It was her turn to cast her eyes down; she still ‘liked’ all his social media posts, but figured he’d never notice.

As a result of said stalking, she knew everything that had happened to him in the last few years, especially with his manager-turned-girlfriend. The celeb magazines loved him and Milah, going so far as to call them “Millian,” especially when his debut album was tearing up the charts. She’d seen the excess, the wild living, and the absolute love in his eyes when he was with her. She’d been happy for him, truly. And damn if that album wasn’t a rocker.

But then, in true rockstar fashion, he partied too much, lived too hard, and then the two of them got in a wreck. They weren’t at fault, thankfully, but Milah was killed instantly. He dropped out of the spotlight, was dropped from his label, and had seemingly disappeared.

Only to show up on her doorstep, on the other side of the country, clearly heartbroken and drunk as a skunk. Lucky her.

“Come on; you need a shower.”

“I keep crawling back to you...I keep crawling back to you.”

After getting him clean and dry—a feat in itself, given the lack of lights—and into the too-big clothes some one-night stand had forgotten, she had him wrapped in a blanket on the other end of her couch, where she sat watching him sip hot cocoa while the radio made background noise. Where he’d at least been a bit happy at seeing her when he arrived, now he just seemed like a kicked puppy, albeit a wasted one.

“So, how you’ve been?” he asked, in a tone that was too forced to be casual.

“Seriously?”

“What?” he threw back, glaring at her. “I’m sure you know all about me; isn’t it fair that I get caught up, too?”

“There’s nothing to catch up on.” There wasn’t, really; she just continued to catch skips and move around; it was pure luck that he caught her here in New York. “And I’m not the one abusing their liver here.”

“Be glad you don’t have a reason to.” He set his empty mug on the coffee table with a thunk and slumped against the cushions.

She scooted closer to him and gently took hold of his arm, running a thumb along his tattoo. He’d added to it since she saw him last: now, it had a jagged dagger down the middle, and a ribbon bearing Milah’s name. It looked fresh. “She seemed like an awesome woman,” Emma commented, hoping that might get him to open up.

“She is. She was. Bloody hell, I’ll never get used to that.”

Emma kept studying the tattoo, knowing that if she looked at him, she might lose her composure. “You got your wish, though: you had love.”

He just grunted. “Fat lot of good it did me. The high was better than any drug, and the crash is far worse.”

“The rum probably doesn’t help.”

“Doesn’t hurt.”

He fell silent after that, and she continued to massage his arm. The fist he’d been holding tight eventually slackened, and his breathing evened out. Finally, she dared to look at his face; he was asleep, but didn’t seem to be at peace. Dark circles nearly matched his thick eyelashes; his beard was scraggly again, but due to it being unkempt rather than juvenile; and hair was an uneven mess. How did someone who seemed to have everything going for them suddenly end up like this?

She stared down at her own tattoo. It seemed to be mocking her now. If things had gone so terribly for Killian once his dream was reached, then surely hers had no better chance of coming true. What a waste.

Killian spent the night on her couch and she made him breakfast the next morning, forcing food and water into him to help him detox. He was sober, it seemed, but she recognized the shaky hands that were gripping his fork with all he had.

“I can’t thank you enough for taking me in, Swan,” he finally said after the arduous process of eating was done. “You had no reason to; I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me,” she assured him. “But if you do feel like making it up to me: get help.”

He nodded solemnly. “I will.”

They both sensed the goodbye that was coming, but she had one more question. “Killian, why did you come to me?”

He just shrugged and smiled sadly. “You understand.”

She did.

The TMZ headline about his rehab stint lifted a weight off her, knowing he’d be okay—and making it that much easier to continue with her next move. It had been a minor blessing he’d been too far gone to notice all the boxes.

And then she made sure her address wasn’t listed online. For security—or so she told herself.

This place was certainly out of range of a Starbucks, but at least Storybrooke had some sort of coffee shop. It was one of those quaint, hipstery cafes that she generally made a point to avoid on account of being too homey—but, if Henry got his wish, that's what this little seaside town would become.

God, Henry—she was still pinching herself. Obviously, she'd thought about him a lot in the past ten years, but she never imagined he'd show up at her door the way he did, dragging her back here. He was a fantastic kid, better than she could ever hope for, and certainly better than she could have done.

His adoptive mother was obviously (rightly) uneasy with the situation, given that Henry basically blackmailed Emma into bringing him back and then into staying longer to get to know each other. It seemed he was a bit of a loner, and a generally curious kid, so it kind of made sense to her why he’d want to have her around. Assuming Regina allowed it, of course.

And hey, Emma could use a vacation. Two weeks away from the hustle and bustle of city life? She could do that, even if meant changing up her means of sating her caffeine addiction.

Thankfully, it was hard to mess up her coffee order, so she found a comfy corner of the shop and settled in with a book, killing time until Henry got out of school. The window she was seated by gave a stunning view of the Atlantic, and for a while, she got lost in the morning lights dancing on the waves.

“Well I started out down a dirty road…”

Emma stilled. She should have known this would be the type of place to have a guitar player. But that in itself wasn’t what froze her blood—it was that voice.

“Started out all alone…”

Impossible. Granted, he’d fallen off the radar since he went to rehab, so she just assumed he was back on the road somewhere. She’d never imagine he’d be here, though.

“I’m learning to fly, but I ain’t got wings. Coming down is the hardest thing.”

She was almost scared to look; she hadn’t taken her eyes off the ocean since hearing that first line. But she knew she had to.

And there he was: perfectly at home behind the mic with an acoustic guitar, perched on a stool in jeans and plaid, getting lost in the music like he did all those years ago in Arizona.

And he looked good. It was hard to look worse than he had when they’d last been together, but Killian appeared not just healthy, but happy. His ginger beard was neatly trimmed, hair was intentionally disheveled, and there was a brightness in his eyes again that sparkled like the sun on the water she’d just been staring at.

“Well some say life will beat you down. Break your heart, steal your crown.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” she muttered. Unconsciously, she started rubbing her tattoo with her thumb, like she'd taken to whenever he crossed her thoughts. It was great to see him like this, but it also made her realize just how far she was from anything resembling the peace that showed in the relaxed set of his shoulders and gentle smile as he sang.

“I’m learning to fly around the clouds. What goes up must come down.”

Thankfully, the cafe had a side door. Calmly, she gathered her things and slipped out. At some point, she knew she’d probably run into him—this town was only so big—but she didn’t want to face that today.

Fate had other plans, though, when she wasn’t paying attention to her path while she and Henry headed to the diner for an after-school hot cocoa. While listening to Henry tell her about that day’s ornithology lesson, she collided with something warm, solid, and familiar that instantly braced its arms around her.

“Oh, I’m sorry, lass—Emma?” His mouth hung open in disbelief when he realized it was her, eyes growing wide as he studied her, then crinkling at the corners with a grin.

“Hey,” she answered meekly, with a shy smile of her own.

“Bloody hell, I’ve missed you,” he exclaimed, pulling her in for an actual hug that she couldn’t help but reciprocate. It was Killian, after all—he was still right when he’d said they understood each other. His arms felt just as good as they had that night in Nashville. And no one had ever missed her before. “Where did you go?”

“I moved right after—”

“Mom, you know Killian?” Henry asked, interrupting their reunion.

Killian pulled back with a quizzical expression on his raised brow. “‘Mom’?”

“Emma’s my birth mother!” Henry shouted before Emma had a chance to reply, so she just nodded. Recognition sparked in Killian’s eyes, likely thinking back to that conversation years ago. Henry continued, “How do you guys know each other?”

“We go way back, lad,” Killian answered. “Your mum’s me oldest friend.” She blushed, but he was probably hers, too.

“Oy, what about me?” a similarly accented voice protested. Killian finally let Emma go and stepped away, and a slightly taller man was standing behind him. (She refused to admit that she immediately missed Killian’s presence around her.)

“Emma, this is my brother, Liam. He’s my—I’ve been with him for the last couple years, since...since I last saw you.”

She could fill in the blanks. “It’s nice to meet you,” she started, extending her hand, but then was shocked to be pulled into another hug.

“Thank you, Emma,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. She was stunned, but nodded a response.

How was it she’d only been in this town a matter of days and already felt more wanted, more a part of things than anywhere else she’d been in the last 28 years?

Liam pulled back and cleared his throat; she pretended not to see the watery look in his eyes. “I’d love to stay and chat, but Killian and I have an appointment.”

“Can we get coffee sometime?” Killian asked quietly. “I’d love to catch up.”

“Yeah, me too,” she replied, unable to deny it anymore. She at least owed it to him.

Two days later, she arrived at the shop a couple hours before the time they’d decided on so she could catch him playing again. This time, she didn’t hide in the corner, and she didn’t run off before they could chat. He’d seen her, anyway, and knowing him, would just track her down if she’d tried to flee. She was tempted to, though, when he sang the last song of his set.

“I dreamed you; I saw your face. Caught my lifeline when drifting through space.

I saw an angel; I saw my faith. I can only thank God it was not too late.”

His eyes drifted to her more than once and she could feel her cheeks burning red. Add that to the list of firsts on this whirlwind trip: first time someone sang a song to her. And, of course, it was something super deep and heartfelt and she wasn’t tearing up, not at all, because how did this random friendship with a guy she’s barely spent 24 total hours with become so damn important?

“Now I'm walking this street on my own. But she's with me everywhere I go.

Yeah, I found an angel; I found my place. I can only thank God it was not too late.”

“How’d I do?” he asked seriously, once he was packed away and they were settled into plush chairs and fresh drinks. His sincerity took her by surprise—this was the guy who’d headlined some pretty major venues (including the Viper Room), and he was concerned over his performance in a coffee shop?

“You were fantastic; why would you be anything else?”

He blushed and ducked his head down in that sweetly embarrassed move she’d seen so many times. “I’m just getting back into it. Couldn’t while I was in rehab, and just...didn’t want to once I got here.”

“How could you not? It’s such a huge part of your life.”

He shrugged. “It was also a reminder of everything I’d lost.”

She knew that all too well, and couldn’t really blame him. That was why she’d been so transient in the last decade, and why she never got too close to people. They always left and let her down. Save for Killian, she supposed, despite his erratic presence in her life.

“So what have you been doing?” she asked. It was easy to fill a life with working and moving, like she did; it was hard for her to imagine what someone did staying in one place for as long as he’d been here.

“Helping Liam with his business—he runs the marina. Done a lot of sailing, a lot of reading. And I’ve been seeing a therapist.”

“Good.”

“Aye,” he agreed, nodding. “It’s been good, but it wasn’t quite...fulfilling, I guess would be the right word. So both Liam and my doc both encouraged me to pick up playing again, to see if that would help.”

“And?”

“So far, so good,” he concluded with a smile. “I was denying myself my own happiness by avoiding it, despite all the bad memories.”

“Even though you got your heart broken?”

“If it can be broken, that means it still works.”

His revelation hit her like a sword in the gut. Again, she started rubbing her tattoo, thinking of that far-off dream she’d once had. Had she been denying herself the chance at it?

Was she too scared of getting hurt again to go after her happy ending? Was it even worth it?

Or, more accurately, was it worth it not to?

“Swan?” His worried voice made her realize she’d zoned out, and the furrow in his brow when she looked up was a bit more concern than she could handle in the wake of massive personal epiphany.

“I...I’ve gotta go, Killian, I’m sorry,” she sputtered as she stood. “I’ll call you, or find you, or something,” she added on, babbling. “Just...I need to...go.”

She didn’t turn around to see the fallen, distressed look on his face; she just went. She needed to think. Her trusty yellow Bug was waiting outside and she just drove for a while, finally stopping at a scenic overlook with a panoramic view of the harbor. She didn’t even leave her car; the sight was impressive enough from where she was seated. And she let Killian’s words sink in.

She’d once dreamed of a life where she’d feel happy and secure. Not one where she’d want for nothing—just one where she had what she needed. And maybe even one where someone chose her.

But life had thus far proven that it was just a dream and she was better on her own, scraping by and making do. Had she just gotten so used to it that it was her norm? Or was she scared that by opening herself to that possibility of a happy life again, she’d inevitably get her ass kicked by the world and would never recover?

The last time she’d seen Killian, he was utterly defeated. Thankfully, she’d never gotten that low, but he managed to overcome it. He had hope—she could see it shining in those blue eyes. If he could do it, why couldn’t she?

The sun slowly fell and it grew dark around her as she sat with her thoughts. An ancient streetlight eventually flickered to life above her, rousing her from her thought-filled trance, and she knew what she had to do.

Because there was one person who had never left her. One who always had faith in her and understood her. And if she was going to go after that mythical happy ending, she wanted him at her side.

The next day found her at the coffee shop yet again. She was a bit late after having breakfast with Henry, but she arrived just in time for the last couple songs of Killian’s set.

“Had to find some higher ground. Had some fear to get around.”

There he was again, reading her like a book. She’d wonder how he did that, but again—they just got each other. And she was ready to turn to the next page.

“Square one, my slate is clear. Rest your head on me my dear. It took a world of trouble, took a world of tears—it took a long time to get back here.”

Once he was packed up, he cautiously approached her. “You alright, love?”

“Will you go out with me?”

If her straightforwardness caught her by surprise, it nearly knocked him off his feet. He practically fell in the chair next to her. “Beg your pardon?”

“Go out with me. On a date.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking?”

“Don’t tell me you’re that old-fashioned, Jones.”

He chuckled. “I heartily accept, Swan.”

The date was perfect: good food, good wine, and a stroll under the stars—so many more in Storybooke than Boston, and the nerd pointed out some of the constellations to her.

The gentle kiss outside her rented room was even better. There was none of the awkwardness of Nashville, or the altered inhibitions. It just felt good and right and somehow perfect, like she’d been waiting for it forever, but hadn’t been ready yet.

She got a job in Storybrooke. She grew closer with Henry. She made more friends in town—Mary Margaret, the teacher; David, the vet; Belle, the librarian (and Liam’s wife). Once she gave in, once she let herself go after it, her happy ending settled around her—or maybe she was the one who settled into it.

Whichever it was didn’t matter; it was hers and it was real and she was never letting it go.

The cool wind whipped against her face from where she stood on the prow of the boat, but Killian’s strong arms held her close and kept her warm, and she leaned into his solid, sure presence that hadn’t wavered...well, ever, even when they were apart. His sweet voice sang in her ear and she knew—she finally had made it.

“You belong among the wildflowers.

You belong in a boat out at sea.

You belong with your love on your arm.

You belong somewhere you feel free.”

If you’d like to hear all the songs referenced in this, check out this playlist: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AldoDm2bV04&list=PL7YAlVeSin3Kq_1xtetAI0rovPvp-6Wdk

tagging some others who might enjoy this: @kat2609 @thesschesthair @fergus80 @xpumpkindumplingx @its-like-a-story-of-love @cocohook38 @annytecture @wingedlioness @fairytalesandtimetravel @disastergirl @laschatzi @ive-always-been-a-pirate @jscoutfinch @nfbagelperson @stubble-sandwich @phiralovesloki @athenascarlet @kmomof4 @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose