#the dryers are broken my clothes are wet and my hasn’t been touched

[ohello0]

It’s so easy for me to get upset and shut down it’s almost laughable

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Lucky’s Pet Spa - Brody

[First off, holy smokes! That is all. Now for the pet boi. This one is “soft” “whump” but Brody’s life isn’t/hasn’t/won’t always be so nice. Oh no no no no.]

CW: Dehumanization [big, systematic, full dehumanization.], Pet whump (muzzle, restraints, collar mention, implied human trafficking), referenced non-con drugging, touch starved whumpee, fully broken whumpee, lady whumper, 

Word count: ~2,600

[Masterlist]

Samuel was greeted by a young woman when they entered the storefront.

“Hi! Welcome to Lucky’s Pet Spa. What can I help you with today?” He stepped up to the counter, Brody mere steps behind him.

“Hey. A friend recommended this place; do you guys take walk-ins?” She smiled and nodded at him.

“Yeah, I actually have an opening right now. Here, I’ll get you started. If you have the info of the friend who recommended us, you can get a free nail cleaning,” she said as she handed over a clipboard. Samuel grinned and took it.

“Hey Brody, give me your hand.”

The blond pet quickly obeyed, laying his hand on Samuel’s waiting one. Samuel held it up to examine his nails, twisting it around.

“Can I use that on this visit?”  

“Yep!”

Samuel turned his attention to the clipboard, the leash loop sliding down his wrist and jiggling with the movement of his handwriting. The clip made a soft clinking sound as it swung against the pet’s tag and collar. The girl’s eyes shifted over to Brody, and he tried to hide behind Samuel.

“Hey there little guy. I’m Emma. I’ll be the one taking care of you today, Brody. Hmm?” She looked the Pet over more thoroughly.

Hmm, it clearly hasn’t been groomed in a while; maybe never, she thought as she surveyed the sandy blond hair falling over his eyes and around his ears. The muzzle was just the basic one, but the collar was nice; looked like it might have come from one of those boutiques. It was a saddle tan color, and looked well made. She smiled at the name-brand tee shirt and coral shorts Brody’s owner had put him in. “Brody” fits well.

His eyes were wide, and he looked terrified of her, still trying to sneak away from her gaze and hide behind his owner.

“Is this the first time its been to a groomer?” Samuel looked up blankly.

“Uh, I don’t know. It’s still pretty new.” He shrugged and finished up the last of the boxes. There was a sign on the wall with the different styles by length, and he stepped back to look at it.

“That’s okay, I’m pretty good with the new ones. Just a heads up, if we need to sedate it for some reason, there’s an extra charge and a fee.” Samuel reached over and grabbed Brody’s chin tightly, forcing eye contact.

“Brody, Behave. Got it?” The pet nodded frantically; eyes still wide. Samuel dropped his chin and Emma watched as Brody started to wind his hands into the hem of his shirt.

“How long is it going to take?” Samuel asked as he signed at the bottom and handing the clipboard back over. Emma looked it over, double checking everything was complete and which boxes he had checked. Thank god he didn’t want a bath. Those showers are a pain to clean.

“Should be less than an hour. You’re more than welcome to hang out in our waiting area and grab a cup of the free coffee.” Samuel waved his hand.

“Nah, I’ve got errands to run.”

He took the leash from his wrist and handed it over. Brody made a whimpering noise for the first time and looked desperately at Samuel. Emma took the leash and made a soft, comforting sound.

“Shh, Brody. It’s okay,” she said as she crossed around the desk and led the pet through the little white gate. “We’ll give you a call if we need anything.”

Samuel waved and mouthed be good one last time to Brody before he walked out.

Emma led Brody over to her salon chair, his head turned to the door the entire time, and sat him down. She clipped his collar onto the short lead on the headrest, and by the time she had turned around there were tears falling from his eyes and a soft whining sound coming from the back of his throat.

“Aw, Brody,” God it’s so cute. “Shh, it’s okay; he’s coming back. He just needed to run some errands.”

The Pet looked up at her with such big eyes, an expression that just screamed a pitiful, wordless, you promise? Emma awed again and put Brody’s wrists on the armrests so she could secure them. He didn’t fight or move, just let her place his hands however she wanted. She snapped the little plastic cuffs in place and gave him a pat on the leg.

“Good boy, Brody.”

Ugh, Emma thought as she rummaged around in her drawer, I hate this part. She took out her prod and hid it behind her back. She stood in front of him and waved one had off to the side.

“Hey Brody, can you be really still for me?” He nodded; eyes distracted by her fingers moving in the side of his vision. When he was looking at her hand, Emma pulled the prod from behind her back and poked it into his calf.

Brody’s eyes widened and his muscles jolted as he froze, but he didn’t move a fraction of an inch. Emma smiled and put the prod away.

“Good boy! Sorry honey, need to know if you can stay still on your own.” She made sure to keep her words light and her voice toned high; that always helped with the skittish pets. But honestly, it was easy with this one. It just has one of those faces that you have to babytalk to. God, its so cute. No, Emma, you know the deal with Ashley; no pets. No. Pets. But she would love this one.

She reached behind his head and unbuckled the muzzle. He obediently opened his mouth to release the bit when she pulled it away, and she dropped it in the little baggie by the armrest.

“There we go! Now I can see your little face,” she cooed as she rubbed his jaw and wiped away a couple tears. The second she touched his face, Brody melted into her touch and tried to rub his face into her palm. He didn’t get far, his neck secured to the headrest, but he still tried, and Emma couldn’t handle the cuteness.

She squished his cheeks and cooed at him as she reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out one of the clear plastic mouth guards. She pulled the adhesive strips off and lined it up with his top lip.

“Keep your mouth closed, sweetheart.” She could hear the little click as he shut his teeth and it made her smile. She pressed the sticky part to the space above his lip and kept it taunt as she stuck the one side under his chin to the base of his neck. She folded the clear plastic sides around his chin and pressed the other sides down until it was stuck around his mouth. He could probably work it off if he tried hard enough, but she knew he wasn’t even going to try.

Brody’s eyes were wide and confused as he let out a tiny whine, the guard keeping his lips sealed. She combed the hair out of his eyes, feeling him relax in her hands.

“Sorry honey. I know you’re not going to bite me, but its an insurance thing.” She kept combing and let out a little laugh as his eyes closed and he let out a little contented huff. This is it. This is how I’m going to lose my job; I’m going to steal a pet. Brody? No, no this is Cody. Emma laughed to herself and pulled out her phone.

“Brody! Brody can you look up at me?” He looked up, and she snapped a quick picture. What was the point of working in a Pet salon if you couldn’t put the cute ones on your insta story? Plus, the owner liked pictures of before and after, and she knew his mop of hair would make a great example.

She mussed up his shaggy hair for the last time and scratched as his scalp as she posted the story and saved the pic. When Emma looked up, Brody’s head was circling slowly with the movement of her hand, eyes unfocused and droopy.

“You like that, huh? I think you’ll really like this then.”

She was right. By the time she had wet his hair and shampooed it, she had the sneaking suspicion he had fallen asleep. When she was done with the conditioner and the final rinse, she toweled up his hair up and knew she was right. He was entirely asleep, head rolling freely on his neck. She laughed and grabbed one of the supports they used on the sedated pets. As she placed it around his shoulders, his eyes slowly blinked open.

“Hey there, sleepy boy. Guess you really liked that, huh?” It took him a moment to wake up fully, and a few more for his words to register. He looked up at her blankly.

“You fell asleep for a second there, sweetheart,” she said has she moved behind him and started to dry off his hair. When she reached over for her blow-dryer, she heard a small sniff and glanced up in the mirror. Brody was crying. His face looked defeated; guilt bright in his eyes.

“Aw, honey, do you need permission to fall asleep?” Emma knew some pet owners did controlling stuff like that, although Samuel didn’t seem like the type. Brody nodded miserably and Emma wanted to scoop him up and take him home; angry girlfriend or not. She leaned down until she was in his line of sight and winked conspiratorially.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” He looked up at her, eyes still brimming with tears. I won’t tell, but you’re going to the second you get home, aren’t you? She booped him on the nose and grabbed her blow-dryer.  

Emma could tell that he was trying, hard, to keep his head up and neck straight. She didn’t want to make it any harder on him, so she didn’t tempt him with any more scratches or pats, just blow dried his hair and combed it out.

His owner had wanted a style that was much shorter; nearly buzzed on the sides with the top section a bit longer. Made the pet fit the name “Brody” even more than the clothes. She finished and brushed some of the stray strands away before she pulled off the little black cape. Emma scratched on the side of his face, and he leaned into it again.

“Good boy, Brody. You did so good for me! Here, let’s take another picture. We can even show your owner, so he can see how good you were.” Brody perked up and looked up even before she had her phone out. Oh, yeah, the boss is going to love this one.

Brody didn’t seem to like his nails being done as much as he had liked his hair, but he didn’t squirm or disobey. Emma talked to him as she cleaned out his nailbeds and clipped them, telling him about her day and what she and Ashley were planning for dinner.

Soon, she was done, and she opened the plastic restraints around his wrists and unclipped his collar from the lead. Shorter hair looked good on him, opening up his face more. Emma help him stand and clipped the leash back on. She brought him out to the waiting area, but Samuel was nowhere to be seen. Emma heard a little whimper from behind her and turned to see the pet’s fallen expression.

“Brody, it’s okay. We’re just done a little early. Here, you can wait in the play area,” she offered, petting the side of his face lightly. That seemed to help. She led him over to pen A, or as the groomers called it, the “good pen”. It had some cushions on the ground, along with a couple toys and a picture book. There was another pet in there, a girl one, who quickly looked up then away as she led Brody in. She unclipped his leash, and he sat down next to one of the cushions. Emma gave him one last pat before she left to clean up her station.

It’s funny, really, she thought as she looked over her shoulder at the waiting pens, there’s toys and cushions, but none of the pets touch them. I wish the owners would give them permission before they leave. When she was done, she took another glance as she returned to the counter. Brody and the girl pet were snuggled together now, a striking contrast to the pets in the pen next to them that pulled and yanked at the floor anchors, growling through their muzzles.

Emma stood on her tiptoes to sneak another picture through the plexiglass. She would crop it later.

~

Samuel took a swig of his iced coffee and checked his watch. Today had been productive. He took Brody to the groomers, returned that shirt that had been his car for months, stopped by the pet store, and even grabbed a coffee. Nice.

He walked back into the pet spa and saw the same girl at the counter. She waved to him.

“Hey! We’re all done. Lee, can you get the blond from pen A?” she called to another worker. Samuel put down his coffee and pulled out his wallet.

“How’d it do?” he asked as he handed over his debit card. Emma smiled.

“A perfect angel. Seriously, its so sweet!” She swiped the card and handed it back. “Please know, if you take it to another groomer, I will be jealous and cry myself to sleep.” Samuel laughed.

“Duly noted.” Emma handed over the little baggie with Brody’s muzzle and a complementary trial size of pet shampoo.

Brody was led out only a second later, excited eyes and smile pulling at the mouth guard.

“Well, well, well! Look at you. All nice and clean,” Samuel said as he took the leash back. He picked up one of Brody’s hands to examine his freshly cut nails.

“Oh! I almost forgot. We take pictures sometimes and I thought that you’d like to see.” Emma turned the monitor around, a split screen of Brody’s before and after photos. The first where he seemed a little scared and teary eyed, and the second where he looked much more comfortable and alert. Great promotional material.

“I can send them to you, if you want. Also, can we get your permission to use them on our website or promotional material?” Samuel smiled wide.

“Of course! I’ll make sure to tag you guys online and send anyone who asks your way,” he said as she ran his hand through Brody’s much shorter hair. The style was perfect; looked well cared for with no daily maintenance or product. “Say goodbye, Brody.”

Brody lifted one hand shyly before he tried to hide behind Samuel like he had in the beginning. Emma just laughed.

“Bye sweetheart. See you later!”

Samuel walked him over to the waiting room and sat down. Brody kneeled in front of him, laying his chin on Samuel’s knees.

“Here, we’ve got to put your muzzle on before we go outside,” he murmured as he ripped the plastic guard off the Pet’s face. Brody winced and gave a little whimper, but he didn’t pull away. The skin where the adhesive had been was already turning red and irritated. Samuel pulled out his muzzle, and Brody didn’t resist, opening his mouth automatically for the bit. When it was buckled back on, Samuel pulled out something else from his shopping bag.

“Here! I got something for you today.”

He clipped the little bell onto the ring that held Brody’s tag. It jingled softly as it rolled against the boy’s clavicle. Samuel smiled at the noise and flicked it.

“Let’s go home.”

~~~

ALL THE NAMES. @poisonedbymagic @sola-whumping @haro-whumps @deluxewhump @whumpzone @castielamigos-whump-side-blog  @simplygrimly @whumpsy-daisies @whumptywhumpdump @crys-whump-sideblog @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @pineapple-heartache @whumpiestofthemall @much-ado-about-whumping

[accio-ambition]

Hello, and welcome to another episode of what in the world are you doing to me, Maggie? In this episode, we'll feature adorable drunks, bedsharing, and sexytime boot scenes. Tune in for that and more, coming up!

A million and bajillion thanks to @shipsxahoy, @queen-icicle-fandom, @sotheylived, and those crazy kids at @captainswanbigbang. With each new chapter, I get a little sadder that this project is wrapping up and I don't think I'll ever be able to thank them enough.

Summary: Bouncing around with her son for the majority of her life, Emma Swan has told herself she’s happy in the city. It’s where the most camera operating jobs are, and that’s how she makes her money. But when an old friend calls her and asks for her help on a new project in small town Maine, Emma finds herself in a place she’s never been with people she doesn’t know filming a profession she knows nothing about. But when the captain of the ship she’s filming begins taking a keen interest in her and her life, she finds herself wondering whether she might just catch something other than fish. Deadliest Catch AU Rating: M Content warning: Character death, some violent situations Chapter warning: Foul language, clothed foreplay if that needs to be a warning

FFnet/Ao3/Cover/Snapshots/Gifset/Manip

Chapter Seventeen

A couple nights later, Henry sleeps over at Grace’s house after a long week at school and Emma takes advantage of the empty house by getting drunk on the rum Killian and Liam brought over for Christmas - which she still hasn't finished m. It’s not the smartest idea she’s had ever, but work has been rough lately. Since she doesn’t like to drink immensely with her son around, she tends to go hard on the few occasions Henry’s gone. Sad movies, drinking out of the bottle, the whole nine yards.

She’s probably a half hour into Pretty Woman - Julia Roberts telling off that snotty woman at the store is her favorite part, let’s be honest - when it starts to rain and Emma, perhaps influenced by the copious amounts of alcohol she’s consumed, goes outside to take it in. It seems to fit the mood: getting wasted and hanging out in the rain, letting the water wash away whatever worries and negative thoughts are bumping around in her brain. It’s rejuvenating, even if a bit chilly.

Which explains why when she gets a burst of energy, she absolutely has to run down to the Joneses’ house. What’s a better way to warm up then to run?

It really is freeing, having the raindrops pelt against her skin and drench her sweatpants. She makes it up to their front door without feeling out of breath at all, and knocks on the door with a bright, wide smile on her face.

While she waits, Emma realizes she’s stepped in a puddle or two on the way down there. The bottom of her pants pull the rest of them down, her bare ankles and feet nearly covered in the excess wet fabric. She crouches down to roll them up a little bit, but her hands aren’t working properly.

She’s still trying to hike up her pants - or maybe the mission has changed to wringing out the water - when the door creaks open and Killian answers, confused.

“You should really do something about your puddles.” she says in greeting, rising and effectively giving up on whatever she was trying to do.

“Pardon, love?”

“Your puddles,” she repeats, pointing behind her. “You should do something about them because they were in my way and I stepped in them and now my feet are wet.”

“Swan, are you…” he starts, and then dissolves into chuckles. “Swan, are you drunk?”

She shrugs, nervously twisting at the waist. “I’ve had a drink,” she admits. “Or seven.”

His chuckles grow louder as he shoots her a delighted smile. “Oh Swan,” he murmurs, holding out his hand. Naturally, she takes it. “My lovely adorable drunken Swan.” That makes her happy, a dopey grin growing on her face as she takes a step closer to him. “Where’s Henry?”

“He’s at a sleepover.”

“Well, I suppose it’s good you don’t have to care for him tonight.” Killian ushers her inside, tugging on her hand. He disappears for a moment, letting her drip alone on the hardwood floors of the entryway, and comes back with a pair of socks way too big for her as she ungracefully flops on the couch. Ever the gentleman, he takes one of her legs and places it on his lap, carefully rolling the socks up and onto her foot. He does the same thing with her foot, before tapping her shins.

“I’d suggest we start a fire, but we haven’t any firewood, so I’m sorry about that.”

“But then we could make s’mores.”

He laughs, sparking some warmth within her better than any fire could. “Yes, Swan, we could, but that would involve burning some furniture and I shouldn’t think Liam would be too pleased with me.”

She sighs dramatically, sinking further into the cushions. “Who cares?” She gets up, goes to kitchen to get herself some water, and peruses the fridge’s contents. Even the mention of s’mores makes her hungry for something sweet. Maybe they’ve got whipped cream and ice cream.

Emma opens up the freezer at the same time, trying to focus one eye on each side of the appliance, but all it’s doing is giving her a headache. She shivers.

“Is there something specific you’re looking for?” The contrast of the cool blast in front of her and the heat of his body behind her is far more intoxicating than the alcohol she’s drunk. It forces her to unconsciously sway back into him, her shoulders gently nudging into his chest. She takes a swig of water and turns around, letting both doors close behind her.

“No. Not really.” She shivers again.

Killian gazes down at her, a little smirk on the corner of his lips. “You should get out of those wet clothes,” he says, taking a step back. “Can’t have the boss falling ill, can we?” He takes her hand once more and drags her to the laundry room.

“I’m not your boss,” she whines, coming to a stop right in the doorway. Killian releases her and goes digging through the clean laundry. He hands her a shirt and a pair of shorts from atop the washer. “What are these for?” she asks.

“Change into them.” He leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. Through the wood, he says, “Change and throw your wet ones in the dryer. And when you can’t figure out which buttons to press, go ahead and shout.”

Emma wrinkles her nose. “I know what buttons to press, asshat,” she shouts.

She strips down and throws her clothes in the machine. She puts his shirt on and take a quick sniff and, ugh, even his shirt smells good.

(Bastard.)

She wants to prove him wrong, she really does because she’s not that drunk. She ran down here, didn’t she? And she didn’t fall flat on her face nor did she get any glass in her feet or skin her knees on rocks. Emma is a strong independent woman who doesn’t need help from any man.

“Killian!” she yells. “Killian, the dryer is broken!”

Far too quickly, he enters the mudroom chuckling. “Are the words moving as well?” he asks. “Is that how it’s broken?”

“The buttons won’t go down.”

“That’s because you’re not pressing on the buttons, you’re pressing about two inches above the buttons.” He programs the machine and it starts to rumble to life. When he sees she isn’t completely dressed, he turns away, the one ear she can spot tingeing red. “Those shorts should fit you. A conquest of Liam’s left them behind.”

Looking down at herself, Emma can see that the hem of his shirt covers her ass and, yes, it falls a little high on her thigh, but she’s covered. When she goes to give him a sassy reply, he’s already gone. To appease him, she forces her legs into the gym shorts, grumbling under her breathe the entire time.

Emma heads back to the living room and sprawls her body across the couch. “Where is Liam, anyways?” she asks.

“Last I knew, he was on a date with Ms. Belle French.”

“I knew it.”

Killian replies in surprise. “You know her?”

Shrugging, Emma begins to play with the tips of her hair, curling them around her finger in front of her face. “She hung out with Liam in the hospital when you needed to shower. And Henry reads like I film during the summer. We always gets to know the librarians.” She sighs and nods harshly. “About time. Good for them. Good match.”

“I’d have to agree,” he says, joining her on the sofa. Killian stares at her feet for a moment before deciding to forcibly lift her feet so he can sit. Her heels come to settle on the tops of his thighs. “The lads and I have been trying to get them to agree to dinner for quite some time.”

“That’s nice.” Emma crinkles her nose, overwhelmed by the menial tasks of comprehending Liam’s love life as well as the comforting feel of physical touch.

Naturally - and drunkenly, let’s face it - she decides that’s been enough of that.

“I should probably leave then,” she says. Emma takes her feet from Killian’s lap and struggles to get vertical. Crossing her arms over her chest, she shrugs again, this time much more awkwardly. “Wouldn’t want to intrude of any after-date activities.”

“No.” Following her suit, Killian stands, reaching out to rest his hand on her arm, steadying her. There’s a bit of urgency or something else along the same lines in his voice that surprises her. “He’ll text me if something should occur, though I don’t think it will.”

“Yeah, Belle is a bit of a prude.”

“Emma,” he scolds her sternly. “Watch your tongue. That’s not only my brother’s date, but a friend of mine.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes, licking her lips. “I don’t know why I said that. Belle’s super nice.” He’s still touching her, his hand slowly falling down toward her wrist, and it’s a bit distracting. She shakes her head, trying to clear the fog in her mind, regardless of whether it originated from alcohol or tension. “Can we watch a movie or something?” Emma asks, her gaze flicking toward the TV to her right.

He chuckles. “First you show up at my house unannounced, nearly break my dryer, insult my brother’s date, and now you ask if we can watch a movie?”

She shrugs, casually returning to the couch. “I’m not used to being in that big house alone.” Emma lies down again, letting her body span the length of the couch. With one eye squinted, she looks up at Killian. “So can we?”

Killian sighs and takes a seat on the couch once more, lifting her feet up to take their place and setting them gently on his lap. “What genre do you want?” he inquires, stretching out to the coffee table for the remote and turning on the TV. Save for the shift of bending forward, Emma’s feet stay snug on his lap.

“Something funny,” she requests. “Or something with a car chase.”

“How about Hot Fuzz?”

“Never seen it.”

She’s staring at the screen, which automatically scrolls through newly-added titles instead of the quick flicking Killian usually took to. Glancing down the couch from her, Emma sees his eyebrows touch the tips of his bangs. “Then that’s it,” he declares, leaning closer to her. “It’s both funny and has a car chase.”

Emma gasps dramatically, her hand falling on her chest. “Be still my beating heart.”

“You’re going to love it, Swan,” Killian assures her, searching through the menu until he finds it.

After pressing play, he rests his hands on her, one on her foot and the other on ankle. It’s almost domestic, like they’re on a date night in or something, the rain gently pitter-pattering on the windows and the hum of the movie on in the background. The alcohol still buzzes through her veins and gives her an overall sense of contentment. Her eyes begin to droop and she must fall asleep, for the next thing she knows, she is coming to surrounded by fluffy pillows and a luxurious blanket that most certainly aren’t hers.

The beginnings of a hangover headache gently knock on the inside of her forehead. Emma groans and fights her way out of the little cocoon she’d wrapped herself in. Her feet touch hardwood floors and she knows she’s not home.

“Killian,” she grumbles, wiping at the sleep still in her eyes. Her voice is deep and gravelly, so she clears her throat and repeats herself a bit louder.

Her ears perk up at the sound of quick footsteps in the hallway and before she can properly search the room for a weapon against an intruder, the door creaks open and Killian’s face peeks in.

“Everything alright, Swan?” he asks, his voice scratchy as well.

Emma pushes herself off the mattress and walks toward the door while Killian presses it open wider. “Yeah, I was just surprised to wake up not in my bed,” she explains.

“Oh,” he says, his voice and eyes falling a bit. “I thought I heard you call for me.”

“I mean I did,” she admits. “Kind of. I was trying to figure out what was going on with my voice.” His mouth opens slightly in understanding. “How did you hear that?”

“Ah,” Killian says with a smirk. He gestures to the room next door. “I was resting in Liam’s room. For as lavish as this house looks, the walls are deceptively thin.”

Emma nods, glancing about the room. “So this is your bedroom?”

“Yeah.” She hums, taking it in. It’s pretty sparse, but somehow perfectly encapsulates Killian. His window looks over the backyard and the waters beyond. The floor is spotless, his closet doors and drawers closed completely. A few aesthetic pictures - mostly of ships, unsurprisingly - decorate the walls and his dresser has a few shells and what looks like a photograph of the Roger’s crew on display.

(The man lives and breathes the sea.)

A movement catches her eye and she looks at him as he goes to scratch behind his ear. “I figured it’d be bad form for you to be woken if my brother and Belle decided to come in.”

“He’s not home yet?” she asks. “What time is it?”

“Close to two, I think.”

Silence falls between them, Emma hovering by his bed and Killian still standing in the doorway. “I should get home,” she murmurs, searching for her phone and readying herself to cool dampness outside.

“Don’t.” His request startles her, the earnestness and sincerity behind it confusing. She whirls around to face him and, if she’s not mistaken, she detects a hint of a blush on Killian’s cheeks. “You’re still a little inebriated, which means I would have to walk back with you and it’s still raining,” he explains. His hand casually gestures between the two of them before falling to his side. “Besides, you don’t want to be alone.”

Ignoring the army of butterflies that begin fluttering in her stomach - he remembered, she didn’t want to be alone - Emma’s independence roars its head. “I could walk home fine by myself,” she insists.

Killian gives her a side eye and scolds her in a low voice: “Swan.”

They stare each other, mentally willing the opponent to concede. Always up for a challenge, Killian takes a step closer to her, and Emma does the same, until they’re sock-clad to bare feet.

(It’s not fair, her mind tells her. Even when he’s not doing anything, the color of his eyes are distracting.)

“Fine,” Emma finally says on a groan. “I’ll stay here tonight.”

Grinning wide, Killian wraps his arms around her shoulders and pulls her into his body. His warm, sturdy body, a weakness even when she’s completely sober and awake. It’s basically her kryptonite now that she’s coming down from intoxication and a nap.

Emma hears the tell tale sound of the front door opening and closing a floor below them. The heavy fall of male footsteps swiftly follow.

“Looks like Liam’s home,” she remarks quietly, pulling away from Killian’s embrace.

“Indeed,” he murmurs, letting her move freely. He takes a step back, closer to the door. “I’m going to speak with him, but you can go back to bed. I’ll bring you some water.”

She nods absentmindedly before his words really register. “Wait, where are you going to sleep?”

“The couch,” he said, as if it's the most obvious answer in the world. Then he points to himself, a wry smile growing on his face. “Gentleman, remember?”

“Killian, no, I’ll sleep on the couch,” Emma offers, moving toward the bedroom door herself. “I came here unannounced and interrupted your night. Let me sleep on the couch.”

“I won’t have it, Swan.”

Groaning, she throws her hands up in the air, exasperated. “Fine. Then we’ll share your bed.”

“What? That, Swan, sounds like the exact opposite of any sort of solution.”

“No.” Emma, grumpy as she is from being woken from her nap, makes it back to the rumpled sheets of the bed and sits on them, staring intently back at Killian. “You won’t let me sleep on the couch and I demand you sleep in your bed.” She throws her arms wide, gesturing toward the empty side of the mattress. “It’s big enough for the both of us.”

Killian glances over his shoulder quickly before shutting the door. “Of course,” he mumbles, shuffling over the hardwood toward the bed. “Won’t even notice you’re here.”

“Thank you.” Now that he’s settling into his side of the bed, Emma allows herself to bury beneath the covers, barely warm from her earlier snooze. She sighs contently and falls unconscious with the echo of Killian’s constant breathing ringing in her ears.

0000

She’s awoken at a much more reasonable hour by the heat of a heavy weight on her hip. On her hip and across her stomach. It’s not uncomfortable, per se, just unusual. Henry’s not one to cuddle up to her like this. No, her son is very much a child to lay on top of her, just as she positioned him on her chest soon after he was born.

But this weight comes with more hair and muscles than any 11-year-old should have, even if they’re a chronic steroid abuser. As she’s waking up - much faster than she originally thought she would - Emma comes to realize that it’s not Henry.

It’s Killian.

Emma breathes deeply through her nose, a reaction of surprise more than anything. It’s been a long time since she slept - just slept - with anyone who wasn’t Henry. It’s comforting, she finds, coming to with the knowledge that someone else is beside you.

Carefully, she turns about to face Killian, trying her best to keep his arm around her. He’s a lot closer than she expected: her nose skims the tip of his as she establishes herself in her new position.

For a moment, she observes him in what will likely be the last moments of unconsciousness. He’s always been a looker, she won’t deny herself that. But there’s something about him when he’s not putting on an act. He’s not in front of the camera, pulling off the dickish captain, or Liam, acting as the worshipful little brother. There’s lines around his lips that show past laughter and bags under his eyes from endless night at sea and otherwise.

He’s even more handsome like this.

She must unconsciously move some part of her body, for Killian stirs, his eyes blinking away the remnants of sleep slowly. His vision must come into focus because he squints, as if he doesn’t really understand the sight before him.

“I insisted on sharing the bed ‘cause I couldn’t stand the idea of you sleeping on the couch,” she explains quietly, running her hand up his arm. It’s the first question she would’ve asked - what are you doing here? - were she in his situation.

Killian opens his mouth with an ah of comprehension. “I do remember that now,” he says. “Practically dragged me into bed, if I recall.”

“Did not,” she chuckles, squeezing his upper arm. “You’re being dramatic.”

“Perhaps.” His hand tightens at her back as he stretches, chin dipping to his chest and legs extending beneath the sheets. When he settles, his blue eyes connect with hers. “Although you have to understand why I’d think that when I have a lovely woman who forced me here in the first place is wound around me.”

“Hate to break it to you, buddy, but I’m the one who woke up with someone hanging off me.”

He sighs, burrowing his face into her neck. Emma can’t help but giggle.

(She tries not to focus on how nice this feels, the scratch of his scruff on her still sleep-warm skin, the comfort she draws from his breath on the crook of her neck. It’s more than she thinks she can handle.)

Killian keeps his face buried in its spot, his thumb rubbing at the small of her back. She returns the favor, moving her hand up into his hair and echoing the motion. They stay wrapped up in one another for what could be minutes or hours. Emma can’t be sure.

“I don’t think I realized how nice this is,” Emma says softly, trying to extend the moment for as long as possible. At his indistinct questioning noise, she adds, “Just sort of hugging someone. Holding and being held.”

Readjusting to be better heard, Killian asks, “How long has it been since someone held you, Swan?”

Emma shrugs, her voice going deep and hoarse. “I couldn’t even guess.”

“I’m glad I could be of service.” Groaning, Killian extricates himself from her hold, sitting up and scooting back until he sits against the headboard. His arms go up, coming to rest behind his head and Emma feels the loss keenly. “If you should need anything else, I shall strive to be of assistance.”

As silence settles between them, a traitorous thought pops into Emma’s mind. There is one thing he can...assist her with.

(And honestly, the fact that she’s even considering this means something. What exactly, she can’t be sure, but she is sure that in this moment, with him, she feels warm and safe and happy.)

Before she can stop herself, Emma leans forward, cupping his face in her hands. She kisses him, almost attacking him how hard she presses her lips to his. And for one moment, she’s shocked him. It’s a bit like kissing a pillow or a dead fish, something that doesn’t kiss back. For a moment, she regrets even thinking there was any sort of attraction between her and him, even though they’ve done this before. Maybe all those times was just the alcohol talking.

But then Killian’s one hand is tangled in her hair and the other is wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer to him, causing her to straddle his legs. He tugs at her hair to direct her, tilting his head in turn.

“Emma,” he mumbles, his lips leaving hers. “We shouldn’t. You’re-”

“Please,” she whispers, her voice hoarse again. He pulls back a fraction and she shakes her head. “Killian, I swear, I want this. This isn’t alcohol or the moment or whatever or anything. This…” Her laughter fans off his cheek and back to her ears. She’s nearly breathless when she admits, “This is a long time coming.”

Even as close as they are, Emma can still catch the raised brow he sends her. She feels the grin against her own lips. “Are you saying you’re in this for the long haul?” he murmurs back.

She chuckles again. “Let’s start with the one time and reassess from there.”

Killian adjusts her on his lap, pulling her hips closer into his. “Well, if I only get one time, I’m damn well sure going to make it count, love.”

He’s passionate, to say the least. His lips are insistent on the skin of her neck, leaving marks and bruises and making her sigh in pleasure more than she’s ever done in her life. Back with Neal, he’d been more to the point: get her wet enough to get his dick in without hurting her, then getting himself off in as few minutes as possible. Between borrowed rooms and simple selfishness, she’s sure, there was never really time for them to actually enjoy sexual acts.

But this. This makes her toes curl. Feeling his mouth follow as she swallows, his nose brush against the tense tendons of her neck. He bites softly at her collarbone through her shirt and, if she were younger, she’d lose her mind completely.

“Fucking fuck,” she breathes, enjoying the new-old feelings that bubble up in her stomach.

“Finally,” Killian chuckles against her skin, words partially garbled as he moves back to her neck. “A verbal reaction.”

Glancing down as best she can, Emma asks, “Is that what you’re trying to get out of me?” When he doesn’t answer immediately, she grabs at his hair and gently tugs it back to look him in the eye.

“Among other things,” he admits with that smirk of his. “I like to think of verbal responses as the gateway to the rest of your inner thoughts.”

“Trust me, you do not want to be inside of my head.”

“Your head is not the first thing of yours I want to be inside right now.” He cocks his eyebrow, his tongue peeking out from between his lips. “But if it takes me that way, then I’ll gladly take the detour.”

Emma’s laugh turns to breathy moans as his hand falls a little lower and he grabs at her ass. “Fuck, Killian.”

He stops.

“Say it,” he whispers. “Say it again.”

His words catch her off guard. All she’s said is...oh. Oh. “Killian, please,” she groans again, taking joy in the way his breath catches in how his name comes out. She realizes then that, though she’s trying her best, she still doesn’t use his given name too often. To say it in an intimate context as this - she gets it.

(She wonders if he gets the same thrill in the pit of his stomach as she does when the Ms in her name roll off his tongue.)

“Fuck, Emma.” He attacks her anew, pulling at the collar of her shirt to reach still-untouched skin. Her head rolls back on her neck, relishing in the feel of teeth lightly nipping at her collarbone.

“That’s the goal,” she responds belatedly.

He chuckles against her sternum. “My god, Swan, your commentary is both welcomed and unnecessary.”

“How so?” Emma asks, arching her back unconsciously, trying to get closer to him as his nose skims across sensitive skin.

Pressing a kiss to the side of her breast, still tucked away in her bra and shirt from last night, Killian rises up so he’s face to face with her. “I’m a fan of every part of you,” he whispers into her pulse point. “From the snark to the sky high walls I’m knocking down brick by brick.”

A sappy smile crosses Emma’s face. “Stop talking like that, you’ll build them again.”

Killian mimics it, smacking his lips to hers before working his way further down her body. “Then by all means,” he mutters.

She’s got more hickeys in this moment than she’s ever had in her life combined, surely - she can feel at least three blooming on different places on her neck and another with the way he’s mouthing at her skin right now - and she loves it. Killian’s marking her as his, belongs to her, no one else’s but –

“I’m not yours,” she grumbles, her words a little muffled as, together, they quickly disrobe him of his shirt.

“What’s that now?” Killian asks.

“I’m not yours.” She pulls back for a moment to connect their gazes. It’s a bit silly, she’ll realize in the afterglow, because Emma knows that Killian knows her boundaries. But still, it’s important he understands. “I’m my own person. I am me and no one owns me. I’m just sort of…” with a hand on his shoulder, she gestures wildly with the other one, looking for the phrase best suited for the situation, “lending me to you.”

He cocks an eyebrow in question. “I know that, darling,” he answers, his thumb brushing at the underside of her bra. “I never asked or said otherwise.” Killian kisses her gently, lingering but not heating it up. “But I do hope you’d like to ‘lend’ for now at least, maybe longer.”

“One step at a time, Jones,” Emma says with a chuckle. “For now, just kiss me again.”

He does as she wishes, a peck before whispering, “With pleasure.”

His hand may or may not drag up her outer thigh – and her inner thigh for that matter – while she scoots closer to him. And she might grind herself against him unabashedly but she doesn’t care. Killian has done so much for her and she so much for him since moving to Storybrooke and honestly? That shoulder to cry on he and his brother keep telling her about? She’s found it.

She’s found it in him.

He does something weird and oddly pleasant with his tongue, dragging it between her breasts above her shirt and she can’t be having that. Pushing him away gently, she tears her shirt up and over her head until just her bra is left.

“Go hard or go home, right?” she jokingly asks.

“Darling, your words couldn’t be more correct.” He grabs her by the wrist and pulls her hand down to his prominent erection, jutting up between their bodies.

“I feel like we should take care of that,” she quips.

Killian tilts his head to the side, rolling into her tightening grip. “Only if you want to.”

She smiles genuinely. “Are you not going to add ‘because I’m a gentleman’?”

He shrugs. “Didn’t think it was necessary.”

“Well, I think this is the first time it actually fits.”

Killian draws back and rests a hand on his bare chest. “Love, that almost hurts me enough to diminish this.” He gestures down toward where they’re still clothed but connected, her hand still resting on him.

Emma places her hand atop his, and entwines their fingers together. “Alas, not enough completely.” She kisses him with renewed vigor. “I’ll have to assuage you somehow.”

His hand buries itself between her skin and her clothes, gripping at her ass beneath her pants.

(He’s an ass man. Killian Jones is most definitely an ass man.)

“I’ve got a couple of ideas on how to remedy that,” he says with his signature smirk.

Emma returns it happily, her grin growing when his hand pulls her infinitesimally closer. “Oh, please, do tell.”