#they also may or may not have destroyed said nymph's clothes before running away

[randomshenaniganery]

My bastard colorful mercenary stripped of their finery

They got punched on the face and they're trying to play it cool and swag as well as attempting to rizz their opponent so that they don't get punched again

[blossom-hwa]

Dawn - MINHO

LOOK I KNOW I’VE SCREAMED ABOUT THIS FOR LIKE A DAY BUT I’M SO FUCKING EXCITED I CAN’T BELIEVE I WROTE THIS IN LESS THAN TWO DAYS. THANK U ANON WHO ASKED ME TO WRITE THIS YOU PULLED ME OUT OF WRITER’S BLOCK (constellation is giving me ISSUES)

pls don’t let this flop i’ll be v v sad 

Pairing: Minho x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, royalty!au, fantasy!au

Triggers: mild violence (nothing too graphic), death

Word Count: 9.2k

For many, twenty-one signals a new beginning. But for some, it only marks the end of freedom. 

SKZ Masterlist

Twenty-one. Minho hates that number. It signals the beginning of change, the beginning of the end of everything he’s come to know and love.

Twenty-one. How old he will be when he comes of age. How old he will be at his coronation. How old he will be when his parents will expect him to find a partner. A partner who is rich. A partner who has power. A partner who will rule with him until the end of their days.

A partner who will bear them grandchildren.

The door slams behind him and Minho doesn’t even bother to disguise his annoyance as he stalks down the hall, boots clicking loudly against the marble floor. He can almost hear the sighs emanating from his parents behind the wooden doors, but he pushes the thought of that out of his mind.

Twenty-one. For many, it signals something exciting. Coming of age. Becoming an adult. Setting out on a new life with someone they love.

But not for Minho. His coming kingship will only be an extension of all he’s been learning for the past twenty years. His parents have been asking for his input on running the kingdom for the past five. Now, he’ll just be fully taking the reins. Not much new.

Well, he gets a new crown. Minho rolls his eyes at the thought. Another useless and heavy ornament to make his head ache and his scalp itch.

His mother’s previous words echo in his head. “You must choose a partner over the next two weeks. If you do not, we will be forced to.”

“No one’s forcing you to do anything,” Minho grumbles under his breath. He dreads the next two weeks more than anything else in his life. The celebrations for the first week will mark his birthday. The celebrations for the next week will mark his coronation.

The thought makes him sick to his stomach. Not because he doesn’t feel ready to rule, but mostly because he isn’t ready for all of his (limited) freedom to be taken away in such a rush. Already he can feel the seconds ticking away, marking off every moment of his remaining time as a prince.

Minho sighs. His feet have taken him to the ballroom, his favorite place in the palace. He looks up at the doors and sighs again, even more heavily. He still has two weeks, Minho reasons. Might as well have some fun with it.

With that, he disappears through the large gilt doors.

. . .

Twenty-one. You hate that number. It signals the end of your life as you know it.

The literal end.

“Curses,” you mumble, tugging at the gem resting against your throat. It glimmers in the moonlight, a brilliant sparkle against the pure white feathers of your dress.

You wonder for the umpteenth time why your uncle chose you as the successor of the forest instead of his only son. Chan was strong and powerful – much more powerful than you, at any rate. Shouldn’t your uncle have seen beforehand what sort of destruction Chan would cause if he chose you over him?

But you know the answer why. Had your uncle chosen Chan, the demise of the forest would have come much more quickly than it already has. At least the years Chan spent hiding away, learning the dark arts, allowed you to increase your strength and magic. Had Chan been appointed ruler of the forest, he would have destroyed it much more quickly in his quest for power. At least now you can fight back.

Somewhat.

You wonder, also for the umpteenth time, what your uncle would say if he knew how Chan had cursed you.

Ruler by night, swan by day. If the graceful plumage of your dress doesn’t serve as enough of a reminder of your situation, the constant transformations at sunrise and sunset certainly drive you insane. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the awful transition between the two forms.

Well, in two weeks, on your twenty-first birthday, maybe you won’t have to.

Immediately you shake those thoughts away. It’s too terrifying to think of, being forced to spend the rest of your life as a swan.

The only way to avoid the permanent transformation is to break Chan’s curse. The “easiest” way to do that is by killing him. But Chan is careful, very careful. Despite your and your friends’ best efforts, you cannot find a way to corner him.

Your uncle once told you that you were far more powerful than Chan would ever be. He said this just two days after he appointed you his successor, the day after Chan disappeared. Terrified and confused, you’d only watched numbly as he clasped a necklace around your throat.

“This will protect you,” he’d said quietly. “It is imbued with a magic as old as time – Chan will not be able to fully surpass it, ever. However, its magic will expire on your twenty-first birthday. You must find your own power before then.”

“Twenty-one,” you murmur, clutching the gem tight in your fist. “The end of everything and the beginning of nothing.”

You stand up on the soft grass, feathers sweeping gently across your arms. Twenty-one or no, you are still the ruler of the forest, and you have a duty to aid those who live under your protection. Another night of patrol, of helping the wounded, of fighting off the growing threats Chan has been sending into your territory.

Another night gone by before the day you become a bird forever.

. . . . .

Throngs of people crowd the streets and Minho smiles behind his mask of pale green. He’s slipped away from the castle, only letting Changbin, Hyunjin, and Felix know where he’s going. Changbin and Hyunjin are somewhere in the crowd watching over him. Felix stayed in the palace to cover for his absence.

For a few precious hours, Minho has freedom. No one knows him behind his mask. No one knows him behind his forest nymph costume. Clothed in earthy green and brown, he looks like just another reveler in the streets, celebrating the coming birthday of the country’s beloved crown prince.

He used to think the costume concept was stupid. Now, he’s very grateful for the tradition.

The moon rises quickly into the sky as the last rays of the sun fade, and Minho finds himself pushed into a crowd of dancers. As the moon climbs higher into the stars, the cheery dance tunes dissipate, leaving behind cool, calm lyricism to honor the heavens who put the country’s kind rulers upon their thrones.

He dances with person after person, whirling from one hand to another as gasping laughter turns to serene smiles under the blanket of stars overhead. In between songs, he breaks through the dancing throng for a breather.

Then he sees a vision. That is what you must be – no human glows like that under the moon. No human is the vision of ethereal beauty that you are. You only sway slightly to the beat of the song, but even your simple movements are like a ripple of shining silk – graceful, ethereal.

As though in a trance, he finds himself walking towards where you stand on the outskirts of the crowd. You turn around as he steps closer and Minho has to fight for breath.

Even with an ivory mask covering your face, he can tell you’re a true picture of elegance. Your dress is made entirely of pure white feathers, and your mask protrudes slightly at the nose, like a beak. A swan, he thinks dazedly.

Warm, dark eyes stare into his – delicate, pure, but with a hint of fire that only increases his attraction to you.

“May I help you?”

Minho thinks he’s having a heart attack. Only that would explain his inability to breathe or think properly. Your voice only makes you more attractive.

“I apologize if I startled you, my lady.” He bows. “I could not help but notice you had no dance partner and thought that such a beauty should not only sway on the sidelines. I wonder if you would like to dance with me?”

The half-second of waiting is the most excruciating moment of Minho’s life so far. All the breath rushes out of him when you nod your head slightly and take his hand, a smile curving your lips. “I would.”

. . .

When Ryujin and the others encouraged you to go to the celebrations (read: shoved you out of the forest), you didn’t know why. Immediately you’d attempted to slip back between the trees, but Yeji’s and Jeongin’s glares were too scary.

“You’re spending all your time worrying about the curse and the forest,” Lia had explained. “We can patrol for one night. Take some time to relax at the celebrations – we’ll call you back if there is anything urgent.”

You weren’t sure at the time. But right now, clasped in the arms of a man in a green mask, you’re glad you came. You feel calm. Relaxed. His touch somehow soothes your skin and clears away the worries in your mind, leaving you with a smile on your face that is far easier and lighter than the ones you’ve been forcing recently.

It doesn’t hurt that he’s one of the most handsome men you’ve ever met. Having known Yang Jeongin, Han Jisung, and Kim Seungmin, most men you know have a lot of competition. However, even though most of his face is hidden behind his mask, you can tell your dancing partner can rival them all.

He’s ethereal. Graceful. He whirls you around in twists and turns and leaves you breathless with the utter elegance with which he moves. You haven’t danced this way in a long time, not since your uncle died. The last time you danced was on his birthday. Two days before Chan killed him.

You shove those thoughts away.

As the moon travels the night sky, you lose yourself in the dance again, in the warm brown eyes of your partner and the dizzying press of his hands against yours. Small talk and quiet laughter contrast with the raucous crowd, but you don’t care. For now, the world only consists of your partner and you.

Too soon, though, someone calls “Prince Minho!” and your partner’s expression deflates, his warm eyes dimming. “I must go now,” he says, holding your hands tightly. “You know my name now, but may I have one from you?”

“Y/N,” you reply, smiling sadly. You will likely never see the prince – Minho – again. Both because of your situation and his status.

“Will I see you again?” he asks, eyes sparkling with hope.

It breaks your heart to do it, but you shake your head. “Probably not,” you murmur. “I am not from here, and I must return to my home as soon as I can.”

There’s a little silence.

“May I at least see your face, then?” Minho finally asks. “I would like to remember the woman who so enchanted me tonight.”

You smile, bringing your hands to your mask. “If you will let me see yours.”

It seems to take an eternity for Minho to bring down his mask, but there isn’t enough time in the world to drink in the sight of his face. He’s beautiful – cat-like eyes, pink lips, a graceful nose. His features are even more enhanced by your knowledge of his ringing laugh and gentle character.

“You’re more beautiful than I ever imagined,” you whisper. A hand goes up to caress his cheek.

“I could say the same for you, my lady,” Minho says, raising a hand to cover the one you’ve placed on his face. He brings it down, holding your fingers tightly in his grasp. “If on the off chance I see you again, I hope you will remember me.” He presses a kiss to your knuckles.

You smile. “I could never forget.”

Someone calls Minho’s name again and he enters the crowd, giving you one last wave. You wave back and watch until he fully disappears into the throng.

If only you had time. If only you weren’t cursed. If only you could tell Minho yes, you would definitely see him again.

“If only,” you whisper, absently touching the place on your knuckles where his lips brushed your skin. “If only.”

. . . . .

“Has he been like this all day?” Felix asks in a stage whisper. He puts on an innocent expression when Minho turns around to shoot him an annoyed look, but it’s clear he meant for Minho to hear.

“Obviously.” Hyunjin leans against the wall, flipping through a book. “Want to know why?”

“Hwang Hyunjin, I swear to the all the stars –”

“He met a girl,” Changbin jeers, fake-swooning even as Minho throws a pen at him. He effortlessly dodges anyway, as would be expected of the head of the prince’s guard.

Memories of your gentle touch, your delicate face, and the spark of burning fire in your deep eyes flood Minho’s mind and not for the first time since your parting, Minho aches to see you again. But your voice and the despondent look on your face told him that such a meeting probably won’t happen again.

Still, though, Minho is glad he met you. Because if only for a few hours, at least, he felt completely relaxed. Free. And maybe in love.

If you’d seen her, you might understand, Changbin.

Felix gasps, as per his duties as the melodramatic younger brother. “A girl?”

Minho refuses to answer.

“But isn’t that a good thing?” Felix’s eyebrows furrow and he drops onto the seat next to Minho. “You know who you want to marry now! More or less, anyway? So Mother can stop beating you up over finding a wife?”

A deep sigh leaves Minho’s lips. That’s what he would have hoped too. But given your response from last night, he doesn’t think that will happen at all. “She lives far away from here,” he mumbles. “Said she probably couldn’t see me again. Plus, I have no idea of her social status. Mother might not even approve.”

“Maybe we can find her,” Hyunjin volunteers, closing the book. “What was her name?”

“Y/N. But don’t try to find her,” he says. “I don’t think she would take very kindly to that. We may or may not meet again. Neither of us knows.”

Silence.

“But even if you meet again, it might be too late.” Felix’s voice is unusually somber. Changbin and Hyunjin shoot him warning looks, but Minho’s far from blowing up. What Felix said is very true. He might very well have a wife picked by his parents’ hands by the time he sees you next. Assuming he ever sees you again.

Changbin’s voice is uncharacteristically gentle. “I think we need a break,” he says brusquely. “Your lessons are finished and everyone’s preparing for the celebrations tomorrow, so I don’t think we’ll be missed if we go on a hunt.” He grins.

“A hunt?” Minho echoes.

“Yes.”

“The ambassador gifted you a new bow yesterday, right? Why not try it out?” Felix’s eyes sparkle with excitement.

A small smile spreads on Minho’s face. “Why not?”

. . .

The sun has begun to sink in the sky as you circle over the lake, your maidens following behind. Soon, you’ll be human again, but you need to land before that happens so you don’t go crash-landing onto the ground.

You’ve just begun your descent onto the silvery water when Lia’s voice crashes into your mind.

Y/N, watch out!

You jerk upwards, looking behind you. Terror races through your veins when you see the huge hawk tearing through the trees.

Chan hasn’t appeared so blatantly like this in years, not since the day he cursed you into your current form. But the bird is unmistakably him – you can see it in the hatred in the hawk’s eyes.

What is he doing here? He knows he can’t kill you just yet – the magic on your uncle’s necklace will have to wear off first – so why is he here already?

Your wings flap faster and you shoot forward, spurred on by the raw terror you feel for your cousin. If there was once any affection between you two, it is now long gone.

Run, Y/N. His cruel voice echoes through your mind. Or should I say fly? That’s all you can do, isn’t it? Hide from danger instead of facing it like a true ruler?

You close your mind, the one thing you’ve learned to do perfectly since Chan left. When he first disappeared, his voice used to torment you for hours on end until your uncle taught you to shut him out. Your thoughts become blissfully empty for a moment until terror takes over again.

Greenery flashes beneath you as you soar through the trees, weaving between trunks and ducking under branches. You hear noises that suggest your maidens are attempting to help, but Chan has his own followers to fight them off.

The sun is just beginning to fade over the horizon. Heartened by the sight, you curve your path, attempting to make it back to the lake where you can defend yourself on solid ground. Your human form can do nothing in the air.

With a crow of joy, you dive down to the lake, heart beating wildly in relief as you paddle to the edge of the water. The sun finally sinks beneath the horizon, and you endure the agony of the transformation back to a human.

You hear Jisung screeching and Lia yelling. The voices of your other friends sound from various parts of the forest. You turn around to greet them but stop short when you see the man standing in front of you.

By all the stars, how could this happen?

“Minho?”

. . .

Everything happened way too quickly for Minho to process. All he knows is that he was aiming with his arrow, planning to strike down one of the birds in flight – preferably the swan, because what a prize that would have been for the castle – but he lowered his weapons, mesmerized by the bird’s grace even in the face of danger.

It reminded him of you. Pure, perfect, delicate, yet still a fighter. Fighting to survive. He couldn’t kill it.

And then the bird turned out to be you.

For now, he stands dumbstruck, staring at your perfect face.

I just watched a swan turn into a human.

Maybe if he blinks really hard, this will just be a hallucination. Maybe he fell off his horse while hunting and got knocked out and now he’s dreaming.

He blinks once, then twice. There is no doubt that it’s you. Your dress is the same. Your necklace is the same. Your warm eyes, wide with shock, are the same. So is your face.

Not a dream.

I just watched a swan turn into the girl I might have fallen in love with and it’s not a dream.

A shudder of terror and relief runs down Minho’s spine. He’s suddenly very, very glad that he did not release the arrow.

“Minho?” you whisper again, stepping slightly closer. “How… how did you get here? How did you get into the forest?”

Minho swallows hard. “I… just rode in? On my horse?”

“That shouldn’t have been possible,” you murmur, more to yourself than him. “Who…?”

Then the hawk lands and for the second time in less than five minutes, a bird transforms into a person. Minho thinks he might just faint right then and there.

This person has blond curls and skin as pale as the moon. Handsome, yes, but with a dangerously evil glint in his eye that sends fear spiking into Minho’s heart.

Your eyes turn dark. “You let him in.”

The newcomer raises his arms in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture, smiling coldly. “I might not be able to kill you yet, but a human with human weapons certainly can. I just thought it was a golden opportunity when I saw him on his horse.” His smile turns into a snarl. “But again, I overestimated how useful humans can be. Should’ve used the earthen elves.” The dark eyes lock onto Minho’s, rendering him frozen. “You were supposed to shoot her, you know.”

“Good thing I didn’t,” Minho snaps.

The cold laugh that echoes through the forest sends chills up his spine. “An amusing human. Too bad that you must die.”

“Enough.” You step in front of Minho and he’s a little ashamed to admit his relief, though it quickly turns to worry for your safety. “You brought him in here, Chan, didn’t you? So let him go. He has nothing to do with this anymore.”

“But why?” The man – Chan – cocks an eyebrow. “He knows about us now. He saw you and I transform. Shouldn’t you want him dead as well?”

“Is killing your only solution to everything?” The calmness of your voice astounds Minho, but the whiteness of your clenched knuckles gives your tension away.

“Oh, I don’t enjoy killing, cousin.” Chan smirks. “I only do it when necessary.”

And without warning, he raises an arm and a bolt of light shoots straight at Minho’s chest.

. . .

You never knew you could move so fast. All you knew in the moment was that Minho couldn’t die, not at the hands of your evil cousin.

Chan’s bolt of light strikes your shimmering shield with a crash that reverberates through the trees and sends ripples across the lake. For a terrifying second, the shield almost splits under the pressure of Chan’s power. But the knowledge that Minho will die if you don’t fight steels your mind and the shield shimmers brighter, stronger.

With a shout that’s more akin to a roar, you send the ball of light flying back at Chan. The momentary pride you feel at deflecting his attack fades quickly when you realize how drained you are. Chan, on the other hand, doesn’t even look like he’s broken a sweat.

Not fair.

“You’ve improved, I’ll give you that.” Chan smiles coldly. “We’ll see if it’s enough by next week.”

Your nails dig into your palm. “Get out of my forest.”

“It won’t be yours much longer, dear cousin. I’ll be back.” He disappears into a swirl of black.

“I don’t doubt it,” you mutter.

“Um, Y/N?” Minho’s confused voice breaks into your thoughts. “I’m sorry, but… what just happened?”

Right. Now you need to explain.

“Walk with me.” You give him an apologetic glance. “I’ll explain everything as I make my rounds.”

You thank all the heavens for Minho’s silence as you explain the situation. How your uncle chose you to rule instead of his son, Chan. How Chan came back and cursed you into your swan form but your uncle’s magic protected you enough to keep you from permanently transforming until your twenty-first birthday, which is less than two weeks away.

“You should not be here,” you say bluntly, eyes roving the trees for anything out of the ordinary. “The forest is only visible to those who live in it, unless someone shows you the way in.”

Minho nods. “That makes sense. I thought it was strange that I’d never seen this part of the forest before. Did Chan…?”

Your lips curl. “I suppose. He probably lured you here too.”

It’s a quiet night. When you and Minho fall silent, it’s as though the entire forest is waiting for one of you to speak.

“I almost released the arrow,” Minho says quietly. It takes you a moment to hear him, then another to comprehend his words. And when you realize what he means, all you can really say is “oh.”

Silence again.

“Why didn’t you?” you finally ask.

Minho shrugs. His eyes bore into yours. “The swan… as I watched you flying, it reminded me of you. Of our dance. I felt I couldn’t kill such grace.”

You feel your cheeks heat up slightly. “I see.”

“This curse…” Minho trails off, then takes your hand. “Is there any way I can help?”

If only.

“I wish you could.” You smile gently, trying to hide your own pain. “I’m afraid this is a battle between just Chan and I.”

One that he’ll probably win.

“Do you know how to defeat him? Any idea?” Minho presses.

You snort a little. “I somehow have to unlock my power. Once I find it, I should be able to overpower Chan. My uncle once told me I would be more powerful than Chan someday, but I can’t see how that could be true.”

The two of you fall silent again. Then Minho takes both of your hands in his.

“Y/N.” He forces you to look at him. “You have a reservoir of strength in you that I believe is only untapped. Once you realize your power, I have no doubt that you will be able to defeat your cousin.”

“I have less than two weeks, Minho.” You smile sadly.

Somehow, the two of you have made it through the forest and are back at the lake. Moonlight shimmers in the smooth surface and reflects onto Minho’s face, illuminating it in the night. He looks ethereal under the moon’s pale rays and your heart skips a beat.

“Don’t lose hope.” Minho smiles. “I believe in you.”

His words touch you in a way that nearly brings tears to your eyes. “Thank you,” you murmur.

“I should go now. My friends are probably worried.” Minho adjusts the bow on his shoulder. “Will… will I see you again?”

You want to say yes. You really, really want to say yes, but that could just put Minho in more harm’s way. But he already knows about the forest, and you don’t trust yourself to do a memory wipe on him.

There is a way to keep him safe.

“Yes, but wait a moment.” You remove your hand from his. “Don’t move.”

Breathing deeply, you muster your powers until the growing warmth in your heart manifests into a small, pulsating ball of magic in your hand. With a soft breath, you blow the magic onto Minho, watching as the sparkles settle and disappear into his skin.

“This will protect you from my cousin,” you tell him. “I may not be able to fight directly, but I am quite good at defensive magic. He won’t be able to easily curse you. But you must be careful not to let anyone know where you’re going and trust no one. Chan has many spies, both human and nonhuman.”

“Thank you,” Minho breathes. He reaches forward and squeezes your hand.

Bravery rushes through your veins and you kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you. For choosing not to shoot. For wanting to help.”

Minho looks slightly red under the moonlight, though he has enough sauciness left in him to press a kiss to your hand. “I will see you soon.”

The memory of his lips stays with you long after he’s disappeared.

. . . . .

Chan remains suspiciously quiet for the next few days, allowing Minho to come and go quietly. Every time you ask him if anything happened, he’s happy – but also worried – to shake his head and reassure you that he’s been fine.

The nights spent walking with you on the soft grass become the times when Minho feels the most at home in a way he could never feel in the palace. Surrounded by nature and greenery with the occasional burst of sparkling magic, a certain warmth fills Minho that he could never find in the cold, marble walls of the palace. Despite the terror he felt that first day in the forest, he finds himself grimly thanking Chan for the opportunity to come here.

For the opportunity to see you again.

Typically, Minho isn’t one to believe in romantic ideas like love at first sight. That’s more of Hyunjin’s job – whenever the guard isn’t on duty, anyone can find him in the library, reading yet another romance novel. Once, Minho took a peek at the pages. He almost threw up right then and there, and he’d teased Hyunjin for an entire week afterwards.

If Hyunjin knew what was happening right now – well, if any of his friends knew, really – they would be teasing him to no tomorrow. But Minho doesn’t care anymore. The feelings in his chest might have scared him at first, but after a week of coming to the forest, he’s ready to embrace them.

First love. Minho is sure this is what it is. He thinks about you at all times of the day, hoping that your swan form is safe from predators, praying that Chan doesn’t find some way to defeat you just yet. He lives for the times he gets to see you, glowing under the moonlit sky.

On the night of his birthday, he sneaks away from the palace and dances with you under a canopy of trees and stars, the still waters of the lake shimmering in the distance.

“I love you, Y/N,” Minho confesses that night just before he has to leave. “I know it’s only been a week, but I swear by the stars, I love you.”

Though a smile settles on your face, your eyes turn sad. You drop your gaze to his hand linked with yours. “I love you too, Minho.” You swallow hard and look up. “I really do.”

Neither of you say the words bouncing through your minds, but they hang in the air anyway, creating a thick blanket of tension that threatens to suffocate the two of you.

Minho ignores it. “Will you come to the palace next week?” he asks. His heart swells with hope. “It would be an honor to dance with you the night before my coronation.”

At that, you hang your head. “I cannot promise, Minho.”

It’s what he expected. His coronation is your birthday, and you need to break your curse before then. There was little chance, if any, that you could come. Even so, Minho feels a bit dejected. “I understand,” he forces out.

“I’m sorry.” You squeeze his hand. “If I could…”

“I know.” He presses a kiss on your cheek. “But just in case, I’ll be waiting for you.”

“On the day of, I will send a message to you.” You smile shakily. “You will know if I’m coming or not on the day.”

“So last minute,” Minho teases. “But no matter. I will wait.”

“We don’t think Chan will come into the open until that day, but all the same, I think you should avoid the forest for the next week,” you caution. “He’s been suspiciously quiet, which only means he’s planning something. I don’t want you to get caught in it.”

Minho furrows his eyebrows. He doesn’t like it – he understands the risk, but he wants to be at your side in case you’re in danger. There is little doubt in his mind that you can hold your own, at least for a while, but he wants to be there for you.

“Do you have a plan?” he asks.

You frown slightly. “He can’t hurt me until my birthday. He’s sure to remain in hiding until the day before, then strike at midnight. I will just have to be ready then.”

Minho frowns. He hates that plan. There’s so many variables and so little certainty of anything.

“I know you don’t like it.” You smile sadly. “I don’t either. I want to see you for the rest of my days. But it would kill me if you were hurt, so for my sake, please don’t come.”

“Not even tomorrow?”

“Don’t pout at me.” You reach over and straighten his lips into a line. “That’s better. And no, not even tomorrow.”

Minho attempts to smile. “If I can’t see you until my coronation, may I request one thing from you?”

“Within reason.” A bit of sparkle comes back into your eyes and Minho drinks in the sight, knowing he won’t be able to see it for at least another week.

“May I kiss you?” he breathes.

Breathlessly, he waits for your tiny nod of approval, then leans forward to slot his lips against yours. And in that kiss, he pours all of the emotions he feels for you that he could never put into words.

You sigh slightly against his lips and pull him closer. Minho feels heady with bliss at the pressure of your lips on his, the touch of your hands on his face. He holds your waist, rubbing soft circles against the feathers of your dress.

Finally, you break away for air. With pink cheeks and bright eyes, Minho thinks you look more beautiful than you ever have before.

“You should go,” you finally whisper. “It’s nearing dawn.”

Minho sighs. “I’ll wait for your answer on my coronation day. If you come, I might just give you another kiss.” He winks.

Cringing slightly, you turn away. “I guess I’m not going, then,” you mutter.

“Your smile tells me otherwise.” Minho swoops in and plants a last kiss on your cheek, then on your lips. “Good luck, my swan.”

It’s the first time he’s ever called you that. But the name slips from his mouth so easily that he knows, should he ever see you again, that that will be his name for you. His swan.

You reach up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, my prince.”

. . . . .

One day passes without trouble. Then a second. And a third. And a fourth.

By the fifth, you’re a nervous wreck. As a swan, you flutter from tree to tree restlessly, just waiting for trouble in the form of Chan to appear. Tomorrow is the day before your birthday. Chan is sure to strike sometime then.

It’s also the night before Minho’s coronation.

You’ve decided not to go. Chan will follow you anywhere, so better you fight him in the forest than in a ballroom full of humans. Fewer deaths. Fewer casualties.

Though who knows how many of those there will be if Chan wins.

Hopelessness settles in your veins as the sun begins to set. You land on the lake, limbs heavy but head buzzing with adrenaline. Your fellow swan maidens land beside you, all peering nervously into the forest.

I have a bad feeling, Yuna murmurs.

We all do, Ryujin snaps.

You shush them.

Gliding along the lake, you wait for the sun to disappear, for night to take the place of day. So absorbed are you in the rays that you barely hear the slight whizzing of something flying by your beak.

Fly!

Immediately you flap your wings, attempting to lift off from the water. But something strikes your side and immediately you feel woozy. Wings limp, you drop back into the lake with a splash. Next to you, your maidens go limp as well.

Just as you black out, something tugs your unresisting body to shore.

. . .

Minho slips into bed, gazing out of his window at the full moon. He wonders if you’re safe, then remembers you must be. The jewel. Your necklace. You will be okay for now.

He has to believe it.

“Until tomorrow,” he whispers. Tomorrow, he will have word from you. Tomorrow.

He closes his eyes and drifts into a fitful sleep.

. . .

You wake, head throbbing and wrists tied, in a tiny room. Your five maidens lie around you in various states of wakefulness, ranging from mostly still conked out (Lia) to more or less alert (Yeji). All of you are human.

“They shot us with something,” Ryujin groans, uselessly trying to free her wrists.

You nod slowly. “Undoubtedly Chan’s work. He probably hired some of the earthen elves and their poison darts.” Your lips curl into a snarl. “Someone needs to get out of here and find Minho.”

“Right.” Chaeryeong fixes her gaze on you. “Let’s get you out.”

“No.” You shake your head. “Not me.”

Five pairs of eyes stare at you. “Why?” Yuna finally asks.

“I can’t be killed yet.” You grimly indicate the necklace against your throat. “I have one day left. If I go, Chan has no reason to keep the rest of you alive. If I stay, he does.”

“You know we would all die for you.” Yeji’s gaze, uncharacteristically serious, pins you down. The weight of her words settles on your shoulders.

“And I, you. But this isn’t the time for any of us to die.” You spit a piece of hair out of your mouth. “One of you needs to get out and alert Minho.” Your gaze turns to Lia. “You have the best sense of direction and you’re small enough to fit through that window in the corner.”

“Y/N –”

“No questions.” Steely-eyed, you stare each maiden down. “If you argue, I will command you. As your queen.”

That settles it. The four of you struggle to undo the bonds on Lia’s wrists, rubbing a rusty nail against the ropes until she’s free. She quickly tosses the rope out of the window and with a final look in your direction, she jumps out too.

You barely have enough time for a sigh of relief before the door slams open.

. . .

Minho paces his room, already fitted into his suit and crown. There’s no chance he can escape tonight – the suit will immediately give him away.

But tonight, he isn’t supposed to escape. He’s supposed to wait. For you.

The small clock in his room ticks again. He forces himself not to look – he’s been doing that for the past few hours.

You promised to send someone. So why hasn’t anyone come? Are you in trouble? Did Chan appear?

What if you’re dead?

No.

Minho shakes his head firmly. Your necklace will protect you until midnight. Chan couldn’t have killed you yet. Maybe you got sidetracked. It’s entirely possible.

Still, he wishes you would hurry.

. . .

With a final scream, your weak shield shatters. You hang your head, refusing to let Chan see the tears dripping down your cheeks.

It’s humiliating. When you turned to swans at dawn, he threw you all into cages. When you turned human again, he tied you up. You never had much pride to begin with, but it feels like half of anything you had left is gone.

You’ve failed. You can’t even keep up a simple shield to save your friends. With your hands newly tied with ropes imbued with Chan’s spells, you’re helpless against him.

Your cousin only laughs. “Pitiful.” You can hear the sneer in his voice. “I can’t understand why my father ever chose you over me.” He shakes his head, blond curls falling into his eyes. Tiredly, you think what a handsome and good man he could’ve been had he not fallen to the darkness.

“Have you ever heard that those who desire power the most are the ones who deserve it the least?” You blink the last of the tears from your eyes and look up at the person you hate the most in this world.

Chan’s eyes darken into something maniacal, something worse than evil. But despite the fear rushing through your blood, you refuse to look away.

“I deserve the forest far more than you ever did,” he snarls.

You brace yourself for the next hit and pray to the heavens that Lia made it.

. . .

Minho feels his heart dropping to his stomach as he gazes over the crowd. You’re not here. You haven’t sent any messages.

You’ve broken your promise.

Hyunjin side-eyes him. “Looking for someone?” he asks.

There’s no use hiding it. Minho nods.

Then the doors open at the top of the stairs. He looks up.

There, in a dress of pure white feathers, stands you. Your eyes catch his and you send him a shy smile.

Minho’s heart is about to beat out of his chest.

You’re here.

. . .

Lia swoops down into the palace gardens, bypassing the guards and their swords. The sun dips below the trees just as she takes shelter behind a large clump of bushes to transform.

She hopes that the dress her human form gives her is suitable for a ball.

Stealth has never been Lia’s best point, but she somehow manages to enter the palace without anyone seeing her. Once inside, she simply acts slightly wine drunk, allowing a tired guard to escort her into the ballroom.

But her sigh of relief is cut off when she realizes what’s happening at the center of the room.

Y/N?

She shakes her head. It can’t be her. How could Y/N be here, when she’s probably being tortured at this moment at Chan’s hideout?

This must be one of Chan’s tricks.

“Prince!” she screeches, shoving through the throng of people. “Prince! Prince Minho!”

He doesn’t hear her.

“PRINCE!” she screams, pushing the last person out of her way. Finally, he hears her and looks her way.

Lia’s heart drops. Something isn’t right. Minho’s eyes are slightly unfocused, and she’s never seen this dopey look on his face before. Not even after he kissed Y/N.

Enchanted.

“Lia?” Some of the dopiness melts away, replaced with confusion. “Why…?”

“Prince.” She stalks forward. “This is not Y/N. Chan sent this person as a fake. Changed their appearance. Made an illusion. I don’t know. She’s not Y/N because Y/N is being held this very minute in Chan’s hideout and you need to come with me now.”

The dopey, unfocused look comes back to Minho’s eyes. “But Y/N is right here?”

“Yes, I’m right here.” The look that the poser sends Lia is perfectly innocent, perfectly delicate, perfectly calculated.

It has to be an illusion. No human is that perfect. Least of all Y/N.

“Minho, listen to me.” A crowd has formed, but no one’s tried to stop her yet so she plows on. “This is not your real Y/N. Look at her face. Look at her eyes. She may look like Y/N but she’s an illusion. Wake up, Prince!”

The prince looks between Lia and the poser, confusion and doubt flitting over his face. Then someone grabs her arm from behind.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness. I will take her away,” a guard says over her shoulder. But Lia takes no notice, attention fixated on the dagger at the guard’s side.

She draws the blade with her free arm and the guard shouts, immediately letting her go. Ignoring the cries of fear, she aims.

“Watch, Prince.”

The dagger sails through the air right into the illusion’s chest.

Screams echo throughout the ballroom but no blood flows. The poser’s face registers shock, then blankness as her body dissolves into the air. The dagger clatters to the floor.

All the confusion clears from the prince’s eyes. His skin turns white. “Two horses,” he snaps at a shell-shocked guard. Then he turns to Lia. “Please take me to Y/N. Immediately.”

. . .

The clock in Chan’s room reads a quarter to twelve. At least, that’s what you think it reads. It’s hard to see through the sweat and blood dripping into your eyes.

Fifteen minutes or less. That’s all you have. The hope that Lia will come back starts to fade away.

“Why don’t you just kill me now, cousin?” You spit blood out of your mouth, wishing your friends were still here to bolster your confidence. Chan threw them back into the room after they made too loud a ruckus. But the sounds of them still banging against the door give you a little more strength.

Chan smiles easily, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of you. It’s almost like you two are children again, sitting across from each other and playing games.

Then another drop of sweat stings in your eye and you get rid of any illusions of childhood.

“Oh, Y/N, you always knew I was bad with human weapons.” He laughs coldly. “And they’re all made of iron, you know? Wouldn’t want to burn myself.”

You spit in his face. “If you can’t kill me from this short range with a human weapon, I don’t know if you’re really strong enough to be a king. And I’m sure you could come up with a spell to protect your precious skin, if you’re as capable and powerful as you say.”

“Yet another reason why you shouldn’t rule,” Chan tuts, carelessly wiping away your bloodied spit. He hooks a hand under your chin, pulling your face closer. He tuts again, mockingly. “You were always the snippier one of us two.”

“Get off me!” You wrench your face away from his grasp. The lingering feeling of his hand on your chin makes your skin crawl.

“As you wish.” He smirks. “But as such, I think I’ll stick with watching you die slowly. It’s what you deserve, isn’t it? A human weapon wouldn’t provide as much pain. And who knows?” His grin grows wider. “Maybe, come dawn, I’ll make swan soup and feed it to the dogs.”

Fury blinds your vision and you open your mouth to scream –

And then the door bursts open.

. . .

The shock that blinds Minho at the sight of your bloodied figure nearly kills him. Literally. Had Lia not pulled him away, the blast of light would have killed him.

“Come to join the party?” Chan asks, looking as unruffled and terrifying as ever. He glances at a clock in the corner. “You have seven minutes left to say goodbye to your precious queen.”

Enraged, Minho draws a dagger from his belt and sends it flying at Chan. He doesn’t even blink an eye – with a flick of his hand, the blade dissolves into the air in front of him.

“I knew there was one of you missing.” Chan casts a disdainful look at Lia. “No matter.” He fixes his gaze on Minho. “So you figured out my little illusion, didn’t you? You should’ve stayed with her. The real thing isn’t as pretty, is she?” He jerks his head at you.

Rage fills Minho’s vision and he nearly leaps at Chan. But your voice cuts in.

“Stop.”

All the attention turns back to you.

You spit blood out of your mouth. “Isn’t your fight with me, Chan?” A ghost of a smile plays on your lips. “Why don’t you release these bonds and have us a fair battle?”

Minho wants to scream for you to shut up.

“A good suggestion, dear Y/N.” Chan pretends to think, then shakes his head. “But I’d prefer to watch you break first.”

“No showing of skill? No proving you are fit to rule?” Your eyes flit to the clock and Minho looks too, against his will.

Two minutes.

Chan grins, but Minho can see the repressed anger in his eyes. “I already know I am fit to rule.”

“Then are you afraid that I will find my strength and kill you first?” You tsk. “Coward.”

“What you call cowardice is what I call a strategy.” The smile turns animalistic as Chan directs it at him. “Say goodbye to your lover, dear cousin.”

A flash of light burns out of Chan’s palm, directed straight at Minho’s chest.

. . .

Chan has never seen anyone move so quickly. Much less if they were bound by magic ropes.

His magic ropes. The ropes imbued with the strength of every creature he’s killed.

And you…

You broke them.

His eyes widen as he takes in your outstretched hands, free of bindings, creating a shield. A shield that glows with more power than he’s ever seen you conjure.

The light fizzles from his palm. And as your darkened, furious eyes lock with Chan’s, he feels an unfamiliar emotion. So unfamiliar that he’s almost forgotten its name.

As the clock behind him chimes the hour, Chan does not gloat. Chan does not laugh.

For the first time in years, Chan feels fear.

. . .

How did I do that?

You stare at your outstretched hands and the shield of light they’ve created. Ragged breaths leave your lips but to your surprise, you don’t feel tired. There is no exhaustion. If anything, you feel exhilarated.

The clock chimes. Midnight.

You lock eyes with your cousin. For once, he seems to have nothing to say.

“Anything to say, Chan?” you snarl. You kick one of the torn ropes at your feet and he flinches. “Anything at all?”

“… How?” he finally whispers.

For a moment, you find yourself wondering the same thing. How could you have done this? How did you break from Chan’s bonds? How did you manage to surpass his power?

Your uncle’s words echo through your mind.

“You have an ability that Chan does not. For this reason, you are more powerful than Chan will ever be. But you must unlock that power yourself.”

And suddenly, you understand. You understand how you moved so quickly that first day you protected Minho. You understand how you withstood Chan’s torture for so long while waiting for Lia. You understand the magic your uncle left in the gem that rests against your throat.

You understand the magic that led you to break Chan’s bonds and protect the people you love the most in the world.

“My uncle – your father – once told me I had an ability you do not. And because of that, he told me I had more power than you would ever have.” Your words are slow, calculated, but for once, there is no race against time. There are five hours until dawn – plenty of time before your final transformation.

And with a little luck, that transformation will never happen.

“That day, he gave me this necklace to protect me.” You grasp the gem around your neck. “He told me it had a magic in it as old as time, and that you would never be able to overcome it before my twenty-first birthday. So I suppose it no longer works.” Slowly, you unclasp the chain from your neck, clutching the gem in your hand. “But I don’t suppose I need it anymore.”

No one speaks.

“How, you ask?” You step forward, and for once, Chan steps back. “I’ve found my power. It is a power far older, far stronger than your dark arts. Would you like to hear about it?”

Chan swallows, attempting a look of defiance. You wish you could tell him how stupid it looks.

“It is a magic as vast as the stars,” you whisper. “It is a magic as old as time. It is the power to feel a heartbeat from across the room. It is the power to speak volumes without a sound, without a word.”

You step forward.

“It is the power to protect.”

Another step.

“It is the power to love.”

As you stare into his eyes, real fear flashes over Chan’s face. But you take no pleasure in it, only feel sorrow that your cousin will never be able to feel as deeply as you.

In a movement as smooth as water, you grasp Chan’s arm with a strength you never thought you had. Your other hand presses against his chest.

“I’m sorry, cousin.”

Your power drives deep into his heart.

. . . . .

Minho’s parents were unsure of the union at first, especially since they found you in the same sorry state that Chan’s torture left you. But Minho had refused to let you return to the forest and practically forced you and your maidens into the castle to help you clean up and heal. Upon your request, he brought Jisung, Jeongin, and Seungmin over as well. Once the tattered dress of feathers was gone, your cuts and scrapes cleaned, and Minho had informed them of your magic and your status as queen, his parents became more receptive.

You sit in the front row at Minho’s coronation, your former swan maidens at your side. Pride fills your heart as you watch the priest crown your love, hand him the royal sword and scepter, and repeat the oath his father took so many years prior.

That day, you don’t dance with him, as per the doctor’s orders. But Minho stays by your side throughout the ensuing ball, only leaving for several ceremonial dances that he pouts the whole way through. But, as you remind him, “there will be many more dances together after we marry.”

And marry you do. All of your forest friends come to the ceremony, watch you walk down the aisle in a white gown devoid of feathers to recite your vows to the king.

(Jisung, Felix, Jeongin, and the girls all openly cry into each other’s arms. Seungmin, Changbin, and Hyunjin refuse to admit their tears but everyone can see through them anyway.)

The kiss that day is like your first, minus the sadness. Your hands cup his face while his rest lightly against your waist. Minho’s lips press against yours with a gentle insistence that you eagerly give in to, his fingers brushing softly against the fabric of your dress.

The festivities last until midnight, when you’re finally allowed to retire to your room in the palace. Minho finds you on the balcony, staring down at the throngs of celebrating citizens.

Weeks ago, you were terrified of turning twenty-one. You were terrified of the inevitable change and the inevitable death sentence that age would bring.

Now, you think that turning twenty-one wasn’t the worst thing you’ve done in your life.

“What are you thinking of, my swan?” Minho presses a kiss against your neck.

You smile. “Just… I don’t know. Turning twenty-one seemed so terrifying a few weeks ago. Now...”

“Ah.” Minho nods. “You know, I dreaded that age too.”

“No kidding.” You raise an eyebrow.

“I was terrified of losing my freedom, of being forced to marry someone I didn’t love and being forced to stay with them for the rest of my life.” Minho squeezes your hand. “But you know, it doesn’t seem too bad now.”

A snort bursts from your lips. “That’s an understatement,” you laugh, turning back to the scene beyond the balcony. There’s a little silence.

“What are you thinking of now?” Minho whispers.

The smile on your face grows wider. “The day we first met.”

“Oh, yes.” Minho turns you around to face him again. “I think I knew then and there that I was going to fall in love with you, you know.”

Shyly, you look down. “I think I knew too.”

He tilts your chin back up and presses a light kiss on your lips. “I love you, Y/N.”

One hand reaches up to rub the gem resting at your throat. Your uncle’s necklace still sparkles around your neck as a reminder of the duties you still have in the forest, but also as a reminder of the immense power he always knew you had. The power of that single, simple word.

Love.

You smile, dropping the gem to rest your arms around Minho’s neck. He smiles down at you with passion in his eyes and happiness on his lips.

“I love you too.”

[mermaidxatxheart]

The Queen of Wishful Thinking

Ok. So, this is the start of a new series that I’ve been working on for a couple years. This is the prelude to my teen wolf story. It’s an OFC. If you’d like to be tagged, let me know. send me an ask. I’m not stopping my other works. I’m still continuing all of my Bucky stories and the requests that I’ve received. I haven’t forgotten about them. But I’m struggling with the toxicity of the Marvel fandom at the moment. I won’t be tagging anyone from my Marvel tag lists specifically because they didn’t sign up for this genre. If you want to be on both, let me know. Here we go. Also, thank you to everyone who read this for me and encouraged me to post it. You guys have been sent by the gods. I love you so much.

Pairing: OFC X Derek Hale (future)

Word Count: 6732

Warnings: abuse, mentions of blood and violence. descriptions of pain and torture.

Summary: Aryanna was a special girl. Her parents got exactly what they wished for. But she’s the one paying the price. 

My birth should have been the best thing that ever happened to my parents. They had prayed to the gods for so long to bless them with a special child.

 Be careful what you wish for.

I tried to be normal.

 I tried desperately to be like everyone else.

 And the reality was that I wasn’t that different. I didn’t have extra arms, or a second belly button or anything weird. What made me special wasn’t visible. I don’t know what made him choose me, all I know was that it made my life miserable. Lord Apollo, the god of music, poetry, prophecies, light and truth, had picked me to bear the gift of foresight. Apparently, he was also the god of stupid decisions.

 Ever since I was a little girl, I knew I was different. It was supposed to be a special gift, craved by many. I was to be the next Seer. It was a popular practice in those days, most every village had one, as long as it was large enough. The one in my village was useless. He was called Aischylos. It should have been an obvious tell to anyone who spoke to him, seeking advice and consul that he’s a liar and a fraud since his name means ‘shame’. But, as usual, people see and believe what they want to.

 The very first vision I had was of my father when I was four years old. I had stayed home with my mother while she prepared her wine to sell. I was playing on the floor next to her and my sight disappeared. I blinked several times, and when it cleared, there was something strange about it. It was in front of me, but I could tell it wasn’t true. If I were to reach out and touch it, my hands would pass through air. It was rounded, and not all together clear, like I was looking at it through water. My father walked through the door with a large sack full of fish, a magnificent catch for the aging fisherman. I shook my head and my father was gone. I looked up at my mother and she smiled down at me.

 “Papa did good today, Mama.” I said simply and went back to playing with my wooden centaur figure. My father returned home soon after just as I had seen it in my mind. My mother looked from my father to the little girl sitting at her feet and she smiled wide, clearly happy but I was too young to understand what it was. 

 I didn’t see anything for a long time after that, I was close to my fifth year, I spoke to my mother of a time of man that was far away. A time when houses and structures soared high into the sky and horses were no longer used for common travel. I had seen it in a dream and it fascinated me. I had made the mistake of telling my mother in the market place and people overheard. Word spread like wildfire through our village about what I said, and the Seer, Aischylos, realized what it meant. That I was to take over his position. He no longer would get the respect and honor and good treatment that came along with his title. It would be handed over to a little girl and he would be cast aside, forgotten and forced to return to the status of everyone else in the village. He had spent countless years forging his ability that he didn’t have to get the status he didn’t deserve. He couldn’t just allow some stupid girl to take that away from him. But he bided his time, knowing I would not be eligible until my twelfth year. He watched me carefully, finding chances to whisper lies about me. He was a master of patience and manipulation.

 Living in a coastal village, there wasn’t much to do. But I was an adventurous girl, always finding places to hide and run off to. The other children would ask me questions to watch me predict the future, but I wasn’t allowed to give too much away. So, I enjoyed playing in the woods with the nymphs and satyrs, they didn’t care about using me to see the future. But they usually avoided the humans unless to tease them, so they were never much help in defending me. He would follow me, see that I was alone and go back to the village, whispering tales about witchcraft and evil. By the time I was nine, no one in my village trusted me. I was all but shunned. My mother and father were having issues at market, no one wanted to buy from them and it turned them bitter, turned them against me.

 My mother raged against me. Always berated me for any task that I did. No matter how well I did it, no matter if it was perfect, she would destroy it and shout at me, hitting me. My father couldn’t stand the sight of me. He would hit me for no reason at all. He encouraged his friends, our neighbors to hit me. They made me believe that I was a mistake, and the only way to make it right, to get them to love me, was to pray to the gods, begging Zeus and Apollo to take away this curse and make me like everyone else.

 Every night I would make the very long trip to Zeus’s temple, light candles and make offerings for the gods. Then I would pray with all my might that they would relieve me of this burden, so that I may be accepted. Every night, praying until I was numb with exhaustion. But I received no answer to my prayers, no matter how hard I muttered them and shouted them. No matter how many years I prayed, or food I sacrificed.

 When it became obvious that the gods weren’t going to answer my prayers, my father blamed me. He would hit me senseless and tell me I wasn't praying hard enough. There was no point in trying to hide the cuts and bruises on my skin, no one cared about me enough to even ask if I was okay. The villagers would even contribute at my father’s encouragement, throwing stones and rotten fruit at me, whatever they could find.

 One day, in the darkness of the early morning during my fifteenth year, I was roused out of a deep sleep. My father demanded I attend him on his boat with my mother. It had been a long time since they've wanted me on the boat, or even anywhere near them.

 I had a terrible feeling as I blundered around on the deck. Nerves racked my body, a heavy pit settling in my stomach. It had been so long since I handled the nets, my fingers had forgotten what to do. My mother was staying up by my father on the helm, speaking so quietly I had no chance of hearing. I stumbled over the ropes and crates littering the deck as we sailed smoothly out further into the vast expanse of Lord Poseidon's realm. Finally, I gave up on trying to move around and sat towards the front, watching the horizon grow lighter with Apollo rising the sun. I had a knot in my stomach-fear that they were going to bring me someplace to leave me, finally to be rid of me. But that seemed to not be the case as my father called across the boat for me to cast the nets.

 A few hours later we were finished, sacks of fish crowded the deck and a bloody spear was propped up against the mast. My father used it to defend the boat from the vicious sharks. We were headed back to land and I was starting to feel the knot in my chest loosen and relax. Maybe they really just needed my help. I was carrying a length of rope across the boat when it jerked suddenly. I lost my balance and fell forward just as the spear tipped towards me. It pierced my skin as easily as a knife through goat cheese and pain flared, burning my side. I cried out, flinging my hand against the mast to keep myself upright. I looked up at my parents for help, but they just stood at the wheel, watching my lifeblood pour out of my side.

 "Mama! Papa! Please!" I called desperately. I tried to pull the spear out of my side, but every time I touched the wooden handle, the pain only got worse. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I watched my parents turn their gazes away from me, pretending I wasn't dying. The boat bumped against the harbor dock and I scrambled away towards the side, frantic to get away before they finished killing me. 

                                                The spear got tangled on a rope and fresh blood ran out. I clamped my jaw shut and yanked it out. The pain nearly made me pass out, I swayed slightly and pressed my chiton against my side, hoping to stop the loss of the precious red liquid. The sight of it was making me dizzy as I struggled up over the side and up the dock. I barely managed to make it to my feet as I wobbled back towards the center of the village.

 I knew by now that it was useless to beg anybody to help me, I would have to do this on my own. I stumbled into my home, crashing into the walls as my vision swam. I gathered my mother's bone needle and linen threads from the loom where she crafted our clothes. I shook my head violently to clear my vision, but I only succeeded in losing my balance and falling against the door. I forced my way outside and headed for the tree line, able only to focus on managing that.

 The forest floor crunched beneath my feet, pine needles breaking and the noise was deafening. Branches whipped at my face as I ran, looking for privacy to stitch myself. I had heard of soldiers doing this in battle from the men at market. I just hoped I knew what I was doing. I found a large tree and slumped against the base, exhausted. My hand was covered in red as I numbly lifted the bone needle and the thread. I tied the thread through the hole and made a knot at the other end. It took me a dozen tries, my hands shaking and my vision blurring. My fingers were losing feeling and the linen kept slipping out of my hand, but I had to do this. I refused to let this be how I die.

 Somehow I managed to get the knot finished and I raised my arm, preparing myself to pierce my skin once more. The needle was thick, and long; and I had no sort of numbing agent to dull the pain.

 This would not be pleasant.

 I stabbed the needle through my skin, just below the wound and my vision clouded over, going black. The scream was unstoppable as burning hot pain spread across my chest. Everything in me begged me to stop, but I knew I couldn't. I needed to keep going, even though everything would be easier if I just let go. But that wasn't who I was. I didn't give up. I didn't quit even though the gods ignored me, I didn't give up on my parents - and I still wouldn't, even though they just tried to kill me. And I refused to give up on this, even though it hurt worse than anything I've ever felt before.

 I dragged the large needle through my skin, pulling tight and closing the wound. My lifeblood was already slowing down, becoming stickier. I pulled the needle through one last time and let it fall against my skin. I was exhausted both mentally and physically and I just wanted to sleep. My eyes fluttered closed and the vision started.

 A little boy of about three was running around a room. I couldn't see the details of the space, they were blurred, but I could hear his laughter, his tiny giggles. He ran around a table, his jet black hair blown back out of his face as he ran, his eyes green and bright. I saw myself chasing after him and I was laughing, looking truly happy. I could feel vision me, her happiness and contentedness flow into me and I felt at peace as I watched that little boy laugh. I didn't recognized the clothes on my body, they were foreign and unfamiliar but they weren't the important part. The little boy, he would be special, I could feel it in my bones.

 "Perseus!" I called to the little boy. He laughed hysterically and dove under the table, hitting his head on the bottom. He began to cry and I picked him up, comforting him as he clung to me. He turned around in my arms and seemed to look right at me.

 "Get up!" He said loudly and my eyes flew open.

 I groaned as I realized that night had fallen. I would have to walk back in the dark. I gingerly finished with the thread and began making my way back to the village. I would not give up, if only for the sake of seeing that little boy. I was determined to be that happy and content one day. I wouldn't stay here and be miserable forever.

 * * *

On the night of my eighteenth year, I was in the temple by myself, crying as I prayed. That day had been an exceptionally difficult one. I should have been Seer by then, but I wasn’t given the position because of people’s continued hatred of me. Aischylos was making a mess of everything. A little girl had gone to him with her mother for consul and he failed to warn them that the little girl would be hurt. A boy driving his father’s chariot had nearly run them down in the street, but I saw it before it happened. I pulled them out of the way and saved them, but my thanks was being screamed at that I was a monster and being pelted with stones. They hit me all over my body, cutting my skin and breaking my chest bones.

 So here I sit, on the temple floor, crying my eyes out, praying for relief. I want no part of this curse anymore.

 The candles had long since melted low, burning at the bitter end of their lives, and the sacrificial fire was all embers now. My head sank low on my chest with exhaustion from crying and shouting at the gods. I had run out of tears hours ago, but I had also run out of energy to make myself get up and go home. My eyes fluttered closed, blocking out the flickering light and the stone floor. The noise of the wind and sea outside dimmed remarkably as I drifted to sleep. I found that I preferred it here lately, no one to hate me here.

 I don’t know how long I slept there before a massive bang woke me. I fell back with a shout of surprise as I stared up at two figures standing twenty feet tall. I screamed and scrambled for the exit, tripping slightly over my chiton. One of the figures moved so quickly that I barely had time to blink my eyes before he was between me and the way out. I slid as I tried to stop, falling to the hard ground and hurting my wrist.

 “Is that any way to greet the Lord of Olympus?” The figure behind me growled. I looked between the two menacing figures and forced my pounding heart to slow.

 “L-Lord Zeus?” I stammered.

 “Obviously, girl. Use those eyes of yours.” He huffed. I quickly stood and bowed low. Zeus was not a figure to make angry.

 “Um, Lord Zeus, what are you doing here?” I asked, glancing at him as the other figure moved back beside Zeus. I recognized him as Apollo. He was very handsome with blond hair and deep blue eyes, tanned skin and a lithe muscular build. Zeus grunted and looked at Apollo, who tilted his head and raised a shoulder.

 “These mortals.” Zeus sighed. “You prayed to me, didn’t you, girl?” He snapped. I flinched back as his voice rumbled around the temple. Thunder clapped loudly outside as his anger flared. I clenched my jaw in annoyance.

 “I’ve prayed to you every night since I was nine!” I snapped back. “What are you doing here now?” He raised a dark eyebrow at me. I sighed and sat down hard, crossing my legs and holding my head in my hands. My forehead still stung where rocks had hit it, reminding me just how much of a horrible day I’ve had.

 “When you live for forever, girl, a few years means nothing to a god. You’ll understand what I mean.” He said, raising his hand. I snapped my head up, having to almost look straight up at him.

 “What?”

 “Your punishment.” Apollo said, looking down at me.

 “M-my punishment?” I shrieked. “For what?”

 “Your punishment.” Zeus said coldly. “You were given a gift and you want to throw it away. You think it’s a curse, well-I’m going to give you lifetimes to learn to appreciate your gift.”

 “No! You don’t understand! They hate me!” I shouted, tears filling my violet eyes once more.

 “They can’t hate their Seer.” Apollo said, frowning down at me.

 “I’m not their Seer! I’m not anything.”

 “What did you just say?” Zeus demanded, thunder clapping loudly outside.

 “They refused to give me the position.” I said, the tears spilling down my flushed cheeks. “They kept the fraud.”

 “That’s not possible.” Apollo said, sharing a look with his father.

 “But it’s the truth. Please don’t do this to me, I’ll never survive. They torment me and abuse me day after day. My parents have already tried to kill me. I won’t make it another year!” I pleaded. Apollo shrank down to regular mortal size and moved in front of me, kneeling down to be on the same level. Not something gods usually do, but I must have looked extra pathetic so he took pity.

 “What did they do?” He asked gently, putting his warm hands on my face.

 “They call me a witch and throw stones at me. My parents told me I was cursed, that I should never exist.” I said, my breath coming in ragged gasps. “Please? I won’t live a day if you do this.” I whispered, choking on tears.

 “My father has already made up his mind. But you’ll have other gifts to help you survive. I promise.” Apollo said softly, pressing a warm kiss to my forehead. It felt like soft sunshine on a warm summer’s day. “Close your eyes. It will be over soon.” He said, helping me stand up and hugging me against him. I hadn’t realized how cold I was until I touched his body. He radiated heat that warmed me from my head to my toes. I shivered slightly and squeezed my eyes shut, just as he said.

 “Is it going to hurt?” I whispered, my face pressed against his robe.

 “I don’t know.” He answered honestly. Even though my eyes were shut tight I saw a blinding flash and an intense, white hot pain racked my body. I screamed in torment, pushing away from Apollo and stumbling backwards. I felt like my skin was peeling off my body, layer by layer. The pain was too much, I was sure that nobody could take this much pain and survive. I could feel my muscles pulling apart the way a rope untwines. I could feel every fiber detaching from my bones and then separating themselves. I felt like I was burning hot, but I couldn’t make it stop. I couldn’t do anything to block the pain.

 Then the worst part came. Every bone in my body was ripped apart, dislocated and shattered into a thousand pieces like broken pottery. I should be dead. There’s no way I could survive this, but here I was, feeling every single second of it. My organs melted and my brain boiled as they destroyed me. I staggered backwards, completely disoriented, my throat raw from screaming. Suddenly my feet weren’t touching the stone floor anymore, there was nothing but air under them and I was falling backwards, fifteen feet to the hard packed earth below. I stretched my hand out, searching blindly for Apollo, the closest thing to me, but came up empty.

 * * *

The first thing I noticed was the sunlight warm on my face. I blinked my eyes open slowly, hoping that I had just had a dream; a really, really bad dream and I could pretend it never happened. I was lying flat on my back, looking straight up and that’s when I first noticed that something wasn’t right. Instead of the thatched roof of my sleeping room, or the cold marble of the temple, I was looking at the green leaves of trees with sunlight streaming through casting a green color on my skin. I looked around me, finally realizing that I wasn’t at my home. I was lying on the floor of a forest, and not one that I recognized. I rolled over to my hands and knees, expecting my whole body to ache. 

 There was no way I could have experienced that amount of pain and not feel any the next day, but I felt completely fine. Even my wrist, which I had hurt when I fell, had no pain. I stood up, brushing the fallen leaves and twigs off me and glanced around. I didn’t recognize these woods at all. It didn’t even smell the same.

 I heard noises in front of me, it sounded like women talking. There must be a road close by. I took a deep breath and headed in that direction. Maybe there’s a sign telling me which way is home. I ran through the trees, tripping over fallen logs before finally reaching an empty pathway, just wide enough for a cart to get through. I saw the ladies just down the road and I hurried after them.

 “Excuse me.” I said, reaching them. The three older ladies turned and looked at me expectantly. “Can you tell me which way it is to Akoluthos?” I asked politely, praying they would have heard of it. The tallest lady pointed behind me and I glanced. “Do you know how far?”

 “Three days by this road.” The woman to her left said. I nodded.

 “Thank you.” I turned and headed back towards my home, not looking forward to the three day walk. I took my time, not rushing my pace, keeping it slow and steady. I knew I was in big trouble for not coming home last night. My father was sure to punish me. Not to mention the fact that I will have been missing for days. This will be the worst punishment I’ve ever had.

 * * *

I crested the top of the ridge that borders my village and looked out over it. I don’t know what I had been expecting, some sort of urgency that I had been missing for three days. But, probably I should have seen this coming, everything was going about as it normally would. The sun was setting low in the sky as I hurried down the slope and headed for my home. It was almost night.

 I glanced around as I walked, feeling a strange sensation on the back of my neck. I saw people I recognized, people I had grown up with, but none of them looked the same. The streets smelled different and I felt like everything had been replaced by duplicates that were the same, but different.

 This wasn't home anymore.

 “Mama? Papa?” I called as I ran inside. My mother was in the kitchen, getting the evening meal ready. It was as if nothing was amiss.

 “Where have you been, you wicked child?” She snapped, turning around with the wooden spoon already in her hand. I flinched back instinctively, but I had to answer.

 “I was at the temple praying, like you told me to. Lord Zeus and Lord Apollo came to me and they said I had to be Seer. They said I was going to live forever.” I rushed, getting my story all jumbled in my anxiousness to explain. “Then,” I heard my father moving behind me and I backed into the wall with a quiet whimper, trying to make myself as small as possible.

 “Girl.” My father said, his hard voice quiet.

 “Papa, the gods said that I was to be Seer. That I had to be Seer. They were so angry that I didn’t want their gift, that you didn’t want me to be Seer. They said that I’m your gift.” I said, looking at him with pleading eyes. I should have known it wouldn’t have done any good. 

 My father’s hand flew before I ever even saw it move. It cracked hard against the side of my face, sending me sprawling into the eating table and wall. I cried out in pain, feeling a crack in my chest. After a few seconds it was gone. I looked up at him, tears filling my eyes.

 “Papa,” I started to plead.

 “This was not a gift, girl. You were not a gift to us. You are a curse on this land, on these good people. And I’ve had enough of it. I won’t have a monster like you terrorizing us anymore.” He growled, reaching down and grabbing a fistful of my hair. Strands ripped out painfully under his rough hand and I cried out in protest, my hand reaching up to grasp his wrist, hoping to lessen the pain. He started dragging me towards the door and kicked it open out of his way.

 “Papa, please don’t! You’ll make them angry and they won’t forgive you!” I cried, kicking my legs out to get caught on anything. “Papa!” 

 He didn’t reply, he just marched towards the center of town, dragging me along.

 “Mama!”

 She was following behind, a torch in her hand. It was unlit, but ready for use. I cried and struggled against my father’s hand, but his grip was too tight. I couldn’t get free. The other townsfolk were starting to gather at the center where the home fire was burning, the hearth fire for Lady Hestia. One of my father’s friends, who greatly enjoyed beating me, was piling a few bundles of sticks and twigs around a large pole just a few feet away from the home fire. My mother’s sister was holding a few lengths of rope as my father jerked me upright and shoved me against the pole.

 They already planned all this.

 I tried to step away as he took the ropes from her, but he grabbed my arm and twisted it at an odd angle, making a loud snapping sound. I screamed as pain rushed through my body. He tied me to the pole, making sure I wasn’t able to escape.

 “Papa, please. I’m your daughter.” I sobbed.

 “My daughter is gone. She died a long time ago.” He snarled, standing back as my mother lit the pitch on the torch, using the flames from the home fire. That was against the rules. You weren’t supposed to use the home fire for anything besides making a new one in a new town and sacrificing food to the gods. My mother looked at her husband lovingly, holding out the torch towards him. I watched in terror as his hand covered hers and they lowered the torch to the pile of sticks at my feet. I struggled to get out of my bonds, but they were tied too tight and soaked with saltwater so they were swollen and unforgiving. The whole village was gathering around as the sticks took the fire, spreading around the base to surround me. I struggled harder against the ropes, but it was no use. The flames licked up the pile, flickering around my feet. I clenched my teeth, determined not to give the satisfaction. If I was going to die, I wasn’t going to die making them happy.

 The base of the pole caught the fire, the heat becoming unbearable now as the flames danced around my feet burning my skin. I closed my eyes, forcing my mind to calm down, to think of something else besides the fire. I focused hard on something else, anything else. I found myself wishing, for the first time ever, to have a vision, something to see other than the faces in the crowd of my family as they watched me die.

 Maybe it was because I was wishing for one to happen, or focusing so hard I made it happen, but I caught the first flicker of a face. It was handsome, tanned and a little narrow, but still square at the same time. Green eyes and dark hair with a neatly trimmed beard. He was muscular and tall. I tried to stay focused on him, trying to see more of his surroundings, more of the vision but the pain of the fire was making everything fade away. The flames were up to my thighs now, melting my skin. I gritted my teeth, but I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I screamed, struggling harder against the ropes, but I was stuck there. The fire started to travel faster up my body. I let out a continuous scream of anguish, wishing I would just die already and get it over with. I wondered how Zeus and Apollo would keep their promise that I would live forever, if my parents had just killed me.

 The flames reached my neck and that was just about all my body could take. I felt myself drifting, only half feeling the pain as I slowly slipped away. The last image I had was of my parents standing in front of me, in the glow of my flames, smiling and kissing each other, so proud of themselves for getting rid of the big scary monster.

 * * *

I gasped loudly as air flooded my lungs. I opened my eyes, staring up at the sky, confused as all Hades as I tried to remember what happened. I slowly sat up, looking around and seeing my village. It was full dark, the middle of the night. I stood up, starting to dust myself off as I turned towards my home, only my hand didn't touch cloth, it touched bare skin.

 I was naked, my clothes were missing. I took a step towards home to get a new chiton, but then my memory came back, and I remembered what my parents did to me. I covered my mouth, feeling like I was going to be sick.

 “No. They wouldn’t do that.” I gasped, falling to my knees. “Mama and Papa, they wouldn’t.” I breathed. I looked around and saw the pyre where I had been tied up when my parents set me on fire. It was burned beyond belief, still smoldering in the night air. The comforting sea breeze blew through the village, lighting some of the faded embers to a slightly brighter glow. Where my body had been was just a pile of ashes now. Nothing resembling a human remains. I covered my face in horror, feeling my hands get wet from tears I didn’t know were falling. My stomach crawled into my throat as I remembered the pain. I retched but nothing came up, my stomach was empty. Lightening flashed and I looked up at the dark sky, noticing the thunder clouds rolling in.

 “What do I do?” I asked quietly. “They still don’t want me.” Thunder rumbled, low and menacing. Lightening flashed brightly across the sky and I got the warning. They were going to be punished, and I shouldn’t be here when it happens. I stood up and forced myself to move. I hurried through the houses, grabbing a chiton that was hanging out to dry. I clumsily tugged it on, fastening it as I ran. Rain started to fall, slow at first and then more heavily as I half ran and half stumbled to the ridge overlooking the village. I managed to make my way up in a reasonable amount of time as the rain became a downright deluge. I paused at the top, turning back to watch the home fire, which was visible from my location, flicker and die out. Also against the rules. The home fire was always supposed to be kept burning. 

 Thunder crashed loudly, angrily and the waves could now be heard crashing against the shore, sending the fishermen’s boats into the docks. I could hear the waves getting larger as they came further inland. I turned my head towards the sea, my eyes widening in horror as a massive tidal wave, taller than the gods themselves, surged up and crashed over the land, covering the entire village.

 Only, it didn’t fade away, like a normal wave. It held over the village, drowning everyone down there, asleep in their homes. They didn't even have time to scream.

 “No!” I cried out, taking a step towards the edge of the ridge. I didn't know what I was going to do, but I had to do something. I couldn't just let them die. Two strong arms caught me around the middle, holding me back. I fought against them, trying to pry them off me; I had to try and save them. This was all my fault. “Let me go! They’re dying!” I cried.

 “So? They killed you first.” The man said. I faltered, looking up at him, seeing Apollo.

 “That doesn’t mean I want them dead!” I protested.

 “It’s not your decision, Aryanna. They made my father angry. This is their punishment.” He said firmly. “I suggest you get over it quickly, because they’re gone. They’re not coming back.” He moved his arms from my waist to my arms. “And honestly, you deserve better.” He said.

 I shook my head. “They’re my family.” I said, my voice breaking as I looked pleadingly at him.

 “I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but your family just murdered you.” He said, his mouth twitching up in an apologetic smile. “I mean, my family is nuts, but yours takes it to a whole new level. I mean, they even asked for a special kid. It doesn’t get a whole lot more special than a Seer.” I hung my head, my shoulders shaking as I cried. This was all so overwhelming. I had so many questions I didn't even know where to start. “Oh, um. Hey, it’s okay.” He said awkwardly, patting my back.

 “How is this okay?” I snapped, looking up at him. He jerked his hand back as if I might bite it off.

 “Oh, well,” He paused, thinking for a minute. “Because now you don’t have to be stuck with them forever. Consider yourself lucky, trust me. I’m stuck with my family forever, literally, and we actually sort of like each other. So, you’re much better off.” He said, smiling brightly and the dark receded ever so slightly.

 “No disrespect, Lord Apollo, but you don't know what you're talking about.” I muttered, turning to look out over the flooded village.

 "Maybe, you humans are strange things to us gods." He shrugged.

 His words rang in my ears and I turned back to him, my temper flaring. "What did you do to me?" I demanded and he took a cautious step back.

 "What?"

 "I was just burned alive. What did you do to me?" I didn't care that he was a god and that I might be offending him.

 "Zeus and Hades, they cursed you. You're forbidden from entering the Underworld when you die." He said softly.

 "Why did it hurt so much?" 

 He flinched slightly. "You had to be unmade."

 "Unmade? What does that mean?”

 "You had to be pulled apart layer by layer to be rewritten the way my father wanted." He explained.

 "So, I'll die but not stay dead?" I asked, feeling my horror rise again.

 "I'm afraid so. And I'm sure you'll find there are some other things you'll be able to do and other things you can't." 

 I blew out a sigh, wiping my face dry. "What about this place? The next people who settle here?" I asked.

 "Nobody will. This place will stay barren for eternity." 

 I glanced back as the water started to recede. "Demeter, I assume?"

 "Yes." 

 I grunted. It seems all the gods had a hand in this. "Terrific."

 “Where will you go?” He asked.

 “Crete, most likely. That's where it's all happening these days. Big city, I can blend in.” I said quietly. He nodded thoughtfully.

 “Good luck.”

 “I’m not supposed to be anyone’s Seer anymore, am I?” I asked. 

 He shook his head. “You’re past the age.” He said apologetically. “That’s not to say you won’t have visions anymore. You need to keep them to yourself. Humanity isn’t supposed to know too much. It’s a punishable crime against the gods.” He said seriously. I snorted and moved to walk past him. “I’m serious, Aryanna.” He warned, grabbing my arm as I passed. I faced him and squared my shoulders, deciding then and there that I was done being afraid. I had just survived being murdered by my parents. If I could come back from that, relatively sane-I had nothing else to fear ever again.

 “What else could the gods possibly do to me? I’m already cursed to live forever.” I said. “What are they going to do? Kill me?” I laughed morosely. “You’re not going to make me stop having visions because that would give me what I wanted in the first place.” I said.

 “There are other things we could do.” He said, trying to sound mysterious. I started laughing even harder.

 “Like take my sight? I would just heal. I was just burned alive, Apollo. I really don’t think there’s much you can do to me.” 

 He was quiet for a long time. “We could make you relive that moment over and over until eternity ends.” He said quietly. I froze, staring at him.

 “You would actually do that to me?” I asked.

 “If you need an incentive to keep what you see quiet, then yes. We would.” 

 I bit my lip and nodded. “Good to know. It’s not like I have anyone to tell anything to, anyways.” I said, backing away from him.

 “Aryanna.” He sighed.

 “You should go. Get back to your family. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble on my behalf.” I said quietly, turning and walking into the woods.

 “Be careful, Aryanna.” I heard him whisper before there was a pop and he was gone. I stopped, staring straight ahead of me. I didn’t know what to do now. I have never been on my own before, I had never really even been away from home. I felt myself starting to shake from nerves and uncertainty. I took a second to look back at my home, at everything I knew. 

         The last of the water was receding, fading back into the ocean, leaving behind a ruined town, houses washed away. A broken reminder of what happened, to never make the gods angry. This ghost village would remain here, dead and in pain. A reminder of all the bad things, barren for the rest of eternity. It would never sustain life again, the waters would be empty, the soil ashes.

 A cursed land.

 I bit my lip to force back the tears. I was going to be fine. I didn’t need my parents around yelling at me. I could have my own life and be happy. I took a deep, settling breath and turned back towards the road to move on to something better.

 “I can do this.” I said to myself, taking the first step towards freedom and towards my new life.

Tag List:

@everythingisoverrated​ @thiccbinch​ @wkemeup​ @imanuglywombat​ @thewolfsenate

[katealexandra26]

A Different Kind of Magic (1/1)

Summary: In hindsight, she probably shouldn’t have thought that his disability would be a limiting factor for anything. For a man with one hand, some of the things he could do with that single hand were downright magic. Plus the bastard clearly loved a challenge, so of course Captain Hook didn’t let things like limits or conventional wisdom determine who he was, what he could do or how he could love. 

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: ~5000

Also on: ao3 | ff.net

Author’s Note: So this one shot was inspired by this post here and this post here. This started out as a drabble based on Killian Jones shuffling cards and somehow transformed into a 5K ramble about Emma’s obsession with Killian’s fingers and hand. The story goes up to season 4 during the 6 weeks of peace in Storybrooke. Lots of pining and lust, love and smut (and maybe a little dash of angst.) I hope this isn’t utter rubbish.

tagging (in no particular order) some friends, folks who directly asked to be tagged & a few of those who liked the posts that inspired this (if you want to be tagged/untagged just ask): @bleebug, @enchanted-captain-swan, @deathbycaptainswan, @stardusted-nymph, @enthymeme, @leatherjacketsandrum, @couldnthandleit, @queenswan20, @kmomof4, @redstar96, @galadriel26, @lenfaz, @queen-mabs-revenge, @thesschesthair, @profoundlyfadedprincess, @gingerchangeling, @jimhalpertcanbuymelove, @onceuponaswans, @yeahiliketheredleatherjacket, @owlways-and-forever, @snowbellewells, @teamhook, @bethacaciakay, @nfbagelperson, @pirateherokillian, @spartanguard, @optomisticgirl, @shady-swan-jones, @amagicalship, @sunshine-and-the-catsuit, @keepcalmandshipcaptainswan, @bromfieldhall, @kdanna03, @captainswanluver

Emma had history of underestimating Killian Jones. She knew he was smart, even when he trended towards smart-ass, but in hindsight, she probably shouldn’t have thought that his disability would be a limiting factor for anything. For a man with one hand, some of the things he could do with that single hand were downright magic. Plus the bastard clearly loved a challenge, so of course Captain Hook didn’t let things like limits or conventional wisdom determine who he was, what he could do or how he could love.

The first time she underestimated him, they were climbing a beanstalk, which was for difficult enough for her and she had a ton of upper body strength. She expected it would difficult for Hook to climb the beanstalk but he gave no impression that this was anything out of the ordinary, in fact he was ahead of her most of the way. Maybe it was like climbing the rigging on his pirate ship? Several times during the climb, she found herself checking out his strong form, and his dexterous fingers that, every so often would take hold of two vines at a time with a firm hold using his divided digits.

She wasn’t lying when she said she wouldn’t take her eyes off of him, he was very easy on the eyes. He was the type of guy, if she met him in a bar, she would’ve taken him home for a night. However this wasn’t her world and unfortunately when he opened his mouth to speak, he managed to find and press every button she had just to see how she’d react. Again at the top of the beanstalk when he held her hand in his, she thought she might have trembled at the touch and then he used his mouth to tie the cloth over her wound. So many inappropriate thoughts filled her head when she gazed upon the pirate in that moment. Something about him made her want to let her guard down and invite him in, but he was a villain, a villain who would cross her at the first chance. So better she did it first and then fell back on her tried and true method of dealing uncomfortable situations: to run. Run from the handsome, cocky pirate before she did something stupid, something like allowing his rough hand to explore her body and see if his strength could be useful to her in other fun activities. When she fought him a few days later and he used his sword and hook across hers in a move that was purely sexual, a part of her mind screamed to let him make good on his naughty innuendo but she knocked him out instead. She could not shake the feeling he had let her do so either.

Weeks later came the day he caught her unawares, and maybe a little angry, figuring out how to free himself from her handcuffs in the hospital, meandering into the waiting room and attempting to flirt with Ruby when the sly motherfucker had just teased her about her own interest in other attachments aside from his hook. She had smiled and taunted him about Gold being unfazed by the pirate’s half-assed effort to hurt the immortal sorcerer via Belle. She figured taunting him would rile him up, and so she left him to contemplate his failure, though she wasn’t really expecting he’d be able to escape if she cuffed his right hand to the bed. He ended up leaving Emma curious as to how the hell he managed it. Afterward she may or may not have imagined him using his mouth, his tongue curling around a bobby pin, to pick the lock on the handcuffs. Definitely not.

On the journey to Neverland she was impressed with how well he could manage the Jolly Roger by himself, tying lines and working the tasks of many sailors all at once with very few modifications to assist in his endeavors. Centuries of calling the ship home meant he probably knew the ship better than he knew himself. That didn’t stop Emma from feeling an irrational bolt of jealousy as she watched the Captain lovingly run his fingers over marred wood in many places on the ship after the storm called by the mermaid receded, tracing damage wrought as though he was gently treating a wound, all the while softly whispering words in a language she didn’t understand. She wondered briefly how his long fingers would feel against her neck or breasts as he caressed - ugh, fuck, it had been a long damn time since she had gotten laid and she knew she had to be really fucking desperate if she was jealous of the relationship a villainous pirate had with his centuries old, magical fucking pirate ship.

Stuck in Neverland, she was forced to spend more time around him then she ever had before and started take notice of just how he well adapted he was. He used his hook just as easily as his hand, sometimes even favoring his hook over his hand even for eating. Sometimes, when he wasn’t looking, she found herself watching him, dismissing it as her curiosity to understand how someone made the most of an awful loss - nothing more! Settling into camp and dividing the coconuts they gathered, Emma couldn’t help but watch in awe as he sat down next to her and rolled one coconut back and forth in the palm of his hand, his fingers feeling for imperfections on the fruit before tossing it into the air, followed by another, juggling the large coconuts with an ease that suggested a lot practice had driven such results.

Her father’s glares at the pirate caused him to cease but Hook kept his seat next to her, using his namesake to pierce the coconut so she would be able to consume its contents before he offered it over to her. His fingers brushed against hers and sent shivers through her body; contact with him was too much and not enough at the same time. Emma forcibly shifted her focus back to saving her son and away from the hot, literally hot, pirate whose body was inches from hers as they sat on the jungle floor.

Later, when she kissed him, it took everything she had to walk away. It took everything she had not to give in to her lust, but that was all it was, wasn’t it? Hook had known she couldn’t handle it, handle him, and Emma didn’t want to acknowledge why exactly he could get under her skin so easily and how he seemed to know her so well. Denial worked; denial and running had always worked so maybe it would work a while longer. Emma was strong enough to admit she had some regrets when their adventure concluded at the town line but regrets faded to forgotten dreams when the tendrils of Regina’s spell wove a new life for her and Henry.

A blissful year passed in New York as Emma and Henry found a new home and Emma finally opened up enough to let someone in for the first time since Neal had destroyed her heart and left her to raise Henry as a single mother fresh out of jail. Emma couldn’t clearly remember how the cracks in the walls around her heart had come about but Walsh was a decent guy and maybe he could make Emma happy. However Emma’s nights were plagued by odd, unexplained dreams; adventures to strange lands and a faceless man, the only details of him she could remember were impossibly blue eyes and dark hair, who threaded strong fingers into her hair as they were locked in a very passionate, unending kiss. When a man reminiscent of her mysterious dream guy showed up at her door one morning and kissed her, it took a moment for her protective instinct to kick in as she kneed him in the balls and shoved him away. The man wouldn’t stop following her and when his explanation came with impossible proof and less than subtle hints he might be someone she loved in the lost life he’d been raving about, her instincts surfaced once again and she boldly drank the tiny bottled potion he proffered.

The memories and emotions slammed into her with the force of a ton of bricks and she was so relieved to see someone who really knew her, that for a brief moment caution left her, and she threw herself into his arms. Killian hesitated for only another moment before his strong arms enveloped her, giving the comfort she sought. He pressed his face to her neck and breathed in her scent as he splayed his hand wide across the middle of her back, fingers dancing against her spine, and his fake hand rested much lower, a fire sparked within her that such simple touch shouldn’t be fanning.

Emma was unsure how long they stayed this way but her brain reminded her of the other morning when he had attempted True Love’s Kiss. Obviously he didn’t know it wouldn’t work as she had no memories of him but she couldn’t help the fear rising within her: he thought they could be true love! She broke their embrace and put distance between them once more. A distance that was harder to maintain once they began the journey back to Storybrooke but Emma was good at running and just because he had haunted her lust-filled dreams for so long didn’t mean she had to give in.

In the early days of fighting the Wicked Witch, she invited Killian over for a game night to help entertain her mother, in an effort to keep the very pregnant woman from trying to hunt down the witch on her own, and Henry, who had no idea Emma’s friend Killian was anything but what she had said. After one round of poker, they decided to play again since there weren’t too many games that they could play without it taking forever to explain to Killian and such explanations would have caused rampant curiosity in her twelve year old as to why Killian wasn’t familiar with them already. Thankfully Henry was more than content to chill on the couch and play with his Gameboy while the adults gambled. Emma was just a little excited to play again because she knew she had the best damn poker face of all of them and it felt nearly normal not think about the Wicked Witch for a few hours. Plus it was almost a cakewalk as they all had such easy tells: her mom’s cheeks and neck would flush if she tried to lie, her dad couldn’t look anyone straight in the eye as he bluffed, and Killian, well, Killian scratched his ear when he was hiding something or nervous.

Emma grabbed all of the discarded piles from the last game and set them down for barely second, with the intention to shuffle as she had the first round, but she noted Killian had taken the cards. He used his thumb and index finger to steady the deck while using his middle and ring fingers to slide out half the cards from the bottom of the deck to form two piles of cards, steadying the new pile against his pinky finger. Emma watched in amazement as he guided the newly created pile to the top of the original part of the deck, the cards held firm between his thumb and pinky and then flipped his hand over and neatly let the two halves merge without dropping a single card.

God, how amazing would it be if I let him use those nimble fingers on me?

Emma shook the thought from her head though she knew her mouth had to be hanging wide open because Killian caught her eye with a devilish smirk and one eyebrow raised in challenge as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. Emma couldn’t handle it. Not with everything else going on. It was too complicated and Emma Swan didn’t do complicated. She had enough “complicated” from her fucked up family tree and the various bad apples that seemed pop up just to wreak havoc in Storybrooke all the time.

“Emma?” Emma heard her name being said but she still hadn’t broken eye contact with Killian, his baby blue eyes entrancing her as though he was the one who wielded magic, not her.

“Emma?” Mary Margaret said again and Emma turned to see her mother looking back and forth between her and Killian. How had she forgotten her mother was at the table? Thank God her father was in the kitchen helping Henry make hot cocoa rather than watching the exchange at the dining table. Emma was torn between wanting to crawl under a rock and die from embarrassment and needing to drag Killian back to his room at Granny’s and have him use his fingers, tongue and, God help her, his hook to make her come harder than she ever had in her life.

Emma’s phone rang loudly disturbing their evening and sending them out into the night to once again chase after the latest lead about Neal. It would be a long time before Emma would have the luxury of thinking about anything but villians because when it rains it pours and so much seemed to have happened in such a short time. Neal dying, Zelena’s curse on Hook, Emma giving up her magic to save him and getting them dragged into the past. And finally admitting for the first time in her life she realized she wanted to stop running, that she found home and that a certain pirate had become important to her in ways that were completely foreign to her. Unfortunately deciding to stay and giving Killian a chance also happened to coincide with a new villain coming to town, because of course it could never just be that simple as deciding to explore this thing between them.

There was also the choice that Emma made, deciding that they should take things slowly, if only to keep her from messing things up between them. Emma knew she hadn’t had enough time to sort through all of her emotions and sex would just complicate everything. Knowing he loved her, there was no use in denying it, she knew sex would be something different for him and she really didn’t think it was fair of her to go down that road until she was able to acknowledge, even if only to herself, how she truly felt about Killian Jones. Gentleman that he was, he was willing to let Emma set the pace, but it didn’t stop him teasing her. Things that, to others, would seem innocent, like licking ketchup off his fingers after sharing a plate of fries with her son or drumming his fingers in various rhythms on the nearest flat surface he could find when he was bored. He’d catch her eye and smile knowingly at her but never push his luck.

When the Snow Queen was defeated, Elsa, Anna and Kristoff returned to Arendelle and Belle banished Rumplestiltskin from town, life in Storybrooke was peaceful. So Emma made a decision not to let anything hold her back any longer. One night Killian picked her up at her parents for a date but refused to tell her anything about where they were headed, smiling at her frustration. Emma wore a navy blue scoop neck, knee-length dress and a white sweater since summer was coming to an end and the evening might be chilly.

Killian held her hand, guiding her through town to one of the paths that lead to a more remote stretch of beach. As they cleared the treeline, Emma could see a red plaid blanket laid out with candles, a basket of what she assumed was food, a bottle of wine in an ice bucket and an odd shaped case.

“My lady,” Killian smiled as he released her hand and assisted her with settling down on the blanket.

“This is amazing,” Emma mumbled.

“I just thought we could enjoy a private dinner by the water. I’ve visited this beach many times before and encountered nary a soul so I thought it a fitting locale,” Killian informed her, blue eyes sparkling with a happiness that made him seem much younger than he was.

They enjoyed the food he had cooked himself using Granny’s kitchen at the diner. She never would’ve listed cooking as something Killian Jones would be good at, but he wasn’t just good, the food was delicious and she wanted him to cook for her again. After they finished eating, she tucked her body close against his as he taught her the constellations of this world and related what he had learned of them from borrowed library books.

His lesson concluded, Killian pulled away and she whined at the loss of his heat.

“Patience, Swan. I want to do something I haven’t done in a long time,” he breathed, barely loud enough for her to hear him. He went to the case and unlocked it, pulling out a beautiful violin, a bow and an attachment that looked as though it allowed him to affix the bow to his brace, permitting him to play. She stared at him, slack-jawed.

“I used to play for my mother before she died and after I lost my hand I taught myself how to play using an attachment for the bow to my left wrist so I could use my right hand to play the notes. I found this in the shop when I was with Belle the other day, the curse must have taken it off of the Jolly Roger and I wanted to play for you,” Killian confessed, nervousness written in his handsome features.

Emma nodded, “Of course, I’d be honored if you would play for me.”

It took only a few moments for Killian to remove his jacket and to situate himself before he began playing. Emma watched as his fingers moved over the strings and his left arm moved the bow to create a serene, melodic tale that almost reminded Emma of how she had felt since she had met him. The ups and downs of their journey to each other, to this point in time where she sat before him, entranced by the music, by him. Fixated on the movement of his hand, fingers and bow on the violin, she had yet to look away, knowing the emotion she’d find when she searched it out. Emma lifted her gaze to his and found he was watching her, not his playing, meaning he played from memory. Emma couldn’t help but wonder how many nights he had played this aboard the Jolly Roger when they had been separated, seemingly forever. The melody concluded and he set the violin, bow and attachments back into its case.

There were no words uttered as she placed her right hand on his brace and her left caressed his cheek, turning him to face her. She hoped he could read her as well as he once said, the words she wasn’t ready for present in her actions. If the smirk and eyebrow raised just before she pressed her lips to his were any indication, he certainly knew. His left arm pressed into her low back and his right hand cradled her head, fingers combing through her hair almost the same as in her dreams from long ago.

Emma groaned as he deepened the kiss but kept his contact to mostly respectable positions. “Killian, please,” she begged, breaking the kiss and moving his hand to her breast. Killian growled as he captured her lips again and let his hand expertly massage one breast then the other. Emma cried out as he trailed his lips from her mouth to her jaw then to the pulse point on her throat. She was so aroused, so close, and he had barely touched her yet and the thought only fueled the wildfire in her.

“Emma, are you certain?” Killian rasped against her neck, trying to hold himself in check and give her the control as he always did.

“I’ve never been more certain in my life. Please don’t stop, not for anything,” she gasped as his hand slid lower to the flat of her abdomen and lower still to the hem of her dress. She shucked her sweater and helped him pull her dress over her head, pausing to laugh at his sharp intake of air as he realized she wasn’t wearing any undergarments.

“Naughty Swan, you’ve been bare underneath that beautiful dress all this time? Full of want?” Killian grinned like a cat who ate the canary.

Emma took advantage of his distracted state to allow her fingers to make quick work of the buttons on his vest and then shirt, pushing them off onto the blanket.

Just has she reached for his belt, his hand forcibly stopped her. “Oh, no, my darling, tonight is about you. I intend to worship you like the goddess you are,” Killian groaned, pushing her back onto the blanket. He moved away for a moment to remove his brace, baring his blunted wrist to her for the first time. She tried to reach out and touch him but he grabbed both her arms and moved them above her head.

Killian’s lips came to her neck and left wet kisses down to her breasts, as he shifted so his blunted arm held her in place and his hand cupped her left breast as he brought it to his mouth and sucked gently on her nipple. Alternating between her breasts, gentle nibbling to extended suckling, his hand mapping her upper body and categorizing each and every response to his touch, Emma was panting well before his hand shifted to the thatch above her core. She tried to shift her body so that his hand was where she so badly needed it but he held her firmly, ghosting his fingers down her thighs.

“Tell me what you want, Emma. Tell me what you need and I shall grant you your desire,” Killian commanded. Emma was so lost in how he was making her feel, she would’ve done almost anything he asked of her.

“I want you to use your fingers to make me scream. I need to come so badly, please, Killian,” Emma whimpered, relieved she finally admitted what she had wanted from him for so long.

“As you wish,” he nodded, releasing her arm and sitting back on his haunches. He pushed her thighs wide and pushed himself back so he could kiss an alternating path up her legs to her center. He ran one finger through her folds to find her desire very evident.

“Seven hells, Emma, you’re fucking soaked,” his accent thicker with desire. He slipped one digit into her and she sighed as his thumb found her clit with unerring accuracy, circling it at the same time he slipped another finger into her. Emma knew as keyed up as she was it wouldn’t take much to make her come but Killian was determined to draw it out, moving quickly until her breath was so ragged and she was just about to fall before slowing the movement of his thumb and making only shallow thrusts with his fingers. He added a third finger, stretching her, guiding her towards the edge again. A few times he moved each finger independent of the other, gently caressing her inner passage in a way Emma had never experienced, before he went back to moving his fingers in tandem again. She had trusted few men to go down on her or to finger her because most often it was to intimate for the purpose she had in mind but this blew all of those limited experiences out of the water.

Emma opened her eyes to see Killian staring at her in awe as though he couldn’t believe what they were doing. His desire had almost completely overtaken blue eyes, leaving them as dark as the ocean behind them. His thumb circled her clit, the pressure unbearable and Emma’s back arched as she pushed herself onto Killian’s hand.

“That’s it, love, take what you need of me,” Killian coaxed as his fingers fucked her faster and with one final swipe over her clit, Emma cried out as her orgasm overtook her.

Emma was still coming down from her high as she watched Killian licking his lips and diving between  her thighs. His tongue made contact with her sensitive bundle of nerves and she yelped. His tongue swirled unrelentingly at the same moment he plunged two fingers back into her, curling to find her sweet spot. Emma grabbed his hair and held him in place, riding his face and fingers once more until pleasure crashed into her, wave after wave. Killian pulled back and let her body relax, wiping his face clean and gazing at her as though she hung the moon.

She had a feeling unless she did something, he wouldn’t take things any further. “Killian, I need more. You told me you’d grant my desires. Well right now, I need you to be naked.” She unfastened his belt and shoved his pants down, glad he didn’t seem to be wearing any boxers, and freed his sizeable cock.

She tried to run her hand over his hard length but he stopped her and mumbled something that sounded like ‘another time’. He stood to divest himself of his shoes and pants. When he finally lowered his hips to be cradled between her thighs, Emma guided him to her entrance, unconcerned by the lack of protection. She was on the pill and wanted him without any barriers.

Killian cursed repeatedly, grasping her hip tightly enough she’d probably have marks afterwards, as he sank into her inch by inch until he was fully sheathed in her cunt. Emma felt fuller than she ever imagined she could. Her dreams and imaginings were nothing compared to reality.

“Wow,” she gasped.

“Indeed, love. You feel wonderful around my cock. Do you think you can come for me one more time, love?” Killian asked, beginning to move, slowly at first but more frantically as his control slipped, his hips pressing into hers over and over. Emma closed her eyes as her muscles clenched in orgasm around him as he had asked.

Emma moaned when Killian’s hand slipped into her hair, guiding her face, her lips, to his for a kiss. The shift in their angle caused a break of their kiss, each groaning in unison at the pleasure boiling over. Emma caressed Killian’s cheek, tucking his unruly raven hair out of his face. Killian smiled but didn’t say anything, knowing exactly what she needed without words.

His blunted arm slipped under her ass and pulled her even closer to him. Killian chuckled at her indignant ‘humpf’ and teasingly bit her left shoulder. Gentle kisses were peppered along the column of her neck to her ear at the same time his hand found a home against the other side of her neck, his thumb rubbing circles over her cheek. The touch from his rough, work-worn hand combined with his warm breath on her ear was too much. Thrust for thrust Emma and Killian continued past the breaking point, shattering together in a blinding climax, both completely spent.

Killian extracted himself from her and came back with a cloth from the picnic basket dampened with some water from a canteen. He moved to clean her and she shied away.

“Love, let me tend you?” Killian asked humbly. She nodded. It was almost awkward but after such intimacy, she could not deny it felt nice to have someone care for her thus. When he was finished he grabbed another blanket from the basket and pulling her body flush to his, her back to his front, and covered them securely with the blanket.

“Killian, we can’t stay here all night,” Emma protested. Silly afterthought given their activities out in the open on the beach. “Someone will catch us.”

“No, love. No one will catch us. This particular stretch of beach has an enchantment that keeps it hidden,” Killian explained.

“How did you find it then?” Emma queried, already knowing the answer.

“I’m a pirate, darling. I find treasures people intend to keep hidden. So as this place is protected from others, perhaps we can visit here again?”

“Definitely, this was never going to be a one time thing,” Emma agreed. “Plus I feel like we barely scratched the tip of the iceberg on your talents. You gave me more orgasms than I’ve ever had in one night. I’ve never experienced anything like that before. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Aye, love, I do know. I’m quite perceptive and I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at me, or more accurately my hand,” Killian whispered, voice husky in her ear as said hand tortured her breast, fingers lightly twisting her nipple.

Emma was glad he couldn’t see her face, red and flushed as it was, she felt on edge again, damn him. “Yeah, well, at first I was just curious how you managed with one hand but I realized you just found a new normal and didn’t let it define you. Now I know I should never have underestimated you or thought less of you because you lost your hand. And, yes, I wanted to know how you could make me feel with your strong hand and nimble fingers. You can do more with your one hand then most could accomplish with two hands. Tonight you wielded a different kind of magic than I’m used to and I want more.”

Emma felt his breath hitch as he digested her words, and since he was already holding his air, she figured now was as good a time as any to make sure he knew what she wanted next. “Next time, maybe in addition to your magical, musically talented fingers, you might also use your hook? I’d really love that.”

Emma felt Killian grin against her skin, “As you wish, love. As you wish.”

[unfolded73]

Another New York City Serenade (6/7)

Summary: With the visitors from Arendelle gone and Gold banished, Emma and Killian’s relationship continues to deepen, especially when an excuse for a road trip away from Storybrooke falls into their laps. (A S4 hiatus story).

Beta: @j-philly-b

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4541 this chapter

Warning for hungover Emma. And angst. :)

(tagging @kmomof4 @this-too-too-sullied-flesh @cherrywolf713 @stardusted-nymph upon request)

CHAPTER 1 |  CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4 | CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

Emma woke up with a pounding headache. The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the empty glass on her bedside table, and a fractured memory popped into her head of Killian bringing her water and Advil before she passed out. Which reminded her of the way he’d gently cleaned her up after… she winced. After the sex she’d initiated. After drinking way too much and dragging him out dancing.

She rolled over to see the vast expanse of an empty bed.

Struggling to her feet, she stumbled to the bathroom. It too was empty. Killian was gone.

Emma’s stomach roiled and she dropped to the floor, retching into the toilet. The thin hotel bath mat cushioned her knees a little, but she shivered and couldn’t help thinking what a sight she must be, on the floor wearing a bra and nothing else with her head pressed against the toilet seat. The heaving of her stomach made her head hurt worse, which made her stomach rebel even more.

After a few minutes she was able to drag herself up from the floor. She turned on the shower as hot as could stand it. With a heavy sigh she unhooked her bra and stepped under the spray, letting the water run down her hair.

Killian was no idiot; he could read her like an open book, he’d said so many times. He had probably seen right through her last night. He knew she’d been avoiding talking about anything meaningful since their conversation in Battery Park. For the first time, she began to genuinely worry that she'd pushed him too far. He was a patient man, but everyone had their limits. How long before he got fed up with her walls and gave up on her?

Emma did her best to wash herself, her hands feeling numb and heavy, her head still throbbing. If only the memories of past hangovers weren't always conveniently absent during a drinking binge.

Turning off the water, she dried off and wrapped the towel around her hair before exiting the bathroom.

Killian sat in the room’s lone desk chair, waiting for her.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

She exhaled with relief, her shoulders relaxing. “Shitty,” she said as she opened a drawer and pulled out some clothes.  

“I thought you might. I'm sorry, Swan, I should have said something last night before you got so inebriated.”

Emma rolled her eyes as she pulled her underwear on. “You're not my minder, Killian.”

“I know that.” He dropped his eyes. “In any case, I got you some breakfast.”

“Ugh, I don't think I can eat.”

“Try. You'll feel better if you get something into your stomach.” Once she’d finished dressing, he guided her to sit down and put a wrapped breakfast sandwich in her lap. “I also got you a tea; I thought coffee might be a bit too much.”

“Thanks. That's very sweet.” She unwrapped the sandwich and forced herself to take a bite.

He watched her eat for awhile in silence. “I'm sorry about last night,” Killian finally said, his expression pained. “I shouldn't have… I fear I took advantage of you.”

“Are you talking about the sex?” Dismissing him with a wave her hand, she added, “From what I remember, it was very hot and I was very into it. And we’re going to revisit that thing you did with your hook when I’m sober.” She took a sip of tea and felt her headache recede a fraction. “It's me that needs to apologize.”

“Why?”

“Because I… “ She stopped, and Killian gave her a tiny nod of encouragement. “Because I drank so much,” she responded, chickening out on the real reason for the apology. Because I’m a closed off, broken excuse for a human being who can’t just admit how important you are to me, she thought.

He gave her a tight smile and a pat on the knee. “I can return to the library on my own if you aren’t feeling up to it.”

“No, I’ll be fine, just give me a few more minutes.”

~*~

The third floor archive room was again empty save for a single librarian. This time it was a woman with short, red hair, an impressive array of piercings, and a tattoo on her chest only mostly concealed by her sweater. She looked even less like a librarian than the first one had, and Emma prepared herself for disappointment.

“Hi, we’re looking for Lynne?” she asked.

“That’s me, what can I do for you?”

Killian again brandished his book. “We spoke to the librarian who was here yesterday about this crystal. She had no record of it in that thing,” he said, gesturing to the computer, “but told us that you might have more information.”

Lynne stared at the engraving in the book. “Yeah, Karen’s only been here for about six months, so she doesn’t know how to access our old database,” she said. “Not that I need it, because I actually remember this item, but I’ll show you.” After several seconds of rapid typing, she turned the monitor enough so that they could see the screen. “See that?” she said, pointing to a text entry. “Stolen over a year ago. We reported it to the police and everything, but it wasn’t exactly their top priority to track down a rock with mythical origins, no matter how old and priceless it is.”

“You said you remember it,” Emma probed. “You were here when it was stolen?”

“I was working the day this guy with a cane came in and asked to see it. I knew there was something about him that wasn’t quite right, but I did my job, I sat him down right over there with the artifact and some documentation we had to accompany it. After about ten minutes, he thanked me and left, and I put everything away promptly, exactly like we’re supposed to. I know I put that crystal back and locked the cabinet. But a few days later, something about the whole thing was bugging me, so I went to check that I hadn’t misfiled it. The crystal was gone.”

“Maybe because you misfiled it?” Emma said.

“I tore the whole place apart. It was just gone. Somehow, that guy stole it.”

“The man with the cane?” Killian said, his jaw clenched and spasming. His mind had clearly gone exactly where Emma’s had.

“There was no record of anyone else in the last thirty years coming to look at that crystal. Then three days after someone does, it disappears? I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“No, nor I,” Killian said darkly.

“I gave his description to the police, but nothing ever came of it. Sorry.”

Killian turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. “Thanks for your help,” Emma said to librarian, giving her a small smile before she dashed after him.

“Killian, wait!” she called, which made him spin around to face her. His fist was clenched at his side.

“Bloody Crocodile,” he muttered.

“Yeah, it does sound a lot like Gold, and the date matches when I brought him to New York to track down Neal. He must’ve stolen it while I was occupied with the whole Henry meeting his father situation.” She put a hand on Killian’s shoulder in an attempt to calm him. “But maybe this is a good thing. Maybe it’s in his shop. You have to admit, it would be pretty funny if we came all this way and the damn thing was in Storybrooke the whole time.” With a smile, she added, “We might even get accused of making up an excuse to go on a romantic trip together.”

He returned her smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “We should call Belle and let her know. She can look for it.”

“Let’s go outside and call her from the park,” Emma suggested, taking his arm and steering him to the stairwell.

Belle answered her phone after the first ring. “Emma! How’s New York?”

“Hi, Belle. New York’s fine.”

“Did you find the crystal?”

“Not exactly. It was here, but it looks like…” She paused, grimacing. The last thing she wanted to do was give Belle more reason to be upset, but there was no way around it. “It looks like Gold may have stolen it last year when I brought him to New York to track down Neal. We were hoping maybe he stashed it in his shop. Can you look?”

Her voice was softer, more subdued when she answered. “Yeah, I’ll go over there right away.”

“Thanks. Call us when you find something. I guess either way, we’ll be heading back tomorrow,” she said, looking at Killian. “There’s not much more we can do here.”

“I’m sorry you made the trip for nothing. Did you at least get a chance to have some fun together?” Belle asked.

“Yeah, we’ve had some time for fun.”

The two of them said their goodbyes and Emma ended the call. “She’ll call if she finds something.”

“She won’t,” Killian said. “It’s a crystal to undo magical traps. If anything, he would have destroyed it.”

“Maybe not. Maybe he would have saved it in case he got caught in a magical trap himself.”

“If that were the case, he’d carry it with him. And we have no idea where he is; he could be here in New York City right now and we’d never know it.”

Emma shuddered at that idea, glancing around at the buildings that in that moment seemed to close in around them.

“And even if we found him and he had the crystal, why would he help us? He despises fairies almost as much as he despises me.” They were standing near a park bench, and Killian kicked it violently. Being bolted to the ground, the park bench was unfazed by his attack.

“Did that help?”

“Yes.”

“Killian—”

“Everything I do, everywhere I go, Rumplestiltskin is there to plague me. It’s not enough that he destroyed Milah and Bae and countless others, or that he took my hand. Even banished from our lives, he still finds a way to thwart me at every turn.” There was murder in his eyes, and Emma unconsciously took a step backward.

“If the crystal isn’t an option, then we’ll find another way.”

He didn’t seem to even hear her, pacing in front of her like a chained attack dog. “I don’t know what I was playing at, thinking I could be the hero and save the day. Set my vengeance aside, and right past wrongs; be a good man, a pillar of the community,” he spat. “As if I’m someone who deserves happiness and a warm fire and a… a big, soft bed like the one in that bloody hotel room.”

“You’re angry about the bed?”

“I'm angry that I let myself believe I deserve that kind of comfort after the kind of man I’ve been.”

“But you’ve changed.”

He laughed a sharp, bitter laugh. “You probably imagine that I was a fine, upstanding citizen until grief turned me into a vengeful pirate.” Emma glanced at the people passing near them in the park, but no one seemed to be paying them any attention. Most of them had earbuds plugged into their ears, completely oblivious to the fact that Captain Hook was having a meltdown right here in the middle of Manhattan. “What you don’t understand is that I was always weak,” he continued, his eyes flashing with pain and fury. “I was a drunk and a gambler long before I was anything that anyone could admire. The only thing that kept me on the straight and narrow was fear of disappointing Liam, and as soon as he died…”

She reached out and touched the arm of his jacket, trying to calm him. “I know, I get that, but what I see is the man you are now—”

“Exactly, which is why you’re pulling away from me.”

She dropped her hand. “I’m not pulling away from you—”

“Aren’t you, Emma?” He smiled a dark little smile. “And honestly I think if I were truly a good man, I would let you go. You’d be better off without me.”

“You’ve certainly made up your mind about a lot of things without considering what I want.” She was suddenly livid.

Killian looked away, the muscle in his jaw working furiously.

“Everyone in my life has left me. Everyone. And you stand there and talk about my fears like they’re about you?” Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest, and she stared hard at a food truck in her field of vision, watching the lighted sign flash without really registering what she was looking at. She was suddenly exhausted. “My headache is coming back. I’m going back to the hotel and lie down.”

“Perhaps I will go for a walk. Clear my head.” She glanced at him briefly, at the firm set of his shoulders. The relief that he wasn’t offering to go back to the hotel with her made her stomach twist with guilt.

“Do you have the second room key?”

“Aye.”

“And you have your card for the subway?”

“I do.”

“Don’t forget, the little arrow needs to be pointing toward the swipey thing,” she said, gesturing as if she was swiping a card through the turnstile reader.

“You don’t need to mother me, Swan, I can get along fine without you.”

Anger flashed in her veins again. “Fine. I’ll see you later.” Before she could say something she would regret, she turned on her heel and stalked across the park, back towards the crush of Times Square.

After a train ride that went by in a blur of unintelligible announcements and disinterested passengers jostling with her for space, Emma emerged from the subway under the shadow of construction scaffolding. The sunshine that lit up Rector Street didn’t reach her under the canopy of steel as she trudged to the hotel. It was early afternoon, and people were streaming in and out of a falafel shop as she passed. The oily smell made her stomach roll over.

She glanced at faces in the sea of humanity as she passed, the stockbrokers from nearby Wall Street who were thinking about their next conference call and the teen girls who were looking around excitedly as their harried parents wearing fanny packs and too-white sneakers trailed a few steps behind. None of them had any idea what existed under the surface of this world, the magic and mystery that Emma had been plunged into without warning on her twenty-eighth birthday. Magic that had led her to Killian. She didn't know if she believed in destiny, but sometimes, looking at him, he felt a little bit like destiny. And he felt a lot like home.

The hotel room was freshly cleaned and deathly silent when she let herself in. Pulling off her boots, she lay down on top of the blankets, shivering with tiredness and a chill that she couldn’t explain. Lacking the energy to get undressed or get under the covers, she reached over and pulled the comforter around herself, curling up in the fetal position and squeezing her eyes shut. Mercifully, she fell asleep in a matter of minutes.

~*~

The room was dim when Killian entered, the early sunset of winter leaving behind a damp chill that had settled into his bones as he’d walked. Killian rubbed his hands together and blew on them, his gaze settling on the white lump with blonde hair that was curled up on the bed. His heart squeezed with a mixture of affection and fear.

Seemingly sensing his presence, Emma sat up, partially untangling herself from the duvet and clicking on the bedside lamp. “You’re back,” she said softly.

“Is that all right?” After his behavior, he figured he deserved to be thrown out of the room.

Emma patted the bed next to her, an invitation for him to join her. With careful steps, he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, his feet firmly planted on the floor.

“I’m sorry, Emma.” He closed his eyes, afraid to meet hers.

“I’m sorry too.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, love, it was—”

“You were right, I’ve been… pushing you away a little bit. Or at least I’ve been deflecting, because…” She took a breath and let it out. He watched her face as she struggled to put her thoughts into words. Reaching over, Killian took her warm hand in his own, holding it loosely. “It’s a lot, the way I feel about you, and it scares me. I swore I’d never put myself in the position to get my heart broken again, and… I have.”

“You must know I’d rather die than ever break your heart.”

Emma raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay, well don’t die, that would be stupid.”

“I just mean—”

“I know.” She squeezed his hand. “God, you’re freezing.” Her other hand reached over and touched his wind-chapped cheek. “How long were you outside?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He’d walked, block after block, trying to see his way clear to being able to leave Emma for her own good. She was goodness and light magic, she was the Savior, and he was, as Peter Pan had once said, a one-handed pirate with a drinking problem. But after turning the agonizing idea over in his mind, he knew there wasn’t a chance in hell that he would ever voluntarily be parted from Emma Swan. He loved her too much. She’d burrowed deep into his heart and taken up residence there, and if he were a praying man, he would pray for her to stay there forever.

“Let’s warm you up,” Emma said, unbuttoning her jeans and pulling them off.

Dragged from his thoughts, Killian frowned. “What are you doing?”

“No innuendo? Who are you and what have you done with Killian Jones?” she said with a small smile. “I wasn’t proposing sex, by the way. I just figured we could snuggle up under the covers and get you warm. Okay?” He watched, mesmerized, as she reached under her shirt and unhooked her bra, and then through some kind of feminine witchcraft pulled it off and tossed it aside while her shirt stayed on. “Come on, take your pants off.” Emma added as she got under the covers properly and attempted to straighten out the mess she’d made of the duvet.

In a daze, Killian followed her direction, stripping down to his shirt and underwear before joining her in bed. Emma curled into him immediately, wrapping her arms around him and tangling their legs together. She felt so good and so warm and he sighed, feeling the tension he’d been carrying for hours finally draining away. They held each other in silence for several long minutes.

“I’m sorry that I let my anger at Rumplestiltskin get the better of me,” he finally murmured. “It brought all of my fears and doubts about myself to the fore, but I should never have burdened you with any of that.”

“Killian, that’s part of being in a relationship. Telling me when you have fears and doubts. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you have to hide the way you feel.” She shifted, kissing his cheek, and the sweetness of it made him close his eyes against tears that sprang up.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat, “we’ve probably apologized enough for one day.”

Emma laughed, hugging him tighter before pulling away and looking him in the eye. “Storytime. Dumbest thing you’ve ever said to someone you had feelings for.”

He met her smile with one of his own. “That’s easy, but it’s a story you already know. It was the time I locked a certain Savior in a prison cell and told her I was done with her.”

“That doesn’t count, you didn’t have feelings for me then,” she countered.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Swan. I certainly did. I was drawn to you from the first moment I saw you.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, his thumb gently stroking her face. “What would be your answer to the question?”

She blushed, biting her lip. “One time thing. Definitely the dumbest thing I’ve ever said was when I told you kissing was a one time thing.”

The memory of that kiss flashed in his mind as he stared at Emma’s lips, which drew him in like a magnet. Their kiss was slow and gentle, her bottom lip between his, and he nipped at her again and again, pulling back each time only to return for more. He felt the kindling of desire but he didn’t allow it to push him into accelerating things. Right now he just wanted to focus on kissing her, on the sweetness of her mouth and the softness of her lips. When she tilted her head and opened her mouth wider, they still kept things languid and easy, neither of them in any rush to do more, despite the way their bodies were pressed together.

As the kiss naturally slowed to a stop, he heard the distinct sound of Emma’s stomach growling and couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Sorry, I didn’t eat much today.”

“Well, we should probably go do something about that. What do you fancy?”

“I fancy not having to put my bra back on. Let’s order room service.” She sprang out of the bed and retrieved a folder from the desk before reclaiming her spot under the covers.

After she’d used the room telephone to tell someone what food to bring them, Emma reached for the television remote to turn the device on. He’d hardly been aware there was a television in the room, so focused had he been on the bed-related activities, but now the black rectangle sprang to life.

“I could use a little mindless TV, is that okay?” She was pressing a button, making the picture change every couple of seconds.

“It’s fine.” He didn’t care for TV, didn’t have the cultural language to understand most of it, but he was so happy with how open she was being, he wouldn’t have minded if a traveling circus came into the room to perform. Even better when she curled up against him, her head on his chest, to watch whatever program she’d settled on. It seemed to be a drama about people searching for the killer of a woman who had been ritually raped and dumped out of an apartment window to sprawl, lifeless, on a car below. The police detectives bantered in dry witticisms over the dead body, and Killian silently questioned Emma’s characterization of this program as “mindless.”

The evening passed easily as they ate their delivered dinner cross-legged on the bed, sharing french fries and good-natured arguments over the program he learned was called Law and Order. Once Emma had put the room service tray outside the door and they had curled up under the covers again, Killian felt himself starting to get sleepy, the emotionally exhausting day catching up with him. He sank down further into the soft mattress, his hand toying idly with the ends of Emma’s hair as they lay entwined. When the second episode of the murder show ended, Emma yawned and turned the television off with the remote device.

“Sleepy?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she said, but her fingernail scratching through his chest hair above where his shirt was buttoned hinted that sleep might not have been foremost on her mind. “We have to go home tomorrow.”

“Aye.”

“So it’s our last night to take advantage of being completely alone.”

He still wanted her, had wanted her all evening in a patient, unhurried way. “I would like nothing better, but no one’s keeping score, and you need your rest.”

“I’m not that tired.” She unbuttoned two buttons of his shirt, parting the fabric to kiss his chest. Then she looked up, hesitant. “Is this okay?”

“Love, if I ever turn down the pleasures of your body, you can assume someone has stolen my heart again.”

Emma grinned. “So really, me hitting on you could be considered necessary to your safety, is what you’re saying.”

“It sounds only prudent.” Cupping her face with his hand, he pulled her close to kiss her. Her mouth was warm, her tongue tangling with his as the kiss overtook them. They could barely stop kissing long enough to shed the few clothes they were wearing, but eventually they managed it. He let his hand travel over her body as Emma resettled against him, cupping the curve of her breast and pinching her nipple just hard enough to make her gasp with pleasure before raking his fingers down over her hip, gripping her ass and pulling her closer still. He took a moment to appreciate how wonderful it felt, her naked body against his, everything warm and soft and filled with anticipation. Gods, he would do anything to just live in this moment forever, loving this woman with his body and soul.

He felt her hand trailing down his stomach, a light, teasing touch until she gripped his cock in her fist, stroking up and down slowly and making him moan against her mouth. He moved to reciprocate her attentions, slipping his hand between her legs to find her already so swollen and wet, and he couldn’t help the bloom of pride that this miraculous woman had so much desire for him.

He was so wrapped up in the way she felt, in the sound of her voice when he touched her just so, that he was caught by surprise when she pushed him over onto his back and straddled him. She wasted no time taking his erection in hand and guiding him inside, rocking her hips to work herself down onto him until he was buried deep. She was a goddess, an angel, her blonde hair cascading down.  The movement of her breasts mesmerized him as she undulated her hips, taking what she needed. His limbs felt heavy and boneless as he watched her, and he could do little more than stroke the top of her thigh with his hand, pleasure sparking up his spine from where they were joined. Then Emma took hold of his both of his wrists, pressing them down onto the mattress on either side of his head and leaning forward, changing the angle and grinding harder with her hips. Her eyes were wide open, looking into his. Killian looked back, trying to communicate everything he was feeling for her without giving it voice. She seemed to see it, seemed to accept it, her eyes finally slipping closed only when the ecstasy overcame her. With a strangled moan she came, allowing him to finally let go and follow her, pulsing inside her, his vision going white as the sensations overwhelmed him.

The hotel bed was large, but that night they fell asleep cuddled close together in the center of it, Emma’s head on his chest and their legs entwined. Killian’s sleep was sound, and when he dreamed it was of the rocking of his ship on the sea, his love cradled in his arms.

CHAPTER 7