#what's Storybrook's shoe store like???

[onceuponatimeinerebor]

Having nearly every one weat insane stripper heels in a show about fairytales was certainly a choice.

[naivesilver]

The lovely lovely LOVELIEST Acorn made me a gorgeous drawing of the puppet bros for my birthday...so obviously the inspiration hit for something where they were sad instead, and then it got SEVERELY out of hand. Sorry 🥰🥰🥰

~~~~~

Mokku realizes where the line sits within a couple months of living in Storybrooke. 

Not that he cares, honestly. The people in this land are a lot more mellow than the ones in his old village, but even if they weren't, it wouldn't make any difference - he's already lost an arm, and the rest of his body is littered with scars and other damage. It's not like anyone could do any worse, except maybe kill him proper, but even that doesn't seem to be a permanent thing, here. 

Still, it's a force of habit, at that point. He needs to figure out what he can or can't do, now that he's real and off to a new home - Picco's still scared he'll get turned back into a puppet if he misbehaves, but Mokku firmly believes that ship's long since sailed, for them. What's anyone going to do? Send tree spirits after him? Hilarious. Those bums never accomplished anything even when he was within reach. 

Hence, the line. There must be one because there's always one, a line he's not supposed to cross, a breaking point he shouldn't reach - once he's figured out he's not as likely to get pummeled for a mistake as he was back home, he needs to know what will prompt that reaction, just to be on the safe side. The other shoe will drop, eventually; he simply has to go about finding a likely reason for it. 

School's a disappointment, of course. They've got all the means to keep kids monitored and in check, and yet sneaking out is awfully easy, though August gets notified about it instantly, and gets on his case every bloody time. Even when Mokku deigns to show up, there's a lot of thick-headed people who think they can mess with him - they look so surprised when they realize he can fight back, it's almost hilarious. If only they knew he used to be able to get his point across even with branches sprouting out of his nose, they wouldn't be so quick to underestimate him, prosthetic arm and all. 

Then there's the stores. He doesn't need to steal anything, strictly speaking; he hasn't quite figured out why August and his father keep feeding and housing them all - pity, most likely, or some stupid sense of duty - but there hasn't been a day thus far where he, Cedar or Picco have gone wanting for something. In fact, there's a good chance Mr. Marco might be holding back from showering them with more stuff, but Mokku can't be sure of it just yet. 

He doesn't need to, but truth be told, it's funny to know something other people don't, and that's reason enough to do it. He sneaks a packet of gum in his pocket and it tastes twice as sweet when he pops it into his mouth. He gets sent to grab newspapers for August's father and he sticks a thin coloring book between them, trusting no one will check, and they don't - he goes home proud of himself and with a nice little gift for his brother, so that's a double win, in his cards. 

He gets caught. Once. It's humiliating and it only serves to make him try harder the next time, but as Emma frog marches him back to the house, he can't help but feel relieved - surely, that'll do it. If the sheriff leading him home by the scruff of his neck doesn't make August and everyone else blow a fuse, he's not sure what could do the trick. 

But it doesn't happen. Mokku gets a stern talking to and a warning not to do it again and his going to the store alone privilege revoked, but it doesn't go beyond that, and that's…weird. Either these people have infinite patience, they’re even dumber than he thought, or they’re planning to do worse when he’s not expecting it; in any case, he doesn’t want to find out, hence why he’s more careful when he gets the urge to swipe something again.

By then he’s starting to wonder whether the others have caught on what he’s doing. August’s about as observant as a teaspoon, and Picco’s blissfully unaware of anything beyond his toys, his food and his nosey duck, but Cedar seems to always pay attention to what's going on around her. Mokku supposes she must've been practicing for a while - she says her classmates at her old school often wouldn't tell her their news, because of her curse, so she had to resort to learning about them on her own. It makes sense that she would still be doing it. 

Still, it unnerves him, thinking about being watched all the time, so he makes a point not to think about it. It doesn't really work, but he figures he'll find out if it was just paranoia once he's been proved right about the other stuff. 

Except- no one has the grace to prove him right. They must have their limits, he knows they've got to have some, but he can't fucking find them - it drives him nuts, and that makes him nervous, and snappish, and short-tempered, and if it doesn't come to a head soon, he fears he'll explode. 

But then it does. Predictably, when he wasn't thinking about it, but less predictably, when he's fighting with his brother. 

What he thought about Picco was true - the boy doesn't have a single malicious bone in his new, chubby-cheeked body, and sometimes he seems to look at Mokku like the latter hung the moon. Picco's blameless. He's too small and empty-headed to do anything harmful. 

But Picco's also sharing a room with him, and he's loud, and mostly, he's got a whole lot of stuff Mokku will never have, like healthy limbs and a shot at growing up away from fairy meddling way earlier in life. He had no choice about it, if one's looking at it reasonably, but it's hard to be reasonable when you're already jealous and tired and quarreling over dumb stuff, so that's moot. 

Afterwards, Mokku won't even remember how it started. It's like it escalated out of nowhere, and suddenly they're yelling from opposite sides of the backyard instead of playing together - suddenly, he's so mad he can't even think straight, and though he doesn't hate his brother, he could never hate his brother, he hates this whining, pestering little boy who always seems to win in life, no matter what he does. 

Suddenly, he's sneering at Picco and going, “Stop that, you crybaby.”

“I'm not a crybaby!”

“Yes, you are. You cry like a baby, and August's gonna abandon you like one, just you wait!”

And then he freezes, just as the words are leaving his mouth. He's so shocked by them he stands there gaping like a fish, staring right ahead. 

Picco, for his part, looks just the same. His eyes grow wide and wider, like a cat in the dark, and he clamps his mouth shut as his chin begins to wobble despite his clear efforts to stop it. 

Then he turns on his heel and storms back inside, sobbing loud enough to be heard by the whole neighborhood. 

Mokku watches him go numbly, not even trying to stop his brother before there's an even bigger ruckus. It takes him several seconds to snap out of his trance, and when that happens he doesn't even walk away, and instead simply sinks down onto the back step, dropping his head in his hands. 

Great. Just great. He's been told time and time again how much of an idiot he is, but he's never agreed with it quite as much as he does now. He hasn’t just crossed a line - he’s stomped all over it like a crack in the pavement. He’s messed up so thoroughly he doesn’t even know where to start with it, honestly. 

Why he did that would be a good start, though. He was furious before, but now all his anger has vanished into thin air, disappeared like a puff of smoke, and- did he have to be so specific about the bullshit that he said? If there’s two things Picco’s terrified of, it’s being called whiny and being left behind, and Mokku’s just packed them neatly together in a handy little bundle to be more hurtful. Really, someone should hire him at the hospital, he’d probably be a hit with the patients.

He’s not even supposed to know about the business with the baby, for fuck’s sake. Emma told them about it once, but she insisted that it was all in the past, and that bringing it up again wouldn’t do anyone any good, so even if he manages to avoid any problems due to being an absolute arse, he’ll surely get in trouble for his big mouth. Lucky him.

The backdoor opens with a creak behind him, making him startle. He curls into himself, instinctively almost expecting a blow that doesn’t come, but it’s not the heavy steps of any of the men in the house - it’s just Cedar, her battered, paint-stained sandals stopping a couple feet from him as she looks down at the embarrassingly pitiful figure of her brother.

Then she says: “Just because you're having a bad time, doesn't mean everyone else needs to do the same, too.”

“I'm not having a bad time,” he mutters, his relief turning into displeasure. Can’t he wallow in his own stupidity in peace, for once?

“Oh, so you're just trying to have one?”

Mokku winces at the sharp disbelief in her voice, though he does his best to hide it. Cool, so his suppositions were right. What a good moment to find out. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

He feels, more than sees, Cedar roll her eyes at his response. “Please. You've been in a mood for weeks now- I’ve noticed, August has noticed, everyone has noticed. Either something's wrong, or you're just pissed out of nowhere. Which one is it?”

For some reason, her mentioning August sends a spike of anger through Mokku’s chest, burning like the stake. “Well then maybe everyone should mind their own fucking business, for a change!” He barks out, before he can think better of it.

He half expects the girl to just up and leave. He wouldn’t blame her, even if she did. She’d be better off going inside and comforting Picco, like as not. He’s being insufferable. Actually, he’s probably losing her affection left and right.

Instead, she descends a step and comes to sit beside him, her voice lowering a notch. “Would you like that? If we all stopped worrying about you forever after?”

“No! I mean- I just- Ugh.” He burrows his head in his hands again, fingers tugging at the coils of blue hair. “I just want these guys to stop acting like everything's fine. Like- what do you think they're gonna do once Picco tells them I've been an ass to him? They'll bitch and bitch about me trying to do better, and then they won't do anything. I could steal August's bike and run someone over and no one would lift a finger. What's wrong with them? What d'you gotta do to make them tick?”

There’s a long, heavy lull of silence, where the only sound is his sister’s foot tapping against the wood of the porch in a rhythmic, thoughtful pattern. Then she says, evenly: “Do you remember why I decided to stay here, even though I miss all my friends fairy much?”

Mokku can’t help but glance at her, eyebrows raised. What in the world…? “Because you wanted to be real without having to sign a book of stupid rules? You've told me this story before- what's that got to do with anything?”

He hears Cedar scoff, sounding quietly amused. “Well, yeah. Having the option to become a real girl without the whole destiny debacle was definitely a bonus. But that's not the only reason.” Unexpectedly, she reaches out to take his hand - the good one, the one that doesn’t need machinery or magic to function, that can still feel the warmth of her brown skin against his own.

“People are nicer here, Mokku. Back home, they- you couldn't do anything out of the ordinary without older folks, or- or Royals breathing down your neck. They couldn't hurt us, but they did everything they could to make our life miserable if we didn't make the right choices. 

“But in Storybrooke, it's all different. Snow White is friends with the Evil Queen, and she's not constantly asking her for a poisoned apple. I'm real, and I didn't even have to get turned into a donkey. There's no- no danger everywhere, but even so, everyone's looking out for me. For us. 

“You want to know why they don't get mad at you? Or me, or Picco? It's because here, if we mess up, they're not angry- they start worrying. They want to know why it's happening and if we're hurt. You can push August's buttons all day, every day, but he's not going to kick you out just because. You're just going to make everyone sick with worry.”

She sighs again, shaking her head. “Look- what happened to you was messed up. But if you keep acting like you've been acting lately, you'll just hurt yourself again, and you'll hurt us, too- but that would be cruel, and you're not cruel, Mokku.”

“I bet Picco's going to disagree, if you ask him later,” he mutters, and he hates hates hates that his voice cracks, thick with an emotion he can barely place and that makes his eyes sting and his throat burn. He doesn’t want to listen. He doesn’t. He’s not going to.

But Cedar is still talking, mindless of the whirlwind of thoughts in his head. “I'm not saying what you did was smart. But you know you didn't mean that, and- and he'll understand, too, if you apologize. But you have to apologize, and then you need to explain yourself to someone. Someone grown up- it doesn't have to be August, because I know you're a royal pain when it comes to talking to August, but someone. We can't fix it if you don't talk and just elbow people in the teeth. 

“Just… Please, don't shut us out. I'm scared, too, but I promise that everything will be fine. Okay? Please.”

She squeezes his hand again, tight and firm, without another word. Then she gets up and ducks back inside, leaving Mokku alone with his pounding head once again.

[kelyon]

Courtship 12: Rings

Miss French talks to the florist.

Read on AO3

Mr. Gold’s fiancee tread lightly on her way up to the apartment. Her new red heels hung loosely in her hand as she crept up the stairs to the kitchen. It was barely seven in the morning. With any luck, her father would have gone to bed soon after that disaster of a phone call. 

Of course, Lacey didn’t have any luck. A thin strip of light from the bottom of the kitchen door sliced through the dark stairwell like an assassin’s blade. 

“Shit,” she whispered. 

But she persevered. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. Just last night, Miss French had endured the pain Mr. Gold had meted out to her. She had reveled in it. She had climaxed from it. She could take any punishment, any torture. She wasn’t going to be intimidated by a man as weak and useless as Moe French.

She turned the knob and eased open the door, still trying to stay quiet. Just because she was brave didn’t mean she had to ask for trouble. 

The TV was on. Good Morning Storybrooke blared out at top volume. Maybe she could sneak into her room until she had to come out to open the store. Maybe Dad had fallen asleep on the couch. Maybe she could convince him that the phone call that revealed her sleeping with Mr. Gold had been a bad dream.

She darted past the door to the living room and had taken three steps down the hall toward her bedroom when the TV abruptly turned off. The living room couch creaked and the whole house rumbled with Moe French’s plodding, determined footsteps.

“Do you have any explanation for your behavior?”

He didn’t shout. That was how Lacey knew she was in real trouble. His voice sounded old and tired, the crumbling stone of a ruined castle.

Biting her lip, Lacey slowly turned around. They stood at either end of the hall, facing each other. In the old West town that made up their arguments, it was high noon. Both of them had their hands on their six-shooters, neither one sure who would draw first.    

She swallowed.

“I am a consenting adult,” she began evenly. “We live in a free country. I should be able to date anyone I want.”

“Why did you lie to me?”

She gave him a look. “Because I didn’t think you’d celebrate the news.” Turning, she opened the door to her bedroom and placed her shoes on the floor inside. Then she shut the door again to continue the conversation. “As a matter of fact, I thought you might be pretty pissed.”

Moe took a step forward. “Do you have any idea how worried I was when you didn’t come home?”

Lacey held up her hands. “I am sorry about that. But in my defense, I got in after midnight twice this week, and you were asleep both times.”

“Yes, because I trusted you.” 

“You only trusted me because you thought I was with Hunter.”

“I thought you were responsible.”

“I am!”

“Then why are you sneaking around like a criminal?”

“Because I knew you would freak out, I already said that!”

“What the hell are you doing with a man like that?”

A bitter laugh burst out of Miss French. “Don’t ask questions when you don’t want to know the answer.”

Moe shook his head. “I can’t believe you. I can’t believe my own daughter would--would--”

“Would what, Dad? Would be interested in men? Interested in fancy dinners and nice cars? Interested in sex?”

He made a face and shook his head. Rolling her eyes, she pushed past him to get to the kitchen. He stepped back into the living room to let her go. This hallway wasn’t big enough for the both of them. 

Without thinking much about it, she opened the cupboards and pulled out the supplies to make oatmeal. Mr. Gold hadn’t served dinner last night and she was fucking starving.

“I don’t understand,” Moe said as he stood in the doorway. “Why Gold?”

“They could fill a library with things you don’t understand,” Lacey muttered. She slammed the door to the fridge and dumped milk onto her oats. “I didn’t start dating Mr. Gold just to piss you off,” she said more loudly. “He asked me to Bella Notte, and I said yes.”

“And you slept with him after three dates?”

She bit her lip, didn’t answer. She carried her bowl over to the microwave and turned the dial. Then she looked at her father.

“Do you want me to lie to you?”

Glowering, Moe crossed his arms over his chest. “No.”

“Well, then, the truth is that I slept with Mr. Gold on our first date.”

Dad’s face screwed up. “Oh, for the love of God, Lacey! I thought you were smarter than that!”

She dug her nails into her palms. “Well, obviously, I’m not! Obviously, I’m a stupid slut who wouldn’t know a bad decision if it fucked her in the ass!”

“Lacey!”

Eyes burning, she turned away from him. She stared at the microwave, watched her oatmeal bubble. Mom always made them oatmeal on cold winter mornings like this, in a big pot on the stove. It sticks to the ribs, so it’ll stay with you all day.

 When the microwave beeped, she found a clear spot on the kitchen table where she could set the bowl down. Neither one of them really cooked, how did this place get so messy? She grabbed a clean spoon from the crowded dish rack and started stabbing at the oatmeal to mix in some brown sugar. 

“What…” Moe began. He drifted off, then tried again. “Why would you choose to be with a man so heartless?”

Lacey sighed. Leaning against the counter by the microwave, she scooped up a spoonful of oatmeal. “Just because he asks for the rent on time doesn’t make him a monster.”

“No, it’s the fees that make him a monster. It’s the interest. It’s the contracts and the fine print. Lacey, you know this! That man has no mercy, no pity. He isn’t even human!”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and took a bite of oatmeal.

The reaction was instant. As soon as the milky goop hit her tongue she started to gag. She didn’t even taste it at first, her body just recoiled. She spat the oatmeal back into the bowl.

“What the fuck?” she shrieked. “How fucking old is that milk?”

Moe snorted. “So it finally turned, huh? You could have smelled it first to check.”

“Or you could buy groceries often enough that we don’t need to worry about things rotting in our fridge.”

“With what money?” he shot back. “Your boyfriend bleeds us drier and drier every day.”

“It doesn’t cost anything to throw things away when they go bad!”

“Then why don’t you do it? I’m trying to keep the business afloat, is it too much to ask for a little help around the house?”

“Yeah, sure! I’ll be an unpaid maid along with being an unpaid florist!”

“I pay you in food and shelter!”

Then why am I still hungry? 

Without a word, Lacey scraped her bowl into the overfilled trash can. Globs of spoiled oatmeal dripped over empty boxes of TV dinners and envelopes from unpaid bills. She tried to breathe, tried to pull herself together, get herself under control. 

She rinsed out her bowl in the sink and dropped it on the pile of plates and mugs. Then she took a glass and filled it with the cloudy, chemical-smelling water that poured out of their faucet. With her back to her father, she rinsed the sour-milk taste out of her mouth. She spat it out into the sink full of dirty dishes. 

Only then did she turn around and talk to Moe. 

“I’m gonna get some sleep before we have to open the store.”

He gave a nod. He looked as tired as she felt. “Just promise me you’ll never see him again.”

Miss French winced. “I… can’t do that.”

Moe looked up. “Lacey…”

“He asked me to marry him, Dad,” she said quietly. “And I said yes.”

He gaped at her. It probably wasn’t good for the man’s cardiovascular system for his face to go from red to white in less than five seconds. 

“At least I didn’t lie to you about it?” she tried.

“Lacey.” It was barely a whisper. “Why would you do that?”

She bit her lip. “Nothing good is going to happen if we keep talking about this. We should both cool off and--”

“How long have you had that dress?” Moe jabbed an accusing finger at her walk of shame outfit. “It’s new, isn’t it? When did you get it?”

Would it be worse to lie or worse to tell the truth? “Saturday,” she said quietly. “I bought it over the weekend.”

“With what money? You haven’t done any deliveries since Christmas.”

Digging her nails into her palms, Miss French forced herself to look this florist in the eye. “Mr. Gold gave me some money so I could buy nice clothes for our dates.”

“After you slept with him?”

“Yeah.”

Moe shook his head. “Well,” he said. “I guess that answers that question.” 

Slowly, he turned away. With shuffling steps, Moe French retreated to his bedroom and left his daughter standing alone. 

****

It was a tense day at Game of Thorns. 

By the time Lacey cleaned herself up and found some edible food, it was time to open the store. Moe stayed up in his room, which she counted as a blessing. She went through the mind-numbing routine of unlocking the front door, turning on the lights, counting out the money in the cash register. It felt good to be useful, it always had. She didn’t mind working. All she wanted was some Goddamned compensation for it. 

Call-in orders came in throughout the morning. A few customers stopped by--mostly well-off married women with nothing better to do on a Monday morning. They gushed over the displays but didn’t buy anything. She didn’t begrudge them, she knew how it worked: A woman couldn’t buy Valentine’s Day flowers for herself, but she could scope out what arrangements she liked best and spend the first two weeks of February dropping hints. It happened every year. Lacey put on her best fake smile for the customers, knowing full well she’d be “surprising” them with flowers soon enough. 

Around noon, she started hearing the groan and squeak of ancient floorboards as her father moved around upstairs. Her chest tightened and didn’t release until he came in from the back. Unusually for him, he didn’t have anything in his hands. He wasn’t carrying or planning or working at all. His face was a gray nonexpression, same as when they used to take Mom to her doctor’s appointments. 

Dad stood for a minute, looking at her quietly. Then he asked, “Do you love him?”

Miss French burst out laughing. “Do I what?”

“Do you love him?” Moe raised his voice. “The man you say you’re going to marry. If you love him, there must be some good in him.”

Still shocked from the out-of-the-blue question, she cackled. “Oh, there is plenty of good in Mr. Gold!” Her voice sounded deep, lusty. From Mr. French’s changing color, he knew exactly what she was talking about. “But no, he doesn’t want me to love him.”

“So you don’t think he loves you?”

“Why would he?”

“If he’s going to marry you, he’d damn well better!” He pounded his fist against the countertop, rattling the shelves of vases. “Hell, even if you’re just screwing, there should be something there, some… liking.”

“I like him fine! I think he likes me too.”

“You think? Lacey, are you thinking at all?”

Miss French shut her mouth so hard her teeth hurt. “You know what?” She pushed herself off her stool by the register. “I did the morning shift, I’m gonna take my lunch now.”

“Don’t think we’re done talking about this madness!” Moe yelled after her.

“Talk all you want,” she muttered as she went up to her room. “You don’t get to decide what I do or how I feel.” 

****

She changed out of her work jeans and into the red skirt from her date on Friday. Thank God she’d had the presence of mind to buy something machine washable. It was still fucking freezing outside, so she put on leggings and covered her top half in layers. She covered her long-sleeved t-shirt from work with her white button-down, then covered that with an ash-gray cable-knit sweater she had borrowed from Andrew once and never returned. Her dead cousin’s sweater hung on her like a loose smock, but Lacey didn’t mind the look. Maybe Mr. Gold would think it was cute to see her swimming in men’s clothes. For now, it was the best she could do. 

When she got to the pawn shop, Mr. Gold was over by the side door. He was talking to a bald man in a black coat. The man was so tall he had to hunch under the door frame. Between them, a large piece of wooden furniture lay on its side on the ground. It took Miss French a minute to see that it was a wardrobe. The thing was lovely and old-fashioned and big enough to contain a world where it was always winter and never Christmas.

“Put it along the wall by the door,” Mr. Gold was telling the tall man. “There should be ample space on the parlor side, but if you must put it in the bedroom, that’s acceptable.”

The tall man nodded and began the process of picking up the wardrobe and getting it out the side door. The fact that he was even able to make the attempt was impressive, let alone how he made it look so easy.

Mr. Gold noticed her standing in the middle of his shop. His eyes crinkled and he licked his lips. Wordlessly, he nodded for her to come to him. Miss French happily obeyed. 

“Miss French, have you ever met my gardener, Mr. Dove?” He held out a hand indicating the tall man. 

The wardrobe was halfway through the door, but Mr. Dove stopped what he was doing to give her a deep nod.

“You helped deliver my hot water tank, didn’t you?”

“Mr. Dove performs many services for me,” Mr. Gold said. “And, of course, Mr. Dove, this is Miss French, my fiancee.”

The tall man nodded again, implacably stone-faced. His voice was the deepest she’d ever heard. “Congratulations, ma’am.”

As someone who worked with an often-irate public, Lacey French had been called ‘ma’am’ plenty of times. This was the first time it seemed actually respectful. This Dove person actually thought of her as ‘ma’am,’ as an adult woman, as someone worthy of marrying Mr. Gold. 

Miss French smiled at Mr. Gold’s employee. The man nodded a final time and carried on with his work. 

When Dove got the wardrobe outside and shut the door behind him, Mr. Gold turned to her. He looked her up and down, frowning. 

“You need more money for clothes.” It wasn’t a question. He was already walking to the cash register. 

“No,” Lacey said. “Well, yes, obviously, but that’s not why I’m here. You said you had things to discuss with me.”

“Indeed I do.” 

He took some bills out of the register and laid them on the counter in front of her. More fifties. She took them without comment, trying to forget Dad’s accusations. Mr. Gold was going to be her husband, it was perfectly reasonable for him to give her money.

“Come here,” Mr. Gold tapped his hand on the countertop, beside where he stood. Miss French hurried to obey.

With a ring of keys, he unlocked the back of the display case and pulled out a black velvet tray. He set it in front of her, but covered the contents with his hand.

“If you ever see anything you like in the shop, just let me know.” He grinned at her. “I’ll make you pay for it, but not in money.”

Miss French giggled.

“For now,” he went on, “I want you to pick out an engagement ring.”

He pulled his hand away, revealing rows and rows of rings. Miss French licked her lips. Her breath shook. So many jewels, right at her fingertips! Emeralds and sapphires on gold and silver bands, inlaid diamonds twisting around each other, rubies and peridots and one stone she didn’t recognize that seemed to be blue and green and purple all at once. 

“They’re all so beautiful,” she whispered. “How could anybody pick just one?”

Mr. Gold shrugged. “You could try wearing all of them at once, though I imagine it would impede dexterity.”

She gave a breathy laugh. Imagine it! Lacey French the unpaid florist wearing a full jewelry store on each hand!

She looked up at Mr. Gold. “Which one do you like?”

He shook his head. “I’ll give you what I want you to wear. This is your decision, my dear.”

Overwhelmed by choice, she looked for her birthstone, aquamarine. When she didn’t see any, she scanned the rows for pearls, to remind her of her mother. No dice on that front either. She was on her third or fourth pass when something finally stood out.

“Maybe that’s it,” she whispered.

“What?” Mr. Gold murmured into her hair. He had stayed by her side, standing close but never directly touching.

“These two.” She put her fingers on a pair of unadorned gold bands that were side by side in the bottom corner of the tray. “I think I need to wear one of them.”

“Awfully plain,” Mr. Gold said. “I thought you might want something more ostentatious.”

“Just because I’m from Old Town doesn’t mean I’m complete trash.” 

“Yes you are.” He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her in close to him. She gasped at the sudden delight of his touch. He nipped along her jawline and growled into her ear. “Of course you’re trashy and greedy. You want all of this, everything. You want to show off my wealth, you want to flaunt your excesses. You want to flash diamonds in the faces of everyone who ever overlooked you.”

Denial sat on Miss French’s tongue. She wasn’t like that! She didn’t care about stuff. She wasn’t vindictive or greedy or a show-off.

Or was it just that she’d never had anything to show off before? Did she only not care about possessions because she’d never had anything worth caring about? Those ladies that were in the store this morning, they wouldn’t think twice about displaying the jewelry their husbands gave them. Mr. Gold was richer than any other man in Storybrooke. His wife should flaunt his wealth.

Despite all that, the plain rings still stood out to her. For some reason she couldn’t name, they were the only real option. 

“Like I said,” she tried to talk while Mr. Gold was kissing her neck. “I want to wear all of these. But I can’t wear them all at once. Plain gold will match with anything.”

“Except silver.”

“Well, I’m not gonna be Mrs. Silver, am I?” She turned around to face him. “I like the idea of always having gold on my body.”

He grinned at her and bent down for a kiss. When he was done and she could breathe again, she pulled both rings out of their slots in the velvet tray. She wasn’t sure why she needed both of them, but she had the oddest feeling that they were a matched set.

One ring was visibly smaller than the other. Miss French slid it on to the third finger of her left hand. 

“Wow, it fits!” She held her hand out in front of her to admire her engagement ring. Plain as it was, it gave a new definition to her fingers. The ring changed her hand somehow. It changed her. Did every bride-to-be feel this way the first time she looked at her wedding ring?  It was the simplest possible adornment, but symbolized the biggest event of Miss French’s life.  

Buzzing with excitement, she took the other ring and held it in her palm for Mr. Gold. 

“This one is bigger. I bet it would fit you.”

Mr. Gold cocked his head at her. “Why would I need an engagement ring?”

“Well, then, it could be a wedding ring. Lots of men wear wedding rings. And you can’t say you don’t wear jewelry.” She looked meaningfully at the large ring on his right hand. He always wore it.

Her fiance gave her a look that was half-scowl and half-grin. He snatched the ring out of her hand and slid it onto his finger.

“Hmm.” He sounded genuinely surprised. “Fits perfectly.” 

For a long moment, Mr. Gold stared at his hand. He flexed his fingers and seemed to be pondering. 

“It’s weird, isn’t it? To wear a ring? It all feels so much more real now.”

Mr. Gold made a noncommittal noise. Then he shook his head briefly, as though to clear it from hazy thoughts. He took his normal ring off his right hand and slid it onto his left, just over the golden band. With the large pale stone, the other ring covered his wedding ring completely. No one would ever know it was there.

No one, except for him and her. 

Mr. Gold cleared his throat. “How were things with your father?”

Lacey rolled her eyes, trusting that Mr. Gold would know her disdain wasn’t aimed at him. “He’s not happy, but the argument wasn’t fatal for either of us. He asked me if I loved you.”

Mr. Gold raised his eyebrows. “What did you tell him?”

“No,” she shrugged. “I’m pretty sure love is the last thing we need in this marriage.”

“Correct,” he said smoothly. “Marriage is a contract, a deal. There’s no need to let emotion interfere with judgment.”

“A deal, huh?” she gave him a grin. “Is this deal like all your others? Are you gonna screw me over?”

“Of course I am.” He wrapped his arm around her, pressed her against the back of the display case. He kissed her, dark and deep and hungry. “I’m going to screw you over every flat surface in this town. I’m going to screw you over and under and in every other direction you can think of.”

“Fuck,” Miss French gasped as Mr. Gold drew her into him. 

His hand groped at her thigh, plucking at her leggings. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s cold,” she said. “I can’t be bare-skinned all the time. I’ll freeze!”

“You’ll bare yourself for me whenever I ask you to.”

“Then ask!” she laughed. “I’ll do whatever you say, you just have to say it first.”

“I’m saying it now,” he purred into her ear. “At all times, you’re going to have as little as possible covering that sweet cunt.” Reaching under her skirt, he cupped her over her leggings. His strong fingers pressed into her slit. God, he could probably feel her wetness through two layers of fabric. “This is mine.” He squeezed her. “All of you is mine. You’re not going to let anything get between me and what belongs to me. Yes?”

“Yes.” It was barely a breath. 

“Good girl.” He took his hand away, stepped back enough for her to move. “Pull them down,” he ordered. 

Miss French hitched her thumbs into the elastic waistband and pulled her leggings down to her knees. She did it automatically, before she could consider that the store was still open, the front door was still unlocked.

“What if someone walks in on us?”

“Then they’ll get a hell of a show.”

Mr. Gold’s hand was hot on her bare thigh. He stroked her with his palm, then raked his nails against her skin. Miss French gasped.

“That’s my pain slut,” he praised her.  “That’s my lovely little deviant.”

Finally, his hand traveled up to her ass. When he felt her faded cotton underwear, he tsked. With one hand still touching her, he opened the cash register and pulled out yet another fifty. 

“This one,” he said patiently, “is only for you to buy suitable undergarments. Just panties. I’ll give you more for lingerie sets later. Like I said, this cunt is mine. I want it looking nice and pretty.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.” Miss French’s cheeks burned. It hadn’t occurred to her that she would need to be so prepared. It���s not like he had told her this was a date! But he was right. She was his fiancee now. They could fuck whenever they wanted. 

“Turn around,” Mr. Gold ordered. “Facing the door. Put your hands on the glass, palms down. Don’t move.”

When she got into position, he stood behind her. His left hand, the hand with his ring, crept up beneath her red skirt, and then down under her panties. In the middle of his store, in the middle of the day, he grasped the bare skin of her pussy. 

Miss French stayed as he had ordered her to. She stared at the door, at the back of the sign that said “Open.” The lightbulb inside the display case made the glass warm. Her hands were sweaty, but she didn’t move them. Her engagement ring shone softly with a golden glow.   

Mr. Gold’s fingers started to move. He rubbed against the cleft of her mound, roughly brushing past her clit. He dove into that secret well of wetness, into the heat he always made in her. The heat that offset any winter cold. 

“Fucking slut,” he whispered. “You gorgeous whore.”

“Yes,” she whispered.  

He fingered her silently, briskly. Her breath came out in jerking pants, but she didn’t move. Her feet stayed where they were--spread as far apart as her bunched-up leggings would allow. She didn’t let her fingers curl on the glass, no matter how much Mr. Gold played with her. Her body pushed against the display case, leaving only enough room for his hand. 

Her eyes never left the unlocked door.

“I’m not going to let you come today,” Mr. Gold breathed into her hair. “I’ve been far too indulgent with you on that point. My wife is going to have to learn some discipline.”

He grabbed her on that last word. His fingers pushed inside her, the heel of his palm forced a bruising pressure on her clit. 

She started to shake. Was that pleasure or pain? It didn’t matter with her, she could come from either. God, she really was no better than an animal in heat. God, she was disgusting. She was such a stupid slut.

Miss French’s teeth ground together as she tried to keep herself from coming. Her hands tried to grip at the smooth glass, but there was nothing to grab onto. Nothing to hold her together while Mr. Gold was pulling her apart.

“S-S-S-S--” she shook. “S-stop! Please! If you don’t want me to come then stop!”

“You stop,” he growled. His fingers moved all the faster. “If you want to please me then you stop.”

Gasping and shaking, Miss French tried to let go. She tried to distance herself from her body, from the pleasure that Mr. Gold was so good at creating in her. She tried to float.

It was like last night--God, was that only last night?--when he had flogged her. The pain had been too much, but she wouldn’t disappoint him by making him stop. She had solved that problem with an orgasm. Now she had to solve this problem some other way. She had to find some inner strength. Last night she had let pain pass through her. She could do the same with pleasure, even while he was working his magic. 

Slowly, Miss French straightened up. She took deep breaths, trying not to shudder. She willed her heartbeat to slow down. Mr. Gold kept up his movements, but even they had become slower, calmer. He knew--he could feel--that the crisis in her body had passed. This time, at least, she had been able to stop herself.

They stood like that for a moment, her back to his front. They breathed together, deep and slow.

“Good girl.” Mr. Gold placed a kiss on her cheek. 

Miss French didn’t let herself react. Somehow, she felt just as dazed and exhausted as she would if she had come a dozen times in a row. 

After a final squeeze, Mr. Gold extracted himself. He took a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and began to wipe her wetness off his hands.

“It is a lovely cunt,” he said offhandedly. “A pleasant thing to have at my disposal.”

Miss French breathed a chuckle. Her hands were still splayed out on the countertop. She stared, unseeing, at the front door until Mr. Gold moved her chin to make her look at him.

“You’re not going to play with it,” he said calmly. “Until you see me again.”

Slowly, Miss French blinked. “What?”

“Your cunt,” he explained. “Your whole body, actually. I don’t want you touching it without me.” 

“Oh,” she said softly. “Okay.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.”

“Yes what? Say it out loud.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold, I won’t touch myself until I see you again.”

“And you’re never going to come without permission, are you?”

“No, Mr. Gold.”

She made the promises automatically, said the words like they were something she had memorized, like the Pledge of Allegiance. These were her pledges to Mr. Gold. Only unlike when she had recited the Pledge of Allegiance in school, Miss French actually gave a fuck about what she was saying to Mr. Gold. She would do what he said, of course she would. He made the rules for these games. She had to follow them if she wanted to keep playing.

“Get yourself in order,” Mr. Gold said, not unkindly. “I can’t release you back into the world looking like such a fuckstruck mess.”

Miss French gave him a smile that was loose, almost sleepy. Fuckstruck, that was the word alright. 

“You’re right, Mr. Gold,” she breathed. She began to pull up her leggings, made sure her skirt wasn’t caught in anything. “Thank you.”

“For teasing you?”

“For teaching me,” she said. “Every time I’m with you, I learn something new.”

He snorted. “You certainly have lots of room for improvement.” He walked with her to the front door. “Are you going back to the flower shop?”

“I think I should, just to prove that I’m still useful. I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason my father didn’t kick me out altogether--with Valentine’s Day coming up, he needs me to work.”

“Well, I hope he can spare you on the twelfth.”

“The twelfth?”

“Of February. Saturday after next. I thought it would be a good day for our wedding.”

“What, in two weeks?” Lacey gaped at Mr. Gold.

“One week and five days, yes.”

“I thought engagements were supposed to be longer,” she said. “Don’t weddings take a long time to plan?”

“Not if you have money and connections and a determined will--all of which I have in abundance. I’ve booked Dodici’s Dance Hall. They’ll do the catering and decorations as well.”

She had to chuckle. Even Mr. Gold couldn’t change the fact that every reception in Storybrooke was held at one of two places. 

“You didn’t want to rent the social hall at St. Meissa?”

Mr. Gold frowned at the mention of the local convent. “No,” he said. “And if you always dreamed of a church wedding, then I’m afraid you must accept disappointment, my dear.”

Miss French shook her head. “It doesn’t matter to me. The only thing I care about is that we don’t have real flowers.”

“You don’t want to give your father the business?”

“I don’t want to give him a hernia!” She smiled, but it didn’t last long. “Besides, there’s nothing worse than making a flower arrangement for your own function. At my mom’s funeral--you’d think people would know better, but…”

“I see,” Mr. Gold said smoothly. “Very well, no flowers.” He held open the door for her, letting an icy blast of wind into the shop. “We’ll talk more as decisions are made. Feel free to come to me whenever you need money.” He bent down to kiss her cheek and whispered, “Or whenever you need me to make you come until you cry.”   

Miss French turned around to say something, but he had already shut the door behind her.

[teamhook]

Chaste Love :: The 40 Year(ish) Old Virgin CS AU for CSMM

Thank you @ultraluckycatnd for being the amazing patient beta she is!

Thank you to the @captainswanmoviemarathon and the CSMM Discord shipmates!

JUST TO CONFIRM NO CHEST HAIR WAS HARMED IN THE WRITING OF THIS CHAPTER

|AO3| |FFN|

Arthur had walked by and caught the whole thing. As soon as Emma and Henry left, he approached Killian's workstation with a wide smile. "Killian Jones, are you befriending the son to get in with the mom? I never thought you'd have that in you."

Killian scoffs, "I would never."

"That was the hot girl I was helping the other day right? Damn, she is looking good, but I don't deal with kids." Arthur shudders.

Killian glares. "She is a beautiful lass, I admit, but I would never use the lad for nefarious intentions. He is a good kid."

"Well, if you are interested, you should go for it. Maybe she will pop your cherry. She obviously has experience."

Killian shakes his head. "Whatever. I'm going back to work as you should too."

"Hey Killian, go for it!" Arthur laughs as he watches the other man disappear into his workspace.

Later before the end of the workday, Arthur saunters back to Killian's work area. "Hey, Killian. How about we take you out for a makeover? If you are interested in the lovely lady, this will help your chances."

"We? Who is we exactly?" Killian asked cautiously without rejecting the offer.

Arthur grinned. "David, Robin, and myself. We are taking you for a makeover, maybe get you some clothes. I know, a leather jacket to make the ladies swoon and fall at your feet. Or knees, if you know what I mean." Arthur's eyebrows waggle.

Killian's nose wrinkles in disgust. "I don't know. I like the way I dress."

"But do the ladies? Killian, come on. We can wax your chest hair. I have it done all the time and the ladies love it," Arthur says as he mentally made a list of what needed to be done.

Killian wonders for a moment if perhaps a lovely blonde would be attracted to such changes.

Hesitantly, Killian agrees. After work, he goes shopping with Arthur, David, and Robin. The men argue amongst themselves on what would be a better look for Killian.

Killian stands idly by as he waits for them to agree on anything. He wanders off to see if anything catches his eye. When he told his brother about the proposed makeover over the phone, Liam had urged him to accept the offer and added, "Have some fun little brother, and open your heart to the possibility of love." Killian knows his heart was open after meeting Emma; he just doesn't know how to close the deal.

Soon, the group of men stood outside a Spa and Salon while still arguing about the pros and cons of waxing Killian's chest. Arthur claims that women preferred it. Robin and David argue they preferred a natural look. They did agree that back hair was not appealing at all. While Killian wavers with his decision, Arthur goes in to get his own chest done. A short time later, Killian says firmly he will not do it once the men witness Arthur going through the procedure. The screams and curses heard would make anyone blush.

The next day, Killian enters work with a bit of pep in his step. It was a little crazy how much new clothes could build confidence. He's still wearing his glasses, but he has an appointment with his eye doctor to finally take the plunge and get contacts. He will finally call the blonde goddess that has captured his heart and ask her out on a date.

When the whole day at work consisted of pining and longing, he knew he had it bad.

"Jones." Arthur enters Killian's workspace and snaps him out of his daydream. "We should hang out tonight. I know this place and a lot of hot, desperate, horny women hang out there and with your makeover, I'm sure you can easily convince one to do you the favor and make you a man."

Killian rolls his eyes. "I'm not going out to get laid."

"Killian, do you really want that hot mom to have to teach you about the birds and the bees? She already has one kid, I doubt she wants another one."

Killian Jones has never been a night owl or a partier. He isn't opposed to a good time, but his definition of one differs from others. But his brother's words still rung in his head to have fun, so he agreed to a night out with Arthur. He wishes David and Robin could accompany them to help him if Arthur got too pushy, but they both had ladies of their own. When they got there, the singles bar was swarming with people and the music was too loud. Killian already hates it. Why would anyone subject themselves to a place like this? Arthur keeps pointing out women to him saying they look like a good time. Killian gives a shy smile and an awkward wave while Arthur prefers the nod. While at the bar, a redhead approaches Killian.

"Hello," she slurs. "You are very pretty. How about we get out of here and you show me what's underneath those tight pants," she leers as she looks him up and down.

Killian is speechless; he never thought a woman would approach him, much less ask to see his most private appendage. Sadly, Arthur overhears the conversation and hisses, "Go for it! She wants you, remember the mission." Arthur nudges him in her direction.

They reach his car and she pounces, only to miss his lips. She tries again, only to be stopped by Killian. "Lass, I don't even know your name yet. How about we have a cup of coffee?"

He puts space between them and she looks at him confused, turning a shade of green. "What, is it you don't like the ladies?"

He gently steadies her. "I do like the ladies, but you are drunk. It would be bad form to take advantage of your state."

She rolls her eyes and tries again for the kiss but instead, she throws up the content of her stomach on his shoes.

Killian stands still until she finishes. She looks up and wipes the vomit from her mouth. "I knew it. You don't like women. What a waste of such luscious lips." She shakes her head as she walks away to a man that resembles a monkey and lunges at him. He welcomes the attack and they leave in his car.

Killian looks down at his shoes and shakes them off. He opens his car door and takes out a trash bag to put them in before he drives home. He just wants to put an end to the night so he can put it behind him.

Days after his night out, Killian keeps dodging Arthur's questions. He stays in his space all day. The only time he steps out is to go use the facilities. He feels ridiculous having to avoid the man, but he would never hear the end of it. As he is about to sneak out to go get something to eat, he hears his name being called out on the store paging system. Killian turns around to the little information station and his eyes land on Arthur.

Bloody hell. Should he lie and say he did do something with the redhead? He can't help the grumble that escapes his lips. Arthur puts down the PA microphone and walks over.

"Jones, so tell me, how was the redhead? She looked crazy and the crazy ones are amazing in the sack!" Arthur asks with anticipation of the dirty details.

Killian scratches behind his ear. "She..." he winces, "went home with another guy."

"How did that happen? She left the bar all over you. How did you ruin it?"

"She was drunk and she threw up on me and I'm just not the type of guy who takes advantage of women in that situation," Killian says and walks away. He is not going to be ridiculed by Arthur for being a gentleman.

It has been a long day and Killian has no idea what Arthur has told the guys, but David and Robin both approach him with a small smile as they mumble 'better luck next time'.

Cruella stops him before his shift ends to simply say, "Killian, I would gladly take you to bed, and no one has to know. I know tricks." As she walks by him, she squeezes his ass.

Killian yelps and turns beet red. He can't get out of there fast enough.

At home, Killian stares at the card Emma had given him the first time they met. He picks up his phone and dials her number. The sound of her voice on the line makes him panic and he hangs up. How did he ever think he could do this?

Tagging:

@rumdrum91 @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx @hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @ilovemesomekillianjones @thisonesatellite @thesschesthair @winterbythesea @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @thislassishooked @shardminds @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @laschatzi @wellhellotragic @xemmaloveskillianx @courtorderedcake @pirateherokillian @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @andiirivera @djlbg  @nikkiemms @jennjenn615 @scientificapricot @officerrogers @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @kday426 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713   @donteattheappleshook @spacekrulesbians @lassluna @carpedzem @captainodonoghue @killian-will-do @jarienn972 @tehgreeneyes @demisexualemmaswan @queen-serena88 @swanslieutenant @tiganasummertree @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @bethacaciakay​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @jrob64​ @klynn-stormz​ @mariakov81​ @sals86​ @elizabeethan​ @brooke-to-broch​ @hookedonhiddles​ @onceratheart18​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @veryverynotgoodwrites​ @jonesfandomfanatic​ @wefoundloveunderthelight​ @cocohook38​

[emospritelet]

Heatstroke - chapter 15

Bad Darcy!

[AO3] - 1,469 words

x

Lacey’s new peace with Gold made no real difference to her life, other than that she could pass him in the diner or on the street and not want to hurl herself into the sun. He was polite but distant whenever they met, and a part of her was disappointed that the coffee and cake in the back of his shop hadn’t led to a reciprocal offer from him. Ruby said that he never went out drinking, so looking around for him as she downed rum and coke in The Rabbit Hole was a pointless exercise. Which didn’t stop her doing it.

“Just march into the shop, unzip his pants and get on your knees,” suggested Ruby, waving her drink around as she gestured and making it slosh dangerously in the glass. “You know you want to.”

“I do n—” Lacey closed her eyes with a sigh. “Okay, maybe I do, but I’m not going to.”

“Come on, what do you have to lose?”

“My liberty, when he presses charges for sexual assault...”

“I swear.” Ruby shook her head sadly. “I’m just gonna have to shut you two in the store room at the diner and let you bang it out.”

“...and you get charged with false imprisonment.” Lacey shrugged, reaching for her drink. “At least I’ll have company in jail.”

“Fine, just carry on pining then,” sighed Ruby, sitting back.

“I am not pining.”

“You are too.”

“Wondering whether someone’s good in the sack is not pining.”

“What would you call it then?”

Lacey pursed her lips, pondering.

“Curiosity,” she said eventually. “There’s something about him. Something that gives me that good, low-down feeling, you know?”

Ruby took a drink, setting down her glass and leaning on the table with a wide grin on her face.

“So,” she said. “What do you think he’s like in the sack?”

“I dunno.” Lacey wrinkled her nose as she thought. “He’s really - careful - with his hands. And he has long fingers, did you notice?”

“No.”

“Well, he does,” said Lacey, shifting in her seat. “I think he’d be good.”

“He never dates,” said Ruby. “He’s gotta be out of practice.”

“It’s not like you forget how, right?”

“I guess.”

“Besides,” added Lacey. “Every guy I’ve been with has been a selfish ass who couldn’t make a woman come if their lives depended on it.”

“Fair point.” Ruby took another drink. “So, what are you gonna do?”

“Nothing…” Lacey groaned the word and let her head roll back. “It’s not like anything would ever happen. I reached out and I was forgiven but that’s as far as it goes. He’s not interested.”

“You don’t know that,” said Ruby fairly. “Maybe you should just ask him out.”

“No way.”

“Don’t be a weenie.”

“I flashed his son!”

“Yeah, and you apologised for that,” said Ruby. She suddenly looked thoughtful. “Maybe I should speak to Neal.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Okay, okay!”

Ruby was grinning, but she took another sip of her drink, setting down the glass.

“Let’s move the subject away from Sex-God Gold,” she said. “You working on anything cool for the paper?”

“If you consider the Storybrooke Flower Show cool, then yes.” Lacey stabbed at the ice in her drink with a straw. “It’s the last event before Zelena’s charity dance.”

“You going to the dance?”

“Only because Sidney managed to get me in to cover it,” she said. “Not sure Zelena wanted me there, but screw her.”

“Granny and I are helping with the catering,” said Ruby. “Zelena wanted something a bit more high-brow than we’re used to, so we’re putting on our fancy pants and making canapés.”

“Guess I’ll see you there, then,” said Lacey.

“You should ask Gold for a dance,” said Ruby, with a grin. “A little slow dancing, a little smoochy-smoochy and then maybe a little heavy petting in the mansion gardens.”

“Oh my God…”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

Lacey opened her mouth, closed it again, and took a drink while Ruby cackled loudly.

“Knew it.”

“Even if that was true,” said Lacey loftily. “He’s not going.”

“Really?”

“So he told Zelena, and given I’ve never seen the guy out socially, I guess it’s true.”

“Oh.” Ruby slumped in her chair a little. “Back to Plan B, then.”

“There is no Plan B,” said Lacey sternly. “Plan A ended in total humiliation. I’m done with plans as far as Gold’s concerned.”

“Hmm.” Ruby looked unconvinced. “We’ll see.”

x

The next morning Lacey was feeling a little thick-headed, and was relieved when she remembered it was Saturday. She was tempted to laze in bed with a book for another hour or so, but she was parched, she wanted coffee, and Darcy would need his breakfast. Grumbling to herself about the fact that she and Ruby were a bad influence on each other, she threw back the covers and got up to grab her robe.

Darcy was nowhere to be seen when she got downstairs, and Lacey opened the door to the back porch before going to put on a pot of coffee. She glanced out of the window as she was getting out the milk, and frowned curiously as she spotted Darcy in the middle of the patch of lawn that she still hadn’t gotten around to tidying up. He was on his back, feet in the air and tail lashing as he played with something long and black. A snake? Fuck!

Lacey almost dropped the milk on the counter and dashed out of the back door in a trice, leaping down the porch steps and across the lawn, where she drew a stop, shoulders slumping as realised that the thing Darcy was playing with wasn’t a live snake. It wasn’t even a dead snake. It was, however, a black silk tie.

Darcy had paused in his wriggling as she had approached, and gazed up at her with a mischievous glint in his green eyes. He was purring, his tail twitching against the yellowing grass, the length of black silk lying across his belly with both ends in the dirt.

“Oh man…” Lacey shook her head. “Really?”

She snatched up the tie, whisking it out of the way of a grasping paw and spreading it between her hands.

“How did you even get this?” she demanded. “You raiding Gold’s wardrobe now, you little sneak-thief?”

She inspected the tie, biting her lip in dismay as she saw the dirt coating it, and the tiny silk threads pulled loose. The logo on the back announced that it was Armani, and Lacey wanted to groan. 

“You’re killing me,” she said flatly. “I bet this thing cost more than my best shoes.”

Darcy wriggled, paws swatting at the air, and Lacey heaved a sigh as she glanced at the pink house next door. Great. Think this might take more than a coffee and muffin to make up for.

She glanced down at herself, noting that she was in a short nightdress and robe and very little else. Okay, I am definitely putting on clothes before I go over there. Gold can wait until I’ve had my coffee before he loses his shit.

Her head jerked around as she heard her phone ringing in the kitchen, and she wagged a finger at Darcy before trotting back into the house. She smirked as she saw the name on her phone screen, and flicked at it with her thumb to answer.

“Jefferson,” she said. “What have you got for me?”

“Straight to business, as usual,” sighed Jefferson. “Here I was thinking you were gonna whisper sweet nothings to me for a little while.”

“Stop flirting, you know you don’t mean it.”

“When has that ever stopped me?” 

Lacey chuckled, dropping the tie on the counter as she reached for a cup.

“True enough, I guess.”

“So how are things in Bumfuck, Nowhere?” asked Jefferson, and she rolled her eyes.

“It’s called Storybrooke, and it’s a town. It’s not the back end of beyond, it’s bigger than you think.”

“Bet you can’t get pizza after eleven pm.”

“That is not the mark of civilisation, Jefferson.”

“I beg to differ.”

Lacey sighed, amused.

“Do you have information for me or not?” she asked. “Come on, spill, I got shit to do.”

“Okay French, buckle up,” he said briskly. “The not-so-lovely Miss West has had her finger in a number of questionable pies in this town, and your boy has a few secrets to spill.”

Lacey grinned.

“Okay, hang on, let me get my notebook.”

She rummaged in her purse, fishing out her notebook and pencil and flopping into one of the kitchen chairs.

“You owe me a drink, by the way,” added Jefferson.

“You can collect if you ever visit me in Bumfuck - uh, I mean Storybrooke,” said Lacey impatiently. “Now come on, spill!” 

[let-it-raines]

your wonder under summer skies (12/?)

Summer in Storybrooke, Maine means one thing for its residents: tourist season. This year, for Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it means relationships ending and friendships changing all the while they attempt to figure out just what their relationship is. It’s somewhere straddling the line between friends and lovers, and there’s no guarantee of a soft landing if they fall into new territory.

rating: mature

ao3: beginning | current

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-/-

His hand moves back and forth with the vacuum, guiding it under the couch to try to get up dust that’s accumulated before moving to the baseboards. When was this last time they cleaned these? They’re disgusting, and Killian doesn’t know how he let it get like this? He always cleans these, keeps them from getting to be like this, and yet it looks like they haven’t been touched in at least six months.

Six months.

Bloody hell.

How did he let this happen?

The whirring of the vacuum gets louder when Killian pushes it up against the wall, and he’s definitely going to break it if he keeps forcefully holding it like this. But the damn dust and dirt won’t get sucked up, and he has to fix it. It can’t stay like this.

If the rest of the apartment and the offices downstairs are going to be clean, Killian needs this to match.

Why didn’t Liam pick up the slack since Killian has obviously been too busy fucking Emma to remember that he has responsibilities and a life and order to keep?

He tugs on the cord to try to move further down the wall, but all of the sudden the whirring stops, and when he glances over at the outlet, he can see that it’s still plugged in.

Today would be the day that his vacuum stops working. Go figure.

Groaning, Killian puts the device down and moves to change the plug, seeing if maybe an outlet simply went out. It doesn’t work in either plug, and when Killian tries it in another outlet altogether, he’s still disappointed.

“Dammit,” he mutters under his breath. “Dammit, dammit, god-fucking-dammit.”

“Talking to yourself again?” Liam asks as he walks down the hallway, his footsteps as quiet as they always are.

“The fucking vacuum broke, and we need to clean our baseboards.”

Liam waves him away. “I’ll look at it later. I’m sure it can wait.”

“I’m cleaning now. I don’t want it to wait. I’ll take the damn thing apart myself.”

“Are you honestly this cross at the handheld vacuum breaking? It’s not that big of a deal, Killian. That thing has to be decades old. We’ve been needing to buy one that wasn’t from a secondhand store for ages.”

Killian grinds his teeth and flexes out his fingers to keep himself from forming a fist and knocking the teeth out of his brother’s mouth. He knows that would be excessive. It shouldn’t even be a thought that’s at the back of his mind, and it isn’t, not really. It’s at the damn forefront.

He might be losing it a little bit.

Does it count as a win if he at least realizes that about himself?

“It’s been a long day,” Killian sighs, “and I’m trying to clean. Excuse me if I’m cross over the fact that our place needs this because no one has bothered to do it.”

Liam’s eyes narrow, and he crosses his arms over his chest while his jaw sets. “What’s this really about? The woman you’re seeing? Did something happen?”

What the hell?

Where did he get that thought from? That’s…ludicrous.

“Why would frustration over a vacuum make you think I was mad about a woman?”

“Because no one in their right mind would get that pissed over a vacuum.”

“We’re most likely going to have to get a new one, which is not something I budgeted for even if you’ve apparently been thinking about it. Do you know how expensive these are?”

“We have the money.”

“Not if we waste it!”

“My God, Killian,” Liam laughs as he turns around to walk toward the fridge, “give it a few weeks, it’ll pass.”

Has Liam lost his bloody mind? And is he really about to put on another pot of coffee right now?

Why does that make Killian so damn furious?

“And what, pray tell, will pass?”

Liam picks up the pot and waves it around. “Your infatuation with whoever you’re sleeping with. It’ll pass, and then you won’t be getting pissed off like this about whatever it is she’s done.”

Killian swallows and puts the vacuum down before he breaks it even more, and really, what would be the harm in that? He desperately wants to do something like punch a wall – or maybe Liam’s face – but maybe he can hold this rage in until he can get out onto the beach and go for a run until his legs are burning so much until they’re on fire.

Skipper shuffles next to Killian’s feet before settling down on top of them. Of course.

Maybe the dog will hold him in place so he doesn’t punch Liam.

“How could you possibly know that I’m seeing someone?” Killian seethes, unsure why he’s actually asking Liam this. He doesn’t honestly care for his answer.

“That’s how it’s been for a long time. I don’t know why this girl would be any different, especially since you’re hiding her away from all of us like you usually do with the others.”

He’s not.

Not technically.

And really, that’s the problem.

Well, one of the million he’s thought of since he left Emma last night.

Fuck.

Why did he do that? Why didn’t he let her come up to his apartment with him? Instead, he dismissed her, pretty much told her to go home without any question, and she wanted to come up. He wanted her to as well even if his intention was to stay away from Emma.

But deep down, he wanted her to stay even if he didn’t give her an opportunity to.

Even if it was just to sleep. That’s probably all that would have happened with how tired the two of them were, but it wouldn’t have mattered had they fucked. That’s what they’ve been doing after all, as per their agreement. Hell, they slept together yesterday morning, and it was…well, it felt like hell of a lot more than fucking, and Killian is not okay with that. He’s not here for anything other than casual, and he’s especially not here for something more than casual with Emma.

They’ve gotten too close, too comfortable.

No, scratch that. He has. It’s all on him.

He’s the one whose hand reaches for hers when they’re driving to get lunch, and he’s the one who dipped his head down to kiss her in greeting the other day. It was just the one time, but that was enough. He’s the one who is showing more than a friendly affection when he shouldn’t be showing her anything close to that outside of sex. Even during, there should be limits.

Obviously, he wants to take care of her when they’re intimate. She’s Emma. She’s his friend and a person and someone he cares for deeply, but limits.

There have to be limits.

Killian has blown those limits out of the water, and he doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do.

Break vacuums, apparently.

“My business is not any of yours,” Killian finally barks at Liam. He steps away, moving Skipper off his feet, and picks up the vacuum to put it in the storage closet. He’ll deal with that tomorrow. “You’re so bloody nosy about everything that I do. I’m not your child. I’m your brother, and I don’t know if you know this, but I’m not a lad anymore.”

The coffee percolates in the pot, and Killian can smell it now, warm and inviting and everything this conversation is not.

“I simply want you to be happy, little brother.” Killian grits his teeth. Now is not the time to nitpick Liam’s inane name for him. It’s never going to stop. “Is it so bad for me to wish that you would stop pursing relationships you know are nothing more than temporary?”

“More than temporary?” he scoffs. “When has anything in my life ever been more than temporary? It’s not that simple for me. You know what I’ve been through and what I’ve lost! Even things I thought were forever were gone in the blink of an eye!”

“That woman lied to you. She was not who you thought she was.”

Do not punch Liam, Killian reminds himself. Do not.

It would feel so damn satisfying, though.

“I loved her,” Killian says quietly, the rage still boiling just below the surface. “That doesn’t change. A hell of a lot of other things changed after she died and after I found out the truth, but that didn’t change the core of our years together. I’m not bloody like you or like Elsa where I can trust myself to be with someone and not screw everything up, so excuse me if I’m not interested in something that’s more than temporary!”

“You know what, Killian,” Liam begins as the coffee maker quiets, “I think you do want something that’s more permanent, and that’s why you’re pissed right now. You’re pissed at me, which I probably deserve for being a bloody ass to you, but I think you’re angrier at yourself because whoever this girl is, you’ve realized you might want something more with her.”

“I’m going for a run,” Killian hastily says. “I don’t know if I’ll be back tonight, so don’t wait up.”

“Killian – ”

“Let Skipper out if he needs it. I’ll make sure I’m here to run him in the morning since that always seems to be such a big inconvenience to you.”

And then he’s grabbing his keys and his wallet and slamming the door behind him. he doesn’t even have on the right shoes or clothes to go for a run, so before he sinks into the sand, he slips of his socks and his shoes and decides that if he can’t run, he might as well go for a walk. Maybe the ocean will calm him and bring him some kind of peace, but he doubts it.

It’s usually his safe haven, the place that keeps him centered, but he keeps running that conversation with Liam over and over again in his head. Liam’s right. Killian knows that he is, and he hates it.

Liam has always been right about Milah, but Killian has never wanted to admit that. He still doesn’t, and he certainly doesn’t think that he can admit to it now. Instead, he focuses on other things, on the one other thing that has been going over and over in his mind for the past few days.

He has feelings for Emma, who has been the best friend he’s had in quite possibly his entire life, and he absolutely cannot go there.

He’ll fuck it up.

He knows that he will. He hasn’t had a stable relationship in over half a decade, and Emma is not the woman he needs to try again with.

She deserves better than him, always has. She deserves someone who will know how to treat her well and who won’t screw her over and screw everything over because they don’t know how to handle their emotions. Emma has been through enough in her life. Her childhood was more screwed up than his was, and her relationships as an adult have been no better.

How could Killian possibly do any better than Neal?

In the end, he’d fuck it all up just the same even though he would never want to hurt Emma.

“Shit,” he mumbles to himself before sitting down in the wet sand.

The moonlight reflects of the water in front of him, silver strands of light mixing in with the deep indigo of the water, and the waves calmly crest before waning, a push and pull that never stops. A breeze joins in, lowering the mid July temperatures to the point of a chill, but Killian revels in it and the way that he can feel it in all of his bones.

The ocean is true and unfailing. It’s always there, even if the colors change and the creatures that reside below migrate, and for a moment, Killian is seventeen years old and in England, sitting on a chair in Brighton with Liam beside him because he was home for once. There aren’t a lot of good memories from Killian’s upbringing, not after his mum passed away, but that day was one of the good ones.

No fears or complications.

No warring brothers.

No warring mind.

“You know, if you’re looking for a place to hide out, I don’t think the beach in front of a lit country club is the place to do it.”

Killian chuckles and twists his head around to see Emma walking toward him. He really doesn’t need to see her right now, but God, if it isn’t good to actually see her.

The string lights hanging above the club’s deck are still illuminating Emma, creating a golden halo around already golden hair, and he barely manages to look away in order to scan down her body. Her dress is long and flowing, hitting right above her ankles, but the floral material hugs the rest of her so that he can see the curves that he knows every inch of better than he knows the marking of the scars on his hand and the ink sketched into his skin.

Stunning.

“I honestly did not realize I’d circled back to here.”

“How? Are you drunk?”

“I am completely sober.”

He hears her laugh and the rustle of fabric before she’s sitting down next to him and playfully bumping her shoulder into his.

That’s the other thing. Even if he could be the partner Emma deserves, she’s likely got no interest in anything other than being his friend and fucking when she’s in the mood.

Not that he minds either of those things. He agreed to them both, and it’s worked out quite well until he allowed himself to slip and develop feelings that he has no business having.

And yet he can’t get up and walk away right now. Sitting with her is the only place he’d like to be.

It was before. It is now.

It’s simply different.

It’s a frightening thought to think that the one who is ripping him apart is also the one who can stitch him back together, threading the needle so carefully that he won’t be left with scars this time.

Those are a hopeful man’s words, though, because he can already feel the scars inking themselves into his skin. He guesses he’ll have to learn the new ones too.

“Are you playing hooky from work?”

“Nah. We’ve got a dinner going on, and they’re in the middle of their main course. They won’t need me for a little while.”

Killian hums and leans his hands back behind him. “The impeccable Ms. Swan, catering to the elite of Storybrooke since 2011.”

“My dream job, obviously.”

“What’s your real dream job, love?”

“Inheriting millions of dollars and never working again.”

Killian’s head tilts back with laughter, and he glances to the side to see the moonlight catching off the side of Emma’s face. It’s so damn similar to last night that his heart aches.

But no, he’s pushing those thoughts away. He’s pushing them away and ignoring them and choosing to think that for a little while, things will be alright. He’s lying to himself, but that’s alright for now.

“Okay, but if you absolutely had to work for a living,” he prods, genuinely curious now.

“Well, I don’t know,” Emma admits. “I kind of lucked into this job. I was a waitress, because that’s all I’m pretty much qualified to do since I barely got out of high school with a degree, and Mary Margaret took me under her wings and helped me get promotions. It’s not bad here. I like it most days. I could go for a different boss, but it’s nice. Nice pay, mostly nice hours, even nicer free food.”

“Ah, that’s why you stay then? The food.”

“Absolutely.” Emma toes her sandals off and drags her foot through the sand next to his. She absentmindedly touches his leg, and a shiver runs down his spine. He tells himself that it’s the breeze and the water, but he’s apparently not that good of a liar today. “But really, I don’t know. For awhile, I wanted to be a social worker to help kids like me, but I realized that would be too painful for me. I’ve never really had a goal, but I kind of like where I am. Maybe I’ll figure something out in the future.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. What about you, KJ? Being in business with your brother the dream?”

“The Navy was the dream, but this is probably second or third best.”

“Third?”

“Well, yeah, I wanted to be in a band as a teenager, and I think I still hold out a little for that.”

Emma laughs beside him, her head tilted back so her hair flows off her head, tips hitting against the sand. “You know, I can see it, but I can’t decide whether or not you’d be a John Mayer type or a Freddie Mercury.”

“Well, I guess I’d have to try for us to find out.”

“I will be front row at every show. Promise.”

Killian swallows the lump in his throat and turns away from Emma. Every time he looks at her, there’s a twist in his gut. He can’t decide whether or not it’s painful or not, but even if it is, he keeps craving it.

Craving her.

He shouldn’t.

This has to break the rules of their agreement, these feelings. They never said, not explicitly. So maybe they don’t, not if he always puts the friendship first.

Not if he doesn’t allow himself to go too deep.

“What are you doing out here?” Emma asks him after a minute or so of silence between them.

“My bloody vacuum broke.”

“And you thought you were going to find the parts to fix it here?”

His eyes roll. “I may have gotten a tad…heated, and I need some fresh air.”

“Note to self, don’t get between Killian Jones and his vacuum.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

Emma’s foot brushes against his leg again, and this time he doesn’t bother slowly moving away.

“I get off in about an hour. You want to go to the Rabbit Hole?”

“Drinking on a school night, love?”

“I’m a rebel like that.”

“Don’t I know it?” He nudges her shoulder, and his hand reaches back behind him until his fingers brush against hers. She takes his hand, and he lets Emma be the one to twine their fingers together. “I can’t tonight. I’m afraid I need to go home and apologize to my brother.”

“You two have it out about the vacuum?”

“Believe it or not, we did.”

“Wow,” Emma laughs, squeezing his hand, “that is something else, but you know, I’d never keep you from having to apologize. Maybe another night then.”

“Definitely.”

Killian pulls their hands up and presses his lips over her knuckles, ignoring the sand.

She’s so light tonight, these past few days really, and he could never imagine ruining that.

Ruining her. There’s no way in hell they’re going to get out of this unscathed, and he can’t stomach the thought of hurting Emma.

“You should get back to work, love. It’s going to take you awhile to get all this sand off your ass.”

“Well, hopefully no one will be staring at my ass, so they won’t be able to tell.”

“It’s a damn good ass, Swan. And in that dress? People are definitely going to stare.”

She scoffs and lets go of his hand to stand up, brushing her hands across her ass as the sand falls off. Killian stands as well, brushing off his own sand, but he knows he’ll immediately be taking a shower after this, so it’s not all that important.

“You going to stare at me walking away as I go back to work?” Emma teases, her bottom lip between her teeth.

“You know that I am.”

“I’ll put a little extra sway into it for you.” She smiles and then presses up on her toes, her soft lips gliding against his for one second and then another, each of them blending into the next until he doesn’t know how long it’s been. But then she’s pulling back, her breath as heavy as his is, but unlike him, she’s got the softest smile on her face. “Goodnight, KJ. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Goodnight, love.”

And then she picks up her sandals and starts walking away, her hips swaying a little more than they normally would.

Dammit if he’s not half in love with her, and dammit if he doesn’t want to stop before he gets all the way there.

Killian watches her go until she’s standing underneath the string of lights and then disappearing inside the club until she’s nothing more than a face in a crowd of people who are laughing and drinking spirits while paying a copious amount of money to eat small plates of dessert.

And then he walks back home, focusing on his breathing with each step, and when he makes it up into the apartment, Liam is sitting on the couch in the dark, the television lights flickering across his face. He doesn’t acknowledge Killian, so Killian quietly walks into the kitchen, grabs two beers out of the fridge, and then settles down on the couch with Liam despite the fact that he definitely doesn’t have all of the sand off of his ass.

When he holds out the bottle to Liam, he takes it, clinking it against Killian’s before taking a sip.

“It’s your life, Killian,” Liam says. “It’s not mine, and I have no right to push you into things you don’t want to do. I judge your relationships too much, romantic and otherwise, and I need to stop because the last thing I want is to push you away. God, I mean, if it’s not with whoever this woman is, it’s with Emma. I don’t know why I’m such an ass toward her. I know you’re friends. I just – I guess I thought I once saw you look at her the way I look at Elsa, and I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

Too late for that.

“Emma’s a friend,” Killian says as he tilts the bottle against his lips, “and you are an ass to her. She knows it, too. She thinks you hate her, and if that’s the reason why…God, Liam, you can’t hate every person who has the ability to hurt me.”

“I know. You’re right.”

Killian raises a brow. “Are you sure you weren’t drinking too much before I got home?”

“No,” Liam laughs, “no, I wasn’t. I’m serious. I’m sorry about tonight and every other time I’ve been a wanker. Emma doesn’t deserve it. You don’t. I should be better.”

“I’m sorry, too.” Killian takes a long, cold sip of his own drink. “Thank you. And you’re right, you know? About me running from anything serious. I do run from any kind of commitment, and I’m not sure I can stop that.”

“When you find the right woman, you might just figure it out.”

“Yeah,” Killian sighs, sinking down into the couch, “I hope you’re right.”

-/-

-/-

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[hookedonapirate]

Through the Rising Tide

Thank you so much for the beautiful graphic @itsfabianadocarmo​!

Summary: The Jones brothers are polar opposites. Liam's the safe and honorable one, straight-laced and straight as an arrow. The good son.

Killian's the dangerous one, the bad boy with tats, leather jackets, a motorcycle and a questionable past.

The only things they have in common are panty-melting sea-blue eyes, the flat they share in Storybrooke and a rare blood type.

Oh, and apparently their taste in women.

Or rather, one woman.

Feisty.

Blonde.

Gorgeous.

Green-eyed Goddess.

Killian saw her first, but she chose his brother—the nice guy over the playboy. And even though she’s dating his brother, it doesn't make him want her any less. If that's not bad enough, she moves in with them and he has to pretend he's not completely in love with her. His life could not get any worse…

Until Liam dies in a tragic motorcycle accident.

Leaving each of them with one half of a broken heart.

Now Killian and Emma are left helping each other pick up the pieces.

Just as they're beginning to learn how to live in their new reality, another riptide pulls them further into the deep end when she finds out she's pregnant with Liam's baby.

Notes: Because I’ve received some comments saying that this fic is “inscestuous” EVEN THOUGH I CLEARLY SAID IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THIS IDEA TO HIT THE BACK BUTTON, I feel like I have to repeat myself and make it louder and clearer for the people in the back: If you're not comfortable with Emma and Killian’s relationship after she is with Liam, or if the idea of Emma being with both brothers at different times makes you squick or is cringy to you, THIS FIC IS NOT FOR YOU AND YOU ARE NOT INVITED TO READ SO HIT THE BACK BUTTON RIGHT NOW. I repeat, if the storyline makes you squick or is cringy to you, THIS FIC IS NOT FOR YOU AND YOU ARE NOT INVITED TO READ SO HIT THE BACK BUTTON RIGHT NOW! For everyone else, please enjoy!

Thank you @ultraluckycatnd​​ for looking it over!

This story was inspired by Baby Mine by Kennedy Fox, and I loved the book so much and thought it was very much underrated. I’ve wanted to write a fic like this for a long time now because it’s one of my favorite tropes, but after I read that book, I just had to write my own take. Also, I made this post about a Baby Yodarita drink last year when it was trending and since the beginning of this story starts one year prior, 2019 and since Killian is a bartender, it was a perfect way to include the prompt.

The title comes from the lyrics of the song, Lay By Me by Ruben. The particular line goes like this:

"I hope you know through the rising tide That I'll be here and you can lay by my side"

If you've never heard it, I recommend giving it a listen. It's an amazing song and very fitting for this story.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFJbLzEtoZw

P.S. In case you're unable to read the shoulder tattoo in the picture above and are wondering what it says—

"There is no happiness without tears

No life without death

And no true love without heartbreak"

Rated: Explicit for smut (including sexual fantasies, masturbation, implied and detailed sex, etc.) and language (lots of F-bombs).

Also available on: AO3 FF.N

 One Week Later…

  “I’m so sorry I'm late,” Ruby apologizes profusely as she scurries across the bar and rounds the counter. “Please don't fire me,” she pleads, her words full of panic. “I promise it won't happen again.”

  Killian arches a brow, thoroughly amused as he watches her haul ass. Is Ruby Red actually worried about losing her job?

  Well, this is a first. 

  Liam looks up from the paperwork in his hands and actually smiles as he waves off her words. “Don’t worry about it, Rubes.” As he turns around and casually heads into his office... he’s fucking whistling.

  What the hell?

  Killian and Ruby exchange bewildered looks.

  This isn't the only time Liam has left them perplexed lately. He's been easy on his staff all week.

  The question is, what the fuck changed? 

  There can only be one explanation—Liam met someone. He knows this because Liam was like this when he met his last girlfriend. Very lenient and cheerful and whistling all the time. But last time, he told Killian about her. So why hasn’t he said anything this time?

  “I think your brother is broken,” Ruby remarks.

  Killian chuckles and tosses the bar cloth over his shoulder. “Or pussy whipped.”

  Ruby furrows her brows. “I thought you said him not getting laid wasn’t the issue?”

  Killian shakes his head. “No, him not getting laid is why he’s in such a good mood.”

  Ruby’s even more perplexed, not understanding how being sex-deprived could possibly put Liam in a good mood. “Huh?”

  Killian smirks. “He met some lass, and she hasn’t put out yet. Which, being the hopeless romantic Liam is, he’s fine with, but that doesn’t mean he’s not hoping to get some.”

  Ruby rolls her eyes and walks away to begin her shift. “Why are men so fucking complicated?”

  He laughs at her words and the thought of Liam being so nice this entire week over some lass he’s smitten with. Killan’s happy for Liam, but to be honest, his brother's happiness makes him kind of bummed. Because it's reminding him of how unhappy he is. He’s been unhappy and kind of pissed all week. Ever since last Friday, when that angel never came back. 

  He was so enchanted by her.

  He keeps asking himself why she never returned to him. He’d thought they’d had a connection, he’d thought they’d shared a moment. He’d thought she’d felt the same attraction for him he’d felt for her. Was she just leading him on? Or did she find some other bloke who gave her more attention than he could that night?

  He wishes he knew.

  Killian suffers through another evening without seeing Emma enter the bar. He keeps eyeing the door, keeps waiting for her to appear and approach him to explain herself, to supply him with some sort of explanation. But she never shows. 

  The next night is no different. Same agony, different day. But this time, his brother isn't here to poke fun at and distract him from the blonde bombshell weighing on his mind.

  The dim lamp light cascades over the living room when Killian trudges through the door after three a.m. Tossing his keys on an end table, he chucks off his jacket and looks down, seeing Liam's boots laying haphazardly on the floor by the door. Which is odd because he's always yelling at Killian for leaving his shoes on the floor instead of storing them in the closet. 

  Killian shakes off the thought and throws his jacket over a chair before heading to the bathroom. He always needs time to wind down after his shift, but tonight, he just wants to sleep and hopefully forget about Emma for a few goddamn hours. But in order for him to do that, there’s something he must do, first. 

  He’s been unbearably hard all week from thinking about her. So as soon as he feels the hot water spraying his skin under the shower head, he wraps his hand around his cock and strokes himself, his stiff, wet flesh easily slipping through his fist. He can’t help it, though. Emma had stirred something inside him. Something he’s never felt before. 

  He knows this is a bad idea, he knows he shouldn’t get this worked up over someone he’s only spoken to once. But at the moment, he’s too hard and his head’s too foggy with lust, his blood running too hot when he remembers how she’d smiled at him, how she’d bitten her bottom lip, remembers her soft curves and how fantastic her ass looked in those tight jeans and how that sexy, pink lace had clung to her breasts. He groans, needing so desperately to ease the tension before he goes completely mad. 

  Pressing his free hand against the shower wall as the hot stream cascades down his back, he pumps himself harder and faster, grunting as he imagines her pretty lips on his mouth... on his chest... on his stomach... wrapped around his cock. Imagines her humming around him and growing wet from tasting him in her mouth. Imagines what her soft, silky tongue would feel like on him. Imagaines how good her pussy would feel around his cock. Imagines her on top of him, naked and writhing, her skin shimmering in the moonlight as she rode his dick. 

  He can almost hear her moans and short pants in his ear as he imagines taking her breasts in his hands, squeezing firmly while he fucked her good and hard until she was screaming out his name, her walls squeezing him tight as she came all over his cock. 

  His body goes rigid, a rough, drawn-out groan rippling through his throat as Emma's name tumbles from his lips. Seconds later, his hand and stomach are a hot, sticky mess as his hand stills around his pulsing length. His heart is pounding and his breath is ragged as he watches the aftermath of what he’d done disappear into the drain. 

  After he washes the night away from his body (and feels the urge to touch himself again when he lathers his balls and softened cock with soap) he rinses off and steps out of the shower without giving in to more temptation. He dries off with a towel, pulls on a pair of boxers and heads to bed, feeling no shame for what he'd done in the shower. For jerking off to visions of Emma, who’s almost a complete stranger to him. He knows he should feel some kind of guilt or remorse, but right now he can’t find it within himself to feel sorry. He needed that.

  And maybe now, he’ll be able to stop thinking about her long enough to get some shut-eye.

  But it doesn’t bloody work.

  He tosses and turns, still unable to rid her from his mind, and he’s not even sure why. Well, actually he is. She was gorgeous and sexy and playful, and he’d wanted to get to know her. He’d wanted to know everything about her. But apparently, she hadn’t wanted the same from him. 

  He’d waited over an hour for her at the bar the night he met her, and would've waited longer if not for Tina approaching him and chatting his ears off. He'd wanted to either ignore her or tell her he wasn't interested, but he didn't want to be a jackass. And when Emma never showed, he thought about taking Tina up on her offer and bringing her home in an attempt to forget about Emma. To forget about her smile or her eyes or the memorizing light surrounding her or the way she winked at him as she walked away from the bar. 

  But he knew it wouldn’t be fair to Tina to be with her while thinking of another woman. He may be a dashing rapscallion, but he's still a gentleman.

  He’d seen Emma with Mary Margaret and Ruby, and he was half tempted to cash in a favor from Ruby and have her obtain Emma's number, and maybe he should've. But Emma obviously made her choice and he's afraid she would be creeped out by his advances. So he never did.

  Just as Killian is drifting off to sleep, something yanks him awake, but it's not thoughts of her. Rather it's…

  Thump. 

  Thump. 

  Thump.

  Moaning.

  Thump.

  Cursing.

  Thump.

  Grunting.

  Thump.

  What the actual fuck?

  Liam knew Killian had a late shift tonight and yet he decided this was the night to get some action from the mysterious woman he's been seeing? 

  Killian even asked Liam about her, but he completely denied it.

  “Not seeing anyone, my arse,” Killian grumbles, but even though the walls are paper-thin, he's pretty sure he can't be heard over the sounds.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh God, yes!”

  Bloody hell.

  The walls are so thin, he can hear every pant, every moan, he can hear it every goddamn time the headboard slams against the wall.

  “Fuck!”

  Why now? Why wait until four in the fucking morning? Or have they been at it all night? 

  Killian groans and grabs his headphones from his nightstand. He slips them on and plays some music, turning up the volume. He closes his eyes, trying to erase everything from his mind, but he can actually feel the wall rattling and he’s surprised the bed doesn’t come crashing through the drywall.

  He curses and grabs the pillow next to him, covering his face with it. He wants to pound on the wall and tell them to shut the fuck up, but he knows he deserves it. He's done the same thing, he's brought a lass to his bed while Liam was in his room, forced to listen to every sound. 

  Besides, part of him wants to high-five Liam for pleasuring this woman so well and at such a late hour. He wonders how many hours they've been at it.

  He's kind of proud of Liam, actually. He just hopes this one doesn't cheat on Liam like the last girlfriend did.

  “Bloody… fucking... hell!” Liam groans loudly. 

  With one final hard thud, the noises cease.

  Finally.

  Killian removes the pillow from his face and is soon able to get some sleep, but only for a few hours before he's awake again. 

  Unable to fall back asleep, he wipes the sleep from his eyes and drags himself out of bed.

  Coffee.

  He's not sure if the smell wafting through the apartment is due to lack of sleep or if Liam got up and made a pot. Which would surprise him, considering all the amorous activities he engaged in last night. Killian would think he’d be exhausted after that.

  As he nears the kitchen, he can hear pots and pans clanking around, so he knows he's not imagining the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the flat.

  When he enters the kitchen, his eyes are immediately drawn to the coffee pot on the bar counter, and it almost appears to be glowing. “Thanks for making coffee,” he says appreciatively, opening the cupboard door to grab a mug. Though he's not sure he should be very appreciative, considering Liam's to blame for Killian's lack of sleep.

  He and the little vixen he had in his bed last night.

  “I barely got four hours of sleep, thanks to all the banging and screaming coming from your—” His words are frozen in midair when he turns around and sees the nearly bare ass sticking out from the refrigerator door.

  That's definitely not Liam.

  His girlfriend, rather.

  And she’s dressed in nothing but a pair of pink laced panties and one of Liam’s oversized dress shirts.

  Killian smirks and fills his cup before turning around and leaning against the counter, admiring the view while he sips his coffee. There's a half-naked blonde pillaging his refrigerator, but right now he couldn't give a fuck.

  He’s too busy appreciating the view, because bloody hell, she has a dee-lectable ass.

  Liam did good.

  It’s a good thing she’s already been claimed by his brother because otherwise, she’d be in big trouble. Or, rather, not a good thing. It’s quite a shame, actually.

  “What was that, babe?” The sweetest voice pulls Killian from his thoughts as she rises, carrying eggs and milk in her hands. She sets the items on the counter next to the refrigerator and turns around.

  He lifts his gaze from her pretty ass, and when his eyes meet hers... his jaw drops to the fucking floor, his face paling. He almost drops his coffee mug.

  You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

  He has to blink a few times to make sure it’s actually her. But maybe, just maybe, he’s still sleeping, and this is all just a terrible dream.

  “Killian?”

  Nope. He’s wide awake.

  And the woman standing in his kitchen, wearing nothing but panties and a shirt that falls just past her butt is real. And just like that, Killian’s hopes of being with this woman shatter into a million pieces. 

  “Emma?”

  There’s a shocked expression plastered on her face, but he doubts she’s more surprised than he is right now. He had never suspected the woman making all those noises in his brother’s room to possibly be the same woman he met in the bar last week. The same woman who’s been on the forefront of his mind ever since. The same woman he’d jerked off to thoughts of only a few hours ago.

  “You two know each other?” Liam’s voice sounds through the kitchen when he enters and glances between them, seeing the recognition flickering in their eyes. He walks across the kitchen and pulls a half-naked Emma into his arms, pressing her body against his. He hadn’t even bothered to throw on any clothes either and is only in his boxers. 

  “We met at the bar last week,” Emma answers, because apparently Killian lost his ability to speak. His brain is too occupied with the fact that Liam and Emma are together, their hands all over each other as she’s semi-straddling his thigh.

  Well, fuck.

  He just doesn't understand how this happened. How had his charm not worked on Emma like it had worked on so many women before her? And he was actually genuine with her. He wasn’t charming her just so he could get into her pants. He actually wanted to get to know her. Besides, even if he ended up taking her back to his flat, he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to have just one night with her.

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah, the same night you and I met. He made me a Baby Yodarita.”

  “A Baby Yodarita?” Liam parrots, amusement obvious in his tone.

  “Yeah, I made it up based on Baby Yoda, but Killian was happy to accept the challenge.”

  Liam chuckles and takes her chin in his hand, bringing her lips to his. “Of course he did. He’ll do anything for tips.”

  Killian balls his hand into a fist. He didn’t make her that special drink to get a tip from her. He didn’t even charge her for the damn drink.

  He wants to strangle his brother for saying that and for having his paws all over Emma, but he’s still trying to process what she’d said about meeting him the same night she met Liam. When had she met him? They weren’t there at the same time, so how did they meet? It must have been outside the bar.

  Wait a bloody minute. 

  Killian’s eyes widen when something occurs to him. Was Liam the reason Emma never came back to him that night?

  Emma’s eyes dart between them when something occurs to her too. “So, this is your brother?” she asks Liam. “You said you lived with him.”

  “Aye. And I’m sorry if he startled you. I thought he’d still be sleeping.”

  “It’s fine,” she assures, waving off his apology.

  Wait a damn minute. Liam’s sorry she was startled? Killian was the one kept up by all the noises coming from Liam’s room.

  “And what, I don’t get an apology for being kept awake by all the noises? You do realize I can hear everything through the paper-thin walls, right?”

  Liam and Emma exchange blushing smiles, but neither of them seems apologetic. “Sorry, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other last night,” Liam comments, brushing his nose against hers. She smirks, displaying her total agreement as she caresses his cheek.

  Killian staves off a groan of disapproval. “I gathered that,” he says casually, trying not to sound completely gutted.

  “So you two must’ve met while I went on that wild goose chase David sent me on,” Liam guesses, thankfully changing the subject.

  “Wild goose chase?” Killian inquires, furrowing his brows in confusion. 

  “Aye, it’s a funny story, actually.” Liam chuckles, his eyes glued to Emma as she smiles at him. He finally tears his gaze from her to look at Killian as he wraps his big hands around her little waist. “So before I left to run those errands I told you about, I received a text from David asking me to look after his little sister who was bar-hopping with his wife. So I get there and she’s nowhere to be found. Well, when I returned, I ran into this stunning angel just outside the bar,” he says, squeezing her hip and pulling her closer. “Well, I quickly find out, she’s David’s sister.”

  “Oh,” Killian utters, still shocked by this entire set of circumstances. It made him forget little details, like the fact that Mary Margaret is her sister-in-law and therefore David is her brother.

  “Anyway, she missed her Uber, and after we started talking, I offered her a ride home,” he looks at her again, with googly eyes and a blushing smile as she gazes at him with the same love-struck expression on her face, “and the rest was history.”

  “Wait, so that’s why you left the bar that night? To spy on Emma?” Killian glances at her, a little pissed she’d put up with Liam stalking her. “And you weren’t pissed at him for that?”

  “A little, at first,” she admits shyly, “but more so at my brother for asking him to spy on me in the first place. Besides, look at this face,” she says, cupping Liam’s chin in her hand as she smiles at him. “How could I possibly be mad at a face like this?” He grins and leans in, capturing her lips with his.

  Killian wants to ask her exactly when she left the bar, but he’s afraid of what the answer would be. He stares at Liam, wondering why he never mentioned her. “So, why did you tell me you weren’t seeing anyone when I asked you about it?” Okay, and part of him is hoping to get him in trouble with her.

  But instead of looking pissed, guilt flashes in her eyes. Like she had something to do with it. 

  Liam eyes his brother apologetically. “We didn’t want to tell anyone about us yet. David’s my good mate and we don’t know exactly how he’ll take the news when he finds out about us. He’s very protective of Emma, if you couldn’t already tell. So we haven’t told anyone.”

  Killian scoffs. “Since when haven’t you been able to tell me anything without worrying I wouldn’t keep your secret?”

  “I know, I know. I should’ve just told you. I shouldn’t have lied.” He gazes at Emma again, a little more serious now as he caresses her cheek. “But I could tell right away Emma was something special, and I didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize my chance to be with her.” Emma blushes and smiles as he rests his forehead against hers. “ Very special,” he emphasizes, brushing his thumb over her button lip.

  She presses a palm against his chest. “I could tell you were, too,” she says sweetly, as though they’re having an intimate conversation. As though Killian’s not even in the room, inwardly dying inside. If only Liam knew what this was doing to his brother. 

  “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,” Killian assures them, trying to disguise how unnerved he is that she picked Liam over him.

  Liam pulls his head back suddenly, as though he just realized something. “Wait, you mean to tell me you saw Killian first that night?” he asks her.

  “Yeah… why?” she asks dubiously.

  A slow smile crawls over his lips as he looks at Killian. “Because, I think this is the first time someone has actually seen my little brother first and ended up with me, instead of the other way around.”

  Emma cocks a brow, intrigued by this. “Really?”

  Killian doesn’t even bother to correct Liam for calling him little brother. He’s too busy seeing red.

  “Aye. Most women prefer the bad boy type over the nice guy,” he says with a smile. “But not you. If I didn't know you were a keeper then, I sure as hell do now.” He presses the pad of his thumb against her chin and kisses her forehead. 

  Killian thinks he’s going to be sick as he watches them. 

  This is all wrong.

  It was supposed to be him taking Emma home. It was supposed to be him bringing her pleasure over and over again until both of them were sweaty and exhausted and yet still couldn't keep their hands off each other. It was supposed to be him standing in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her half-naked body and kissing her shamelessly as his brother watched. 

  It wasn’t supposed to be the other way around.

  Killian can’t get over the irony of it all. The irony of him jerking off and fantasizing about the same goddamn woman Liam was having sex with right down the hall. 

  It makes him wonder how many times Liam's been in this exact position. How many times had he laid his eyes on a lass, only to come home and find her in his brother’s arms? How many times had Liam touched himself with thoughts of a woman in his head before finding out she was messing around with his brother?

  He’s not sure; all he knows is karma's a bitch.

  “I should probably start breakfast before the milk and eggs get spoiled,” Emma says when she notices the items are still on the counter.

  “I told you I would make breakfast,” Liam says as she saunters over to crack open the egg carton. 

  She smirks at him over her shoulder. “You already gave me a hot breakfast in bed.”

  Liam quirks a brow. “When would I have done that? You were in my arms until you got up to use the bathroom.” 

  Killian takes a sip of his coffee, grimacing as he tries to block out their conversation. They’ve only been together for a week and already act like a fucking married couple.

  “True, but before that, you gave me some delicious sausage.”

  Killian chokes on his coffee and spits it out. Do they not realize he’s still in the room?”

  “What the bloody hell, Killian?” Liam upbraids as he inspects Emma to make sure none of the coffee spilled on her. 

  But Killian only got it on himself. He curtly slams the coffee mug on the counter and walks across the kitchen with clenched teeth, ripping a piece of paper towel from the roll to wipe off the coffee he spit out.

  “Sorry,” Emma says after realizing she probably shouldn’t have made the sausage remark with Liam’s brother in the room.

  You think?

  “Why are you sorry? I’m not,” Liam murmurs against her ear and grabs her hips from behind as she tries to crack some eggs into a bowl. “You can taste my sausage anytime.”

  She looks over at him and smirks. “Hmmm, I like the idea of that. But right now, it’s my turn to make you breakfast.”

  Liam growls and spins her around, picking her up like she weighs nothing, and placing her on the counter. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, gently biting her there, his words muffled against her skin as his hands slide up her thighs and under the hem of the shirt she’s wearing. “I can think of something else I’d rather eat.”

  That’s it.

  Killian’s going to vomit. He tosses the paper towel into the trash and storms out of the kitchen, his face probably green from how ill he’s feeling right now. 

  How the bloody hell did this happen? 

  “Killian.”

  The sound of his name coming from her lips causes his jaw to clench. She and Liam seemed so lovesick, Killian’s surprised they were able to tear themselves away from each other for two bloody seconds.

  When he spins around to face her, Emma’s holding his mug in her hands, her eyes flickering with apology. “You forgot this,” she says, offering it to him.

  “Thanks but I can’t stomach anything at the moment,” he grumbles, sounding angrier than he had intended.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, probably so Liam can't hear her. “I didn’t know he was your brother.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for. It’s not like you and I were ever together,” he says bitterly as his eyes drop to the mug she’s holding. “On second thought, I’ll take that.” He grabs the coffee from Emma’s hands and gulps it down, since it’s no longer hot. Emma doesn’t speak as she stares at him, probably unsure of what to say.

  Killian lowers the mug and gives her a hard look before turning around and heading to the bathroom, deciding he needs another shower. After what he’d done in the shower while thinking of Emma and then after what he’d witnessed and heard in the kitchen, he feels filthy all over, almost as if he’s covered in slimy worms. He has to scrub himself down since he can’t scrub away the images that will now be permanently burned in his brain. 

  The images of Liam and the girl Killian wants but knows he can never have.

  Fuck… my… life.

Tagging people who have shown interest. Let me know if you would like to be added or if I missed you. @itsfabianadocarmo @resident-of-storybrooke @snowbellewells​ @onceuponaprincessworld @viajandosinalas @teamhook @captainswan-shipper88 @jamif @katielovesstarcrossedlovers @uhthreeyuh @lfh1226-linda @babyyouremyqueen @sthonour @julesep3026 @fairytalewhispersinmyheart @andiirivera @wefoundloveunderthelight @wickedsw4n @eleveneitherway @eherron14 @ouatpost @transparentclodsludgeweasel

[emmakillianfan]

A Christmas Story for You

To @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ for Christmas. While I haven’t had as much time for it as I had hoped, I hope you are having a wonderful Christmas and enjoy this little story that kind of got away from me. Merry Christmas and a very happy new year to you!

Due to illness and post graduate studies I’m a bit rusty on the fanfiction story writing, but I hope you enjoy it. I have loved the opportunity to be your secret santa. As I said from the beginning, I’m a big fan of your writing.

Getting to Know You at Christmas

Emma Swan hated to mingle at these social events her parents held each year as a welcome to the holiday season. Her mother easily socialized with people, remembering names and details of each person’s life in the coastal town of Storybrooke, Maine. Her father was just as gregarious, shaking hands and clapping older gentlemen on the back as the mused over details of long-ago exchanges and funny occurrences that she never quite could understand. She liked people, even had friends. But there was something missing for her from the conversations and laughter that seemed to lift over the swell of Christmas carols and the flashes of lights from the tree and cameras snapping shots of huddled groups of friends, family, and compatriots.

“Your mother is worried about you,” Ruby Lucas-Gale said with a knowing smile as Emma reached for another mini pizza and shoved it in whole. “You don’t look happy.”

Keeping her lips sealed, Emma shot her friend a plastered smile and shrug.

“You could at least move away from the bar. She’s going to think this is a re-do of last year’s party where you went to bed with a bottle of tequila under each arm after telling everyone that you were sleeping until the new year.”

“I should have kept that promise,” Emma groused, giving a slight wave when her mother looked at her pleadingly. “I could have avoided the Christmas Karaoke party at Victor’s, the cookie exchange at your grandmother’s, and let’s not forget the pot luck at Regina and Robin’s where I was shamed for bringing your grandmother’s frozen lasagna as my contribution. Not only had Regina made one, but I didn’t even realize it was still frozen.”

“You brought a pie too,” Ruby reminded her. “I don’t remember anyone noting that was store bought.”

“I ate it in the car working up the nerve to go inside because my mother set me up on a date. Who does that? Blind dates on Christmas?”

“She means well,” Ruby added consolingly, patting her hands down her red dress that seemed to creep up her toned thighs each time she moved. “And Graham was…”

Emma held up one hand in protest. “Don’t defend him. First he was your ex. He was nice but a little or more than a little too intense with his whole getting back to nature and communing with animals thing. My mother has horrible taste in men for me. For a woman who believes in fairy tales and calls my father her prince charming, I don’t think she would survive a day on Tinder.” It had been the long running commentary at the parties that somewhere in the crowd was there to be set up with Emma. Some who did not partake in the dancing or singing along around the piano would try to guess who it was going to be this year. Bets were currently on about a gawky man with a green tie who was currently chatting up Zelena Mills in the corner.

“Just remember she means well.” Linking arms with Emma, Ruby pulled her friend out onto the makeshift dance floor and began to sway her hips to the beat of a modern Christmas tune that Emma knew was by some current pop singer. “So I’m guessing your next date is in here somewhere. Where oh where could he be?”

“You are annoying,” Emma pouted, folding her arms over her chest yet still swaying a bit to the up-tempo beat. “I thought you had money that guy in the green tie.” He was the typical type her mother would love to see her date. She could hear the school teacher turned public servant now telling her how she just knew he was the kind of guy she would love to get to know.

“Possibility,” Ruby said, tapping her bright red lips in mock thoughtfulness. “What about Archie?” He’s been hanging around over in that corner in a conversation with Regina and Robin for a little bit now. Seems to look over here every once in a while.”

“Everyone is looking at you, Ruby,” Emma hissed in exasperation. You are showing more skin that is advisable with the temperature and you’re currently bumping and grinding to Christmas tunes.”

“Maybe he’s setting up some pre-marital counseling for them. Okay…one of the guys from the mines? Leroy?”

“That’s a tad incestuous since they are practically my uncles.” Emma scanned the crowd to see her father and mother in conversation over by the French doors leading out to the patio that had been sprayed with twinkle lights and that included a new audio system he had spent the day fiddling with as her younger brother tried out the microphones in his own rendition of some sort of heavy metal meets classic rock rendition of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. He was just 14 and still at that awkward stage, suffering the embarrassment of parents who doted and friends who loved to point that out to him. Her own son idolized him though. “I’m thinking he’s a no show. My mom is in her plotting mode. Look at the way she’s talking to my dad.”

Sure enough her parents were furtively whispering, her mother holding up a hand to hide her mouth as though nobody would notice. It would be debated for years to come which of the two women noticed him first though. A slender, tall man with piercing blue eyes and sardonic smile seemed to rush up to her parents and hug them in turn. Even though Emma couldn’t make out the words, her father gave the man his double shoulder clap before spinning him about to the crowd and pointing out a few people.

“Maybe him,” Ruby said, lifting onto the balls of her feet even higher than her shoes allowed and balancing herself against Emma. “He’s a hottie.”

“Doubtful,” Emma noted, swinging her gaze across the room to the man in the green tie who was now eating a banana and doing nothing for his resemblance to a simian creature as Ruby had declared. “I don’t have that sort of luck. My mother doesn’t…” She never got to finish the sentence when she noted who had just entered the party and made a line straight toward greeting her parents. Neal…the once love of her life turned affection into weapons and her self confidence into a puddle of what if. She was better now, but the sight of him seemed to jangle her nerves in a way that made her doubt her recovery. They managed to co-parent their son with little trouble, but he wasn’t one she wanted to see socially. The fact he always had a date on his arm just added to her discomfort.

Ruby was one of the few people who understood. Twirling her in the direction of the mystery man who was now noshing on a few of the crisp veggies without bothering to dip them into the various sauces, Ruby leaned in and whispered loudly in Emma’s ear. “Don’t question it. Just go introduce yourself. It’ll be less awkward that way.”

Emma would forever question the logic in that, but for the moment felt her feet begin to move one after the other and in no time she was standing in front of him. His eyes were even more striking up close and she caught a whiff of his cologne that was a spicey scent that she would later blame for her mouth watering and her words feeling like they slid off her tongue without regard to custom or reason.

“Emma,” she said by way of invitation. Her smile was a little forced and her hand held out in mid air a beat too long as he shoved a celery stick in his mouth and raised his own in greeting. “I guess my parents probably told you that.”

“Your parents?” he repeated, the smiled he was giving her lifted higher on the right side of his face as did his right eyebrow. He seemed to be surprised by her, almost as if he was not expecting the conversation. That irritated her a bit.

She gave a wave over her shoulder to where they stood by the fireplace. “Mary Margaret and David. The Nolans. You were just talking to them.”

“Aye, David and my older brother went to school together back in the day. They invited me to…”

She brushed off his explanation. “No, I get it. It’s so them. They don’t think I have any skills in that area at all. Apparently, they have given up on finding someone local.” She shrugged and when he seemed he wasn’t going to answer, she reached across and grabbed a carrot stick. Placing it in her mouth she made a face and immediately removed it. “Rabbit food.”

“You do know how to flatter man, love. I’m not sure I would want to be just one of the multitudes.” His smile was wider as he watched her, his questions about her easy and slick as she tried to explain that her parents were young when she was born and waited nearly two decades before their miracle child was born. He seemed to know nothing about her, which was odd for a set up. Maybe he was just being polite.

“So you’re not from around here,” she asked when he paused to take a drink. Even over the rim of the cup his eyebrows raised again. “I’m the sheriff. I sort of notice things like accents. I do sort of like accents like yours. Different than other guys around here.”

“Boston by way of London,” Killian answered. “And you, love? Always a resident of this seafaring town?”

“Most all my life,” she admitted, leaving out a few pit stops along the way. “Mom probably told you that the best place to take me for a dinner date is Granny’s. She loves it there, plus Granny will spy on us and give her updates every few minutes. I’m more into this Italian place near the docks. Awesome seafood and pasta. And their lasagna isn’t frozen. It’s more date like, I think. You know, checked table clothes, drippy candles, wine, and all that.”

“A classic romantic?” he asked, clearly amused.

“Well, I mean if we have to go out, it makes sense to go someplace like that.” She held out her hand and gestured to his phone. “I’ll give you my number in case mom hasn’t already. A date is a date, but might as well get a good meal out of it.”

“By all means,” he said, handing her the latest device on the market. She noted that he did everything with his right hand, his left staying next to his side and covered in a black glove. She was about to mention it when she heard her father’s voice and laughter.

“You’ve met our Emma,” David said, joining the duo at the table and placing one hand under Emma’s elbow. “Our daughter can be a bit blunt. I hope she hasn’t insulted you or made you change your mind.”

“Dad,” Emma said, swatting him playfully.

“She’s been absolutely brilliant,” Killian answered, shoving his phone in his pocket. “By the way, love, name’s Killian Jones. I don’t believe I properly introduced myself.”

David nodded knowingly. “Killian is here to work with your mother on her bid for the mayor’s office. He’s a wiz when it comes to all things in local politics. Very highly recommended.”

“Work for mom?” Emma asked weakly, trying to ignore the not quite so humble smile that played about Killian’s mouth. “You mean he’s not…”

“Of course, Regina is taking time off to plan her wedding and then get settled into married life. She recommended Killian to run your mom’s campaign since Archie is considering and Mal has already announced. Anyway, it is good you met. Killian’s going to need to talk to you about your role in promoting our family. Maybe you can meet up at Granny’s later this week.” David glanced around the room and gripped his daughter’s arm harder. “I wanted to introduce you to someone I met when I was buying supplies for the farm. His name is Walsh.”

Emma stammered a bit, her face turning pink as Killian continued to hold that smile that showed both bemusement and cockiness. “Walsh…”

“Go ahead, love,” Killian said. “We’ll finish our conversation at this Granny’s or perhaps you might like the atmosphere.”

Emma was sure that her face was bright red as his eyebrows lifted up and down in a way that made her wonder just what lascivious thoughts were rolling around in that head of his. She felt those blue eyes on her as her father made another excuse and led her over to the man in the green tie who was smiling nervously at her and oblivious to her discomfort and not so secret looks over at Killian Jones.

She nodded appropriately and even asked a few questions about Walsh and his furniture design business. Her own rental was outfitted with castoffs and hand me downs that had seemed comfortable and worn at the time. He was telling her why it was important to have pieces that spoke of her uniqueness and character. At least that was what she heard on the occasions she bothered to listen and didn’t internalize the flinches and groans as her parents introduced Killian Jones to every person in the room. She wasn’t pleased to see most of the single women giggling and flashing him flirtatious smiles that he easily returned. There was no need to be jealous, but still the emotion was creeping up her spine as she watched him actually kiss Ruby’s hand like something out of a novel.

“I could show you sometime,” Walsh interrupted. She jumped at being caught unaware and repeated the words back to him in hopes of making some sense of the situation. “My shop. I have some really beautiful pieces I think you would like.”

“Well, if I am ever in the market,” she said, realizing that he was holding out a business card with his personal number written on the back. “Have you met August and his father Marco. They do some of the most beautiful woodwork you have ever seen. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

“We were right about the monkey guy,” Ruby said defeatedly, kicking off her shoes and reclining on the bed in Emma’s childhood bedroom. The room didn’t quite do justice to the angsty teen she had been, but still boasted teen idol posters of boy bands and even the dollhouse brought by Santa one year. “But that other guy was cute and quite the charmer. Even I was about to hit on him. I had such high hopes for your mother.”

Emma flinched as she unclipped her hair and left it to fall around her shoulders in soft waves. “Yeah, so he’s not my set up of the year. Yet I asked him out, sort of. I don’t know. I made a fool out of myself.”

“He didn’t seem too offended,” Ruby suggested. “I mean I was distracted once Dorothy agreed to dance but every time I looked in his direction he was looking in yours. And I might add that was pretty often.”

“Right, he was probably trying to figure out what was wrong with me.” Emma was about to bemoan her embarrassed state a little more when her phone dinged out one and then another text message. She reached over to grab it and groaned with the realization. It was Killian. Ruby immediately wanted to know what he had to say and proceeded to inspect the picture he sent just in case Emma was confused if he was the guy in the green tie or not.

“Emma, you might have had a rough start, but he’s hot. And he’s clearly interested. Why else would he text?” Passing the phone back, she shrugged. “And let’s face it, you and commitment aren’t that strong of allies. He’s from out of town. Mary Margaret said he travels all over to do these little campaigns. I’m seeing excellent fling material.”

The text was taunting her, a coy comment about Italian restaurants and then a reminder of who he was with the picture. “I should answer him. I mean it would be rude not to answer, right?”

“Your mother would say not to be rude to anyone, but I’m telling you there is no reason to be rude to that guy.” Ruby reached over and grabbed a 10 year old magazine from the table, clearly bored with the conversation. “But I mean it is up to you. Text him. Don’t text him. Your choice.” Ruby flipped the pages casually, bringing up what dresses Regina was going to want them to wear at her wedding. She insisted that red wouldn’t be that garish at a Christmas event. It wasn’t until Emma refused to correct her that Ruby even looked over cautiously. “You haven’t texted him?”

“I was thinking about it.”

“You like him, don’t you?” Ruby propped herself onto one elbow. “It’s written all over your face.”

Emma shoved the phone back in her bag and let her head loll against the mattress as she sat cross legged on the floor. She rarely was in this room now, but somehow it felt comfortable and almost nostalgic to discuss dating and boys with her friend just down the hall from her parents. At least she wasn’t practicing writing his name with hers or anything like that. “I don’t get crushes.”

“You’re much too tough for that.”

Emma wasn’t exactly wrong about her aversion to crushes. She was in her twenties and already sheriff of the small coastal town. She wore practical boots or sneakers more than heels and her long hair had not seen princess curls in months. This event at her parents was the first time she’d worn a dress except to church. “If I did, and I’m not saying I do, what difference does it make. I’m a grown woman, mother of a 10 year old, and I have a career. I’m hardly going to make cootie catchers and see if his name comes up after saying some horrible rhyme.”

Ruby nodded thoughtfully and went back to the magazine. “Not to mention horribly ugly and boring. I don’t know how I put up with you.”

“You are going to pay for that one, Ruby,” Emma laughed, tossing a pillow and joining in as Ruby cackled with laughter. They were both laughing so hard that Emma barely heard the familiar chirp of her phone ringing. Holding up a hand to silence her friend, she shushed her and reached for it. She only hoped she sounded less winded than she felt as she said her own name and waited for the response.

“I hope I didn’t call to late,” a male English accent sounded on the other end. Even without seeing him in person, she could already picture that bemused smirk and light in his eyes. “I meant to check back with you, love, but time got away from me and then you were gone.”

“Oh um…good…I mean great…I mean you didn’t call too late,” Emma gestured wildly at her friend who was making choking signs in response to her word vomit. “But why did you call?”

“Well, love, you did give me your number,” he reminded her. “I tried texting, but didn’t get a response. I thought perhaps you were screening, but I had to give it a shot. I was hoping you might have a bit of time for me tomorrow – breakfast perhaps? I know you said you preferred that little Italian place, but I have never known such an establishment to be open very early. Perhaps that Granny’s, you spoke of? We could save the Italian place for our dinner date. I have been craving some ravioli lately.”

“Date?” Emma stammered, ignoring the way that Ruby looked ready to pounce. “I…”

“You did sort of ask me out and I must say it was a masterful way to do so. I would love to accompany you for dinner, Emma. But first we have a bit of business to discuss about your mother’s campaign. Breakfast then? 8 a.m.? Granny’s?”

“I’ll be there,” she answered dully as he spoke politely for a moment about thanking her for her time.

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

Emma’s father had not gotten the memo that she was going out for breakfast, as he was flipping pancakes onto a large plate as she descended the stairs, handed her son his permission slip for the field trip, and dodged the family’s collie that seemed to be underfoot. Her mother showed no signs of worry as she sipped her morning coffee and reminded Emma to wear a scarf and hat as she consoled her husband that there were not too many pancakes and Emma wouldn’t have eaten them all anyway.

She pulled her yellow bug up in front of the diner, taking the last of the spots at 8:05 a.m. That was early for her and not a big worry that she was late for meeting with Killian. That was until she walked in, kicked a bit of the snow off her boots (the black ones with a heel that were in her old closet and could not be described as practical – don’t judge), and spied Killian at one of the booths talking to Tink. The bubbly blonde was petite and perfect, a face and voice like a cherub in a painting. Every year she had the solo at the church choir’s Christmas Eve performance and every year people wiped away tears at her beautiful rendition. She didn’t look very angelic as she perched on the edge of her seat and leaned forward to talk animatedly with Killian. Her smile flashing at him and even an occasional stroke of his arm with her hand to emphasize a point. Even in the 90 seconds she had been standing there kicking her boots and unwinding the mile long scarf from her mother, she had watched the waitress stop by and lean across the table to give Killian quite the view down her shirt.

Ruby must have noticed too, as she left her spot behind the counter and fluffed Emma’s hair with an encouraging nod and a teasing note that Emma was wearing lip gloss. Spinning her with one hand on her shoulder, Ruby sort of nudged her in the direction of the booth with a hissed reminder to smile.

“Killian,” Emma said, ignoring the pout from Tink, whose real name was Isabella but didn’t want to be confused with the town librarian, Belle, “sorry I’m late.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, love,” he said, scooting out to stand as she arrived. “I was going over a few notes for the kick off and Tink here was catching me up on some of the ideocracies that make small town politics so fun.”

Emma flashed a quick smile at her childhood friend, watching her slink out of the booth and tell Killian she was in the town directory if he wanted to call. He did not follow her with his eyes as she sashayed toward the door, nor did he smirk like Emma wanted to do when Ruby called after Tink to tell her that she still owed for her morning tea. It wasn’t that she disliked Tink, but there was that feeling that made her feel ill when she saw her flirting with Killian.

He gestured for her to sit down a simple glance toward the counter sent the waitress scrambling to bring them menus and take their orders. Or maybe it was just his order, as he had to call her back to get Emma’s. Despite his seemingly healthy eating style the night before, he matched her order of a hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon. Granny had even fancied it up with chocolate shavings.

His questions were easy at first, wanting to know about her childhood and then her job. While a few were personal, he did not seem to be prying. She even managed to ask him a few and he offered some answers of his own without objecting too loudly and then quickly getting them back on track. She learned of his naval experience that paid for his education and how he had become involved in the campaigns and politics of small cities and his love of the ocean and aged rum.

“So is your position as sheriff an elected one?” he asked, casually resting back in the vinyl seat across from her.

She was taking two sips to his one when she noticed the way he smiled as he watched her. Instinctively she raised her hand up to swipe at the whipped cream that might have gathered on her nose but found none. “What?” she asked in exasperation. “Did I make a mess?”

“No, I am simply enjoying watching you share your experiences as sheriff. Your passion for it shines on your face, love.”

She knew she was probably blushing and rolled her fork through the home fries as a distraction.

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

For the next few days they saw each other often. There was the announcement of her mother’s candidacy where she helped place signage. She ran into him when she went to inspect a license of one of the vendors at the skating rink and ended up sharing a drink and conversation. While pondering which type of creamer to buy, he popped up out of no where and offered a suggestion. He was even there when the church choir had a rehearsal, claiming he was talking to some potential volunteers. He did apologize for that when the choir director called Emma out for missing two of her cues in a row because she was watching him, in the words of Regina, make doe eyes at her and silently flirt.

In the mean time, her mother had been talking up Walsh’s skills in design and potential as a date for Emma. There was now a gaping hole in the living room at the farm house where her mother was having him design a custom entertainment center. Her brother was already complaining that the television on the floor was not the greatest idea. Emma tried to explain Walsh wasn’t her type, but her mother wasn’t hearing it and was asking when she was seeing him again. Given that she had not saved his number and had mutually agreed with him that they weren’t really each other’s type it seemed unlikely. However, Mary Margaret was so cutely sure she had done well this year that Emma hadn’t the heart to tell her.

One morning over doughnuts at the station her mother read the speech Killian had written for her campaign and asked her daughter for feedback. Emma offered a few remarks as the woman adjusted the clutter on her father’s desk.

“I think he’s handsome,” her mother said at one point. “Kinda has that mysterious look to him.”

“Who?” Emma asked distractedly. “Dad?”

It was the pronoun game.

“No, I was talking about…” The phone ringing cut off what Emma was sure was a pep talk about Walsh. The conversation was left unfinished as Emma went to investigate the case of the missing trash can lids. Spoiler: some of the kids were using them for sledding.

It was a full two days later before she saw Killian again. Granted he had texted a few times and called her “by accident” when he claimed he had meant to call her mother to discuss strategy. He was humming a tune and scrolling through his tablet when she and her son, Henry, spotted him inside the library. Apparently, he had set up shop in the corner and had everything but a receptionist there to greet visitors. Her son, who had heard his name a few times from his grandparents, pointed him out in a totally obvious way that made Emma want to crawl under the table. Somehow she managed to take a few steps closer and do more than the wave she originally planned.

“Nice office,” she said of the table he had commandeered. “Quiet I guess.”

“It has it’s perks,” he offered. “I was heading over to talk to your father. He said he would be at the station this afternoon. I take it you are not?”

“Short break to get my son home before I go back to face the files on my desk.” She knew her son was already done checking out his three books and would be joining them any second. She only hoped he would not blurt out an inappropriate question. She was about to send up a silent prayer when she noted that the glove Killian normally wore on his left hand was off and a synthetic material prosthetic was in its place. Before she could say anything, he looked down at the hand as though surprised by it and shrugged.

“Naval accident, an accident.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t realize,” she said not sure what else to say about it. It was clearly an old injury and hardly one she had a blame in causing.

“Tis an old pain,” he told her. “Most days I don’t really think of it.”

She nodded, glancing at her son who was still in conversation with Belle. “Does that mean you are getting more comfortable with me?” She instantly regretted saying that, as it came off a little weak.

“You do seem to put me at ease, love.” He winked at her and leaned a little to the left as her son ran up beside her. “You, lad, must be Henry. Your grandparents tell me you are quite the author.”

Henry nodded enthusiastically and continued the conversation for a few more beats, nearly forgetting his mother was there. Even a comment from another patron, Will, that Killian was clearly trying to get to the mother through the son, went unnoticed by all but Emma who stood taller and tried to let it slide. Killian was quite the conversationalist, observantly noting that Henry was holding a book on piracy along the New England states. That really got them going until Emma reminded Henry that she needed to drop him off at home to meet the tutor and get back to work.

That was how she ended up with Killian sitting in her living room and then the two of them walking side by side back to the station to interview her father. He opened doors for her, asked her less probing questions, and complimented the way she handled one of the boys known for getting into trouble with a stern look and warning. She was starting to feel natural about it all when he stopped short at the wreath decorated double doors and scratched behind his ear.

“I was wondering, love,” he said, shifting his eyes to the door and back to her again. “Rather I was hoping you might…well, bloody hell, I was hoping to ask you on that date. I gather you weren’t aware of who I was or why I was here when you sort of asked me.”

“I thought you were the guy my parents set me up with this year. It wasn’t my finest moment.”

He smiled nervously, his lips tight and his eyes again darting to the doors. She realized he was looking to see if her father was lurking. “It was rather adorable actually and I was thinking…”

She closed her eyes as he searched for the words, something she was sure he rarely did in his life. He always seemed to know the perfect thing to say and the perfect way to say it. “Killian, you don’t have to…”

“And if I want to?”

“Then maybe we could meet up tomorrow evening? Or wait no…tomorrow is the winter carnival for the kids at the orphanage and I am hosting the movie portion. Maybe Thursday…no Henry’s got his soccer game. I would say Friday but I’ve got choir practice and Saturday is mom’s campaign rally.” She truly looked sorry about her schedule as she shifted from one foot to the other.

“Busy lass,” he muttered. “I suppose we’ll have to consider another time. Or by chance are you free this evening?”

Biting down on her lip, she closed her eyes briefly. “I want to say yes, but my father is in there and I’d rather not mention this to him. And given that my son is likely to either eat potato chips and chocolate milk for dinner, stay up past bedtime for video games or inappropriate movies, or worst yet burn the place down in an attempt to see what he can melt in the oven, I’m thinking I need a back up babysitting plan that doesn’t include my parents.”

“Rather not hear the I told you so? Or are you hoping to keep me your little secret?”

“My parents are a little on the enthusiastic side when it comes to my love life.” She tilted her head back for a moment and then made eye contact again. “I have a plan, but you have to swear to me that we won’t be going to Granny’s or any place else they would be spotted.”

He assured her that paper napkins weren’t on the menu. “I have no issue with being circumspect, love. Trust me, I can plan an evening for us.”

If she didn’t trust him, she didn’t show it as he ushered her inside and greeted David. His cheeks were a little red from the cold and she knew hers were too. However, David never seemed to notice their conversation outside. She saw him pulling out his notes when she spoke up and asked David if Henry could perhaps have dinner with them. She managed to ask nonchalantly, simply a scheduling glitch.

“Any particular reason,” David asked, barely hiding his smile.

“I’m going out,” she answered vaguely, crossing her denim clad legs and pulling a stack of files into her lap. “Did you see Leroy’s file? I need to check about his court date.”

“Haven’t seen it. Anyone I know?” He was trying to watch her in the reflection of his computer screen, sneaking a few knowing looks at Killian who was flipping casually through his notebook.

“Oh you know,” she said, pausing to look at a document, “that guy from your party.” She didn’t want to lie to her dad, but she could tell he was not going to let up. It was one thing to have her father believe it was Walsh but another to flat out tell him that.

Killian seemed to understand, interrupting the awkwardness with a cheeky smile. “Since Emma appears to be on a deadline and you’ll be entertaining the lad this evening, it sounds like we need to get through these questions to prepare your wife’s talking points. Let’s start with the most obvious. You have a role that is second in command here at the station and in the community. How does that work with you effectively reporting to your own daughter?”

Emma let out a little sigh and as her father droned on about how proud he was of her, she shot Killian a grateful look. Her father seemed to take pride in both his work and how well she did her job, showing him pictures of celebrations after tough cases were solved and the commendations she had gotten from the governor. Most grown children worry that they aren’t successful enough or are somehow a disappointment to their parents. Emma didn’t have that worry when David Nolan talked about her.

He was still talking about how well Emma had worked with Regina who was stepping down to concentrate on her new life when Emma slipped out to change. Neither he nor Killian seemed to notice that she almost spoke up twice to tell Killian that maybe tonight wasn’t the best timing. Then she reminded herself of Ruby’s advice. He was a nice and more than good looking man. He didn’t even live here. So what if she went out with him. It was just fun.

She repeated that to herself as she went to her car to head home and change. That is until the realization hit that she didn’t really have anything to wear. A trip to one clothing store in town would rouse suspicion and the tailor was a friend of her mother’s. There was only one place to go.

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

“No leather, no spiked heels, no red, no plunging necklines, and I would preferably like to sit down without flashing everyone in town,” Emma said as Ruby dove into the bowels of her closet up above Granny’s. The woman had squealed, hugged Emma, and asked if certain parts had been shaved or waxed. Emma assured her that was not an issue and that she just needed something that didn’t have the capacity for her shoulder or hip holster. Ruby had of course said she had just the thing.

With no sign of her wardrobe addition, Emma looked at her phone and two unread texts.

Killian: Your father is in search of your old scouting badges. I feel like we should have code words. Perhaps not. Meet me at the docks at 7?

She answered quickly, not wanting Ruby to interfere with the response that would probably be inappropriate. A quick see you then and an internally debated smiley emoji would have to suffice. The next message was from her mother.

Mom: David says you have a date. Very exciting. When you come by to pick Henry up, I want to hear all about it. I’ll wait up.

Her mother was going to be an issue. She loved the eternal optimist that was her mother, a woman who had more than her fair share of darkness, including losing two parents early in life, but rose above it to see the good in people. Wasn’t that what Emma was doing. She was seeing the good in Killian despite the voices inside that said this was a bad idea. Well, she could rationalize it that way. Her mother truly wanted a happily ever after for her daughter, something even  Emma couldn’t disagree with in scheme of things. The fact that her mother even believed in such things was pretty amazing.

Ruby emerged with a black dress that looked more like a set of random strips all stitched together. Beneath it was a red dress that flared out and looked more appropriate for dancing. And beneath that was a soft mauve frock with a full skirt and wrapped bodice. She knew that was the one she wanted to wear, but knowing Ruby she had to at least try the others. Half an hour later she was wearing the lighter colored dress, matching nude heels, and her hair was what her friend called casually curled.

She was standing with her arms crossed for warmth at the docks at 7:01 when Killian emerged from one of the sailboats with a single red rose in his hands. “Apparently,” he said, steadily walking the gang plank despite the swell of the waves that had her not quite sure if she was standing still or not, “it is nearly impossible to procure just a rose this time of year. You almost ended up with a pot of poinsettias.”

“It’s beautiful,” she remarked. “You didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

He assured her that it was no trouble and that she was beautiful herself. Below deck he had a small table set with real dishes and flatware, a bottle of wine and containers of pastas and sauces from the Italian restaurant she had mentioned. The only thing, he mused, was that he could not do the candles since such items were not really safe on a boat.

“Confession time,” he said, clinking his glass with hers. “I borrowed the boat. I don’t have one here in Storybrooke.”

“I knew that,” she admitted. “It’s my uncle Leroy’s boat.”

“Short man, scruffy looking, kind of grumpy?”

“Always grumpy, yes. It’s nice of you though. Not too many prying eyes.”

He took a sip and pondered that for a moment. “I take it that you would prefer to keep things clandestine just in case. I am also guessing that you gave the information to your friend Ruby just in case I turn out to be a murderer.”

“I can take care of myself.” She squared her shoulders off.

“Aye, I believe you can, love.”

The rest of the meal passed with pleasant conversation and only a few awkward pauses that were usually filled before it got to be too much. Killian had even brought along a set of speakers to stream music allowing them to dance. It was a tough that even Emma thought was sweet as his arms were around her in a way that she admitted fit. She wasn’t sure how much life was left in his phone or when the clouds that had been building all day would open up with snow, but time seemed to stand still as they swayed. Her eyes closed and her head resting against his right shoulder. He lifted their entwined hands and softly kissed hers. She was glad her eyes were closed and her head nestled against his chest.

She could feel his breathing change and his hold feeling tense. Her name came out as a whisper from him. She lifted her head and found his eyes searching hers. “Emma? I would very much like to kiss you.”

“I’m not sure you can handle that,” she teased in just as soft of a voice. Yet she closed the space between them and let him close the rest. Their lips touching softly at first and then with more passion. Her hands gripped at his shirt, pulling him toward her and his hand hovered at her hair before threading through it with a sort of awe she had never experienced.

They might have stayed like that for a while had the siren of her dad’s cruiser not shattered the cold and quiet night. Maybe they should have stayed below deck, ignored her father’s presence on the docks. However, that plan faded as his footsteps grew closer and she knew, just knew that someone had spotted them on Leroy’s boat and reported it. Resigned to the fate that her father was about to find out who her date was with and probably have an opinion about it, she took a step back and turned to climb up into the cold. While he said nothing, Killian placed his own jacket, a worn leather one, over her shoulders. It was a gentlemanly gesture and one that shouldn’t surprise her.

“Dad?” she asked, holding one hand over her eyes to shield it from the giant flakes falling silently from the sky. “Did something…”

Her father looked startled and even a little embarrassed to see her there. His breathing was normalizing when Killian emerged too, which sent his eyes wide and his gasp of surprise sharpening. “I didn’t realize…”

“Everything okay, mate?” Killian asked. His dark colored shirt and black vest offered little warmth against the plummeting temperatures. However, he did not indicate it by shivering or otherwise complaining.

“Sure…I mean I was just answering a call about someone attempting to break in cars when I saw Emma’s bug. Someone said they thought they saw the suspect run this way and…”

Emma gave her father a nod, taking a deep breath to switch back into her role as sheriff. “Any description?”

Her father’s eyes drifted to where Killian’s hand was covering hers and giving it a slight squeeze of reassurance. They narrowed and his voice faltered as he answered, “light colored hair, red sweatshirt, about 5’9”, thin.”

“Sounds like a juvenile,” Emma assessed. “I’m assuming we don’t have any camera visuals. Last time we investigated over here the cameras were malfunctioning and I haven’t noticed…”

“Emma,” her father said, his boots shuffling a little on the worn planks of the dock that were beginning to be covered in snow. “You don’t have to…I mean…You’re on a date…I guess you are.”

“Well, yeah,” she said, glancing at Killian who seemed to be enjoying the moment. Suddenly she felt the urge to clear up the misconceptions she had caused. “I didn’t mean to…” She cleared her throat. “I know you probably thought I meant I was seeing that Walsh guy.”

“Your mother’s buying an entertainment center from him,” David answered with confusion. “It’s not my business who…but where is Walsh?” He did manage to lower the flashlight and seem less ominous there on the docks, but still had his hand on his hip and was rocking backwards as he waited for explanations.

“I’m not really sure. I haven’t exactly seen him since the party.” Emma glanced at Killian who was standing closer to her than she realized. That wasn’t exactly unpleasant as a prospect. “Killian and I…”

“You and Killian,” he father parroted with the confusion that it hadn’t dawned on him. “You and Killian what?”

Killian gave her hand another squeeze and took a step forward as though offering himself as tribute. “Aye, mate. I do fancy your daughter and she and I have been spending time together.”

Blinking back at them, David appeared to running through the occasions he had seen them together and attempting to digest this information. “So the conversation about intentions toward Emma should be delivered to you and not Walsh?” It was too dark to know for sure, but Emma thought he looked a little disappointed.

She reminded him that there was a potential thief on the loose and he assured her he had it under control and to go back to her date. Killian just sort of shrugged and offered his analysis that it wasn’t that much of a secret after all. They talked a bit longer, took a slow walk toward her car, and both hopped in with him saying he would walk to Granny’s after she was safely at her parents with her son.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, speeding up the wipers against the snow. “I can drop you off. No need for you to freeze.”

He looked toward her in the dark car and gave her a soft smile. “Your father is bound to have told your mother about our date, love. I know you had hoped to keep it secret. I only wanted to offer my services should you want them to fend off her disappointment and concern.” He jumped when she placed her hand over his prosthetic.

“I didn’t mean for it to be a secret. I guess I just don’t want to disappoint them with another failed attempt at matchmaking. My mother has to be ready to give up by now.”

“Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, “she might have to give up anyway. If we were to date, surely she would not attempt to replace me each year.” Her hand jerked away fast, something he noticed. “I hoped you might want…”

She sighed, turning her car off the coastal road to the one that led toward town. “Killian, I am the one who originally asked you out. Even if that was a misunderstanding. I had fun. I enjoy spending time with you. But…”

“But?”

“But we live in two different cities. The special election is going to be over next month. What kind of relationship can we have when you’ll be off on your next job and I’ll still be here? I’m not 18 and free to wander around after you. I have a job, parents, a son, and responsibilities.”

“We could…”

“Killian, I like you. I like spending time with you, but I’m not interested in starting a go no where or long distance relationship. I want more than a pen pal. Think about it. You do too.” The driveway of the farmhouse was coming into sight and then disappeared as she passed it. “I’ll take you back to Granny’s. No sense in talking to my mother about this. We’ll just say it was a one time thing.”

“As you wish.” His voice was quiet, deep, and almost wistful.

~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~ CS ~~

As the holidays grew nearer, Emma’s parents and Killian went into campaign overdrive. There were photoshoots of the whole family on the farm. Her mother even managed to sneak in a few candid shots of Emma and Killian. Speaking of Mary Margaret, she was only mildly disappointed at Emma’s secret that she was not seeing Walsh. That was quickly erased as she said she had considered setting her daughter up with Killian, but was quickly dissuaded when her internal voice said her daughter would object. Nobody corrected her on it.

For his part, Killian worked hard and would try to sneak in time with Emma. They shared a few lunches, walked around the farm discussing a few strategies, and shopped together for a present for her parents. He sat with them on Christmas Eve when Emma performed with the choir for mass, looking just as in awe and proud as her parents did. He even joined them for the evening meal on Christmas, leaving behind a gift for Emma rather than making a big deal of her opening it in front of everyone.

As the wreathes were removed and the snow seemed not as white, the election day finally drew close and Killian was even more of a fixture. He was constantly showing up with a new tactic and shoving his client in front of cameras to announce a proposed initiative. Everything from illiteracy to hunger would be addressed by Mary Margaret Nolan for mayor. When election day arrived, more than 60% of the voters chose her and he beamed proudly from the sidelines. Most people noticed the hug shared between Emma and Killian, but it seemed to be just part of the celebration. It went so long into the night that nobody really saw the two of them saying goodbye the next morning.

“I wish it was different,” she admitted, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Perhaps someday, love. After all, nothing stays the same.”

She watched as the Uber driver loaded his bags and Killian reluctantly slid into the backseat. Their eyes were locked and the unsaid words hung in the air. She wasn’t sure she even breathed again until she was pulling up in front of her parents’ house. Her father was flipping pancakes, but her mother was at the doorway even as she dragged up the steps of the front porch.

“I like him,” her mother said. “He’s a good man.”

“Yeah,” Emma agreed, accepting the hug and hurrying in before the next gust of wind. “I just…I don’t want this every time we see each other. I don’t want to miss him and have the constant feel like a clock is counting down the hours.”

“I know, Emma. And that is very practical, but if you…”

Emma didn’t wait for her mom to finish the statement before greeting her father and asking about setting the table. It wouldn’t be the last time that her mother brought him up. She would over the next few months, mentioning seeing him at some event or another. Emma never asked, but her mother would always update her on his well being. It wasn’t that Emma didn’t know. He still called. He texted. When he was in the area he would invite her to dinner or to an event. She occasionally went but always told herself it was just casual. He never tried to kiss her again and she never sat herself too close to him, despite Ruby’s advice to do so.

A book he had mentioned to her once said of the protagonist and her lover turned best friend, “they would continue to call and write until eventually they were just acquaintances and no longer a real part of each other’s lives.” That’s what Emma resigned herself to when he didn’t answer her text or voicemail inviting him to her parents’ annual party. He’d been pretty scarce for the past few weeks. Their conversations short and usually interrupted by something or someone. She once even heard a female voice in the background and wondered if he was seeing someone. That idea hurt more than she wanted to admit.

She wore red to her parents’ party, her hair hanging loose and the smile on her face tense and unyielding. She was sipping on champagne and watching as Regina and Robin twirled around the room still in bliss nearly a year after their wedding. Walsh was there too, dancing with Zelena and inking a new design deal with Marco. Neal had brought Tink as his date, which made Emma roll her eyes. And her parents were at their prime greeting and hugging all of those in attendance.

“Emma,” her mother called out when a few more guests were greeted. “Come here. I want you to say hello to someone.”

Ruby gave her a sympathetic look as Emma begrudgingly dragged her feet over to where her parents were standing. And there he stood, Killian in a freshly pressed suit with a wide smile on his face as she approached. Her mother was giddy as she mockingly introduced them. “Emma, you remember my old campaign manager, Killian, right? Well, he was in town getting settled because his new job at the governor’s office starts next month. I was thinking that he might be just the kind of guy you’d like to get to know.”

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Magical Loopholes

Chapter 20: A Plan of His Own

He couldn't shake the nightmare he'd had. How Belle managed to do it night after night, day after day, baffled him. She had eventually fallen back to sleep, her arms had stilled around him, and she'd drifted off while she held him. Ordinarily, he'd have been mesmerized, he might have felt honored or blessed to have her there with him, but all he could focus on was the fact that it meant he couldn't leave without waking her. He'd wanted to get up and pace. He'd wanted to get up and go down to the basement, pretend like there was something he could do other than just wait for the Savior to return or for August to show up and give him his answers. But there was nothing. Nothing he could do except stay in Belle's grasp until the sun rose and he had an excuse to get up and leave her.

She was frustrated when he left for work. She asked him about town again, about going with him. He had been a bit short with her, telling her just as he always did that things still weren't safe, and he'd take her when they were. When he arrived, he was almost relieved to see that things seemed to have descended into more chaos overnight. That meant he hadn't lied to Belle, not entirely. And it also meant that he'd bought himself time, more time to bring her to the town as he'd promised, but the more he thought about it, the more he let his mind wander through plan after plan after plan, the more he was convinced it might not ever happen, not as he'd wanted it to.

He tried to focus, tried to concentrate on other things, tried to tell himself to wait for Emma like the Seer said, or break whatever spell August had protected himself with as the Dark Ones suggested. But, each time, the image of Baelfire calling out for him as he slid into the portal flashed in front of his eyes. Every time it happened, it drove him closer and closer to the edge.

He pulled out an old trunk, one that he hadn't used since before the Curse broke. It was the trunk that he stored Baelfire's things in. He took it out into the main room and opened it up, peering inside at the items he'd managed to find in his store that belonged to his son; some clothes, a pair of shoes, the ball August had brought to his attention, and Bae's old shawl. It wasn't much. But it might just be enough.

In the back of the shop, he found a black bag, one that he'd crafted in the Enchanted Forest for moments like this, for plans he needed to make and create. It was the black bag that contained all his spells, mostly simple ones that were common and he wanted to have on hand, but at the behest of the Seer, he'd made a few others that were complex. He didn't need the complex ones. Just something simple. He opened the bag, and his eyes drifted toward a tracking potion.

Perhaps he didn't need to find August or take Emma with him. Perhaps he could do this, strike out on his own, go find his boy. Gold would have been able to navigate the world without a problem. It was only now that he had his memories of who he was and the understanding that in all his time, he'd never left Storybrooke that he was suddenly uneasy about going. But if this was for Baelfire, if this was to finally get his son back, he'd do it. And…

Suddenly a gold vase on this table winked at him in the sunlight; a gold vase he remembered from another time, from his castle, something that Belle had once shinned up and set aside for storage. Belle. What was he going to do with Belle? He'd take her with him. That was how he'd keep his promise. It might not be Storybrooke that she would see, but it was the world, a new world. It was something far bigger and brighter than Storybrooke. Of course, he'd have to tell her where he was taking her and why he was taking her, but at least they'd be together. At least he'd know that she'd be safe, at least she'd be-

Cold. It was cold. The air was chilly and thin as it should be in the middle of Winter, but the space around them was smokey. The smoke rose from the ground, from a cart down the street. The ground was covered not with pavement or dirt but rather concrete. There was a trash can close by and tall buildings that reached impressively into the sky, but his focus was on the person, a man who had just fallen to the ground from above and started running. There was knowledge in him, things that he knew but could not see. One of those facts was that there were two people with him. One of them was a woman, though he couldn't actually see her face, only perceive that her presence was familiar. Another of those facts, the one far more important, was that the man running away from him was Baelfire. It was his son.

A different feeling suddenly reached up through his body and pulled him free of the vision, a feeling of importance and urgency. He recognized it. He'd had the feeling a dozen times over when he'd been in his castle and knew that it had nothing to do with the Seer.

Someone was on his property. And he knew who.

The bell to the shop rang as Former Mayor Mills entered. Rage from the last few nights of Belle waking up screaming and in tears tore through him, and he moved to go out and meet her, but as he listened to her rummaging through his front room, he stopped himself.

What the fuck she was doing here was unknown. He was curious, but his urge to kill in Belle's name was stronger. However, when he thought of what had happened that first night she'd come back and he'd tried to kill the woman, he tried to reel himself in. His urge to kill was stronger than his curiosity. His desire to go home and be with Belle was stronger than his urge to kill. So really, he could either give in to his curiosity to keep from killing her and go home to Belle an honest man. Or kill the woman.

Belle.

He chose Belle. Belle over Regina. It didn't hurt nearly as much as when he chose Belle over Baelfire.

He took a deep breath, and when he finally passed through the curtain, he found Regina tearing through some books he had behind the counter, casting them aside when she didn't like what she saw. She was looking for a book. He smirked as he watched her, and she seemed oblivious in her search. It had been nearly a week, and so far, Regina hadn't shown an ounce of power, not a bit of magic, to try and regain her control of this place even though with everyone in a panic and Snow White gone it would have been so simple.

What were the chances she hadn't tried because she hadn't mastered getting her magic back?

After the Wraith, she'd have to be truly desperate enough to step foot inside his shop. Or else certain that he had what she needed to make it worth it. What she needed was magic. Why did he have a feeling he knew exactly which book she was after.

"The library's beneath the clock tower," he pointed out, forcing her to look up at him. Her nostrils flared in irritation, but he had a feeling that wasn't because of him, even after what happened between them. Still, he did like to twist daggers. "You closed it, remember? When you still had power."

"I need the book. I need to get my son back," she insisted as he realized he still held the vase in his hand and moved across the room to set it down for a good polish before taking it home to Belle.

"Which book?" he questioned, knowing good and well what she was talking about. He just wanted the satisfaction of knowing she was going to squirm for this. "Ah. So, it's come down to that, eh? You need your mommy's help?"

When he turned, she was right behind him. She slammed her hands down upon the counter between them and stood with hunched shoulders.

"Give me the book."

He smirked. He was tempted to give it to her. That was surprising. Minutes ago, when she'd first come in, he was certain that he would have been all too happy to force her to leave here empty-handed, and yet now that he was watching her, the vein in her forehead pulsing, eyes dark and desperate for magic that he possessed…yes, he saw all too clearly how doing this could backfire. He saw how it could make her miserable. But Regina wasn't a priority. Watching her suffer wasn't a priority. He had other things to do. Belle was enough of a distraction on her own he couldn't let himself also be led astray by watching Regina gag on her own desperation. And him? Well…

"Do you really need the smell of the written word to get the magic flowing again, love? Maybe if you relaxed, it would just happen."

"I don't have time. It worked once; I know I can do it. I just… I just need a shortcut back."

"Yeah, well, I don't have time, either. Leave. Please," he snarled.

He felt it before she did. Or perhaps he should say he felt a lack of something where a feeling should be. Nothing. No stir of magic, nothing in the air to force her to comply, to ancient magic that forced her out the door at his behest. Fuck. He'd made that deal so that he'd have power over her when he had none. With magic back, it appeared there was a loophole he hadn't quite planned for. And if the little smirk blooming over her face was any indication, she knew it too.

"Well, how about that. Your 'pleases' have lost their punch."

"Well, the fact remains, jumpstarting your magic is not in my best interest."

"You know what else isn't in your best interest? Having everyone know the Enchanted Forest still exists. Knowing that you and I are keeping that little secret. You're up to something. And it doesn't involve going back home."

Suddenly Regina's hand crept out to the trunk he'd pulled free, the one with so many of his truly personal items inside. She moved to open it, and he slammed his hand down over the top of it. He would have done that even if it wasn't his and Baelfire's things. He hated the way she was here, hated the way she was snooping, the way she thought she had some form of control over them. He hated that when Belle woke up screaming at night it meant she did have some control on her left. But he was going somewhere. He was going to leave Storybrooke and take Belle with him tonight if he had to. So, what the hell did he care if Regina wanted to turn herself into a glutton for magic?

With a wave, he summoned the book the book he'd once given to Cora and then to Regina back into his hand. Regina inhaled as though even the smell of it could help her. Oh, this really wasn't going to be pretty. He almost wanted to stay another day or so just to watch the fun he was sure it would cause. He couldn't kill the bitch, but he could have his fun in other ways. But for Belle's sake, it was best if they left.

"Careful, dearie. These are straight-up spells; rough in the system."

She grabbed the book out of his hands almost viciously. "I don't care if they turn me green. I'm getting my son back."

"Oh my…" he laughed, unable to contain himself at the irony of that statement. With a sister who actually had turned green with envy over the fact that she'd never be her, Regina had no idea just how plausible that statement was.

"What?" Regina demanded, turning to look at him with a sneer. He hadn't meant to have her hear him, but she had. Now that he had her attention, he wasn't going to tell her about Zelena, that little bit of knowledge he preferred to keep to himself especially knowing that the Queen wasn't above blackmail herself, but what was it he'd just realized. He couldn't kill her, but he could have fun in his own ways. Mostly by striking her where it would hurt the most.

"It's just, holding that…I told you once you didn't look like her, but now…now I can see it," he grinned.

Regina didn't see the humor that he did. She sneered, clutched the book to her tighter, and left.

[swanqueeneverafter]

The Once & Future Queen Pt.11

Land Without Magic. Past. October 24th, 2011. 8:15 A.M. Phuket. (August is in bed with a girl, sound asleep. He suddenly wakes as if in pain, sits up and sees his leg turning into wood. He turns around.) August: (Speaking Thai to his bed-mate:) “Wake up. Wake up!” Isra: (Looks at the clock, then reluctantly at him:) “It's only 8:15, go back to bed...” August: (Pointing at his leg:) “Look at this. Right here. Isra, wake up! Help me!” Isra: (Gets up half way and looks at him:) “August, it's early. I'm sleeping.” August: (Reaching out and touching his knee:) “Look, don't you see it?” Isra: (Looking up:) “I see your leg! Now please, be quiet...” August: “I need to go to a hospital...” Isra: “What the hell is wrong with you?” August: (Speaking English:) “I'm turning into wood.” Storybrooke. Present. (Henry lays beneath the food truck covered in grease and engine oil.) Tiana: “Is there a person attached to those legs under there? (Henry slides out from under the truck:) Hmm. Writer boy. What the hell are you doing here?” Henry: “Operation Food Truck.” Tiana: “Am I supposed to know what that means?” Henry: “It means that as soon as I get the engine running, I'm gonna install the fryers, and then I'm gonna go in the back, and I'm gonna get the -” Tiana: “Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait. Does this newfound industriousness have anything to do with a certain date you have with Ella later. Cause you know, she’s feeling pretty nervous about it too.” Henry: “No. I just thought that you two might appreciate an actual working vehicle.”

Tiana: “Oh. Hey, shouldn’t you be getting ready for that date? What time is it anyway? (Henry ignores this and climbs into the truck. Switching on the engine, the truck roars to life. Tiana chuckles in surprise as Henry also turns on the lights. Smiling:) Huh. You actually fixed it.” Henry: (Switching off the engine, climbs down to join her:) “Well, your confidence in me is astounding, Tiana.” Ella: (Entering:) “Wow! This is fantastic. Now I get why you stood me up. You must’ve lost track of time while you were doing all this?” Henry: “Yeah, it's, uh, good as new. And I didn’t forget our date.” Ella: “Then why-” Henry: “Consider it a parting gift. (At Ella’s blank stare:) Will told me what happened between you two. In Wonderland?” Tiana: “Uh, say what now?” Henry: (Grimaces:) “Ah, sorry Tiana. I didn’t mean to break it to you like this.” Ella: “Henry what are you talking about?” Henry: (To Tiana:) “It appears that Will and Ella didn’t quite spend all their time searching for answers, but rather finding other ways to entertain themselves in each other’s arms. (Tosses the keys to Ella who catches them:) It's all yours.” (Henry walks away dejectedly while Ella looks to Tiana in disbelief.)

Granny's Diner. (A small group has gathered while the Red Queen stands frozen like an ice sculpture in the middle of the diner.) Regina: "I just don't understand it. Even when she was the Red Queen, Anastasia was never known to be violent." Xena: (Dryly:) "Must be beginners luck." Regina: "I'm serious. By all accounts, the people of Wonderland were more afraid of the Queen of Hearts than Anastasia." Gabrielle: "Who's the Queen of Hearts?" Regina: (Coughs, then mutters:) "My mother." David: (While playing with his granddaughter's foot:) "Well, prior instances of violence or not, Anastasia was in the midst of terrorising the town before Elsa stopped her.” Regina: (To Xena and Gabrielle:) "Do either of you know why Anastasia might have been targeting you?" Xena: (Shakes her head:) "I've never met her before." Gabrielle: "She kept referring to herself as the Red Queen. In between using her magic against us I mean." Regina: "Well clearly there's something going on. Need I remind you that this is Ella's step-sister we're talking about here? That makes her family." Ruby: (Scoffs:) "Like that's a big deal. Everyone's related around here. (At Regina's look:) What? They are." David: "Family member or not, I think the best thing to do right now is keep the Red Queen on ice. At least until we find some answers." Ruby: "Will she be safe staying frozen like that?" Regina: "Ana's not the first person to have been frozen solid around here. (Circling the frozen woman:) I left Marian like this in my vault for weeks."

(Sitting at the counter, Lily tries to reassure Elsa.) Elsa: "I just feel so guilty freezing her that way." Lily: "Don't. You saw how out of control she was. If you ask me, Anastasia's lucky you were here to turn her into a block of ice." Elsa: "Really?" Lily: "Yeah, absolutely. I mean if it were down to me, I'd have turned her into a pile of ashes. Your way is much less messy." (Elsa smiles, then steals a french fry from Lily's plate.) Storybrooke. Past. The Final Battle. Main Street. (The family rushes to Emma’s side as she lays, unmoving, on the ground.) Henry: (Crying:) “I love you.” (Henry leans down and kisses Emma’s forehead, causing a pulse of magic from True Love’s Kiss.) Emma: (Opening her eyes, softly:) “I love you, too. (They hug:) I love you, too!” (David helps Emma to her feet and the family share a group hug. Catching a glimpse of something in the corner of her eye, Snow White looks over and spots the storybook laying in the road.) Snow White: (Picking it up:) “Henry! I think this belongs to you.” Henry: (Taking the book and reading the last chapter:) "When Good and Evil both did the right thing, faith was restored. The final battle was won. (Closes the book:) That’s it.” A Short Distance Away. (Running up the street towards the Sorcerer’s door, Emma chances a glance behind her to see her family all gathered together before pulling the door open and dashing through it.)

The Sorcerer's Mansion. (Arriving back at the mansion, Emma finds the Apprentice waiting for her with another storybook.) Emma: "So you're telling me that I'm the reason the storybook appeared at that exact moment?" Apprentice: (Smiles:) "That moment, and others. Come, we've still much to do." Storybrooke. Present. Main Street. (Ella catches up to Henry.) Ella: “Henry! Wait. (She blocks his path:) I don’t know what Will told you, but it was a lie.” Henry: “Yeah? Well he sounded pretty convincing.” Ella: “You really think I’m capable of such a thing?” Henry: “Well I don’t know, Ella, you tell me. You were pretty gung-ho about accusing my mother based on somebody’s word. So what am I supposed to think?” Ella: “I don't have feelings for Will. How could I? I love you!” Henry: “And I love you! It’s just... I don’t know what to believe anymore! Things haven’t been right between us for a long time.” Ella: “I know, we’ve both been so busy, we’ve hardly had time to be together. That’s why I asked you to come with me to Wonderland in the first place.” Henry: (Nods:) “Yeah, and I should have been there. I was just so wrapped up in making enough money so we could get our own place that I lost sight of what was really important. You and me, side by side facing things together, head on.” Ella: “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Henry: (Pulling her in for a hug:) “I’m so sorry, about everything.” Ella: (Wrapping her arms around him:) “Me too.” Elsewhere In Storybrooke... (Staggering towards the library, Will tries the doors but they are locked.) Tiana: "Opening hours till 10:00." Will: (Bows his head:) "Very generous. (Turns to face her:) Tiana, I can explain." Tiana: "I didn't ask." (Tiana punches Will square in the face, causing him to fall back against the library doors and slide, unconscious, onto the ground.)

Blanchard Loft. Past. (Emma, Mary Margaret, David and Regina are looking for Henry’s storybook. David and Regina search the bedroom, Mary Margaret and Emma the closet. Regina opens one suitcase and looks inside searching for the book. It’s empty. David opens a chest. Shoe boxes are stored inside.) David: (Picks one shoe box and sets it aside:) “Why do women keep their shoe boxes?” Mary Margaret: (Overhearing the remark:) “Because after true love there is no more powerful magic than footwear. It has to be protected.” Emma: “Any sign of the book?” David: (Shuts the chest:) “No. I don’t think it’s here.” Mary Margaret: “You don’t know that.” Emma: (Carrying another wooden chest, she joins David and Regina:) “Maybe it’s in this thing. (Places the chest on the bed and opens it. Clothes are stored inside:) Some winter coats. Some scarves. The book is not in here.” (Emma sighs and lays back on the bed. At that moment, a pair of hands reach up from under the bed and covertly place the storybook inside the chest.) Mary Margaret: (Exiting the closet:) “Hang on. Let me check.” (After a short search, Mary Margaret is able to find the storybook.) Emma: (Confused, sits up:) “I don’t understand.” (As all eyes turn to the book, Emma scurries out from under the bed and crawls quickly out of the room on all fours towards the door in the next room.) Regina: “Can I see that? (Mary Margaret gives the book to Regina:) I know there are chapters on Oz in here. I wanna know who’s heart Zelena crushed to enact this curse. Because if there’s something she loved, that’s her weakness. (Regina exits the room. David follows her. When they enter the living room, Regina catches a glimpse of something in the corner:) Did you see that?” David: “See what?” Regina: “I’m sure I saw something. (Shaking her head, she returns her attention to the storybook:) Never mind.”

Land Without Magic. Past, October 2011. Hong Kong. (August sits in a hospital in Hong Kong, waiting for his leg to be examined.) Orderly: “August W. Booth?” Exam Room. Doctor: (August shows his leg to the doctor. To the doctor's eyes his leg looks perfectly normal:) “I don't see anything.” August: “My leg is turning into wood.” Doctor: “I think you should go.” August: “Wait, wait. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. I'll prove it to you.” (August puts his leg up on the table and stabs his leg with a scalpel.) Doctor: “No! Stop! Aah! (Speaking Cantonese:) Orderlies! Restrain him! Take him to psych! (The orderlies chase August through the hospital:) Wait! Get back here! Hey! Get back!” (Seemingly with no place left to run, August is grabbed from behind and taken into the stairwell. August spins around ready to fight then sees a woman standing before him.) August: “Who are you?” Mulan: “Someone who can help. I heard you yelling about your situation. And I work with a man who fixes those kinds of problems.” August: “What kind of problems?” Mulan: “The kind most people just dismiss. For the right price, he can cure anything.” August: “Who is he?” Mulan: “They call him the Dragon.”

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 1: A Town

Cursed Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Mrs. Gold goes shopping

Read on AO3

The people of Storybrooke, Maine lived in fear of the day before rent day. 

Rent day itself was bad enough, of course. There was one landlord in town and the only thing worse than giving him all of your money was not having any money to give him. Contrary to popular rumor, Mr. Gold did not personally break the kneecaps of tenants who turned up short on the fourth Sunday of the month. No, what he did was much worse. 

Mr. Gold was always the first to assure frantic tenants that he was a reasonable man. With a smile that never reached his eyes, he would promise that everything would get sorted out. He would never turn someone out on the streets for a first offense. He was always willing to make accommodations. For a price. 

Late fees were the first recourse of the desperate. Mr. Gold was happy to waive rent for weeks at a time. If you were a little short in June, he could easily collect June’s rent in July--along with fees that totalled up to almost double the original debt. And July’s rent was due as well, wasn’t it? To be sure, this was a steep price, but it was better than losing your home. Wasn’t it?

If you had something you could offer up as collateral, he might be willing to give you a small personal loan to cover the rent. Then the late fees and missed payments were added directly to the principal of the loan. But Mr. Gold understood if someone was struggling and could only pay the interest. Interest that accrued daily and compounded weekly.

You didn’t have to rent from him to be desperate enough to borrow from him. More than one unlucky soul in Storybrooke had arranged for a loan of a thousand dollars--to be paid off at one hundred dollars a month for one year--only to still be making payments of a hundred dollars a month long after the originally planned payoff date. 

Anyone who wanted to try to break the cycle, or who were among the unlucky few who Mr. Gold no longer saw as a good investment, was more than welcome to offer up their valuables to pawn. After all the stock for Mr. Gold’s Pawn Shop and Antiquities had to come from somewhere.

But Mr. Gold was never interested in the objects that people wanted to sell. A television set or stereo was worthless in an antique shop. Diamond rings from broken engagements got less than a tenth of what they had been sold for at the jeweler’s. Designer fashions or collector’s items would all be turned away. It was Mr. Gold’s shop, and he had the final say on what inventory he took in. 

Instead, the pawnbroker had an uncanny eye for the possessions that owners would rather not part with. He liked to buy heirlooms, the more personal the better. If an inkwell had been at your grandfather’s desk since you were a child, or if your mother wore a bead necklace to every wedding she ever went to because she said it was good luck... Well, that was exactly the sort of thing that Mr. Gold would pay to take off your hands. 

He had an entire display case of items that were monogrammed--silver hairbrushes and hand-embroidered handkerchiefs and bronzed baby shoes. He would pay extra for a picture frame if it had an old family photograph inside. The shop was full of mementos and trinkets that really only had sentimental value. 

Mr. Gold took from everyone, but he would only pay cash for an object that came with a piece of your heart. 

When you had nothing left that he wanted to buy, that was when you were in real trouble. You could tell because Mr. Gold kept smiling, his gold tooth glinting as his hands tightened around his cane. He would keep things businesslike. Mr. Gold wasn’t the sort of man who shouted at people in public. No, he kept calm, almost genial, as he suggested that maybe you and he could work out some kind of deal.

A favor, he would call it. What was a favor between friends? And you were friends, weren’t you? Didn’t you want to stay on friendly terms with Mr. Gold? You wouldn’t want the situation to get unfriendly, would you?

Faced with that situation, people would promise him anything--property, services, information. Worst of all was when he wouldn’t say what he wanted right away. But you knew that you were in his debt. Even if your financial obligation was cleared, you owed something to Mr. Gold. And sooner or later, he was going to take what he wanted. 

But before he did, he would send her to pay you a visit. The day before rent day was when she was on the prowl. Mr. Gold’s wife was an omen to the people of Storybrooke, a dreaded apparition whose presence foretold desolation. She was her husband’s creature and she did his bidding without question. 

****

It was a rare day when Marco Benigni was grateful that he had never had children. He and his sweet Nicoletta had tried for more than thirty years of marriage, but they had never been given that miracle.

When they had been young and full of hope, the couple had dreamed of a big family. Marco had wanted to see a face in every window waiting for him when he came home from work. As they grew older, their dreams grew smaller. If they couldn’t have a dozen children, maybe five would do. Or maybe only three. Or even one. And by the time they had realized that it wasn’t to be and had started talking about adoption or fostering, Nicoletta was already sick. Then all of Marco’s dreams and prayers and wishes went to her. 

All these years later, he wished for a child more than ever. Their little house had always felt like it was missing something. Now that Nicoletta was gone, the place was as empty and quiet as a graveyard. 

For as long as he could remember, Marco had carved toys and figurines from scrap lumber. He had always planned to give them to his children. Over the years he had made enough to fill the second bedroom, what was always going to be the baby’s room. Even now, he still carved in his spare time. He kept hoping for a miracle, for some chance to be a father. The toys gathered dust while he waited for a child to magically appear and help him be less lonely.

But when Mrs. Gold walked down the street, Marco remembered that the world wasn’t always a good place for children.

It was the fourth Saturday in October. Marco was on his first job of the day. He was the best handyman in town--an easy claim to make, because he was the only professional handyman in Storybrooke. Most of his days started with a trip to Storybrooke Hardware and Paint. He would take a free styrofoam cup of coffee and pick up supplies for the day and see if anyone had posted on the bulletin board for a job that needed doing.

More mornings than not, his first job was at the hardware store itself. The owner of the place, Dotty Compton, was a sweet young lady with hair the color of straw and a tendency to snort when she laughed. She kept a good shop, but she had no idea how to actually use the tools and materials she sold. Every day something broke, and every day she asked Marco to fix it for her. With a tip of his hat, he obliged. 

It made him feel like a gentleman, to help a lady in distress. He didn’t want Dotty to be embarrassed if her sisters showed up. Both of them were more handy than she was--the sort of people who would build their own houses if they had the money. Either one might stop by and point out something that they could easily fix but Dotty didn’t know how to. So Marco quietly covered for her and kept the hardware store in the best shape he could.

On that particular Saturday morning, he was fixing the outside sign. Last night’s rainstorm had knocked the plastic cover down away from the lights. One of the flickering bulbs would need to be changed soon. When Dotty asked, Marco would have to take the cover off again to put in a new fluorescent light. He could change it now, but maybe Dotty wouldn’t want to sell herself a lightbulb just yet. The lights would do well enough flickering for a few more weeks, and it wouldn’t do him any harm to get back on the ladder again come November.

Marco’s thoughts were interrupted by the clacking of high heeled shoes on the brick sidewalk. He looked down from the ladder and cursed in Italian. It was her. The reason he could be glad that he never had children. He had to believe that children would be better off unborn than to be brought into a world where women like Mrs. Gold walked the streets. 

She was coming from the pawn shop. It was barely ten in the morning but Mrs. Gold was tarted up like she was headed for a night on the town. She had her hair up and makeup on. Necklaces and bracelets and earrings sparkled in the morning light. That green skirt barely covered her bottom and what kind of lunatic wore a blouse with no sleeves in October in Maine? But that was how Mrs. Gold always paraded herself around Storybrooke on the day before rent day.

 Across the street, Dr. Whale was walking out of Storybrooke Coffee. Marco watched the doctor stop dead in his tracks to stare at Mrs. Gold. He even tilted his head to get a better look at her bare legs as she walked away.

With a huff, Marco slammed the sign to the hardware store back into place. The noise was enough to break Dr. Whale’s attention from Mrs. Gold. Startled, the young man went on his way in the opposite direction. He had a coffee in hand and a spring in his step.

“Yeah, go on to the hospital,” Marco muttered. “Go save lives and keep your eyes in your head!”

What if he had had a son like that doctor? And it wasn’t just Whale. Half the men in town gawked at Mrs. Gold every time she went streetwalking. How could he and Nicoletta have brought up a nice boy in a world so full of temptation? Women like Mrs. Gold were breathing advertisements for the lowest kind of living.  

Marco must have wished on the right star last night, because Mrs. Gold walked right past him. She usually left people alone if they were regular with their rent payments. Marco kept his cash in a little wooden box he had made himself. Over the years, he had scraped up enough together to make sure he always had a full month’s rent in reserve. Keeping his head above water with Mr. Gold was Marco’s top priority. He slept easier at night knowing that his landlord and that woman had no reason to bother him.

Climbing down the ladder, Marco gave another look down the street to Mrs. Gold. She flounced by the flower shop with her nose in the air. He shook his head. What must it be like to have a daughter like that? How easy would he sleep if he knew that his little girl was married to a man as ruthless as Mr. Gold?

Sometimes he saw her in the hardware store. Usually she lingered by the big spools of rope and chains. Marco had noticed Mrs. Gold rubbing a length of nylon rope between her fingers or wrapping the natural hemp around her wrist. She tested the weight of a brass-plated steel chain like she was picking out a tomato for supper.  

Once, he had seen her in the paint aisle. She wasn’t looking at colors, but had taken a wooden paint stirrer and was slowly slapping it against the palm of her hand. Mrs. Gold’s expression had been thoughtful, almost dreamy. She had walked away like she was floating on air. Along the hem of her short skirt, Marco had seen a rectangular pink mark on the back of her thigh. He couldn’t say for sure, but might have been a welt.

He shook his head and brought the ladder back inside to Dotty. Marco wasn’t that much older than Mr. Gold, and that girl was young enough to be his daughter or even his granddaughter.

But Mr. Gold was the richest man in Storybrooke. That woman strutted around town like she owned the place because she did, through marriage. Mr. Gold made everybody pay for everything. What did his wife have to go through in order to be worth what he gave her?

****

Tom Clark sneezed when Mrs. Gold walked into Dark Star Pharmacy. 

There probably wasn’t a connection between the two events. Hay fever season had run long this year and now they were bumping into flu season. Ragweed was still in bloom all over town. And the rain last night was probably exacerbating the mold that he knew was somewhere in this drafty, damp old building that he was paying a fortune to rent because of its “character” and “charm.” After working in this place for as long as he could remember, Tom was pretty sure those were just code words for “dust” and “termites.” There was probably asbestos too, so he would have mesothelioma to look forward to when he retired--if he ever made enough money to retire. 

  He sneezed again. Then he heard Mrs. Gold’s tinkling laughter from the magazine rack by the front door. 

“Well, Mr. Clark!” Mrs. Gold’s voice was always high and bubbly. Just listening to the sound, you could never tell if she was a genuine airhead or if she was pretending to be a porn star. You had to listen to the words to know for sure. “You know, I read somewhere that men sneeze every time they have a dirty thought. Have you heard that?”

Mrs. Gold was on the other side of the store, but she fixed Tom with a direct stare that nailed him to the ground. His mouth hung open. He knew she wouldn’t stop staring at him until he answered her.

“I-I-I dunno,” he said as limply as he could. 

Then she came toward him, white legs in high heels striding forward in what could only be described as a stripper strut. Mrs. Gold was not a tall woman--how the hell were her legs so long? 

Elbows on the counter, Mrs. Gold put a finger up to her berry-red lips. Tom had never seen her wearing less than three rings and today was no exception.

 “Do you think that’s why all the boys I knew in high school had a box of tissues by their bed? There were always piles of wadded-up tissues all over their rooms. And lotion! It was really useful for me since I have such dry skin, and the boys were always so helpful about wanting to rub me down.”

She giggled after that, and it made her breasts bounce against her tight, almost sheer shirt. Tom was suddenly reminded of the bottle of lotion in his bedside table. Oh boy...

He pulled out his hanky and sneezed. It was a thick, mucusy gob that made his eyes water. He shoved the hanky back into his pocket and made a few subtle adjustments to his pants while he was at it. Then he pumped a quick squirt of hand sanitizer from the container he kept by the register. 

“Can I help you, Mrs. Gold?” he asked as he rubbed his fingers over his palms in a cleanliness ritual that was practically muscle memory.

She giggled again, as if he had even attempted to make a joke. A strand of her curly brown hair had escaped from her bun and she twirled it around one finger.  

“Mr. Gold told me he called in my birth control prescription for a refill.”

Oh thank God. Now Tom had a reason to walk away, even for just a minute

“I’ll go check in the back,” he said. “It, uh, might be a sec. Feel free to look around, see if there’s anything you want.”

“I always am.” She winked at him and pushed away from the counter. Her hips swung back and forth as she walked around the store. Tom stared at her. Mrs. Gold was wearing a very short, very tight, very shiny green skirt. 

Mentally shaking himself and physically taking as many deep breaths as he could through his congested nose, Tom went behind the shelves of pill bottles to try to get his shit together. 

 “Okay, Tommy-boy, calm down.” He rubbed his face and then sneezed into his elbow. He had to think of unsexy things. Things like nuns. Or gonorrhea. Or Mr. Gold if he ever found out that Tom had even looked at his wife.

Mr. Gold if he ever found out that Tom was short on the rent.

“Crap,” he said to himself. It was the day before rent day. He did have enough on hand to cover it, didn’t he? Mr. Gold only accepted cash. If there wasn’t enough in the register or the safe, Tom would have to get to the bank before it closed at noon. Crap.

The prescription bag for Mrs. Gold was already prepped and waiting. Grabbing it, Tom went back to the front of the store. He opened up the register and started counting out bills.

“Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, three. Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, four. Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty…” Before he could continue the count to five hundred dollars, Tom’s concentration suddenly drifted away. 

Mrs. Gold was still in the store. Mrs. Gold was in the aisle directly in front of the cash register. Mrs. Gold was bent at the waist in a perfect ninety-degree angle to get a good look at the lower shelves. Mrs. Gold’s skirt was very tight. Mrs. Gold’s skirt was slowly creeping up the beautiful round curve of Mrs. Gold’s ass.

Tom sneezed. He looked down at the cash in his hand. What was he counting? How much money did he have? He had the same amount for rent every month, but right now he was damned if he could remember what that amount was. Crap.

“I’ve got your script here!” His voice cracked on the last word. Christ, he sounded like a horny teenager. Well, that was half-accurate. 

“That was quick!” Mrs. Gold bounced over to him, her purchases clutched to her chest. She let the items spill out onto the countertop.

Tom fought his reflex to sneeze again. He really should be used to this by now. Mrs. Gold had played some variation of this game every month for as long as he could remember. 

But it never stopped amazing him how she could make innocuous purchases seem so dirty. The counter was covered with one box of every type of condom--every brand, every style, every size. 

In Tom’s experience, most men found a prophylactic that was comfortable for them and stuck with it. So who were all these different sizes for? How many different men did she need to provide condoms to? Had she picked out his brand along with all the others? 

There was also a box of latex gloves, a roll of duct tape, and the largest bottle of KY jelly they had in stock. 

“Would you hold these here while I run and get something else?” Mrs. Gold didn’t wait for his answer, but shimmied off to another aisle. A moment later, she ran back and--Jesus Christ, was she even wearing a bra? 

She put down that month’s copy of Cosmo and a bottle of lotion. Tom didn’t look at her. He just rang up all the paraphernalia in silence. Some obscure sense of decency made him put everything in a paper bag instead of plastic--no one would be able to see the lurid contents unless Mrs. Gold took them out and showed them to people. 

He wouldn’t have put it past her. 

“D-Do you have any questions about your prescription?”

“I do, actually!”

 She leaned over the counter, arms crossed under her chest so they pushed up her cleavage. Her voice changed to a low whisper and Tom had to move closer to hear her. All of a sudden Mrs. Gold gave a crap about privacy. “This birth control, is it affected by how often it’s called upon to be used?”

Tom opened his mouth but couldn’t talk for a second. “I-I’m not sure what you mean, Mrs. Gold.”

“Well…” She was halfway over the counter now, probably standing on her tiptoes. She could reach out and touch him if her arms weren’t jammed underneath her boobs. “The thing is… Mr. Gold really doesn’t want me to get pregnant. And he told me to ensure that nothing allows that to happen. And I know I have to take the pill every day, but what if I have intercourse more often than that? Will the dosage have to change based on how many times a day there’s sperm in my vagina?”

Tom sneezed so hard it gave him a headache. He turned away from Mrs. Gold to blow his nose.

Goddammit, he was a medical professional! Mrs. Gold was using legitimate technical language! He had gone through eight years of pharmacy school! He could have a conversation with his patient about her medication without breaking into a cold sweat over what his landlord’s wife did in her bedroom!

Tom’s mouth started spouting facts on autopilot. It was a self-defense method to keep his mind away from… any of that. 

“Yeah, no, this type of birth control is ninety-one percent effective if you’re taking it every day. So nine out of a hundred people taking it can get pregnant. Medically speaking, those are amazing odds. But if you’re worried about that nine percent chance, you should definitely use another form of contraception.” 

With a weak smile, Tom handed Mrs. Gold her bag of condoms. “It does look like you’re stocked up for a little while, though.”

For the first time since she walked through the door, Mrs. Gold’s smile disappeared. Stone-faced, she pulled her wallet out of her purse and slammed three fifty-dollar bills onto the counter. 

“Mr. Gold  isn’t going to waste a rubber on me.” She spoke like the fact was so obvious that Tom was insulting her by making her say the words. Bag in hand, she turned on her heel and stalked out of the store. She left one sentence in her wake: “Keep the change!”

****

Ruby Lucas had been watching Mrs. Gold all day from the big front windows of Granny’s Dinner. 

Ever since that woman first walked past them after the worst of the breakfast rush, it had been a terrible day. Ruby had messed up lunch orders, fumbled with trays of dishes and added up totals completely wrong. Granny had yelled at her but there was nothing special about that. Ruby had yelled right back. She was too on edge to play nice or to do her job right. She couldn’t think about anything but Mrs. Gold and the fact that the rent was due tomorrow.

No one knew how Mrs. Gold knew who had their rent money and who didn’t. Some people suggested a network of spies or hidden security cameras in all of the property Mr. Gold owned. Others attributed it to occult powers. Dr. Hopper said she was just good at reading people. In a town like Storybrooke, it wasn’t a bad bet to assume that any random person owed Mr. Gold money. For her part, Ruby was more than willing to believe that Mrs. Gold had some kind of sixth sense, that she could sniff out fear like a dog. 

If Mrs. Gold could smell fear, then Ruby probably reeked.

It was three in the afternoon. The lunch rush was over and dinner hadn’t started yet. Leroy Miner was the only person in the diner. He had come in for “breakfast” an hour ago and would be nursing a cup of coffee until he decided it was time to go over to the Rabbit Hole. The cook, Tony, was either in the kitchen or taking a break in the alley behind the diner. Granny was in the back office, wrestling with their accounting software and going over the books for the week. Ruby wiped down the counter for the third time in ten minutes. Cleaning up was mindless work and she could do it while still keeping a lookout on the street. 

“She’s already been past here, hasn’t she?” Leroy had lived in Storybrooke long enough to know what was going on without having to be told.

“Four times,” Ruby said. She grabbed a stack of napkins and started ramming them into a dispenser on every table in the diner. “She keeps going back and forth, up and down the street. Circling the town like a freaking shark. She’s just trying to scare people!”

“Guess it’s working,” Leroy muttered into his mug. 

“I wish she’d go home,” Ruby hugged her arms over her chest and looked out the window again. “Or I wish she’d just come in here and rip out my soul and get it over with!”

“Flip the sign and say you’re closed,” Leroy suggested. “I wouldn’t mind sitting in the dark until she goes away.”

Ruby shook her head. “Dinner rush’ll be starting soon. Granny would kill me if I turned away customers. And besides, it’s not like ignoring Mrs. Gold does any good in the long run. Rent will still be due tomorrow.”

She went away from the window and back to the coffee pot to get Leroy a refill. He nodded his thanks. 

“Would it do any good if I gave you a fifteen dollar tip on a five dollar meal?”

Ruby almost cried. She had spent enough time around Leroy Miner to get to know his moods. At that moment, he was in the sweet spot between the end of his hangover and the start of his drinking. Those were the times when he would offer to do anything for anybody--before he realized that the best he could do was never enough so he might as well reach for a bottle. 

What might happen to Leroy if he ever found somebody he could help? He was a hard worker, when he was sober, and if he found something that he thought was worth working hard at. With the right people around him, Leroy could be a part of something good. Maybe. Someday.

Ruby gave him the best smile she could manage. “A nice tip never hurts.”

He slid a twenty across the counter and pulled on his hat. “Good luck,” he said. “Maybe she won’t come in after all.”

No sooner had he said that than the bell over the front door chimed with the entrance of a new customer. Neither of them looked up, but they both heard the confident stride of very high heels. The retail price of those shoes was more than Ruby had paid for her car.

“Thanks Leroy,” Ruby said. “But I don’t think I’ve got much luck today.”

“Who’s getting lucky?” 

Mrs. Gold carried a bunch of shopping bags in both hands. She’d been all over today. She set the bags on the floor in the middle of the diner, right in front of the door. Leroy edged around them sulkily, trying his very best not to attract any attention.

That did not work.

“Hi, Mr. Miner!”

Gulping, Leroy nodded and looked down at his work boots. “Mrs. Gold,” he mumbled, before barreling out the door. Lucky jerk. 

Ruby would have run out the diner, down the street, into the harbor and off into international waters if she could have, but that wasn’t an option right now. 

“Can I get you a menu, Mrs. Gold?” 

After years as a waitress, Ruby could respect the art of a fake smile, and Mrs. Gold could put a Barbie doll to shame. There was never a hint of what was going on beneath the surface--or even that there was something more than met the eye. The woman was all glitter, from her jewelry to her clothes to her eyeshadow. When she wanted to put on a show, Mrs. Gold could sparkle like polished glass. 

She sparkled now, smiling with white teeth and lipstick that cost as much as an average Storybrooke citizen’s water bill. Ruby had seen an ad for that brand in a copy of Vogue. The gold vials were sold in lacquered jewelry boxes with a velvet ribbon so you could wear them like a necklace. Mrs. Gold kept hers on the outside of her purse. As far as Ruby could tell, the woman had several vials for each shade she liked, and she switched out black or gold or smooth or scaled to coordinate with the rest of her jewelry. The outside changed, but the inside was always the same.  

“No menu for me, Ruby. I just came in to see what was on display.” Her gaze swept over Ruby’s bare midriff and short skirt for just long enough to show that it was intentional. But then she shifted over to the glass case by the counter.

“Oh,” Ruby said. “You want something from the bakery?”

Mrs. Gold smirked. “Let’s just say Mr. Gold told me to bring him home something sweet.” One finger trailed across the front of the glass, smudging it. Mrs. Gold’s eyes stayed fixed on Ruby. Her pink tongue slid over her berry lips.

Mouth dry and stomach churning, Ruby didn’t trust herself to talk. This was it. This was what she had been dreading for as long as she could remember.  

With her legs apart, Mrs. Gold bent at the waist to look at the pies and pastries for sale. Ruby stood behind the case, ready to pull out whatever Mrs. Gold asked for. A family came into the diner--both the parents and the daughter stepping around Mrs. Gold’s bags as they made their way through the door. Ruby told them to take a seat and she would be right with them. For now, she knew she wasn’t allowed to move. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Gold had her butt sticking up so much that Ruby could see it over her shoulders. Suddenly, her head popped up and her stray hairs swept back away from her face like she had just come up for air after giving a blowjob.

“What have you got with cherries?” she asked. “Mr. Gold has been craving something red.”

Ruby went red. That was her color. It was the color of her hair dye, and her accessories, and her car, and her goddamned name!

“I-I-I I think we’re sold out of cherry pie.” She tried to keep her voice steady. “W-we’ve got apple?”

“No,” Mrs. Gold said flatly. “Mr. Gold and I are not apple people.” She put her hand on her neck and toyed with one of her necklaces. She considered the baked goods some more. “What about cream? Mr. Gold enjoys a bit of whipped cream every now and again. Have you got anything like that?”

“A cream pie?” Ruby winced as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

Mrs. Gold lit up like a kid at Christmas. She smacked her hands against the bakery case and pressed her boobs against the glass in her excitement. “Exactly! Is that something you could offer us?”

“Uh…” 

She was going to throw up. She was going to vomit all over her landlord’s wife and the dry cleaning bill for those designer clothes would be added to the rent and they would never have the money to pay it back and they would lose the diner and the bed and breakfast and Ruby and Granny would be homeless and jobless and she’d have to turn tricks on the street just to keep them from starving!

Icy blue eyes stared at Ruby. They looked even brighter for being outlined in black eyeliner and three layers of mascara.

 “Think it over, honey,” Mrs. Gold purred. “Tomorrow evening, Mr. Gold will be stopping by for the rent. Let him know if you have anything you want to… offer. Anything sweet and red that he and I could share. Okay?”

Mutely, Ruby nodded.

With a final dazzling smile, Mrs. Gold picked up her bags and strutted out the diner door into the fall twilight. She didn’t even buy anything.

Still unable to speak, Ruby grabbed a handful of menus and tossed them to the family in the booth. She left the restaurant unattended and raced back to Granny’s office. 

“Tell me we have money for rent this month!”

“What?” Pulling off her reading glasses, Granny looked up from the flickering beige computer. She still had both index fingers pointed out from typing. “Why in the hell do we need the rent already?”

“Because rent day is tomorrow!” Ruby’s hands gripped onto either side of the wooden door frame. She had to keep herself from throttling her grandmother. “Are you saying you don’t have it?”

“What are you talking about?” Granny looked at the calendar on the wall. “Rent’s due on the last Sunday of the month.”

“No.” Ruby did not scream. She did not wail or cry or howl in despair. She kept her voice very calm. “No, Granny. It’s the fourth Sunday of the month. This month has five Sundays. So the rent is due tomorrow. Mrs. Gold was just here.”

Granny went pale and put her hand over her heart. “Oh no,” she said softly.

“Yeah!” Ruby squeaked. “Yeah, I guess she stopped by for a reason!” Weak, hysterical giggles bubbled out of her. They would turn into sobs if she didn’t get her shit together. 

And Granny could only stare at her in powerless horror. 

“Yeah,” Ruby nodded, still laughing. “Why fight it anymore? There’s no escape from the Golds. Tomorrow is rent day. We don’t have anything. I’m going to be absolutely fucked!”

[artistic-writer]

The Contract :: CS Omegaverse :: Ch 6

Title: The Contract Rating: E Summary: Emma had never wanted much in her life, despite being married to one of the richest men in the world. For ten years she has felt like a prisoner in her own marriage, denied the one thing she wants the most, but her husband cannot help but bargain her want like a cheap business deal.  Enter Killian Jones, the Alpha her husband has hired to make sure she gets what she wants. And then some.

A/N: I know I only posted a snippet yesterday, but i wasn’t expected to be done so soon! Yay! Also, I think writing Liam, Killian and Will slightly drunk is my new favourite thing. This chapter takes off where #5 left off, so enjoy ;) Thanks to @hollyethecurious who was my beta for this little adventure. I would also like to give a MASSIVE thank you to @itsfabianadocarmo for her beautiful artwork that she so graciously allowed me to use from now on! <3

ALSO A MASSIVE HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO @shardminds (for tomorrow) - IT’S EARLY BUT ITS HERE!

This is an Omegaverse fic featuring A/B/O dynamics.  Whilst this varies from fandom to fandom, for the purposes of my fic, there will be no mpreg.  Just so you know.  There will however be knotting, breeding, heats and other delicious things that come along with A/B/O.  If you do not know what A/B/O is, feel free to message me :)  Many thanks to @hollyethecurious @shardminds @kmomof4 @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke and @effulgentcolors for letting me bounce my complicated ideas of you lol

If you wish to stay away from this fic, blacklist the A/B/O tag.

Taglist:  I’ll be honest, i have lost my taglist for this fic, so if you want a tag, please message me here on on discord (Salem #5158/ itwontalwaysbelikethis@gmail.com) and I’ll add you!  I’ve tagged the following people i KNOW want to read this, but i don’t want to accidentally tag you if you do not like ABO.

@hollyethecurious @shardminds @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @darkcolinodonorgasm @thisonesatellite @xemmaloveskillianx @hookedonapirate @teamhook @winterbaby89 @carpedzem @courtorderedcake @profdanglaisstuff @itsfabianadocarmo @donteattheappleshook​ @ultraluckycatnd 

——————————————————————————————

The ferocity of his kiss made Emma swoon, her heart fluttering just under her skin. She had never felt such a yearning, such a need, and as soon as his knot had receded and they had left the car, Killian had cemented her animalistic want even more when he had hoisted her up onto his shoulder and carried her to her apartment. It thrilled her to no end, being carried, overpowered and yet cared for at the same time. Killian, growling deep in his throat as he crossed the threshold, slammed the door behind him and set her feet firmly back on the ground.

“How long is your refractory period?” Emma smirked salaciously, her fingers caressing the lapels of Killian’s blazer. He gave her a raised eyebrow as she arched into him, her fingers gripping the soft, cotton material and giving it a tug as she spun them around.

“Such a needy girl,” Killian growled, walking towards her and pinning her to the cold surface of the door. The sizzle of her skin was almost audible and her sharp intake of breath made his cock hard.

“I can’t get enough of you,” Emma whispered, pulling even harder on his jacket until Killian’s forehead touched hers. Their lips were so close, the breath between them all that separated her from the feel of his mouth on hers. “I want you all the time, Killian.”

“You shouldn’t,” Killian ground out, his entire body screaming at him to kiss her. His tongue darted out and he tasted her lips, the sweet taste of her ever present in his memory intensified in that moment.

“Why?” Emma breathed, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

The way she was acting was unlike any of their previous encounters and it was awakening something very primal inside of him, his hands skimming down the sides of her face and down the column of her neck. Killian paused, his thumb resting over the pulse there, the elevated rhythm of Emma’s heartbeat quickening even more when he stroked the skin where her Omega scent gland would be were she anything but Beta. A heady mixture of arousal and confusion coursed through him, his throat closing up around a lump there and the strain of his erection a painful reminder of what he could never truly have.

Emma was married. The fact that her husband was an arsehole was irrelevant, and the fact that Killian wanted to wring the Beta bastard’s neck was even more of a moot point. It didn’t matter to him what gender class she belonged to because at the end of the day she would never be attainable. He had let things go too far, let his feelings for her develop into something far greater than even he could control and if a day with Emma had shown him anything, it was that he wasn’t ready to let her go.

But his feelings could wait. Right now, the only thing more important to him than his own arousal, was Emma’s. She was especially wanton today and it hadn’t escaped his notice. First the lingerie, of which he had just reminded himself, then the panties, oh god, the panties, and then the very idea of a blow job which had the blood rushing to his cock from the memory alone, and, to be fair, what sort of Alpha would he be if he didn’t indulge Emma’s deepest, most baser urges?

He surged forward and pinned her to the door with his weight, making sure she could feel the length of his hardness pressed against her. Emma let out a gasp of surprise and her scent immediately changed, her sweet, subtle hint of what Killian had once known making way for a strong, spicier taste that had his blood boiling in his veins. It was familiar but overpowering, the low rumble of a growl crawling up from his belly as he raised her arms and she let him, rubbing herself against his length and biting her bottom lip.

“You want me too,” Emma surmised with a hint of glee, writhing her body against his even more. “Tell me you don’t.”

“That’s not fair,” Killian said gruffly. He pressed into her harder, resting his head on her collarbone and tasting her intoxicating skin with a quick peck of his lips. “You smell different, love,” he rasped. “I can’t think straight.”

“So don’t think at all,” Emma whispered, slipping her hands from his grasp and pushing the blazer off his shoulders. The muscles along Killian’s jaw tightened and the green of Emma’s eyes darkened with her lust at the sight. The cotton jacket fell to the floor and Killian kicked it away, closely followed by his shoes, his toes scrunching inside his socks in an attempt to ground himself.

“Emma, I-,” Killian began again, his vision blurry from whatever Emma had bewitched him with, her fingers tracing the v-neck of his t-shirt that had suddenly become clammy and clung to his body. He swallowed thickly, blinking to refocus the blood flow from his cock to his brain, a futile attempt if ever he’d known one.

“Don’t. Think.” Emma pressed her finger to his lips, halting any further interruptions from the Alpha before her. “Just, fuck me,” Emma purred, holding his eye contact when his stare bore into her. His eyes were the darkest Emma had ever seen and her skin flushed hot with the idea of what he could do to her. She knew, after all, exactly what Killian Jones was capable of. “Fuck me, and knot me like you promised in the restaurant.”

“Oh, my sweet,” Killian smirked, dragging his fingers down the length of her arms, lightly gripping her wrists. He held her gaze, unashamedly moving her hands to his chinos, encouraging her to unbutton them with a reassuring nod. “I’m going to fuck you, and will knot you, but be warned,” he paused, allowing her to lift the weight of him out of his underwear after she had pushed his chinos to the ground. As soon as she was done, he slapped his hands to her arse and hoisted her into the air, ignoring her squeak of joy as she wrapped her legs around his waist, and let her sag into his hold. “This is going to ruin you.”

“Too late,” Emma rasped, clutching his face and finally planting her lips firmly on his.

If he hadn’t had the strength of an Alpha, Emma might have knocked them both to the ground with the force of her kiss. Killian wrapped his arms around her, tightening his hold on her body as he stepped from his chinos and flicked his foot, tossing them aside on his way further into the apartment. Her lips were sweet, like a drug he couldn’t get enough of and he’d be damned if he wanted to let up kissing her back for even a second.

“What about the lingerie?” Emma pulled her lips from his in a daze, her fingers interlocked behind his head and his neck muscles there straining against the edges of her palm.

“Nope.” Killian shook his head and Emma frowned at him. He set her down, much to her protest, but soon his intentions became clear when he reached behind her and unzipped her dress.

“No?” Emma asked salaciously, letting the material of her dress flutter to the floor once Killian had slipped it off her shoulders. It left her naked, gloriously bare and exposed to his hungry gaze, and Killian licked his lips with delight.

He shook his head again, crossed his arms over his body and Emma felt a surge of wetness between her legs when he lifted the last remaining remnant of clothing up and over his head and his arm muscles rippled deliciously under his skin. “Anything that blocks my view of your absolutely perfect body is not welcome here.”

Emma blushed and without even realising it, her hand had found his bicep where her fingers gripped the muscle in anticipation. “You said you liked it in the store.”

Killiam grinned darkly, stepping into her space and forcing her to retreat backwards until her thighs touched the huge bed behind them. “You weren’t naked in the store.”

Emma let out the longest breath as she fell backward and bounced on the mattress, turning herself onto her stomach whilst airbourne. She tried to crawl away with a giggle, Killian hot on her heels as he clambered onto the bed behind her and grabbed her by the hips. Emma wasn’t sure what had come over her, playing this little game of cat and mouse all day, teasing him to within an inch of his life, but she was enjoying it like nothing else they had ever done. His hands on her skin felt like red hot pokers, searing his fingerprints into the flesh there, the warmth between her legs igniting once more and causing her to clench her muscles.

“Ah ah, love,” Killian teased, giving one of her arse cheeks a playful slap and sending her crashing flat onto the bed. “Don’t you dare hold that wonderful nectar in.”

His hands were on her arse once more, long, lithe fingers kneading the globes with a growl. Emma smirked, her face buried into the thin sheet that covered the bed and she rolled her shoulders, and hummed contently. Killian was not about to let her out of his grasp, dragging his fingertips down the back of her thighs and pushing her legs together once he reached her knees, pinning her to the bed with his own weight as he straddled her legs. Before Emma had time to react, his fingers were tracing the crease of her behind, pushing between her legs and fishing around in the wet heat that was currently soaking the sheet underneath them.

“My word, aren’t we wet,” Killian rasped, teasing his finger around her entrance.

“Killian-,” Emma began in a breathy whisper, but Killian covered her back with his own body and canted his hips until his erection eased itself into the crease of her arse and had the rest of her words stolen in a gasp.

He let his weight envelope her, mindful not to crush her, but instead apply just enough pressure so that she was safely in his hold. Huge hands found the mattress beside her head and Emma felt dizzy with need, inhaling hard and smelling herself on his fingers. She couldn’t speak, she couldn’t move and she had never felt so loved in all her life.

“Please,” she begged, turning her face until her head lay sideways on the mattress and she could see the dark wisps of his hair falling over his forehead. Her hand reached behind her and clutched at his hip, a desperate please further enforced by her unadulterated need to feel his cock inside her. One of his hands brushed her hair aside, tucking it behind her ear before his tongue licked the outer shell with a husky moan.

“Gods, I love it when you beg,” Killian growled, his lips right next to her ear and his words sending shivers down her spine.

The sound that left her mouth was unlike anything Emma had ever heard from her own lips. She felt hot, her body melting into the mattress, the garbled mess of sounds tumbling from her throat just making Killian chuckle. His hands were on her, skimming over the curve of her hips that were pinned under his, his own enthusiastic panting turning her on even more. Emma tried to wiggle, to do anything to encourage Killian’s length where she wanted it, but he was steadfast, pressing his hands into the small of her back and pushing himself back into a sitting position.

His lips were on her instantly, tongue darting out to taste her as he kissed his way down her spine. It was agony, slow, torturous pain that fell just on the right side of pleasure and made Emma’s skin tighten over every single muscle in her body. The hair on the back of her head prickled to attention, her neck arching outward in an attempt to tempt his lips closer, but Killian just continued his journey down her back, making sure each and every bump of her spine was paid the utmost attention.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered between kisses, his hands placing featherlight touches after his lips to smooth away her trembling. “You’re so, so…” He stopped, fingers digging into her flesh in an attempt to stave off something Emma couldn’t make out, the feel of his jaw muscles clenching against the divet above her behind. Killian’s words were taken from him by the scent of her, her body making far more lubricant that he had seen before, cementing in his mind the idea that despite being Beta, Emma was made just for him.

“Taste me,” Emma whimpered, drawing his attention to her aching core with a lift of her buttocks. “I know you want to.”

“Oh, love,” Killian hissed, the softness of her cheeks rubbing over his sensitive tip. “How is it you know exactly what I want?” His lips were on her again, the skin of her arse cheeks rippling with goosebumps under his kiss. “What I need,” he added with a feral growl.

He sat back up, unable to take it anymore, taking himself in hand and stroking his length quickly. Emma grinned salaciously, her eyelids fluttering closed in anticipated pleasure she knew was coming. She eased her behind into the air which allowed for Killian to slide a pillow under her stomach. This had become a dance she was familiar with, the silence between them the only communication they needed, this position perfect for his cock to find the exact right spot over and over until they crashed in euphoria together.

Killian eased backwards, drawing his hands over her skin in a circular motion, encouraging her to relax that little bit more. Emma wasn’t sure how much more relaxed she could be. She felt like her body was floating already, the room spinning and her finger scrunching the material of the sheet in her grasp to ground her, but when Killian nosed into her folds from behind, there was nothing that could hold her steady. His tongue was scalding her, burning her from the inside out, the cool air in the room her only relief between his hungry gulps of her and the too long time he spent savouring the taste on his lips.

“How do I taste, Alpha?” Emma cooed, watching him lift his head at his title on her lips. They locked eyes and she bit her bottom lip coyly, flashing him a cheeky smile that was equal parts blissful and testing, his inner animal fighting to be free.

Any other time, Emma’s teasing would have been welcome, exciting even, but for some reason, Killian was overcome with the need to claim her. It was illogical, he knew that, but there was something about the scent of her, the remnants of her juices on his beard and those covering his tongue that made him roar inside. His skin felt like it was about to melt right off his bones, an itch that he couldn’t scratch just under the surface, but Emma was the remedy for his ills, his aches and his yearning and so, Killian was done being patient.

“Yes,” Emma hissed when she felt him position himself at her entrance.

Without preamble he was pushing home, entering her with one swift thrust of his hips and a sigh of relief. His body began to quake, the muscles in his upper thighs twitching when he tried to find his equilibrium. It was difficult, considering Emma had the ability to knock him for six simply by smiling at him, so the feel of her around him was almost suffocating. He froze, fighting off the maddening urge to pound into her relentlessly, aware that while she was very wet, and was already becoming accustomed to his size, the true Alpha nature that was clawing its way to the surface, or trying to, might scare her off.

Killian shifted his position, making sure he was seated inside of Emma as far as he could get, loving the way she pushed back onto him in an attempt to pull him in deeper. He clawed down her back, angling his hips upward, waiting for Emma to adjust her own body to where she felt most comfortable with his ever welcome intrusion. After a gasp and a shudder, Emma was lifting one knee, sliding her leg across the sheet and forcing Killian to roll over to the side so he was resting on his side behind her. Reluctant to slip from her tight heat, he followed the arch of her spine with more searing hot, open mouthed kisses, eager hands grabbing any part of her he could.

Silently, Emma moved his hand from her waist to her breast, flattening her palm over his and forcing him to knead the aching flesh. Her nipples hardened even more, the skin pulling tight around them, the bullet like buds telling Killian exactly what he already knew. Emma wanted more, breathless pleas leaving her mouth in nothing understandable, but her body crying out for what only he could give her.

Killian shushed her, soothing her need with more tender kisses, his length rooted inside of her as far as he could possibly get except for the swell of his knot. He repositioned himself so that he could kiss her face, one hand stroking the slightly damp side of her brow whilst the other held her still beneath him. Killian slid his lips to her cheek, placing soft kisses to the raised apple of it when she smiled. He loved her smile, and could lose himself in it forever, and with a smirk of his own, he planted his lips firmly on the corner of her mouth.

“Love,” Killian whispered against her lips, the corners of her mouth ticking up with pleasure at his endearment. He was drunk on her scent, the strength of it overpowering his brain as he dragged his forehead over the bare skin of her shoulder, and couldn’t stop the words before they slipped from his mouth. “I wish you were mine.”

Emma’s skin sent a ripple of anticipation through her entire body and all of the hair on her arms stood to attention at his words that she just knew weren’t said flippantly. Killian had never been one to confuse his words, but this was the first time she had ever heard him speak what was in his mind. She didn’t respond, afraid of him realising that she had heard what he had said, instead, rolling her bottom lip under her teeth, and flattening herself to the mattress where his engorged cock rubbed her in all the right places.

“Oh, fuck,” she whimpered before she could stop herself.

Killian was reluctant to leave the warmth of her skin but he did, forcing himself up on his forearms and pulling his hips back. His cock dragged against Emma’s insides, deliciously working her up, causing her body to coat his length in even more glorious wetness. It made him growl, a low gutteral sound from deep within him, and he slammed himself back into her with a stiff, clenched jaw. His nails raked down her ribcage, over each bump with increasing intensity to match his thrusts, one after the other that forced her legs open wider and expelled all the breath from her lungs.

“Knot me,” Emma whined, her words desperate and almost painful.

She was so close to coming, balancing right on the edge of her orgasm, but she just needed that little push to achieve what was fast becoming her favourite feeling in the world. The burning stretch of Killian’s knot as it entered her was addictive, all of the blood rushing to her stretched muscles and providing her with pinprick sensitivity through her entire core. The hair on his stomach rubbed at her buttocks, his cock so deep that he barely left her skin to cant his hips, and it was just the way she liked it, pressing on her pleasure center repeatedly.

“Are you sure?” Killian grunted, the bulb of his knot exposing itself at her words alone. She hadn’t come yet and he was afraid of hurting her, but the way she was writhing against his cock, hungry for his knot told him that he should trust her. She knew her own body far better than anyone, and if she wanted his knot, who was he to argue.

“Yes,” Emma hissed. “I need all of you.”

“Alright, love,” Killian purred with a grin. “As you wish.”

Soft, manly hands were heavy on her back but felt as light as air, almost invisible with how they were escorting her through the clouds of her mind. Emma was boneless, her soul on the outside of her body and the room around her faded away to reveal nothing but white hot bliss. She went limp, flattening herself against Killian’s hand that had found its way to her clit, rubbing herself in one direction against his fingers in a steady rhythm whilst he countered in the opposite. She was coming, the inside of her bones fizzing with pleasure, and the press of Killian’s bulb against her entrance made her whimper.

Killian leaned harder into her, his jaw clenched tightly and sweat beading his brow under the loose hair that flopped there. His thighs burned from the tempo of his love making, and the muscles in his back rippled with each thrust, his knot exposing itself to the cool air of the room just before slamming into Emma’s core, sending her into oblivion and the contractions of her muscles around him pulling him with her. Killian’s legs trembled and he grabbed at the flesh of Emma’s behind hungrily, letting out a groan of pleasure as he emptied himself inside of her and felt his inner beast howl with delight. It was a few moments before he realised he might be hurting her and relaxed his grip on her skin, smoothing his palm over the area before giving her a playful slap.

“Mmmm,” she hummed with a smile, enjoying the way Killian was seated inside of her.

Killian pulled the pillow out from underneath her and arranged them into a more comfortable position. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his embrace and kissing her quickly. Small tiny pecks along the width of her shoulders made her arch into him even more, the throb of her muscles around him massaging his knot bulb and making sure he didn’t slip from her body. A shiver prompted Killian to pull the sheet up over them, something that had been pushed down to the foot of the bed by their vigorous activities, and he smoothed it down over the curve of Emma’s body to make sure she was fully covered and would feel no chill as her body temperature returned to normal.

“Is that what you needed, my love?” Killian’s words were but a whisper, mumbled into the back of Emma’s ear and were followed by him nuzzling into her neck. He buried his face in her hair, unaware of what he had let slip in his own selfish error, until he felt her stiffen in his arms. Killian frowned, unsure what was wrong for a second, still lost to his own euphoria, but when Emma began to quake and sob, his panic soon chased away his pleasure. “Emma, love, what’s wrong?”

Emma couldn’t hold in her emotion any longer. A combination of the flutters of orgasm and the pain in her heart was just too great to contain any longer. Emma enjoyed seeing Killian, more than she liked to admit to herself, and of late she had felt an almighty draw to more than just the idea of sleeping with an Alpha. Emma was pulled toward Killian by a connection she couldn’t explain, by one she didn’t want to understand anymore than at its most basic level. She craved him and needed him more than she thought possible, and Killian’s words had opened up something inside of her that she had been trying to hold back.

It wasn’t for the sake of her marriage, because that was as good as over in her eyes. No, it was more than that. Emma had been trying to convince herself that a loveless marriage would be what she could settle for if she got what she wanted out of it, the Alpha experience she had been so intrigued by her whole life, but all finding Killian had shown her was what she was actually missing from her life.

Love.

“Emma?” Killian pried again, a little gentler than before but with no less panic stricken words. “Please,” he begged her, his own emotion creeping up his throat. He ground his teeth, wishing that he had waited to bury himself inside of her but also wishing he hadn’t, cursing himself for rushing after her high as eagerly as he had. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, nothing like that,” she assured him quickly, shaking her head.

“Then what, my sweet?” Killian soothed. His hands found her face, as awkward as their position allowed in their current join, and he wiped away her tears with his thumb.

“That,” Emma sobbed, turning her face further into the pillow. “My love, my sweet, Killian, you can’t say these things-.”

“And if I mean them?” Killian interjected her quickly, swallowing the lump in his throat. He tucked a crooked finger under her chin and tilted her face back towards his.

Emma’s breath hitched in her throat and she pinched her eyes closed even tighter, scared to look him in the eye. “Do you?” Her eyes fluttered open and met his, the darkened greys fading away to the beautiful shade of blue that she now saw.

“Aye,” Killian said with a nod and the small tick of a smile. He had never been much of a gambler, or been so apprehensive to say the next words out of his mouth, but with a small lick of his lips, he laid all of his cards on the table. “Emma, I love you.

--

Liam threw down the cards in his hand again, a disgruntled huff leaving his mouth through tightly pursed lips. He had never had much luck when it came to playing poker, or gambling of any kind really, but his brother had insisted on a game or two after hours. The bar had been closed for an hour, way into the early hours of the morning now, and all Liam had found was that Will Scarlet was either very lucky or with each hand he had something up his sleeve to guarantee his victory. Literally.

“You’re cheating,” he accused, narrowing his eyes as yet again, Will pawed his winnings towards him with an excited chuckle.

“Oh, come now, brother,” Killian teased, collecting the cards from each of them and setting them back into a pile. “That’s not very sportsmanlike.”

“Yeah, Liam,” Will added, stacking up his ever increasing pile of chips. “Where is your dignity in defeat?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t been defeated,” Liam groused. “I’ve been cheated out of my hard earned money by a thief!”

Will hurled himself back in his chair and the whole thing skidded across the floor. “Your words wound me, sir!”

Liam blinked. “But you are a thief, Scarlet!”

“Former thief,” Will corrected.

“Now, now, gents,” Killian bellowed above them, his voice echoing ever so slightly in the now empty bar. At his words, Liam crossed his arms over his body and twisted his mouth as if trying to stop the words he wanted to say from coming out. “Would you like to shuffle the deck, Liam?” Killian offered as a means of placating his brother.

“I don’t know what good that would do,” Liam huffed, ignoring the outstretched hand of his younger brother.

“Yeah, it won’t help how shite you are,” Will grumbled under his breath.

“Right!” Liam bellowed, slapping his hands to the table. “You are barred!” He pointed a menacing finger at Will, a vein bulging on his forehead.

“Again?” Will smirked cockily.

“Alright, Will, leave the man be,” Killian told his friend with a playful grin. “And, Liam? You and I both know Will spends more money than anyone else in this place, so in reality, isn’t he just taking back his own hard earned money?”

Liam was silent. His brother, although younger, was often much wiser in how he saw the world. Where Liam saw good and bad, Killian saw circumstances, especially when a person was one or the other based on what kind of hand life had dealt them. Will had been a thief, it was true, but where Liam had only ever seen their mutual friend as that which he was, Killian had seen the why and the how, and it was all down to circumstance. And now, due to a change in his circumstances, Will was no longer a thief.

Technically.

Killian knew that Will had hidden cards up his sleeve, literally, but he saw no point in ever calling him out on it. Their games were less about playing poker and more about being with like minded Alphas who just wanted to get their heads down and get through life as unnoticed as possible. Killian ignored Will’s sleight of hand, Will never mentioned Killian’s confidential life problems and Liam was none the wiser to either.

Except tonight, because Will Scarlet was also a chatty drunk.

“So, still dreaming about the wife?” Will teased, his words only a little bit slurred as he lifted the remainder of his pint to his lips.

“What wife?” Liam frowned, reaching for the cards he had been dealt.

“Little Miss Confidentiality Agreement,” Will said with a gulp of his drink.

“Seriously?” Liam shot Killian a look and his eyes went wide.

“Yeah, Killian can’t say anything or he doesn’t get paid,” Will giggled.

“Will,” Killian warned, trying to ignore the way his brother was boring a hole into the side of his head with his stare.

“Relax,” Will said cheekily “I’m not going to tell Liam how much you got for last night or anything.” He took another long gulp of his beer, barely swallowing the fizzy drink before he coughed out a number. “Fifteen.”

“Hundred?” Liam looked up from his cards.

“No, Thousand,” Will said gleefully. “Hey, we both thought hundreds, isn’t that funny?” He noted, giving Liam a drunk smile.

“Killian!” Liam shrieked, his knees bumping the underside of the table. Will’s stack of chips toppled over and he tutted under his breath, scrambling to right the towers in front of him.

“What?” Killian gave Liam a sheepish look.

“Do you think it’s because we are both so modest?” Will continued, prattling away to himself.

“Tell me our drunk magician here is lying,” Liam implored his brother, pointing his thumb in Will’s direction.

“Is it so hard to believe a woman would pay that much for sex?” Killian asked, trying to dodge Liam’s question.

“Uh, yes!” Liam yelled.

“Exactly why her husband is paying,” Will snorted through his laugh.

“Her husband?!” Liam coughed, eyes wide and hands forgetting the cards he had been dealt. He tossed them to the table and leaned closer to his brother.

“Will, can you just shut up, for one second in your life?” Killian growled.

“Oh, right, bite my head off! I’m only the one who got you the gig,” Will snapped defensively.

“I’m sorry, Killian, did he say her husband?” Liam blinked again, trying to comprehend Will’s little slip of the tongue.

“Yes,” Killian nodded, closing his eyes in anticipation of Liam’s inevitable rant.

“Is paying you fifteen thousand dollars to sleep with his wife?” Liam could hardly believe the words that were coming out of his own mouth, but here they were, discussing his little brother making more money than either of them could ever hope to comprehend in their lifetime. And for what? Fucking a rich wife?

“Yes,” Killian sighed.

“That’s each time too,” Will chimed in, peeking at Liam’s discarded cards.

“Who is he?” Liam squeaked.

“He can’t say. He signed a thing.” Will waved his hands, slumping back in his chair. “Are we going to play cards, or what lads?”

“WILL!” Killian and Liam bellowed in unison.

“Alright! Bloody hell,” Will scoffed. He crossed his arms over his chest and took a deep breath. “Didn’t want to make any money tonight anyway,” he muttered under his breath.

“You should see her, Liam,” Killian told his brother eagerly. He shuffled forward in his chair, finally discarding his own cards now he had no reason to need to distract himself. “She’s so unhappy in her marriage, I just wish I could take her away from it all.”

At Killian’s rambling confession, most likely because of the way his own alcohol intake has loosened his lips, Will choked on the last gulp of his beer.

“Woah, easy there, studly Jones,” Will warned with a cough.

“Should you be thinking like that? About a married woman, I mean,” Liam clarified but he already had his answer, it was plastered on Killian’s face.

He’d seen love once, had it even, but he never thought he would see the day that he saw it on his own brother’s face. Killian had never been the biggest, most imposing Alpha in the room, and he had never really so much as sniffed at a relationship before, but there was something about the way his eyes glowed, as if sparked to life by a divine light, that told Liam his brother might have just found his soul mate.

“All I've done is think about her,” Killian breathed, his heart constricting at the thought of Emma in his arms.

“Killian,” Liam said low, his voice even. He moistened his lips and rubbed the patch of stubble under his lip.

“I know, I know, but-” Killian protested.

“No buts, mate, love ‘em and leave ‘em, that’s the job,” Will reminded him with an arched brow.

“Maybe you just always want to ‘leave ‘em’ because ugly women pick you?” Killian snapped.

“Hey!” Will objected with a frown. “I’ll have you know I’m very popular.”

“Only because you’re an Alpha, mate,” Killian teased.

“And because you’ll stick your dick in anything,” Liam added with a grin.

“Yeah, remind me, how much to sleep with you again?” Killian smirked, ribbing him further.

“Alright, alright!” Will huffed, side eyeing both the brothers with a scowl. “I get it, I’m not as pretty as a Jones.”

“It’s alright, mate.” Killian leaned towards him, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “There is nothing wrong with that, right Liam?”

“Of course not,” Liam said as sincerely as he could, fighting his urge to crack a smirk as he rested his elbows on the table and leaned closer to Will. “One day you’ll find a woman who will leave the lights on,” he sniggered.

“Fuck off,” Will scoffed, laughter erupting from his mouth on his next breath.

Both Jones’ laughed with him, and he knew there was no malice behind their words. There never had been, throughout all the years they had known each other and through the entire duration of the same joke; Will was not, and never would be, as handsome as a Jones. But he had never minded, because the fact he was an Alpha was all he needed to excel in life. Even if most of his clients did, in fact, leave the lights off. Not that he was about to tell either Jones that.

“I’m happy when I’m with her and at a tremendously sad loss I can’t explain when I am not.” Killian scrubbed his hand over his stubbled jaw, recognizing his dilemma. “I know it sounds crazy, but I feel a connection with her, like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

“Like what? A mate connection?” Will frowned.

“I don’t know.” Killian shook his head, running his hands through his hair. “Gods, this is a mess.”

“Too right, mate,” Will scoffed, trying to dry off his chips.

“And this isn’t some sort of saviour complex. She doesn’t need saving, I just-.” Killian paused, a sad smile briefly gracing his face as he looked at his brother’s compassion. “I feel like I’d die without her, Liam, I truly do.”

“I’d prefer you alive, if that’s at all an option,” Liam told him softly but with a slight warning to his tone.

Killian balked a laugh. “I don’t think the husband has the time to do anything between work and his mistress.”

“How do you know that?” Liam challenged.

“What, that he has a mistress? He told me,” Killian shrugged. He reached for his beer, the chilled glass wet on the outside, and took a sip of the now warming liquid. “He’s a pig, Liam, an utter wanker. He doesn’t deserve her.”

“What a bastard.” Liam ground his teeth in anger. “Is she an Omega?”

“She isn’t.” Killian shook his head and Liam frowned, confused. “But there is something about her, Liam, I just know-”

“Shall I tell you what I know, little brother? She is a married woman, affluent by the sounds of it, and you are probably nothing more than her plaything.” Liam pushed himself to his feet and Killian watched him with utter sadness on his face. “But let me tell you what I don’t know.”

Killian’s head snapped up, as did Will’s, albeit with a little bit more of a sway. Liam paused, pinching the bridge of his nose and exhaling hard, causing Killian and Will to share a confused look as they waited for the rest of his words.

“I don’t know how she feels,” Liam smiled at his brother, who looked visibly relieved to know his brother was accepting his words.

Killian was more than confused by what his body was telling him and to know his brother was on board was a weight off his mind. Alpha’s were more attuned to their bodies and drawn to a mate based on scent, but Emma wasn’t anyone he should have been attracted to in the way an Alpha was to an Omega. There was her beauty, which was nothing to be scoffed at by any means, but it wasn’t the usual Alpha draw, and Killian couldn’t find what made him so attracted to Emma as hard as he tried.

“I told her I love her,” Killian confessed drunkenly.

“You did?” Liam’s eyes went bright.

“Oh boy,” Will gasped, then blew out a whistle.

“What did she say?” Liam asked earnestly.

Killian sighed, scrubbing his hands down his face. “She didn’t.”

“I guess that means you’ll have to ask her,” Will noted.

As if Killian needed any more of a sign, his cell phone started vibrating in his pocket and once he had retrieved it from the confines of his jeans, and seen Emma’s name on the screen, he paled and swallowed hard.

“It’s her,” he breathed.

“Well, don’t just stand there like a Beta, answer it!” Will yelled.

With a nod from Liam, Killian swiped his thumb across the screen and pressed the cold glass to his ear. For what felt like forever there was a pause and what sounded like a dead line, until he heard her smile and turned to walk away from his brother and rowdy friend.

“Hey,” he said softly, pushing his way through the empty tables towards the back of the bar. He had one finger in his ear to drown out the sound of Will cackling with glee.

“Hey,” Emma replied quickly, but her voice was filled with trepidation.

Killian frowned and he felt his stomach fall away from him. Worry overtook him instantly. Was it what he had said? Something her husband had said? Something changed in their arrangement that would stop him from seeing her again? “Are you alright, love?”

“Yeah, it’s just,” Emma paused, the silence on the line deafening. “Can you meet me? Like, now.”

“Of course,” Killian agreed without a second thought, his feet already taking him towards the exit.

“At the apartment,” Emma said softly.

“I’ll be right there.”

[let-it-raines]

If you're taking requests, how about: Killian Jones is known as radio 1s love doctor. Most of his calls are pretty lame, like the guy that called in when his girlfriend ghosted him for kissing too loudly, or the girl that saw her boyfriend snogging another girl at a rugby game. But things get interesting when he receives a call from a woman named Emma, who's got a crush on one of her new neighbors. She doesn't even know his name, much less how to talk to him...

I am 100% sure this “nonnie” is actually @wellhellotragic so she’ll have to forgive me that this isn’t angsty for her. It was going to start that way. It really was. But then I remembered that it’s @resident-of-storybrooke‘s birthday tomorrow, so the plot shifted when I realized I wouldn’t get the CMIYC prompt I wanted out for her. So hopefully angsty and baseball related things will be coming soon!

Happy (early) birthday, Tori! I’m giving you this a little early since I’m not entirely sure I’ll have internet tomorrow (thanks, storms)! Enjoy your day! This is obviously how to get the party started 🎉

found on ao3 | here |

-/-

“So, what do you think I should do?”

Killian twists in his chair and looks to Ariel on the other side of the glass. She shrugs and taps the imaginary watch on her wrist.

“Well, Ashely,” he sighs as he looks down at the notes he’s been taking, “I think the first step is telling your truth. It’s not going to be easy, especially with the situation you’re in, but you’re going to drive yourself crazy thinking of the possibilities of how things could change instead of actually changing them.”

“That’s kind of terrifying. What if – what if he doesn’t feel the same way?”

Killian leans back in his chair and adjusts his headset. “This is the father of your child, aye?”

“Yeah.”

“And you two were together at some point, correct?”

“When I was pregnant, but that was five years ago now.”

“And in the five years since you’ve had your child, you two have grown closer because you share this child. Nothing about it has been romantic or fueled by the desire to advance things sexually, and I think unlike when you first got together, you know each other now. There’s a genuine connection outside of your daughter and outside of a physical relationship. To me, it sounds like it’s worth starting a conversation, but you also have to realize this man is going to be in your life for the rest of your life because of your child. You have to be prepared for it to not go well and to still be able to put your daughter first.”

“Wow, way to sell the romance,” Ariel whispers in his headset.

He turns to her and flicks up his fingers. He’s not about selling unrealistic romance.

“Look, Ashely,” Killian starts again, “I understand that you’re scared, but I can tell that you’re strong. If anyone can have this conversation, it’s you.”

There’s a sniffle on the other end of the line. “Okay, okay. I’ll try. Thank you so much.”

“Think nothing of it, darling. Thank you for your call.”

“And commercial,” Ariel says again before he hears the sound of a local dry cleaner’s commercial coming on. God, he hates this one.

“I am not about unrealistic romance, and you know it,” he says to Ariel now that he can speak to her.

“Your nickname is the Love Doctor.”

“Which I did not pick. The network did that.”

“Because you give relationship advice for several hours a night.”

“Which was completely by accident and totally your fault for having us talk about you and Eric on air.”

She shrugs again, and Killian turns away to take a sip of his water. He’s got a lingering hangover from yesterday still, and he really should not have had that much rum. But he needed it, if he’s honest with himself, and it helped him get through the night much easier than anything else would have. The anniversary of Milah’s death is never easy, but at least this year he was able to get up the next day with only a nasty hangover.

“So our next caller is a kid.”

Killian almost chokes on his water. “It’s nearly midnight.”

“I know. I think he’s risking getting grounded to talk to you.”

“I don’t know how to give relationship advice to a kid. I feel like that’s entirely unethical. What do I – ”

“Oh, the commercial break is over,” Ariel tells him, holding up her fingers and counting down.

Three. Two. One.

“Good evening, this is Killian Jones at Radio 105. How can I help you tonight?”

“Um, hi. I’m Henry.”

Well, this is definitely a kid calling him. This might be a first for him, and he’s been on the receiving end of some interesting calls for the last six years.

“Hello, Henry. How can I help you tonight?”

There’s a cough on the other end of the line, and Killian thinks the call is about to be disconnected until the kid starts speaking again.

“My mom doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

Bloody hell. The kid is calling about his mum. Killian at least thought it was maybe going to be something regarding a dance at school or his first crush or anything that Killian could easily answer.

Then again, how was any question a kid was going to ask him ever going to be easy? He has exactly zero experience with children.

Well, no, he is pretty good with Roland. That counts for something.

“Well, lad, I think quite a few mums don’t have boyfriends. Are you looking for her to have one?”

“Yeah. I mean, look, I have a dad, but he and my mom have never been together. I don’t think they’re ever going to get together like that Ashely lady you just helped. My dad has a girlfriend, and I really feel like my mom would be happier if she had someone, too.”

“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” Ariel says.

He holds up his fingers at her again.

“Henry, that’s very kind of you to be so concerned about your mum. I can tell she’s raised a good kid in you, but I think this might be a situation where you have to let adults be adults. Maybe your mum is happy with it only being the two of you. She might not want a boyfriend.”

Henry sighs, and Killian already knows he’s told the kid the exact opposite of what he wanted to hear. Shit.

“She does want one. I heard her talking about this guy she likes to my aunt. He lives in our building.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve never seen him. I think he works at night like she does, but I know she said that he was cute.”

Killian chuckles and runs his hand over his scruff. This kid has got such good intentions, and really, Killian doesn’t want to let him down.

Maybe his hangover is screwing with his mind a little too much.

“Alright, Henry, I want you to listen really closely, aye?”

“Okay.”

“Your mum, if she likes this man, is going to have to tell him. Now, she might have already, but she could be keeping it quiet for a little while until she knows that he’s more than cute. But she also might not talk to him, and that’s a very real possibility. So, I think for you, Henry, the best thing to do is know that your mum doesn’t have to have a boyfriend to be happy. She’s got you in her life, and it sounds like you’re already her best man.”

“So what am I supposed to do?” he asks, defeated.

“Keep being a good kid. Do your homework, pick up your bedroom, eat your vegetables, keep making your mum smile. I can guarantee you’ll make her happy doing those things.”

“How do you know? Do you have kids?”

Killian chuckles and looks over to Ariel who has got the biggest grin on her face. “I don’t, but I have a friend with a son, and he loves when his son cleans up and behaves well.”

“Yeah, my mom is happy when I clean up, too.”

“Exactly,” Killian sighs. “Now, I think it might be time for you to go to bed. I don’t want you to get in trouble with your mum.”

“I’m at my dad’s. She doesn’t know I’m on the phone.”

“She’s a mother. She has her ways of knowing all.”

“Oh crap,” Henry gulps. “I’ve got to go. Bye.”

And then the phone line goes dead. “Well, that was certainly one of my favorite calls,” Killian says into the microphone with a slight chuckle, “now here’s the new James Taylor. Enjoy. I’ll be back for more calls soon.”

-/-

The thing about working at night is that when Killian goes places, they’re mostly empty. The gym has only a few night owls spread out across the machines, the roads are barren, grocery stores are ghost towns except for teenagers wandering around and a few people in their pajamas picking up medicine or other emergency supplies.

But then there’s him getting eggs and milk and having the entire frozen foods aisle to himself.

Well, almost.

There’s a woman standing a few feet down from him staring intently at the section of ice cream. She’s got long, blonde hair that’s curled and falls down her back, and the dress she’s wearing is sinful. It’s short and red, hugging every single curve of her body, and while he would expect her to have heels on, she doesn’t. Instead she’s wearing a well-loved pair of trainers, shoelaces tucked in instead of tied, and whoever she was wearing heels for is long gone.

If the ice cream perusal and last-minute change of shoes are any indication.

He wants to ask if she’s alright, but he knows that’s the lack of sleep talking and the fact that he’s spent the last few hours giving advice on the radio and listening to nearly every love song in existence. Killian isn’t an idiot, however, and he knows better than to approach a woman in the middle of the night. He’ll look like a stalker or someone trying to hurt her, and that’s not something he ever wants to do.

Being a gentleman and all that.

But then she turns, and he recognizes her.

She lives in his apartment complex, and God help him, he’s stared at her as she walks across the lobby who knows how many times. They obviously run in the same kind of circles, but he must have been missing her lately. It’s been weeks since he’s caught a glance at her, and that’s probably for the best. Nothing good can come of him admiring a woman he doesn’t know.

Nothing good can come of him admiring a woman for more than one night.

Killian quickly grabs a frozen pizza and a few healthier options even if he doesn’t think frozen meals can ever truly be healthy, and takes his basket to the front of the store where he’s checked out by the same older woman that rings him up every time he comes in here. She wears a different name tag each time, and she never corrects him when he calls her by the name. Today she’s Barbara, and she grunts her usual pleasantries before handing him back his bags.

He makes a last-minute decision to get a soda from the vending machine outside. He won’t drink it now, but it’ll be nice to tide him over between cups of coffee tomorrow. The machine eats his first dollar but accepts the second, and by the time he has a Diet Coke in his hand, his neighbor is also outside the store and heading back toward the parking lot as he does the same.

They pull out at the same time, but she gets on the road first. There are no other drivers out and about, and while Killian usually listens to something, his brain is too tired to listen to another song or a podcast or his follow-up host who is always far too chipper for such an awful time slot. The woman’s yellow bug pulls into a street parking spot, and he takes the one behind her, getting out with his groceries and his bag from work before walking toward the front entrance and hitting in the code. Only after he gets inside does the woman bother to get out and follow him inside.

Maybe she doesn’t recognize him in the way that he recognizes her.

“You dropped your gum.”

Killian stops and turns around at the sound of her voice.

“What?”

“Your gum.” She holds up a small container of his preferred-flavor. “It fell out of your bag onto the sidewalk outside.”

Killian looks down in his bag, sees that the gum is missing, and then steps forward to take it out of her hand. “Thank you, love. I appreciate that. Did you decide on a flavor of ice cream?”

Her eyes widen, and he can now see how unbelievably green they are. But he can also see the purple bags underneath them and the redness from an obvious lack of sleep.

What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he still analyzing her when he has now informed her that he was bloody staring at her in the store?

He very obviously needs to go to bed.

“Rocky Road.”

“Ah, I’m more of a fruit flavored ice cream man myself, but rocky road is a great choice.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Silence falls between them, and Killian thinks now is the time for both of them to turn their separate ways and never speak again. Tonight is simply two ships passing in the night, and they’ll rarely cross paths this closely again.

Unless…

“Killian Jones, 407.”

Her lips press into a straight line. “Emma Swan.”

He doesn’t fail to notice she doesn’t give her apartment number, but really, no sane person should be giving that out to a near stranger. He is apparently no longer sane. “Well, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Swan. I’ll let you go so your ice cream doesn’t melt.”

“It was nice to meet you, too. I hope you enjoy the, uh, gum.”

Killian bites his tongue to keep from chuckling. “Goodnight, love.”

-/-

Ariel sends him a link.

It’s to a Buzzfeed article about a kid calling into a radio show and telling the host that his mom has a crush on her neighbor and he wants to help her find a boyfriend. There are a Sleepless in Seattle gifs and references all throughout the article, and when Killian keeps scrolling, he sees tweets about the show and about Henry calling in.

Killian doesn’t use his own Twitter. He lets Ariel do it, so it takes him a few minutes to log in and get adjusted to the format that’s different than the last time he used it.

And to the fact that he’s got more notifications and followers than he’s ever had.

Is this all because of that one call?

He knows his program is popular, but it’s mostly popular in the greater Portland area with a few other cities picking it up. He’s got a podcast on Spotify that he does every week, and he knows that he works to get more listeners. This is a job he accidentally got into after working at a station at university, and he still thinks it can all be a load of shit, but a man’s got to make a living.

But this? Going viral over a call with a kid?

This was unexpected.

He immediately calls Ariel.

“Isn’t it awesome?” she screeches into the phone before he can even say hello. “Your social media following has gone up by 80%, and that’s just been in the five hours since that article was posted. Oh my gosh, we’re going to have to follow back up with this. Maybe we can get Henry back on the phone, and maybe we can somehow talk to the mom and have her talk to her neighbor. People would lose their minds.”

“A, I think you’re losing your mind. Calm down.”

“When in the history of telling me to calm down have I ever calmed down?”

Killian sighs and rolls over on his bed. “We cannot exploit this woman’s feelings for more ratings. I’m not doing that.”

“What do you mean? We do things like that all the time.”

“We do not think up segments and try to force someone to talk to their neighbor who they have feelings for. People call in for advice, for who knows what reason, and it’s their choice to take it or not. I do not force it on anyone.”

Ariel grumbles something unintelligible on the other end of the line. “I hate when you get all moral on me.”

“I like to think I’m always moral.”

“I’ve known you for ten years, Jones. I know that’s not true.”

His eyes shut and he runs his hand over his face, trying to rub away all of the memories that are trying to come back. He has no idea what time it is, but he knows that it’s too bloody early for all of that.

“Look, the kid’s mom doesn’t know we called. He’s going to get grounded for weeks if we call back. I want to do it off-air, approve it ahead of time, and if the lass says no, that’s it. We can still talk about it on-air, but we’re not going to invade her privacy.”

“As your producer, I think you’re missing an opportunity. As your friend, I think you’re doing the right thing.”

“And that’s the balance we always seem to strike.

-/-

No one answers when Ariel calls.

She is crushed.

He is relieved.

Every caller that night mentions his call with Henry.

Ariel says it’s the highest numbers they’ve had in years.

-/-

She’s at the grocery store again.

She’s looking at ice cream once more while he picks out another frozen pizza. He’s desperately got to get back into cooking actual meals again.

It’s been two weeks since he last saw her, and yet again, she’s in a tight dress, her hair and makeup perfectly done, but her feet are clothed in trainers.

“Run out of the last batch?”

She jumps at the sound of his voice, but then her shoulders fall and her head hangs down. “Ice cream doesn’t last long in my place. I should really buy the bigger containers, but then I’ll eat all of it at once and none of my clothes will fit.”

“So you simply buy a new, small container every few weeks?”

“Every week, but I try not to think about it too much.”

Killian chuckles, and he thinks there’s a small smile peeking at the corner of her lips. “Have you tried the Banana Split? I know you’re a Rocky Road kind of lass, but I have it on good authority that it’s an excellent flavor.”

She leans back against the glass and raises her brow. “Oh, really? Who told you that?”

“A very dashing man.” His brows move up and down on their own accord, and he knows he manages getting a smile from her all on his own this time. “I’ll buy you a pint, my treat.”

“I can buy my own ice cream.”

“Yeah, but I’m suggesting it, and if you don’t like it, I don’t want you having spent your money on it.” He opens the door she’s not leaning against, grabs two pints of the banana split, and then hands her one. “Have one on me, Swan.”

Her eyes roll, but she takes it. “Thank you.”

-/-

He sees her next the next day at the mailboxes in their lobby. It’s a different look for her, leggings and a sports bra with her hair pulled into a baseball cap, and she waves as he passes by before mentioning how much she liked the ice cream.

“Good” is all he manages to say in response.

-/-

Killian has off from the radio Saturday night. The station has moved him to only weekdays, so he tries to keep as normal of a schedule as possible. He wakes around eight, texts Liam to see how he’s been doing, goes to the gym, runs a few errands, and then is back in his apartment and doing laundry a little after noon. He sets up his equipment to do his podcast, and once that’s finished, he’s a free man.

A free man with no plans.

Scarlet is working at the bar, it’s Rob’s weekend with Roland, and Ariel and Eric are out of town for the weekend. He could call Liam again, but it’s nearly midnight in England now. Liam and Elsa are probably asleep.

Damn.

But maybe it’ll be nice to have a day to himself where he can catch up on whatever shows he’s been missing while straightening up the place. It probably needs a good deep cleaning, and he doesn’t know how he’s let it get as bad as he has. Liam’s Navy tendencies definitely rubbed off on Killian, and he desperately wants to curse his brother every time he spends far too long making his bed.

Killian puts Ozark on the television and starts cleaning, dusting the bookshelves and folding throw blankets before shifting around some of the records on the shelf opposite his books. Soon, it’s evening, and he stops wiping down his kitchen countertops to grab a pizza out of the freezer and pop it into the oven. When it’s finished, he nearly takes it to the couch to eat, but at the last moment, he decides to take his plate and his beer up to the apartment’s roof so he can eat at one of the picnic tables there and enjoy the early fall weather.

There are a few other people sitting around in the lounge chairs and at the table, and the elderly couple that lives on the first floor is tending to the garden they’ve set up that is producing the last of its goods. Killian nods at them before finding an almost empty table and settling down there.

“What kind of pizza is that?”

Killian finishes chewing his bite and turns to the kid sitting at the opposite end of the table. He’s ten, at most, and is wearing a Red Sox cap that’s too big for his head.

“Pepperoni,” Killian mumbles. “What are you eating?”

“My mom is making us hamburgers, but she’s making me eat a salad first. It’s gross.”

“Oh, come on now, a salad isn’t gross. You need your vegetables.”

The kid groans and leans back in his chair. “Are you just saying that because you’re an adult and that’s what you’re supposed to say?”

“Are adults supposed to say things like that, lad?”

He reluctantly picks a piece of lettuce off of his plate and puts it in his mouth. “My mom and my aunt say I have to eat vegetables. I don’t believe them.”

Killian chuckles and looks down to his plate, which has a distinct lack of vegetables. It’s his cheat day, but still, some lettuce wouldn’t kill him.

It’d do the opposite if it does what he’s telling this kid it does.

“I promise, vegetables are good for you. You’ve simply got to find some you like. I’m a fan of carrots and spinach. Have you ever had eggplant? You can make eggplant taste like a pizza if you want. The same with cauliflower.”

The kid’s nose scrunches up. “Is that what your pizza is made of?”

“No,” he laughs, “no, it’s not.”

“Henry, have you finished your – oh.”

Killian looks up at the sound of her voice, and that’s when he sees her. Today, her hair is in a set of double braids, she has on a white tank top and jeans that seem much more relaxed than her usual attire, and she’s holding a tray with several hamburgers on top of them.

God, she’s stunning.

Is this…is this her son?

And did she call him Henry?

Bloody hell.

This is the Henry from the phone call. He thought the kid sounded familiar when he first started talking, but he didn’t think too much of it. There was no way that the kid who called him and has had his show blow up with views and calls over the past few weeks lived in Killian’s apartment complex, and there’s really no way that his mum is Emma Swan.

What are the odds?

And who the hell in this apartment complex does Emma fancy?

No, no, that’s not any of his business, but he might need to tell the woman that her son is calling into radio shows.

Wait.

If Henry knows about his show, odds are he knows who Killian is. The little rascal.

“Hello, love,” Killian greets, flashing Emma a smile. “Your son here was just telling me about how he doesn’t like his vegetables.”

Her eyes roll, and she seems to unfreeze from the way she was stiffly standing above them. “We’re currently having a stalemate over vegetables, but Henry has to eat his salad before he can have his cheeseburger.”

“Mom.”

“Kid.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Henry, this is not a negotiation. Just because your dad didn’t make you eat any when you visited him doesn’t mean you don’t need them.”

Henry angrily stabs his fork at a few pieces and stuffs them in his mouth before Emma sits down and places the tray between them. “So, you decided to eat dinner up here, too?”

“Aye. I figured I’d enjoy the weather. I didn’t realize so many other people would have the same thought.”

“Everyone, apparently. Oh, the Banana Split ice cream was fantastic. Between the two of us, we ate it in a day.”

“It’s soooo much better than Rocky Road,” Henry mumbles with lettuce in between his teeth.

“It is rather good, isn’t it?”

“It’s great. Do you, uh, do you want a burger? I have extras.”

“Oh, I couldn’t impose, lass. I have my pizza.”

“You have frozen pizza that’s not even the good brand. Please, have a burger. There’s no way Henry and I will finish them all, and I had to do something with the meat before it went bad.”

Killian looks between his pizza and the burgers. They smell delicious, and really, he can have the pizza later. It’s just as good cold.

“I would love one, Swan.”

“Perfect.”

It’s surprisingly comfortable to sit and eat dinner with Emma and her son considering he barely knows them. He and Emma have spoken a few times over the past few weeks, but it was simple pleasantries. It wasn’t anything like learning that Henry is in the third grade and that Emma works in bail bonds, which explains her late nights. She doesn’t say anything definite, but he gathers that Henry’s father is barely in the picture despite Henry staying with him a few times recently, and while he’s curious, it’s none of his business.

She’s not asking him about his relationships, so really, what business does he have thinking about hers?

In the light of day, she seems kinder and less reserved than she is when he usually sees her. Happier, even.

“So what do you do?” Emma asks as she dabs her mouth with a napkin. “I forgot to ask earlier.”

“He’s on the radio,” Henry says.

And then the kid’s eyes go wide, and it seems that Henry has realized his mistake.

“And how do you know that?”

“Uhhhh, he said so.”

“I don’t believe he did. Do you listen to his show or something? Did you listen to him at your dad’s?”

“No.”

“Then how?”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Henry squeals before scrambling off the bench. “Can I have the key?”

Emma’s eyes narrow, but she still digs into her pocket and hands him the keys. “Do you have your phone with you?”

“Mhm. I’ll call you if I’m in danger.”

“Good. Now go even though I know you’re faking it.”

He giggles, but he takes the keys, quickly running to the door that takes him down the stairs. Killian can’t stifle his laughter, and Emma turns to look at him with her lips pressed into a straight line.

“Okay, what kind of radio show do you have, and why is my kid listening to it?”

Killian sighs and takes a sip of his beer. “I have a show that’s on between nine and two, at night of course, and people unfortunately call me ‘The Love Doctor.’”

“You’re not serious.”

“Oh, no, love, I unfortunately am. In between songs, people call in and ask for relationship advice, they share stories, we bring in experts, all of that, and, well, your son happened to call me a few weeks ago because he wants his mum to have a boyfriend. I, of course, did not know that the lad who called was your Henry until I met him an hour ago.”

The firm line of Emma’s lips has turned into a gaping, exasperated smile. “He did what now?”

Killian’s hand reaches up to scratch behind his ear. “He called. He said that you fancied someone in the building, and he wanted you to be happy. It was truly rather sweet. It’s been getting the show all kinds of attention, so I can get you a copy of the call if you want.”

Her cheeks are suddenly tinted with a beautiful shade of red, but they’re quickly hidden away by her palms. “Oh my God. Oh my God. He called in a show and asked for help getting me a boyfriend?”

“I was extremely charmed. My producer tried to call him back, so we could all talk off-air. He didn’t answer, and he probably knows he’s been caught in the act. That’s likely why he suddenly had to run to the restroom.”

Emma groans and leans down, burying her face in her hands as she mumbles something unintelligible. “How long ago was it?”

“About two weeks.”

“Fuck. That’s when he was with his dad, who apparently has a new girlfriend. That’s got to be why he called. I don’t – just, oh my God.” She finally looks back up at him, peeking through her fingers. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him to leave the adult things to the adults and to keep being a good kid because it sounded like he was a really good kid.”

“He is. Like, far better than I deserve. I didn’t think he’d be calling radio stations, though. I’m going to have to talk to him about this.”

Killian nods over Emma’s shoulder. “I think he’s decided to brave your wrath and come back.”

Henry sheepishly walks back up to the table and slides onto the seat. “Can we go get some more ice cream?”

-/-

Killian eats dinner with them again the next Saturday. It’s a coincidence once more, but this time they’re the only ones on the roof and choose to still sit together. Henry tells him about his week at school and fills in things Emma has told him about her work. Though, he already knew about some of it when they both got back to the apartment at the same time Wednesday night and talked for a few minutes.

It becomes a tradition of sorts, their Saturday afternoon meals. He offers to cook the next week, Emma offers the week after that, and he finds himself writing down new plans on his calendar for the foreseeable future. He doesn’t dare tell Ariel that he found their kid caller and his mum or that he would now call the both of them friends, but he does tell Liam.

Liam cannot stop laughing over the phone, but it’s still better than the all-consuming meltdown Ariel would have.

And really, Killian can’t blame him for his reaction. The two of them both know that Killian has been set in his routines for the past few years. He used to be more carefree, used to be capable of being a little more spontaneous, but then Milah died and having a routine was really the only thing that kept him sane.

It still is.

Even if he’s finding new things, or rather, new people, to fit into his routine.

-/-

“Killian, do you like Harry Potter?”

“I love Harry Potter. Why? Are you reading it?”

“We read it at night,” Emma explains as she puts a plate in front of Henry. He scrunches his nose up at the sight of peas, but it quickly passes. “We’re on the second one.”

“The Chamber of Secrets,” Henry says. “We’re almost finished, and I want to go buy the third one, but Mom won’t let me.”

“Well, do you have to have it before you’ve finished the second one? Then you might be tempted to read the next one ahead of time.”

“I promise I won’t.”

“Henry, can you go and get your Lego set from your room? Didn’t you want to show Killian the pirate ship you’re building?”

“What about my food?”

“It’ll still be here when you get back.”

He narrows his eyes at his mother. “Don’t eat my roll.”

“I’m not going to.” Emma crosses her fingers over her heart, this thing he’s noticed the two of them do. “Now, go.”

He nods and runs off before Emma turns her attention back to Killian. “He’s getting the box set of the books for Christmas, but he won’t stop pestering me about needing the third book right now. I’ve just got to hold him off for another week, but damn if it isn’t hard.”

Killian chuckles and stands from the table in order to fix his own plate, grabbing an extra roll to split with Henry. “Did he not put the books on his list for Santa? I know he was writing a letter.”

“No, he put things like a motorcycle and his very own airplane on his list for Santa. Luckily, there were a few more accessible things, too.”

Killian hums in response and rejoins Emma at the table. “I hope it’s alright, love, but I may have gotten the boy a notebook and some new colored pencils. He’s always drawing with mine when we have dinner there, and I figured it would be nice. But if you think that’s inappropriate, I can return them.”

“Killian, no,” she sighs as she reaches over and covers her hand with his, “that’s not inappropriate at all. That’s…I mean, that’s really sweet. I – ”

“You what?”

Her lips are parted into a pretty pink smile, but Killian can’t seem to focus on that. Instead, his attention is still drawn to the way her palm is resting against his knuckles and how he can feel each stroke of her thumb. This might be the first time Emma’s ever touched him, and there’s a heat that sparks along his skin and down his spine, settling in the pit of his stomach even as it swirls around.

Is this?

Is he?

Are they?

No.

“Killian, look!” Henry comes parading back in the room with a large ship made entirely out of Legos. “Look at this. Didn’t you say your brother has a big ship?”

“He does, but I don’t think it’s nearly as magnificent as this one. This is bloody brilliant, lad!”

“Yeah?”

“Of course. Did you do this by yourself?”

He shrugs, but there’s no denying the beam in his smile. “Yeah, but I followed the instructions. Do you want to see those?”

“Maybe after dinner, okay? We wouldn’t want your peas to get cold. I’m pretty sure you’ve grown at least a foot since you started eating vegetables, and we can’t stop that.”

“I’ve grown three inches this year.”

“Well, only a few more to go.”

-/-

It’s Christmas when Killian realizes he may possibly fancy Emma.

(When he realizes that he definitely does.)

(Without a doubt.)

He eats breakfast with Liam and Elsa over FaceTime and then goes to have lunch with Ariel and Eric before they travel to see Ariel’s parents for dinner. Will is out of town meeting Belle’s family, and Robin always spends Christmas in New York with Roland’s grandparents.

Killian should have gotten a ticket and flown home this year, but he was saving the money to be able to visit after Elsa gives birth in May.

It’s fine. This isn’t the first holiday he’s spent mostly alone, and it certainly won’t be the last.

He’s one glass of rum into one of his nicest bottles when there’s a knock at his door. It’s Emma and Henry. They’re both in pajamas, neither of their heads of hair tamed, and they’re holding a tray full of cookies with several Harry Potter movies stacked on top.

“Do you have a DVD player?”

-/-

ES: Did someone really call into your show asking how to choose between their wife and their mistress?

KJ: Indeed.

ES: I have got to listen to this thing. It seems like it can’t even be real.

KJ: I promise you that my show is real. And you really should listen to it. I know you like the sound of my voice.

ES: You keep on thinking that.

KJ: You know I’m on air now, right? You could always turn on the radio.

ES: I’m sitting in a restaurant, not a car. I need to focus.

KJ: And you don’t consider texting a distraction?

ES: Shut up.

His headset beeps, and Killian looks up from his phone to his computer screen to see that they have a new caller.

“Hello, this is Radio 105, and you’re speaking to the Love Doctor. How can I help you tonight?”

“Killian!”

Oh shit.

Henry.

“Killian, I need help! My mom is on a date tonight.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Killian sighs as he glances to Ariel and starts slashing his hand across his neck. He needs her to turn the call off, to go to commercial or something, but she’s not paying any damn attention to him. This is why he needs access to the full set of controls. “Lad, I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay? Can you do that? Like your mum tells you to do when you’re upset.”

“One,” Henry says. “Two. Three.”

“Good,” Killian says. “Now, can you please calmly tell me what’s going on?”

“My mom dropped me off at my dad’s house, and she was in a nice dress. She told my dad she had something to do, and later I heard him say that my mom was going on a date. But you’re at work, so she can’t be going on a date! She can’t go on a date when she likes you!”

Killian nearly knocks his coffee all of the controls.

Bloody hell.

“Oh. My. God.” Ariel screeches into his headphones.

Great. Now she’s paying attention.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh holy hell.”

He turns to her and motions for her to cut the call again, and she finally gets the hint and presses a few buttons until he sees that a song just started playing. He’s going to get hell for that, but he cannot have this conversation live on-air with Henry. He simply can’t.

“Henry, are you still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, good, so I need you to listen to me, yeah? Can you do that, lad?”

“I’m listening.”

“Your mum isn’t on a date. She’s working. You know how she has to get dressed up for work sometimes, aye?”

“Sometimes.”

“And you don’t spend that much time with your dad, so he probably doesn’t know that. But besides, Emma is an adult she can date whoever she wants to. Why would it have to be me?”

“Because you’re the guy she likes. From the first time I called. I didn’t know it was you, but it is. And I know she still likes you because she’s always asking you to dinner and texting you. She told Mary Margaret that she likes you, so she can’t date someone else. I don’t want her to date anyone else.”

“Hey, hey, Henry,” Killian soothes. His heart is beating a mile a minute, and his head is going in several different directions, but he can’t focus on himself right now. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Listen, I don’t know if your mum and I are ever going to go on a date, but I’m always going to be your friend. I’ll keep cooking dinner and reading books with you. We’ll go to the aquarium next week. Are you still wanting to do that?”

“Yeah,” he meekly whispers. “But I really want you to be my mom’s boyfriend.”

“Can I tell you a secret? I really want to be your mum’s boyfriend, too, but that’s not a decision just I can make. It’s up to her, too.”

Henry sighs, and Killian can so easily imagine him laying across his bed in the dark at Neal’s house. His nose is probably scrunched up just like Emma’s does when she’s frustrated, and if he had to bet, he’d say that Henry’s legs are dangling off and just barely touching the ground.

“Are you going to pick me up on Friday?”

“I will be at school waiting for you, lad. I promise. Now, go to bed before you get in trouble, and I will put my number in your phone so you can call me without having to call the show next time. Goodnight, Henry.”

“Goodnight, Killian.”

As soon as the phone line goes dead, Killian leans down and buries his face in his hands. He hears the studio door click open, a chair’s wheel creak, and he knows Ariel is in front of him without bothering to open his eyes.

“So, were you just never going to tell me that the woman and her kid who you’ve been hanging out with for the past seven months is the same woman and kid who made your show famous?”

“I didn’t know when he called.”

“What?”

“When he first called, I didn’t know who he was. He didn’t know who I was either. I’d seen Emma around the apartment a few times, but then we started running into each other at the grocery store after we both got off work. I figured it out when we were all eating dinner on the roof maybe two weeks after the call. I told Emma, so she knows, too. I just…this entire time I’ve assumed that the man she fancied was someone else. I never would have assumed it was me, but Henry? Henry says that it’s me.”

Ariel’s hand rests on his knee and squeezes. “Killian Jones, you are a catch, and that woman would be a fool not to be with you. What are you going to do?”

“God, I don’t know.” He takes a deep breath and leans back to run his hands through his hair and pinch the bridge of his nose. How the hell does he give people advice when his own life is such a mess? “I need to talk to Emma, tell her what Henry called me about. He was pretty freaked out. I can’t start anything with her without considering him. I don’t know how to navigate this. I should. Milah had a son, but she never let me meet him. I don’t know. I don’t know if I have any idea what I’m doing.”

“To me, it sounds like you know exactly what you’re doing.” She taps his knee once more. “We’ve got to finish the show. There’s only so much air-time I can fill with songs and me doing the commercial breaks. Do you think you can finish?”

All he does is nod.

-/-

Emma is waiting for him outside his apartment door.

She’s in her preferred red dress that she wears when she does one of her honeytraps, but she doesn’t have on the heels. Or her trainers. Instead, she’s without shoes, the heels flung next to her purse on the ground, and she’s got what looks like a takeout bag in the middle of all of it.

“Swan?”

She looks up and blinks. “I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry. I didn’t think he would do that again. It’s your job, and he shouldn’t have messed it up like that. I’ve got to give him your number so he can call you directly. He should already have it since you pick him up from school sometimes, but I didn’t think. I didn’t – ”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he soothes as he steps up to her and places his hands on her shoulders. His fingers trail over her skin, pushing the loose strands back until he’s tucking the ones around her face behind her ears so he can see her eyes. He’s never quite gotten over how green they are. “Henry didn’t do anything wrong. How do you know that he even called?”

“They had your show on in the restaurant I was waiting for my skip in. That’s why I texted you about the whole wife versus mistress thing. But was I literally putting the handcuffs on my skip as I heard my son’s voice freaking out about me being on a date. He knows I dress up for work sometimes. I don’t know why he let Neal get into his head like that.”

“Neal is his dad. He’s going to be influenced by him.”

Emma scoffs and leans forward until her forehead is resting against his nose. “Neal is going to break his heart one day. I just know it. He’s only been in his life for two years, and he’s already screwed up so many times. Henry just hasn’t realized it yet.”

“Henry is going to be just fine. He’s an excellent lad.”

“What kind of excellent lad calls into radio shows to talk about his mom’s dating life? He literally told you…oh my God, Killian, he told you that I liked you, didn’t he?”

He laughs into her hair and kisses the top of her head while his hands run up and down her back. Emma’s hands move up his back, nails scratching through his t-shirt. When did they get there?

More importantly, can they stay?

“He did.”

“Just lock me in my apartment forever. I’m ready to die of embarrassment.”

“Now, Swan, don’t do that. You’re not the first woman to fancy me. I’ve been told that I’m devilishly handsome after all.”

“Shut up.”

“No, no, I can’t, and after all, I have the same feelings for you.”

“You think I’m devilishly handsome?”

Killian chuckles into her hair once more before lifting her chin with the tip of his finger so he can see those green, green eyes once more.

“I think you’re beautiful, and I also think that I like you just as much as your son says you like me.”

He doesn’t even care that he sounds like he’s in primary school.

“Yeah, but – ”

There’s no point in bothering to let Emma finish her protest. She’s going to doubt his words, and really, if he’s learned anything about Emma in the past few months, it’s that she’s a woman who likes action over pretty words and promises. She likes for someone who is going to show up when he says he will and who isn’t going to back down.

Kissing her seems like pretty much the only way to tell her that he has no intentions of backing down.

Emma’s words are caught by his lips, and the first thing he feels is the vibration of them before she stops talking and settles her lips with his. They’re exactly as soft as they look, softer possibly, and the hairs on the back of Killian’s neck stand up as he realizes that this feeling, this euphoria, is him kissing Emma Swan.

He groans when she fully opens her mouth to him, the warmness of her melting into him, and his fingers find purchase in her hair, tugging and tilting just like he wants to. His tongue drags along her lip as her hairs fall over his neck and slip into his hair, tugging and pulling in her own way.

One other thing he knows about Emma is that she is not afraid to take charge.

But Killian likes that, too, likes getting what he wants, and right now all he can think about is backing Emma up to his door and kissing her in the way that she deserves to be kissed. Her tongue is warm when it slides against his. It’s a wet slide of heat and what he thinks is the slightest hint of whiskey and chocolate, but mostly, it’s all Emma. She’s kissing him exactly how he wants to be kissing her, and the heat between them simmers along his skin and down his spine until it settles.

If this is what kissing Emma Swan is like, he doesn’t know why he didn’t find the courage sooner.

Because he didn’t want to mess the first good thing he’s found in a long, long time. That’s why.

She pulls away with a gasp, but he can’t stop kissing her, can’t stop pressing his hips into hers and feeling the way she groans. His teeth drag along her jaw and her neck until he settles at her ear, and the sound she makes is so damn delectable that he loses his own breath. That’s only for a moment, though, because then she’s opening her legs so he can settle into her space while he’s licking the lobe of her ear and groaning himself.

“Oh my God.”

“I’m very tempted to make an awful joke right now, love.”

She laughs at the same time that her hips press down against his hardening length, and she’s definitely trying to kill him.

“I have a ten-year-old. I’m used to the bad jokes.”

The thought of Henry sobers Killian, and he noses at Emma’s collarbone and the swell of the top of her breast before pulling himself up and putting enough space between them so he can look into her eyes and speak without his lips brushing against hers.

He does not, however, remove his hand from her ass.

He is, decidedly, not always the gentleman he claims to be.

“We can stop right now, Emma,” he tells her. “We can stop right now, and things will go back to how they were. I told Henry earlier that I will always be his friend, and I think right now, I need to tell you the same. No matter what happens from this point forward.”

Emma swallows and nods, but her fingertips are still brushing against the nape of his neck. It feels fucking fantastic, and he doesn’t know what he’ll do if it all stops.

“If someone else said that to me, I don’t think I’d believe it, but with you, I do.” Her head tilts back against the door, and she smiles that beautiful smile of hers. “And if you ever do something to hurt that kid’s feelings, I will kill you.”

“Of that, I have no doubt, darling.”

“Good. Now stop talking and take me inside your apartment. I want to get your pants off.”

He arches his brow. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” she laughs with a role of her hips. “Yeah, I do.”

-/-

“Well,” Killian sighs into the microphone, “it’s been quite a night, hasn’t it? I hope everyone has found the clarity they needed for their relationships, no matter where those relationships stand. I also hope you’ve heard some damn good music.”

The instrumental music that plays him out at the end of every show starts coming to an end, and Killian smiles, knowing what’s waiting for him in a little over an hour.

“Oh, and one last thing. Does everyone remember our favorite kid caller, Henry? He’s been getting some frequent flier miles over here lately, hasn’t he? Well, I’m happy to report that his mother has that boyfriend now, the one in her apartment complex she fancied. I think Henry might be taking over my name as The Love Doctor.”

[underatedcharactersunite]

Anticipation

Summary; In Rumple's life, he's typically the one to give presents to those he loves dearly. What happens when one year you decide to return the favour. Prompts; “Come on! Can I open just one?” Pairing; Rumplestilskin X Female Reader WordCount; 897 Warnings; Fluff, 

☃️Previous☃️   🎄Next🎄

Rumple adored to spoil you. It didn't matter what the time of year was. It didn't matter the occasion Rumple loved to shower you with gifts. You were the love of his life. Rumple would give you everything the entire world had to offer. Nothing was too small or too big. So as Christmas began to drift ever closer, you knew exactly what Rumple was going to do.

You adored whatever gift Rumple gave to you, primarily because you knew that he thought about every gift. Whether the gift shared a story or a moment within your relationship, each gift felt like a little time capsule that would take you back in time to a certain moment or place.

This year you wanted to return the favour to Rumple. this Christmas you were going to purchase as many meaningful gifts as possible. You knew as you strolled around Storybrooke that it was going to be a difficult challenge. First off, what you were up to could easily be reported back to Rumple. Secondly, running into Rumple was always a huge possibility. There was one moment where you almost caught.

"Dearie, what brings you in here? I thought you were supposed to be helping Henry with his homework over at Emma's." Rumple questioned as he approached you in a store that you were currently in with Mary Margaret.

"She is. She was just helping me with making a final decision with one of David's Christmas presents. You know, it doesn't matter how long we've been together he's always been difficult to buy for," Mary Margaret chimed in, she was honestly your guardian angel. You didn't desire Rumple to know what you were up to just yet.

From that day on you made sure to be extra careful when it came to being out and about searching for the perfect Christmas presents for Rumple. Slowly but surely underneath the tree, a stack of presents began to grow. At first, Rumple didn't even acknowledge what was occurring underneath the brightly coloured Christmas tree. He appeared too busy to enquire about the ever-growing stack of presents under the tree. However, that was until one-day curiosity got the better of him.

"Why is there a large pile of presents by the Christmas tree? I thought we were storing everyone else's in the spare room for now." Rumple questioned as you casually made a hot drink. It had been freezing when you'd be out and about earlier also it dubbed as an excuse not to make eye contact with Rumple.

"The other's are in the spare room. I thought we agreed to put ours by the tree so we didn't get confused like we did last year" You wondered casually as you took a sip fo the warm drink that warmed your entire body. Rumple glanced at the tree and then back at you puzzled.

"But I haven't started getting your Christmas presents yet." It was unique to witness Rumple so confused for a change. In the past, it had been you scrambling for reasoning by all of the presents with your name on it. As you sat down on the couch comfortably, you smiled at Rumple.

"That's why they all have your name on the tag"

For weeks afterwards, Rumple watched the pile closely as it steadily began to grow. It was unusual to see Rumple so perplexed over something, after all, it's intelligence and love for trickery was legendary. The longer time went on, the longer the anticipation consumed Rumple.

Every time you brought home a bag of any size whether it was a food bag from Grannies or a bag you needed to get something home, Rumple was curious. The majority of the time you laughed and quickly pulled out whatever you brought home, the other occasions you slid past him with a grin on your face. It was enjoyable to witness his reactions when the shoe was on the other foot.

So when Christmas Eve finally arrived, Rumple was almost jittery. As you got ready to go around to Emma's to spend Christmas Eve with the other's, Rumple thought about the tradition you had started with Henry. On Christmas Eve you allowed Henry to open one present from yourselves. In your mind, it created anticipation for the possibilities that tomorrow could bring. It was also a reward to Henry for being so patient. You mentioned to Rumple that you had always been impatient whenever Christmas came. So when you saw Henry anxiously waiting you decided it was the perfect antidote.

Rumple knew that if he asked you there was a chance that you'd say no. After all, you'd be working so hard lately to go out of your way to see that Rumple enjoyed Christmas. No one had ever considered doing that for him before. However, you had mentioned to Rumple on many occasions that if someone didn't ask, how were they going to get anywhere.

"Everything okay? You've been staring into space for the past couple of minutes." You questioned as you walked towards him.

"I was just admiring the tree. There are a lot of presents underneath that tree"

"There is, it's a pity that we have to wait until tomorrow." By now you'd already caught on to what Rumple was trying to invertedly ask you. Never witnessing Rumple desperate for anything, a little teasing couldn't hurt, could it?

“Come on! Can I open just one?” Rumple examined suddenly, the shock of your statement caused you to jump. The teasing had affected him quicker than you originally intended.

"Of course you can, why didn't you just ask" With that, you both headed towards the tree to retrieve something small for Rumple to open. You were definitely going to this again next year just to witness his reaction...

[frauleinsmaria]

Signed, Sealed, Delivered {1/1}

Summary: Emma is frustrated with where she's at in life, and even more frustrated with her job as a retail manager. Killian is the UPS driver who starts making deliveries at her workplace. And maybe, somehow, their brief interactions every week mean more to each other than they ever expected.

Rated T, includes references to sexual misconduct.

A/N: Kicking off @csseptembersunshine with this story I’ve been sitting on for a while! Just for clarification, the premise was based on my job as a retail manager, and the sleazy UPS driver I have to deal with on a regular basis. So, of course, I had to write a fic where Emma is me but instead gets the hot, polite driver me and my coworkers have always wanted. I know it’s a little weird, but I am pretty proud of the end result, and I hope you enjoy reading it!

Major thanks to @thejollyroger-writer and @scientificapricot for providing beta duties, @shireness-says for the title and the store name (I’m letting you name everything for me now), and @let-it-raines for bringing up the “frost yourself” thing and inspiring the rom-com element. You’re all fantastic humans, and I appreciate you immensely. 

Also on AO3

-/-

Tuesdays were the worst. That’s how everyone seemed to feel about Mondays, but Emma didn’t mind those quite so much. After getting her one guaranteed day off every week on Sunday, it was a bit easier to come into work the next morning, semi-well rested and ready for a new week.

The same couldn’t be said for Tuesdays, though. Retail was far from booming at the first of the week (which Emma understood; shopping wasn’t exactly high on her list of priorities until the weekend.) Any project Elsa or Anna gave her to work on was usually simple and completed within a relatively short amount of time. So that often left her with far too much time with nothing to do but refold the same shirts, wipe down the same counters, and scroll through the same posts on her Instagram feed while waiting for business to come or her shift to end.

Emma was grateful for her job at Crystalline. She’d been looking for a new job for almost six months when Mary Margaret suggested she reach out to the Frost sisters to ask if they needed an additional cashier at their boutique during the previous holiday season. And after working there for three months, Elsa and Anna offered her a promotion to become their assistant manager. She hadn’t hesitated before accepting. Not only would the position come with a small raise, but also additional responsibilities to help her feel like she had a purpose in a season of life that seemed so monotonous and uncertain.

Turns out, though, there weren’t really a lot of added responsibilities she didn’t already have as a cashier. Sure, she had a key to the store and acted as the manager on duty for a few hours every day before or after Elsa and Anna’s shifts. And she could tell one of the part-time employees to do something and be taken a bit more seriously. Sometimes. But unless it was around a holiday or a weekend that brought in a significant amount of business, Emma found herself spending most of the day trying to conceal her boredom. The store was a typical boutique that sold mostly women’s clothes, shoes, and accessories, meaning there were significantly less tasks and responsibilities than she’d have being a manager at a corporate store.

The store had been open for less than an hour, and she was on her third cup of her coffee and hot cocoa mix since arriving earlier to open. It was only she and Jasmine working this morning, since Anna had taken the day off to celebrate her husband’s birthday with him, and Elsa didn’t come in until after lunch since she would be closing tonight.

Emma took her thermos to the front of the store and propped herself up against a rack of overpriced shirts. (They sold few things in Crystalline that she could afford at full price. Thank goodness for her employee discount at least.) It was her typical method of trying to look like an attentive supervisor when she was too tired to walk around or even stand straight up. No one had yet to call her out on it, which she took as a sign she was doing something right.

Jasmine stood in the middle of the sales floor by the cash registers, dusting and wiping down every surface regardless of whether it actually needed to be done. Emma hadn’t had the heart to tell her she was saving that as part of her personal list of things to do to keep her preoccupied later when Jasmine left for the day. But they’d had a grand total of two customers since opening, a pair of older ladies who looked around for approximately thirty seconds before leaving. She couldn’t blame Jasmine for wanting to stay busy.

While Jasmine dusted the jewelry counters, Emma sipped her now lukewarm drink and composed a mental list of everything that needed to be taken care of after work. A trip to the grocery store was unavoidable; she’d put it off for too long now and had been stuck with peanut butter crackers for breakfast as a result. The clothes she’d washed and dried the day before needed to be folded and put away. And she needed to write. Even if it was only a few hundred words based off of a random prompt she found online. Something was better than nothing, and nothing was all she’d done lately when it came to any of her stories.

“Five hundred words,” she muttered to herself. “You just write five hundred words tonight, and you can start the new season of Queer Eye.” Priorities. Some days she had to take motivation wherever she could find it.

The next half hour or so elapsed with little activity other than overhearing Leroy yell at Deputy Humbert across the street over what sounded like a parking ticket. It was mid July, and Emma could make out the sweat beading on Leroy’s brow if she concentrated enough. (At least she did have the bonus of being in an air conditioned space all day.)

To be fair, he knew damn well not to park his truck in front of a fire hydrant. Part of Emma couldn’t help but feel for Graham as Leroy hurled insults at him, even though thinking about him came with an inevitable feeling of discomfort now. The two of them had gone out a handful of times a few months prior. Each date had been a bit worse than the last as she came to realize she had zero romantic interest whatsoever for Graham, but hadn’t known how to say as much without hurting him. The moment she came clean was incredibly awkward, and he had avoided her ever since, something easier said than done in a small town. It didn’t help that she was close friends with the sheriff and his wife, meaning Graham was often mentioned when David shared recent stories about work at their weekly dinners together.

Her attention was taken away from Leroy and Graham with the arrival of the UPS truck outside. Emma sat her coffee to the side and went to prop open the door for the driver, more than familiar with this routine after her seven months on the job. They received deliveries several times a week, packages containing everything from new merchandise to supplies and equipment for the store. The days on which these deliveries happened varied by the order date and shipping location, but they almost always took place later in the morning following any drop-offs to Dark Star pharmacy and Storybrooke’s Animal Shelter up the road.

Emma heard the truck’s back door open as she used her foot to set up the door stopper. She hoped today’s drop off would be quick. Over the past few months, deliveries had been made by the same man —  Walsh, she thought she remembered hearing — who went out of his way to hit on her, calling her “baby” and “sweetheart” and sticking around to make uncomfortable conversation that she wanted no part in.

She’d come close to calling him out for it several times. Telling him “Ms. Swan is just fine, thank you,” or that she needed to get back to work. But it was the fact that she was working that always stopped her. There were a number of ways he could react to being told off. She had learned the hard way how badly men could react if their advances were rejected. Emma was hesitant to cause a scene in front of customers, despite knowing Elsa and Anna would take her side should anything happen. The joys of being a woman in retail.

Stepping back from the door, she glanced up to see the man pushing a hand truck stacked with boxes in her direction. The reluctant “Good morning” she’d prepared for Walsh died on her lips as she took him in. Because this wasn’t Walsh.

The man wearing the standard brown button up and matching pants had never made a delivery to the store, at least not during one of her shifts. She would have remembered his head of dark, messy hair and blue eyes that met her own as he reached the store’s entrance.

“Good morning, lass.”

Of course he would be English to boot. It was almost unfair.

“Morning,” she replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

“This is my first run in this part of town, but I do believe I’m at the right place.”

“If it’s 723G Greene Street, then it’s ours.” She noticed the familiar logo printed on the side of the cardboard boxes. “Unless there’s another clothing store I don’t know about nearby that also sells Steve Madden.” This must have been the new sneakers Elsa mentioned ordering a few weeks earlier.

“Aye. What I saw of the pharmacy and the animal shelter makes me think anything here wouldn’t fit well.” He gestured around the storefront. “Where would you like these?”

Emma stepped back and nodded to an open space at the window. “Here’s fine. We’ll probably need to make some room in the back office before they’ll fit with the rest of the new inventory.”

It was difficult not to stare while he stacked the boxes up where she’d indicated, the fitted uniform showing off the taut muscles in his arms and shoulders. (The pants suited him too. Not that she’d admit to paying attention.) When he’d finished, he unclipped a device from his belt and offered it to her. She’d done this enough times to know how it worked, quickly using the attached pen to scribble her last name on the blank line before handing it back.

“Thank you, Miss,” he glanced down at what she’d written, “Swan.” He smiled back up at Emma. “Quite the unique surname.”

She didn’t respond, only smiled politely as he clipped the device back to his belt and turned with the hand truck in the direction of the open door. It was better than, Thanks, I chose it myself, which was all she could think of to say. Not the best can of worms to open with a stranger.

He paused just before stepping out the door and turned back to Emma. “Perhaps I’ll be seeing you again? For future deliveries, I mean,” he added when her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Oh. Yeah. Maybe.” Such a smooth talker she was.

The man gave her a quick nod before exiting the store, a long list of delivery stops probably awaiting him. Emma watched from the window as he climbed back into his truck and drove off, disappearing around the corner.

Part of her mind was preoccupied with the fact that she’d never seen a UPS truck with its doors closed before. Shouldn’t that be a safety hazard? It was more than likely time efficient for deliveries, but she wasn’t sure if there was a point in saving time if your life was going to be threatened in the process. Storybrooke had its own breed of crazy drivers too.

The other part hoped the driver was right about seeing her again.

Emma thought about him more than she would like to admit over the next few days. The lilt of his accent, the lines around his eyes that crinkled when he’d smiled at her. She felt more than a little ridiculous for noticing such specific details after a single encounter lasting all of five minutes. If only she could have that level of concentration when it came to writing. She’d gone home that night and tried to muster up a few hundred words of something, anything. Instead she had stared at the blank screen in front of her and questioned if there was even any point.

Regardless, it was a poor decision to even give him more thought. She reminded herself of this as she went through her usual routine to open Crystalline again on Friday morning. The only information she had on the man was what he did for a living, and a vague idea of where he was from if the accent was anything to go by. For all she knew, he lived a nice, white-picket fence life with a partner, a few kids, and maybe a dog.

(He looked like a dog person. Emma believed that was something you could easily determine.)

And yet her pulse did something she refused to acknowledge when he entered the store around the same time that he’d come on Tuesday. There were several packages today, at least four or five stacked on the hand truck he pulled in behind him.

Emma approached him as he stacked the boxes at the normal spot by the window. “So you did make it back after all.”

He glanced up and her and smiled. “Indeed. It appears from the looks of it that this area is going to be part of my regular route for the time being. I hope that’s alright with you,” he added, one eyebrow inching toward his hairline. There was a hint of teasing in his remark, although it seemed to be genuine too.

It was more than alright with her eyes. Her nervous system, maybe not so much. “I think we can manage that. If you can deal with all this excitement.” She gestured to the empty store. He was the first person to enter that day besides Elsa and herself an hour earlier.

The smile on his face remained, thankfully. It would have been awkward had he not understood her sarcasm; that happened with Walsh a few times. “Sounds tricky. But I do love a challenge.”

Emma struggled with a response but came up short. If only he knew how many challenges she could present.

“Crystalline, eh?” he asked, glancing around the store. “Interesting choice. It means having the structure and form of a crystal, right?”

Was he a walking dictionary or something? “Uh, yeah, I think so. The owners’ last name is Frost, and they wanted to name the store something that went with it, so, like, ice crystals.”

“I see. It’s certainly an easy name for me to remember.”

“When Elsa first hired me, I made the joke that they should have gone with Frost Yourself since we sell jewelry, but she didn’t get the reference until I showed her a clip from the movie.”

“How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?” he answered, as if on cue.

It seemed this man was full of surprises. “That’s the one.” What were the chances that she’d come across a guy who shared her love for mediocre rom coms from the early 2000s? She’d tried to watch Love Actually with Graham once; he’d yawned the whole time.

A moment of silence passed between them. Emma looked down at the device she still held and realized he was waiting for her to sign for the delivery. Of course he wasn’t standing there to make idle conversation, he had a job to get back to. Like the last time, she quickly signed on the screen and returned the device to him.

“Have a nice day, Miss Swan.”

“You too, um—” she paused, not wanting to call him “UPS guy” to his face.

“Killian Jones.” She took his hand when he offered it. But instead of shaking hers, he briefly brought it to his lips.

Emma took a sharp intake of breath that she hoped wasn’t audible. The only time she’d ever seen a man kiss a woman’s hand was in one of those period movies Mary Margaret made her watch every now and then.  

But she didn’t necessarily mind it. Maybe more men should take notes from their predecessors. Or rather, the actors playing them. Technicalities.

“Right. You too. Have a nice day, that is.”

He flashed her another smile before leaving. Emma watched him return to his truck, not hearing the footsteps coming up behind her.

“I didn’t realize we were getting so friendly with the new UPS driver.”

She jumped and turned to see Elsa, who sported a knowing grin. “Clearly that paperwork didn’t take as long to get through as you’d expected.”

“No, and I’m glad,” said Elsa. “Otherwise I would have missed your little interaction just now.”

“What was there to miss? He just dropped off a few packages, one of which I hope is wrapping paper refills. Regina wasn’t exactly nice a few days ago when I explained that we only had two options for her to choose from, and neither were red.”

“She should just be grateful she got it wrapped for free. Beggars can’t be choosers. But back to my point,” Elsa continued. “He kissed your hand, and you looked like you wanted to devour him.”

Oh no. “Did I really?”

“I don’t blame you; he’s gorgeous. Although I can’t exactly allow said devouring to take place on the sales floor, even though it would probably add some much needed excitement to our day.”

“Ha ha.” She hope Elsa wouldn’t notice her cheeks reddening; it would only make the teasing worse. And she had been one of the few people who never tried to set Emma up with someone or meddle in her love life. “Don’t even get started with me about Killian, though. He’s just our UPS driver. I’ll probably see him for a collective five minutes a week max.”

“If you say so. But if you have a chance at any time during those five minutes, can you find out if he has a brother?”

Anna’s head popped up from behind the shoe fixture she’d been reorganizing. “Who has a brother? Is he cute?”

“You’re married,” Emma and Elsa reminded her in unison.

Anna rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate a nice face. I’ll make it a point to be lurking the next time I see him come by.”

Despite Elsa’s insistence, the chances of finding out anything else about Killian during his deliveries were minimal. Something told Emma it wasn’t a great idea to play twenty questions while he was trying to unload packages.

At least she had a name to put with the face now. A very nice face (thanks, Anna) that she thought about often that night while she ate pretzels and watched Pride & Prejudice without any prompting from Mary Margaret. She even added a few paragraphs to one of her old short story drafts afterward. Maybe something was changing.

But even if the perceptions she’d inadvertently made were inaccurate, even if she knew more about him (or even knew him well), that didn’t mean getting to know him more than necessary was the best idea for either of them. She already received enough pity or disdain — sometimes both —from everyone else in Storybrooke. The girl who moved back home after a horrendous breakup no one knew the details of. The unsuccessful college student who’d dropped out her junior year to find herself working retail to keep a roof over her head. If only they knew.

So, yes, it was better to keep her distance. No matter what her pulse did when she saw him approaching. Or when he’d kissed her hand. Distance was best for everyone.

But distance was tricky to maintain when someone frequently came to the place where she spent most of her time. Killian made deliveries twice the following week, and three times during the one after. (Thankfully, those deliveries always happened while Elsa and Anna were busy elsewhere.) Each of their additional encounters were similar to the first, brief but with enough friendly conversation that only made her want to know more about him: What made him start driving with UPS? When had he moved to America and why? What did he like to binge watch on Netflix? Was he single?

That last question wasn’t one Emma truly needed answered. She was just curious. They were getting somewhat friendly, and friends knew these things about each other. Didn’t they?

Regardless, something about Killian Jones captivated her in a way she couldn’t explain. And she wasn't sure just how to feel about it.

As summer ended, the new fall merchandise quickly began arriving. Their tank tops and sandals were replaced with sweaters and boots Killian brought in, not to mention beanies, scarves, and jackets Emma knew she would take advantage of once the temperature dropped. On one of the first cool mornings, Killian made his delivery wearing a standard UPS jacket over his regular uniform. How he still managed to make the bulky brown option look good was something she couldn’t understand.

The two of them continued to make casual conversation when he came by, often on a number of different topics depending on the day. There was one Wednesday morning she’d worn a blush colored blouse and he made the comment that he was glad she’d remembered to wear pink. And another day when something he said reminded her of that one quote from Legally Blonde. It seemed he shared her affinity for 2000s rom coms after all. She would have to ask him about that sometime when she wasn’t overthinking every one of their interactions.

One of the biggest downfalls to retail was working almost every weekend. Emma seldom, if ever, had a Friday night or Saturday free without requesting to be off several weeks in advance. She didn’t always mind. It wasn’t as if she had a long list of prospective plans to keep her busy. And even when she did have to work, her friends occasionally talked her into doing something after the store closed, regardless of how exhausted she was or how much she’d be kicking herself for it in the morning.

Her free Saturday in October just so happened to be the weekend of Ruby’s thirtieth birthday. Her friend typically liked to do something big for the day, like a trip down to Boston or New York. This year, however, Ruby had surprised everyone by asking that they meet up at The Rabbit Hole. Her and Mulan’s wedding was the next Sunday, and they both were too swamped with the last of the wedding planning for her to feel up to doing more.

Emma found herself sitting between Mulan and Belle at the large table they’d chosen in the middle of the bar, sipping at her drink as her friends teased Ruby about being another year older.

“You do realize you’re two years older than she is, don’t you?” she reminded David after he made a joke about people in their thirties, which also should have applied to him.

He shrugged. “That’s beside the point. It’s not my birthday.”

“No. But it will be in three months, which means I’m gonna start preparing all kinds of old man jokes for you now.”

“Why do I have the feeling my wife is going to join you on that?”

“Because I most definitely am,” Mary Margaret piped up from her seat on his other side.

As much as she preferred staying home in front of the TV on her nights off, Emma had to admit it was nice getting to go out and have fun without waking up early for work the next morning. Most of the people who’d shown up to celebrate Ruby were ones she hadn’t seen in far too long.

It was hard to ignore how Graham insisted on keeping his distance from her, sitting at the far end of the table and looking away if she merely glanced in his general direction. But if that was how he chose to act, then fine. She’d done her best to break things off as amicably as possible; it wasn’t her fault he’d chosen to become so bitter.

They’d been at the bar a little over an hour when two men entered the room. The one in front, blue eyed with dark curly hair, glanced over at their table, a look of recognition in his eyes when he caught sight of David. Her friend waved him over, and it was only when he started approaching that Emma got a look at the person he’d arrived with.

“Killian?”

He did a double take when he saw her, eyes widening before his lips parted into a wide grin. “Hello, Swan.”

The other man paused in the middle of the conversation he’d just started with David and looked between the two of them. “Little brother, you two know each other?”

Emma could see the resemblance now that the relationship was clarified: Killian and his brother didn’t look identical by any means, but they had they same defined cheekbones and blue eyes, although Killian’s were still bluer somehow, probably a result of the dark blue button down shirt he wore.

(It was a bit odd to see him in something besides his standard brown uniform. Not that she was complaining. Not at all.)

“Liam, you ought to know by now that there are few people in town I haven't made deliveries to at some point or another. Emma works at Crystalline.”

“The one the Frost sisters own?” It was hard to miss the way the man — Liam, she supposed — perked up at the mention of her bosses.

“Yes, that’s the one Elsa owns, since I know that’s what you were really asking.”

Well, this was interesting. Elsa had no idea that she was onto something when she’d joked about Killian having a brother.

She turned back to David and Liam. “So, how do you two know each other?”

“Liam’s daughter is in Leo’s class at school,” David explained. “I hear stories about Harper every day. He loves her.”

“Bloody hell, don’t tell me that! I thought I had at least another decade before she and I would have to discuss boys.”

The two of them continued to chat about their children while Emma became fixated on Killian again. She wanted to say something to him, but what? That it was nice to see him outside of her workplace? She hated forced small talk and didn’t want to trap either of them in an awkward conversation.

She went back to what David had just said about Liam having a daughter, and the comments he and Killian had made that hinted he was interested in Elsa. A quick glance at his left hand showed that he wasn’t wearing a ring, but that didn’t necessarily mean much. Could she broach the subject to Killian without appearing to cross a line? Elsa may be her boss, but Emma also considered her a friend. Maybe she was sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, but she’d want someone to do the same for her and spot any potential red flags.

Emma’s train of thought was broken by Mulan getting up and walking over to the jukebox. Soon, the opening notes of “Single Ladies” played from the speakers, and Mulan came back over to drag Ruby to dance.

Emma glanced back at Killian. He looked somewhat shy standing there alone, one hand in the front pocket of his jeans and the other scratching behind his ear. Liam had clearly abandoned him for a conversation with David, probably discussing Leo’s intentions with his daughter.

“You can have a seat if you want,” she told him, nodding to the now empty seat beside her. “Something tells me the lovebirds won’t be coming back any time soon.”

“Something tells me you’re right. I’d hate to be a bother though,” he added, seeming to notice the space (or lack thereof) between the now empty seat and her own.

“No bother. Plus, the bar stools here are ridiculously uncomfortable.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

It wasn’t until he sat down beside her that Emma was aware of just how tightly the chairs had been packed around their small table. Killian’s right thigh and shoulder were nearly pressed against her own. It normally would not have been a situation she’d object to, but she now realized how much personal space she was sharing with an attractive man she barely knew (and had embarrassed herself in front of on at least one occasion.)

“I can’t get over the irony of Mulan choosing a song that basically celebrates being single to dance with her fiancee to,” Emma blurted out when it occurred to her. “And a few weeks before their wedding at that.”

“Something tells me she’s too inebriated to care considering they’ve made their own dance floor in a bar that doesn’t actually have one.”

“Touche.”

They both laughed. Maybe making conversation with him outside of work was easier than she’d assumed.  

“I take it you have the night off?” he asked. “Not to sound intrusive; I just noticed the list of store hours on one of my last deliveries.”

“I do. Saturday’s off are few and far between for me, so I try to make the most of them. Tonight, that’s celebrating my friend’s birthday even though she’s clearly done paying attention to any of us.” They both glanced back over at Mulan and Ruby, who had started slow dancing in the middle of the room. Emma wouldn’t be surprised if they made an excuse to leave soon, Ruby’s birthday celebration be damned.

“I understand about your weekends,” said Killian. “I’m lucky enough to have a fairly regular work schedule, but Liam is an ER nurse on top of being a single father, so his free time is quite limited. He’s great at his job and an even better dad, but I like to make sure he gets to go out and do something for his own enjoyment every now and then.”

His comment about Liam being single cleared her earlier suspicion. She didn’t feel comfortable asking what had happened to his niece’s mother, so they discussed the child herself instead. Emma learned that Harper was four years old and already a spitfire, keeping both Liam and Killian on their toes at any given moment. She found out that the two of them had moved from England to the States as teenagers, where Liam went to nursing school and Killian enlisted in the Navy.

“How long have you been driving?”

“About two years. I did some truck driving in the Navy and was able to get my CDL while I was still enlisted. It wasn’t my dream career field by any means, but it paid decently, not to mention it wouldn’t keep me confined to the same cubicle or office all week long. I applied at UPS because I didn’t like the idea of being gone for days at a time on a regular basis. This way, I get most weekends and holidays off, and have an idea of what time I’ll arrive home every night.”

“Seems like you’ve got a decent arrangement there then.”

“Aye. I like having a consistent schedule most of the time. The driving helps clear my head when I need it to.” He paused and Emma saw what looked like a frown tugging at the corner of his lips. “But enough about me. I’ve gathered next to nothing about you so far. Well, other than the fact that I interrupt your work day at least twice per week, sometimes more, but I don’t think that counts.”

He clearly didn’t want to discuss whatever it was driving helped clear his head from. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. If I’m being honest, your ‘interruptions’ are a nice, albeit brief, distraction from the monotony that just causes me to question what I’m doing there.”

The frown reappeared. “You don’t like your job?”

“I wouldn’t say I dislike it. Elsa and Anna are great. It’s nice knowing I get the same day off every week. And I save forty-two percent on my shoes.”

“But?”

She shrugged. “I mean, that’s about it. Nothing ever happens. It’s not that we don’t get business or anything, but it’s not the kind of store people feel the need to come into on a regular basis, like Target or something. I spend most of my shift being bored. Which really just gives me more time to think about where I’m at in life — more like where I’m not at in life —  and how unfulfilled I am with, well, everything.”

She hadn’t expected to open that can of worms tonight, but once she started, it was hard to hold back everything she’d been keeping to herself for months now.

“I take it retail wasn’t your first choice when it came to finding a career?”

“Far from it.” She laughed dryly. “I was a creative writing major in college. So many people in Storybrooke gave me hell about it, said I’d never be able to do anything with my degree. But I didn’t care. I just loved writing and knew that’s what I wanted to do with my life. Until my junior year anyway.”

“What happened then?”

“I took an upper level Writing Fiction course during the fall semester. I was really excited about it because the professor was a fairly successful author, and I’d always had a conflict with another class before that kept me from taking anything with him. To make a long story short, the class was great at first. I got along well with the professor, and he seemed to like the projects I turned in for him. He liked my boyfriend’s projects even more.”

She forced down the lump forming in her throat and took a quick sip of her beer. Talking about Neal became a bit less difficult over time, but that didn’t mean it was easy either. “He was a writing student too. We met sophomore year in an intro creative writing course. I fell for him right away despite all the warning signs: he cut class a lot, was disrespectful to me — to all women, for that matter — and thought he could get away with anything because his dad was loaded. But, despite all this, he told me he loved me. And I fell for it.

“Anyway, back to the class we had together. I noticed every now and then that the professor would make a comment or say something overly friendly that felt a lot like flirting. I never brought it up with Neal outside of class since I thought he’d tell me I was overreacting.” Emma now saw the fact that she thought that way about him should have been a red flag in itself. “So, the end of the semester comes around. Our final was to write a short story. We turned them in to him before classes ended and then were supposed to come by his office during finals week to pick them up to see our grade and hear any comments he had for us.”

She paused to take a long sip of her drink. She had told this story a handful of times since it happened, but the next part never got much easier to share. “I went by as soon as his office hours started. I had worked really hard on the story I submitted — like, spent weeks planning and pulled several all-nighters to write hard. Anyway, I get to his office and he tells me to take a seat. I figured he wanted to talk to me about the story. And he did...for a few minutes anyway.”

Killian listened as she told him about the professor quickly changing the subject and talking instead about how much he'd enjoyed having Emma as part of his class. How he'd enjoyed it so much that he came over and put a hand on her knee while making the comment that he thought he would enjoy having her in other environments too. “I bolted. I was so scared of what he might do; I never even found out what my grade was. Not that it really mattered in retrospect.”

“Bloody wanker,” Killian muttered. “I’m glad you got away from him when you did. What happened after that?”

“I went to Neal. I ran straight to his apartment and told him everything, thinking he would at least try to, y’know, help me or be supportive or something.” Emma shook her head and laughed dryly. To think she was naive enough to think he’d react differently than he actually did. “He accused me of making it all up. He said I was jealous that he and the professor got on so well, and that I came up with a story to have attention on me instead. To top it all off, he said I was a shitty writer who would never amount to anything outside of school.”

There was a sour expression on Killian’s face. “Please tell me you broke up with him.”

“I did.” She sighed and smiled sadly to herself. “The damage was done though. I withdrew from school and left the city as soon as I could. I came back to Storybrooke and had intended to only stay for a few months and then reapply somewhere else, but I never got around to it for one reason or another.” One reason being the fear of being stuck with another sleazy professor. Another being how she’d constantly questioned her potential as a writer since those comments from Neal. She wasn’t sure she could risk the time, energy, and funds required to go back to school if it was all just going to crash and burn for her in the end. It was also why making progress on any story had felt like pulling teeth ever since.

She hated that he and his words still got to her like they did almost eight years later.

“I’m sorry you were treated so terribly in both circumstances. Truly.” Something about the way his eyes softened as she’d spoken made her believe he wasn’t just speaking out of pity. It seemed that he genuinely cared. “And perhaps I’m overstepping here since I’m simply the man who makes deliveries to your workplace, but from what I’ve gathered over the past few weeks, you appear to be a strong, compassionate, and capable woman who can do anything she sets her mind to. Whether it be venturing into another career field or going back to school, I’m sure you’ll figure out what’s best for you and do it well.”

Emma stared at him for a moment, too dumbfounded to speak. She had just poured her heart out to a man who still felt like little more than an acquaintance. And yet he wasn’t judging her, criticizing her, or even looking at her like she’d lost her mind, and she would have normally expected as much. But Killian seemed to get it: her past and her fears that the future would be no different.  

She found herself thinking that maybe Killian Jones had come to understand her more during their first lengthy conversation than anyone else had in years.

The idea didn’t scare her nearly as much as it once would have.

As fate would have it, Killian came by Crystalline with a delivery first thing the following Monday morning. She’d spent most of the weekend both taking his words to heart and wondering if he’d act differently after their conversation. But, to her relief, he entered the store with the same smile on his face she’d become used to seeing with his arrival.

“Good morning, Swan.”

“Morning. What have you got for us today?” There were three or four boxes stacked on his hand truck.

“Oh, this is just the first load. There’s at least seven more where those came from.”

Emma quickly helped him move the boxes to their normal waiting place by the door while he went to retrieve the rest of their packages. She knew the rest of their winter merchandise for the holidays was supposed to arrive soon, but she hadn’t expected so much of it to come at once. She, Elsa, and Anna were going to have a whole lot of fun sorting it out over the next few days.

She stood there feeling somewhat awkward as he finished unloading, wanting to say something to him about the other night at the bar, but not knowing exactly what. She was still contemplating it when she signed for the delivery. “What do you call this thing, anyway?” she asked. “I’ve just been calling it ‘UPS device thing’ in my head, but I’m sure there’s a technical term for it.”

Killian chuckled. “It’s called a diad. Stands for Delivery Information Acquisition Device — so you weren’t too far off.”

“Huh. Maybe I should come work with you then, considering I already know so much about how things work.”

“I’d certainly prefer you to some of the ride alongs I’ve had before. Remind me to tell you about what happened on Will Scarlet’s first day sometime.”

“Will do,” she confirmed, handing the device —  diad —  back to Killian. He clipped it back to his belt and was turning to leave when she spoke up. “Killian?”

“Yes, love?”

“Are we friends? Sorry,” she continued when his eyebrow shot up to his hairline. “It’s just that we see each other pretty regularly and I actually enjoy our conversations, and you let me spill my guts to you Saturday night without judging me and that seems like something a friend would do. But for all I know, you might not even want to be my friend. Which makes this really awkward and—”

“Hey,” he interrupted. “I would like nothing more than to be friends with you, Swan. Truthfully, I’ve thought of you as a friend for some time now. And it’s nice —  no one else I know has the same penchant for cocoa and romantic comedies.”

“I’m one of a kind, I guess.”

“That you are.”

“Will I see you at the wedding this weekend?”

“Aye. Liam and I will both be attending, him more so not to let Ruby down.” Another fact Emma had learned at the bar was that Liam and Ruby were classmates in nursing school and had remained friends since. “Weddings haven’t exactly been one of his favorite social events since Harper’s mother passed.”

Emma’s heart sank. She’d never been married, but could only imagine what it felt like to attend an event where people celebrated the very thing you’d lost. It may have stung when Neal turned his back on her, but she knew it had to be worse when someone was taken away unexpectedly, leaving you to wonder how much more time you could have had together.

“I get that,” she told Killian. “He’s really lucky to have you around, though.”

The responding smile he gave her didn’t reach his eyes. He glanced back to the stack of boxes he’d brought instead. “Yes, well. If that’s the last of it, I’m afraid I have to keep going. Goodbye, Swan.”

Emma stood there frozen and perplexed as she watched him go. Had something she said about him or Liam that struck a nerve? The thought nagged at her over the next few days, causing her to wonder if she’d unknowingly caused some kind of problem just minutes after confirming their friendship.

But when he arrived for their next delivery on Thursday morning, he was himself, charming and witty as ever. Emma was glad to see him act as if nothing had changed, but she knew there was much left to learn about Killian Jones.

Ruby and Mulan’s wedding took place on Sunday afternoon in the yard behind their house. The space had been adorned with fall decor in various shades of orange, yellow, and of course, Ruby’s signature red. The ceremony itself was simple, no wedding party or long introduction from the officiant. But the vows were touching and heartfelt. Emma found herself wiping her eyes more than once at both women’s words, and then again when they were pronounced as each other’s wives.

The reception that followed the ceremony, however, was anything but simple. There was a great deal of food, music, and alcohol, not unlike the celebration they’d had for Ruby’s birthday the weekend before. There was, however, a makeshift dance floor set up in the yard, where the brides once again ignored everyone else while they alternated between slow dancing and spinning each other around in circles. (Funny enough, no one was playing “Single Ladies” this time.)

Emma sat at one of the round tables placed around the dance floor, eating what may or may not have been her second slice of wedding cake while she and her girl friends chatted about a handful of different things: the recipe Mary Margaret had recently found for chocolate coconut brownies, what they’d each been watching on Netflix, and the town’s upcoming fall festival.

“Speaking of approaching events, I do believe someone has a birthday soon,” said Belle, glancing toward Emma, a warm smile on her face.

She wasn’t sure whether to smile back or sigh in defeat. Her birthday was on Wednesday, but it wasn’t something she enjoyed celebrating nearly as much as someone like Ruby or her other friends. And everyone knew this, although their knowledge on the reason why was minimal.

What was the point in celebrating a day that only reminded her of what she didn’t have? Because, in spite of any gifts or attention her friends might try to shower her with, she was never able to focus on anything but what the day signified and the questions she may never have answers to. The main one being why was she abandoned outside of Storybrooke just after (if not on) the day in question.

She forced down the lump quickly forming in her throat. Her friends’ wedding was the last place she wanted to reopen those old wounds. “I need more punch!” she announced, getting to her feet. “Anyone else?” Not waiting to hear anyone’s answers, she took her mostly full cup to the punch bowl at a table on the other side of the yard.

Emma topped off her drink and grabbed a handful of crackers she didn’t actually want just to appear preoccupied. She didn’t feel up for going back to her seat just yet.

Then it hit her: she had yet to come across Killian or his brother. Hadn’t he said they were coming?

A hand tapped Emma’s shoulder just as she began looking through the crowd for a familiar face. She turned to see bright blue eyes and that smile she’d become so partial to. “Hello, Swan.”

All of the tension seemed to leave her when he said her name. “Hey, Killian.” He wore a well-fitting navy suit with a crisp white shirt. How he kept finding things to wear that made his eyes look even more blue was lost to her. “Nice ceremony, huh?”

“Aye. I believe that was the most enthusiastic kiss I’ve ever witnessed at a wedding.”

“This is Ruby we’re talking about. There was little chance of her keeping things PG, wedding or not.”

“A valid point.”

He looked over to her friends’ table where she’d been sitting earlier. “I hope I’m not keeping you from your friends. I’d been looking for you and wanted to speak while I had a moment.”

“No, you’re not. I was honestly trying to avoid them. Let’s just say they’d brought up a subject I wasn’t up for discussing today,” she continued at his questioning look‍.

“That’s certainly understandable. In that case, I’m willing to distract you for as long as you may need it.”

“Okay, weird question. Your brother’s here, right?”

“He is. Although I’m not quite sure why you think that’s an odd thing to ask.”

“Well, that’s what I was getting to. I got the idea at The Rabbit Hole last week that he has a thing for Elsa?”

“That’s an understatement. Liam has been absolutely smitten since he was introduced to her at the Miner’s Day celebration back in the spring. But I don’t believe he’s made much of an effort to get to know her. He’s never come out and said as much to me, but thanks to a few bad experiences he’s had with dating over the past few years, it seems he thinks that she wouldn’t be interested since he has a child.’

She wasn’t sure just how to respond to that, mostly because she understood. The more a person had lost and been hurt, the harder it became to open your heart back up to something (or, in this case, someone) new again. And, truly, she didn’t know how Elsa would feel about potentially dating a single father. But she did know that both she and Liam deserved to be happy.

“I obviously can't speak for Elsa or her feelings, but I can put in a good word for Liam if you don't think he'd mind me intervening.”

(Had she gone and turned into Mary Margaret?)

Killian's answering smile made her stomach swoop in a way that had nothing to do with the amount of alcohol in the punch. He was just unfairly attractive and she liked seeing him happy, that was all. “I think he'd appreciate that quite a bit. And even if he did mind, I'm sure he wouldn't anymore if it works in his favor.”

She returned to her table a moment later, this time taking the empty chair next to Elsa rather than the one she'd been sitting in before. “Hey. So, I have a question.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“You remember that day when you saw Killian for the first time and you made that comment about him having a brother?”

Elsa glanced at her and raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

“Well, you're in luck. He does have an older brother, Liam. Apparently you met him at the Miner’s Day festival.”

“Wait, that Liam? He's Killian’s brother?”

“So you remember him?”

“Yes, I do. I just remember thinking there had to be some kind of catch for him to be so good looking, a wife or a criminal past or something.”

“There's no criminal past that I know of, and no wife. But he is a widower and a dad to a little girl. Would you be okay with that?”

Elsa pursed her lips. “It's not something I've given much thought to. I don't think I've ever dated someone with a kid before. But if he’s a good guy, and a good dad to his daughter,  I see no reason to object.”

“I was hoping you’d say something like that.” She looked back over to where she’d left Killian at the punch bowl, where he now stood talking to Liam. Smiling at Elsa, she nodded in their direction. “He’s over there with Killian now if you want an excuse to go get another drink. You kind of know Killian already from the store, and something tells me it won’t be hard for you to get introduced.”

Her smile grew as Elsa’s face lit up. “I am getting thirsty. If you’ll excuse me.” She stood and went over to the brothers, not even remembering to take her cup with her.  

Emma watched as she spoke to Killian first, then turned to Liam, obviously feigning ignorance. Killian’s gestures indicated he was making introductions between the two of them. She couldn’t see Liam’s face since his back was turned to her, but Killian shot her a wink that said all she needed to know.                                                                                            

She eagerly anticipated hearing details about the meeting from Elsa at work the next day, not wanting to ask intrusive questions, but hoping her boss would choose to bring it up. All she mentioned was that Liam was “just as charming as his brother” and had made a comment about hoping he’d see her at the town’s fall festival the night before Halloween. But there was color to her cheeks and a gleam in her eye when she spoke of it.

Killian’s first delivery of the week happened on Wednesday, the day Emma turned twenty-eight. Per her request, Elsa and Anna had kept the surprises minimal, although there was a cupcake in the break room she looked forward to eating on her lunch break. Chocolate was a hard thing to object, even if she objected everything else about the day in question.

Seeing the familiar truck turn the corner, Emma went to open the front door and wait for Killian as she usually did. Was it weird for her to do that? She was just trying to make his delivery easier. And maybe she looked forward to seeing him. Because they were friends.

It was odd not to see him pulling in a hand truck, but instead carrying a single package. “Good morning, love.”

“Hey. Is that all today?”

“Aye. Don’t be alarmed, though. I’m sure I’ll have at least a dozen for you next time.”

“You’re probably right.” She took the package from him, looking for a name on the return address. It was just boring office supplies.

Checking to make sure Elsa wasn’t out on the floor, she asked “Has Liam said anything about Sunday? My boss is being minimal with the details.”

Killian barked out a laugh. “My brother has been anything but minimal. I haven’t heard him speak of anything else since. I’d give him hell about it if I wasn’t so glad to see him happy, even if they’ve only had one real conversation together.”

“Sometimes one conversation might be all it takes.”

It was when she was signing her name on the diad (and feeling proud of herself for remembering it’s actual name) that the idea came to her. “Killian? Are you doing anything tonight?”

He considered it for a moment. “Nothing besides going home after my shift and finding something on TV to entertain me for a bit. Why do you ask?”

“Would you maybe want to come over and watch a movie? As friends,” she quickly added, hoping he wouldn’t detect any desperation in her voice. “I was going to order pizza and find something to watch, and just figured it would be nice to have the company. I mean, don’t feel obligated or anything if you have something better to do. I just thought I’d offer.”

His following silence and perplexed expression were enough to make her regret asking. She’d made it clear that it was meant to be strictly friendly, but maybe the invitation still hadn’t come across the way she’d wanted it to.

But then after what felt like an eternity (probably a few seconds in actuality), a grin broke out across his face. “I would like nothing more, Swan. As long as you’re sure I wouldn’t be imposing on you.”

“Of course not. You’ll probably be doing me a favor by not making me eat the pizza alone since I can never finish it all and get stuck with leftovers for, like, five days afterward.”

“In that case, I expected to be well-compensated for my assistance.”

She refused to let her mind run away with that idea in public. “We’ll see.”

Emma then remembered she didn’t have as much as a phone number for him. All of their interactions so far had been face to face. “Here.” She pulled her phone out of her back pocket, opened the screen to start a new text, and handed it to him. “Put your number in there, and I’ll text you my address. Not that it’s that hard to find in a town this small, but still. Six-thirty work for you?”

“Sounds great. I look forward to it.”

By that evening, she was equal parts excited and terrified. She’d spent most of the day wondering if inviting him over had been a mistake. Not because she didn’t want to spend time with him, but because of how many things could go wrong.

There was a knock on the door at six twenty-eight. Emma took a deep breath and went to answer it, glancing at herself in the hall mirror and hoping she didn’t look like she was having an internal crisis.

“You’re right on time.”

“Of course. It would be bad form to keep a lady waiting.”

“Honestly, where did you learn to talk like that?”

“A number of different places. My mum had a penchant for Jane Austen, for one. Liam and I were forced to sit through that bloody BBC series so many times I practically had it memorized by the time I was ten years old.” He rolled his eyes but laughed when he spoke.

At least she knew that’s where the hand kissing had come from. “I’m partial to the 2005 movie myself. What does she think about that one?”

Killian’s smile vanished. “I’m afraid I don’t know. She passed that same year.”

“Oh my gosh. Killian, I’m so-”

He dismissed the attempted apology. “It’s alright, Swan. You didn’t know. She was sick for quite some time, but she did ensure my grammar skills were impeccable.”

“That they are. And speaking of impeccable, the pizza place was running a special. So I got garlic knots too.” Food was her go to method for deflecting awkwardness, it seemed.

“You’re quickly learning the way to my heart.”

They settled onto opposite ends of her couch with the pizza box and bag of garlic knots between them, not even bothering with plates. Emma turned on the TV and opened Netflix. Her first suggestion was going to be Love Actually, but maybe something without Colin Firth would be a better option after what he’d just shared with her.

“I’ve learned without having to ask that 2000s rom coms seem to be a guilty pleasure for you too. Any suggestions?”

“I’m open to anything. Although I did see Love Actually was back on Netflix if you’re not one of those people who thinks it’s too early for Christmas movies.”

Huh. Maybe she’d been wrong. And maybe he was a mind reader.

“Are you kidding? It’s never too early for Christmas movies.”

“As I just said, you are learning the way to my heart.”

Almost everything she learned about Killian continued to surprise her. And there was so much more she wanted to know. How he took his coffee, what his favorite subject in school had been, if he spoke any other languages, topics he had strong opinions on. He was like an addictive prologue that made her want to stop and binge read the rest of the story.

They sat in comfortable silence for the first half hour or so of the movie, eating the pizza and garlic knots and occasionally making a comment about a specific scene or line.

“What’s your favorite storyline?” she asked him. “And please don’t say the Alan Rickman one, or I’ll be forced to question this friendship.”

“Of course not. He was a bloody wanker to his wife. No one deserves to be treated like that.”

“Okay, good. Friendship officially saved.”

He let out a dramatic sigh of relief. Emma laughed and rolled her eyes. “In all seriousness, however, I do quite like Jamie and Aurélia’s story. They’re able to fall in love despite an inability to communicate, and then he goes and learns another language for the sake of confessing his feelings. It’s quite romantic.”

Of all the things about Killian that she’d learned so far, this surprised her the least. Of course he’d be the romantic type, maybe not with flowers and chocolate and other material things, but in his actions, the things he would do to to show someone they were loved.

“What about you, Swan?” His voice broke her train of thought. “Your favorite storyline, I mean.”

Oh, right. They’d been having a conversation. “That’s easy. David and Natalie.”

“Because of Hugh Grant?” he teased.

“No. Because she got the kind of support I wanted when he found out about everything with the president.” He placed the blame where it was due and never expected the victim to take responsibility for a horrible man’s decisions.

Killian’s smile instantly faded. “Bloody hell. I’m sorry, love. I should have been more considerate.”

“No, it’s fine. Really,” she continued when he attempted to protest. “I mean, that whole situation in itself isn’t fine, but I know you didn’t mean anything by asking. It’s just...well, frankly, today’s not a great day for me and I guess it’s made me reflect on all of it a lot more than usual.”

He pursed his lips before he spoke. “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

Here goes nothing, she thought. “Well, today’s my birthday. I didn’t mention it before because it’s not something I really like having a lot of attention on. To be frank, I don’t have a family, I never have. I was found on the side of the road right after I was born and grew up in foster care. The only reason I was able to go to college was because I lucked out and got a scholarship through the high school. And you already know how that ended.

“Don’t get me wrong, I know I have a lot of great things in my life that I’m thankful for. I have friends who are like family to me. I have a job, that, despite my frustrations with it, still pays the bills and keeps me on my feet. But today makes it hard for me not to wonder where I could be now if things had gone differently. If my parents had kept me, if a family had wanted to adopt me, if my first love hadn’t been the kind of man to make me question every bit of my worth. Along with every other decision I’ve ever made.”

She turned to him. “I’m sorry to invite you over and then dump all of this on you. I honestly wasn’t intending on bringing any of it up. I just knew I didn’t want to be alone tonight, and, well, you seem to understand me a lot more than most people do.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Emma’s heart dropped and she felt her palms grow clammy. She’d finally done it. She’d said too much and was pushing him away without even trying.

Just as she was preparing a long, drawn out apology, Killian broke the silence. “You know Liam and I lost our mother. She took us and left our sorry excuse of a father when we were young, and we lived in Boston until she passed. Despite the fact that I was nearly grown, Liam felt as if he had to look out for me for years after. I enlisted in the Navy both because I couldn’t think of a better option after school, and so he could feel he had the freedom to go to nursing school like he’d always wanted.

“My first few years are a bit of a blur now. I was still consumed with grief over losing Mum, and turned to whatever I could to avoid facing it —  drinking, gambling, women. Whatever could distract me. Things went on like that until I met Milah when I was twenty-three and stationed on the West Coast. She was older, adventurous, free-spirited, everything my own demons kept me from being. She was also married, something I knew from the beginning but promptly ignored until I was in too deep.”

Emma listened as he explained how he received news that he would be transferred back to the northeast. How he’d gone to Milah and asked her to come with him so they could have a fresh start together. Instead, he’d been crushed when she objected —  despite whatever connection the two of them had, she couldn’t leave her husband and their life behind.

“And that was it. I assumed there was no chance of me convincing her otherwise, despite how much I wanted to. So I left and went on to my next post. I’d been there less than two weeks before I heard from one of my old mates that she’d been killed in a boating accident.”

If she’d thought her heart couldn’t sink any lower, she was wrong. “Oh, Killian.”

“I was a wreck for months. I told myself if I’d tried harder, if I’d fought for us, that she might have come with me and would have still been alive. The only thing that kept me from spiraling back into grief was Liam. When he found out, he threatened to leave school to make sure I didn’t go off the deep end. I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I got in the way of his dream. And I started driving. I can’t explain how or why, but being out on the road gave me the release I hadn’t been able to find elsewhere.”

He reached over and took her hand in his. “My point behind all this, Swan, is yes, I do understand you. Our pasts may be different where circumstances are concerned, but I know all too well the feeling of questioning how your life could have been different or if you’re where you’re supposed to be. It’s okay to be confused or even upset about how some things have turned out, but I really hope you won’t think less of yourself for it.”

It was difficult to hold back the tears she felt pricking her eyes. She had no desire to cry in front of him after everything else, even though she knew he wouldn’t judge her for it. “How do you always know exactly what to say to me?”

“It’s like you said, love: you and I, we understand each other.” He considered the thought again. “Then again, maybe it’s just all part of my instinctive charm.”

She rolled her eyes and whacked his shoulder with a throw pillow.

Long after the movie ended and Killian had left, Emma found herself lying awake in bed as she considered their earlier conversation. She’d known he was nothing like Neal before she opened up and told him about her past. (Truthfully, she’d known he was a better man than Neal from the day they’d met.) Still, the way he listened, accepted her for who she was, and tried to encourage her when she needed it was nothing like she’d expected.

She also didn’t expect that abnormal thing her pulse did when the UPS truck arrived at Crystalline now. Or when he’d taken her hand earlier. Or when he smiled, laughed, or even so much as cracked a corny joke in her presence.

Everything she’d wanted but had never been able to find with Graham.

Shit. Had she really gone and fallen for her UPS driver?

The answer, she soon learned, was an absolute yes.

Killian was constantly on her mind over the next few days. She thought of him every time she passed a UPS truck on the road, or when one of the literary memes pages she followed on Instagram posted something related to Pride & Prejudice. And his deliveries, which were already one of the better parts of her work days, soon became something she eagerly awaited, despite feeling silly for it.

Emma only hoped that if there had been a shift in her demeanor or actions since the revelation on her birthday that he wouldn’t notice.

And he wasn’t the only thing often on her mind, either. She wasn’t even looking for writing opportunities when one fell into her lap. She’d been online, researching the English and creative writing programs at a handful of colleges in Portland, more for curiosity’s sake than anything else. It was still uncertain when or even if she would be able to go back, but there was no harm in looking, right? That's when she found the promotion for a Young Fiction Writing contest open to residents of Maine under 30.

A few months ago, she might have glanced over the details and moved on. But something made her stop and carefully read through the description and guidelines. It wasn't necessarily the particular contest itself that stood out to her; it was standard as far as events like it were concerned.

No, what stood out to Emma was the confidence she hadn't felt in years when it came to writing. Because, for once, her immediate reaction wasn't thoughts of doubt or self loathing. She felt as if she could actually get it a shot. Even though the deadline was less than a week away.

Within minutes, she'd bookmarked the posting and opened the word document for a short story she'd written about seventy percent of before abandoning it several months earlier. It was an adventure story about a runaway princess who leaves home after a dictator takes over her kingdom, and finds unexpected romance with a reformed pirate as they team up to overthrow him.

She had never even finished plotting the last quarter of the story. It was part of her cycle of getting excited about an idea, writing part of it, and then giving up at some point thanks to doubt and insecurity.

But cycles could be broken.

For the rest of the night, she went back and forth between her laptop and the notebook she used to jot down story ideas and managed to come up with the bare bones for the remainder of the story. The rest of the details could be filled in along the way; she had what she really needed.

The next few days passed in a blur of working, helping prepare for the town’s fall festival, and spending hours in front of her laptop in attempt to finish her story before the contest deadline.

And somehow, she managed to do it all. After one last read-through to catch any technical errors she might have missed before, Emma submitted her contest entry less than an hour before the midnight deadline.

The chances of her winning anything was minimal, she’d known that from the beginning, especially since she’d thrown together the last bit of the story so quickly. But that wasn’t important to her now. She had done it. She’d finished a story for the first time in months, years maybe, and that alone meant more to her than any prize.

And she couldn’t wait to tell Killian.

She had hoped he would be making a delivery the next morning so she could tell him first thing. Of course there was always the option of sending him a text, but she wanted to tell him in person considering how significant his encouragement had been to her wanting to write again in the first place.

At least she knew he would be attending the fall festival that night with Liam and Harper. Surely she could find a moment to talk to him while Liam was off romancing Elsa.

Since there was no delivery, she spent the rest of the day on pins and needles waiting for the festivities to start that evening. Elsa and Anna closed Crystalline a few hours early, and at six, the three of them walked to the town square where the event was being held. The space was packed with both people and various attractions, but Emma’s only concern was locating a familiar head of dark hair and blue eyes.

After half an hour of wandering around through vendors and game booths, she finally spotted him at the face painting table with Liam, and a little girl with her father’s dark curls that was having a unicorn painted on her cheek, courtesy of Belle.

She came up behind Killian and tapped him on the shoulder. “Please tell me you’re getting a matching unicorn on your cheek too. It would really bring out the blue in your eyes.”

“Hello, Swan. And, as much as I hate to disappoint you, the answer is no. With my luck, I wouldn’t be able to wash it all off and wouldn’t hear the end of it during my stops tomorrow.”

Emma sighed dramatically. “What a shame. I guess I’ll never get to find out what a cute Brony you would have been.”

She and Liam laughed at Killian’s objection as Liam took his daughter’s hand and suggested he take her to the pumpkin carving table.

When they had left, Emma turned back to Killian. “What are the chances he only wanted to carve a pumpkin because he knows Elsa is over there helping Anna and Kristoff?”

“Pretty likely I’d say. I can’t wait to tease him about it during my speech at their wedding.”

“I will most definitely hold you to that. Oh! I had something to tell you,” she said, remembering why she’d been so eager to find him in the first place. “So, long story short, I finished writing something for the first time in ages, and submitted it to this writing contest thing I found online. I’m not expecting to win or anything, but all that matters to me is that I did it.” She couldn’t hold back her smile. “And I really felt like I needed to thank you, because I’m not sure I would have done it if you hadn’t encouraged me so much and made me feel like I could have a purpose outside of being a retail manager.”

The massive grin on his face made her pulse do that thing she still wasn’t sure was completely normal. Or safe. “That’s wonderful, love. I don’t think you truly needed me to make any of that happen, but I’m honored I was able to help all the same.”

“Help is an understatement. Trust me.” She could go into a long, emotional speech about the number of things he’d helped her see differently, but she’d save that for another time, one when they weren’t surrounded by everyone in Storybrooke.

But their present circumstances didn’t stop her from taking an additional leap of faith, not unlike the one she’d taken by inviting him over on her birthday. “Will you go out with me?”

Killian’s eyes widened as if wondering if he’d heard her correctly. “Come again?”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. I just figured that while I’m on a streak of doing things I wouldn’t normally have the guts to, maybe I should keep it up before I lose my nerve.”

His brow furrowed and he placed a hand under his chin like he was deep in thought. “Hmm. I’ll accept on one condition.”

“And that is?”

“You let me take you out to dinner, but we’re having pizza, garlic knots, and cinnamon twists.”

Maybe he was a man after her own heart too. “With an offer like that, I think I’d be a fool to say no.”

[smutandfluffohmy]

Red String of fate

From: Smutandfluffohmy Character Parings: Peter Pan X Reader Request: Not requested but needed to work on something. Most of my Peter/Felix requests are smut and I needed a bit of a change.  A/N: If anyone has any painstakingly overly fluffy request please send them my way (character parings doesn't matter wink wonk). Also anon that requested the Buffy fics I'm soooo sorry I’m being mean and its been hard getting through the show but I WILL get through it have patience with me plz.

The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. This magical cord may stretch or tangle, but never break

Storybrooke was filled with people. People that would go out to eat at Grannies, would go on picnics in the park, would watch movies in the old theater all of them hand in hand with their soulmate. Happy faces living happy lives that mocked you day in and day out. You could remember the days when red strings would pool around peoples feet as they would twirl them around often tugging at them with hope that they would get an answer. Ever since the curse was broken strings got shorter, tugs would get responses and soon the town was string free. You missed the red strings, you missed people wondering when they would meet their soulmate. Maybe you wouldn’t miss them as much if you could meet the person at the end of your string.Storybrooke was filled with people that were deeply in love and you hated it.

“We don’t know what’s coming but this isn’t a regular storm.It would be for the best if we all stayed here until it passes through.” Regina said speaking to everyone in the meeting, watching as she pointed to the dark clouds getting closer.

“How do you know it isn’t a regular storm?” Someone called out from the crowd.

“Wouldn’t it be better if we all went back home?” Another person called out and soon questions started being called from different places in the room,you watched as Emma and Regina tried to calm everyone down. Sighing, your eyes wandered to look outside the window. Rain droplets hit the windows as the arguments continued around the room, guess it was just rain after all. You gathered your things and putting on your jacket ,that you were using to hide your string, wrapping your arms around yourself and got off your chair.

The rain hit slowly against the window, there was no seeing when the argument would stop and you couldn’t see Regina or Emma admitting they were wrong and you didn’t want to sit in a plastic chair until this boils down. Opening one of the heavy doors slowly you slip out into the drizzling rain, holding your string tightly in your hand.

Sniffling you picked up your pace wanting to get home as quickly as possible. The loose pavement crunched under your shoes as the rain started to pour down harder.

‘Fuck fuck fuck’ you thought picking up your pace wrapping your jacket closer to you. The closer you got to your home the harder it seemed to pour down, your jacket got drenched and you were shivering as a cold wind blew through. Tugging at your string impatiently cursing at yourself for leaving the meeting.

The soft lights coming from streetlights and some store that were left on in a rush as the owners rushed to go to the town meeting, walking alongside the stores you felt a small tug on your string. Stopping dead in your tracks you gripped your steering tighter in your hand, when you did you felt another hard tug. Your heart rate speedup, thumping loudly against your chest your grip tightening on the red string. Looking down at it you saw it tangled on a button on your bag, untying it quickly you give it a hard pull waiting for a response. You waited in the pouring rain but got nothing, it must have just been the bag pulling at it. You sighed continuing your walk home, trying to ignore the prickling feeling of tears threatening to fall down your face.

It was stupid. It was stupid to get your hopes up, you sighed and continued walking home. You looked forward, seeing your lights on spilling out into the street. The small victorian house felt too big, there was too many rooms and you couldn’t pick up enough hobbies to fill them, Gold and Regina made houses and occupations that fit everyone but this just felt like a cruel joke. When the curse was still around you used to own a store where you made clothing, you even were in a committed relationship, you had friends ,a best friend and colleague. You missed those days and wanted to go back but you never said anything. It was selfish to want someone to be with you even when it wasn’t really them that loved you.

It’s not fair to want people to not remember their loved ones, their old lives but it’s not fair that you can’t remember who you are. Tears were streaming down your face but it doesn't matter because you were feet away from your front door.

You felt another tug on your string, through tears you grabbed your bag trying to untangle it from another button but there wasn’t. You dropped your bag at your feet and turned around, breathing heavily squinting through the heavy rain and the darkness.

“Hello? Umm is anyone out there?” You called out into the dark streets, trying to scream over the sound of the rain. Holding on tightly to your string you gave it a soft tug.

“I-I can feel you!” You called out again giving it a harder tug , but the street remained empty and the only sound was the rain hitting against rooftops.You dug through your pockets looking for your phone to give out some light, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone but you couldn’t find it inside your pockets.

“I think this is yours” A voice said from behind you, turning around you came face to face with a boy the held your bag in his hands. You tensed up reaching for it and grabbing it out of the strangers hands, pulling it close to you.

“Thanks.” You said as it got dropped out from the sound of the rain. You were about to reach for your string when you heard voices echo throughout the empty streets causing you to look back as people started to leave the meeting.

“Maybe we should go inside you’ll catch a cold.” The boy said as he motioned at the lit ice cream shop, which was dead empty and despite Elsa being a usually nice person both of you didn’t get on very well.

“My house is just three doors down but thank you.” You said feeling yourself shiver underneath your damp clothing. Reaching for your string to give it one last pull just to double check but before you could tug at it you felt it tug first.

“I finally found you.” The boy whispered a look of confusion on his face, a look you never saw when someone found their soulmate. “We should really get you inside.” He said grabbing your bag out of your hands and waiting for you to lead the way.

“I’ve never seen you in Storybrooke before. What’s your name?” You asked as you tried walking as quickly as you could back to your house being careful not to lose sight of the boy, afraid he would wonder too far and get lost in the rain forever.

“I’m not really from around here.” He said staying by your side as you reached into your pockets to take out your keys, unlocking it you both slipped inside the warm air hitting you hard. He placed your bag on a table that was near the entrance giving you a tight smile he crossed his arms over his chest. “It was nice meeting you I should go.” He said reaching for the door knob.

“Wait you can’t go! I mean. I’ve been looking for you my entire life at least stay and have some hot chocolate.” You urged leading him slowly into the kitchen trying to get him as far away from the door as possible.

“Look lady I don’t know what you think this is but I have to go.” He said but despite his words he continued to follow you into the kitchen. Taking out milk and cups careful to keep your eyes on him worried if you blinked he would disappear as quickly as he came.

“Don’t call me lady. My name’s Y/N.” You said setting down the mugs on the counter and leaning against it.

“Well love, I’m Peter Pan I’ll see you later.” He said so quickly that you almost thought you misheard him.

“Peter Pan.” You whispered under your breath knitting your eyebrows together trying to remember where you heard that name before. “Wait you can’t just leave.” You said walking closer to him worry filling you.

“And why no-” He started saying but was interrupted with a knock that came from the door.

“Don’t go anywhere” You said to him which was only greated with him rolling his eyes. “Please just give me a minute and I’ll explain everything.” You pleaded with him, he just sighed and walked over to the abandoned mugs. You stood there as the knocking continued just looking at him.

“Well go on I’ll be here making hot chocolate.” He said waving you away boiling the milk you had out. Nodding you ran to answer the door, throwing the door open you tried your best to calm down.

“Hi Dr.Hopper how can I help you?” You said with a big smile looking at Dr.Hopper who was standing under his umbrella.

“Hi Y/n. I saw that you left early from the meeting and we just went over a couple of things and though I should fill you…” He droned on as you could feel your heart drop to your feet, you stood there for what felt like hours before he finally said goodbye.

“Thank you Dr.Hopper.” You said in a daze as you closed the door locking it tightly. Walking back to the kitchen you saw Peter carefully bringing the full mugs to a table careful not to spill any.

“I tried looking for some marshmallows but I don’t know where you keep them so I-” He said looking from the hot chocolate to you. You stood there trying to understand how you were going to explain yourself. “What’s wrong?” He asked walking closer to you.

“You have to leave.”

“What? Wait you were just begging me to stay and all of a sudden you’re telling me to leave.” He said furrowing his eyebrows together.

“They- they’re planning to kill you.” You said trying to look everywhere except for Peter. “You have to leave now.” You said panic ensuing inside of you, you would rather have a lost soulmate than a dead soulmate but they were both causing you equally as much pain. Peter nodded and without a word started walking towards your front door, you could feel your heart crush inside your chest.

“Come with me.” He said confusing you as he broke the silence that had fallen between the both of you.

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Anywhere you want.” He said walking closer to you grabbing your cold hands in his, his eyes begging for you to follow him out the door but not having the words to tell you.

“How about we go get that hot chocolate?” You smiled at him, grabbing his hands a bit tighter wanting to make sure this was real. Wanting to make sure you were actually planning to run away with a person that set fear and panic in everyone in the town right now.

He couldn’t be that bad. All the bad things people would say about him couldn’t be real. He couldn’t be the devil not with a smile like that that warmed your heart, not with green eyes like that.

“Let’s go.” He smiled at you, bringing you in closer to him as the sound of everything around you felt far away.